WILD LIFE OF ORCHARD AND FIELD 



place is so manifest that it takes its name from the 

 circumstance; I speak of the orchard oriole. Icte- 

 rus spiirius of Linnaeus, which is well known all 

 over the middle parts of the United States, and 

 which is one of the very few species that have man- 

 aged to retain the technical name given it by its 

 great sponsor. 



Although by no means a dandy, like the Balti- 

 more oriole, he is every inch a gentleman, and wears 

 his neat dress of chestnut and black with an aristo- 

 cratic air. Yet he is not above work. No bird is 

 more ceaselessly active, and none is a better ser- 

 vitor of the agriculturist; for, from his first arrival 

 in May until he joins small companies of his fel- 

 lows for the southward journey in October, he is 

 untiring in his pursuit of just those insects that 

 the orchardist most dreads. 



A quarter of an hour's watching of one will sat- 

 isfy any one of his rightful claim to our admira- 

 tion and thanks. He flies to a branch, moves his 

 head from side to side, spies an inch-worm trust- 

 ing — vain hope ! — to its color to hide it on the green 

 surface of a leaf, and pounces upon it in an instant. 

 Then a nest of tent-caterpillars catches his eye, 

 and he attacks it furiously, tearing apart the shreds 

 of silk, and greedily devouring every one of the 



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