BIRD-SONGS. 51 
By what strange freak he has lapsed into this 
ghostly habit, nobody knows. I make no ac- 
count of the insinuation that he gave up music 
because it hindered his success in cherry-steal- 
ing. He likes cherries, it is true; and who can 
blame him? But he would need to work hard 
to steal more than does that indefatigable song- 
ster, the robin. I feel sure he has some better 
reason than this for his Quakerish conduct. 
But, however he came by his stillness, it is 
likely that by this time he plumes himself upon 
it. Silence is golden, he thinks, the supreme 
result of the highest zsthetic culture. Those 
loud creatures, the thrushes and finches! What 
a vulgar set they are, to be sure, the more’s 
the pity! Certainly if he does not reason in 
some such way, bird nature is not so human as 
we have given it credit for being. Besides, 
the waxwing has an uncommon appreciation 
of the decorous; at least, we must think so 
if we are able to credit a story of Nuttall’s. 
He declares that a Boston gentleman, whose 
name he gives, saw one of a company of these 
birds capture an insect, and offer it to his neigh- 
bor ; he, however, delicately declined the dainty 
bit, and it was offered to the next, who, in 
turn, was equally polite; and the morsel actu- 
ally passed back and forth along the line, till, 
finally, one of the flock was persuaded to eat it. 
