178 MINOR SONGSTERS. 
This eccentric ne has taken possession of 
a certain hillside pasture, which, in another 
way, belongs to me also. Year after year he 
comes back and settles down upon it about the 
middle of May; and I have often been amused 
to see his mate — who is not permitted to wear 
a single blue feather — drop out of her nest in 
a barberry bush and go fluttering off, both 
wings dragging helplessly through the grass. I 
should pity her profoundly but that I am in no 
doubt her injuries will rapidly heal when once 
Tam out of sight. Besides, I like to imagine 
her beatitude, as, five minutes afterward, she 
sits again upon the nest, with her heart’s treas- 
ures all safe underneath her. Manya time was 
a boy of my acquaintance comforted in some 
ache or pain with the words, “ Never mind! 
*t will feel better when it gets well;”’’ and so, 
sure enough, it always did. But what a wicked 
world this is, where nature teaches even a bird 
to play the deceiver ! 
On the same hillside is always to be found the 
chewink, —a creature whose dress and song are 
so unlike those of the rest of his tribe that the 
irreverent amateur is tempted to believe that, 
for once, the men of science have made a mis- 
take. What has any finch to do with a call 
like cherawink, or with such a _ three-colored 
harlequin suit? But it is unsafe to judge ac- 
