52 BIRD-SONGS. 
I have never seen anything equal to this; but 
one day, happening to stop under a low cedar, 
I discovered right over my head a waxwing’s 
nest with the mother-bird sitting upon it, while 
her mate was perched beside her on the branch. 
He was barely out of my reach, but he did not 
move a muscle; and although he uttered no 
sound, his behavior said as plainly as possible, 
“What do you expect to do here? Don’t you 
see Jam standing guard over this nest?” I 
should be ashamed not to be able to add that I 
respected his dignity and courage, and left him 
and his castle unmolested. 
Observations so discursive as these can hardly 
be finished ; they must break off abruptly, or 
else go on forever. Let us make an end, there- 
fore, with expressing our hope that the cedar- 
bird, already so handsome and chivalrous, will 
yet take to himself a song ; one sweet and orig- 
inal, worthy to go with his soft satin coat, his 
ornaments of sealing-wax, and his magnificent 
top-knot. Let him do that, and he shall al- 
ways be made welcome; yes, even though he 
come in force and in cherry-time. 
