A BIRDS’ GALA-DAY. 147 
hove in sight, he would dart out after it, and never 
once failed to secure his prize. Sometimes he would 
plunge swiftly downward after a gnat or a miller, and 
once, having caught a miller that was large and in- 
clined to be refractory, he flew to the ground, beat 
it awhile on the clods, and then swallowed it with a 
consequential air which seemed to say, “ That is 
my way of disposing of such cases!’’ Several times 
he mounted almost straight up from his perch, and 
twice he almost turned a somersault in pursuit of an 
insect. Once he clung like a titmouse to the bole 
of a sapling. I could often hear the snapping of 
his mandibles as he nabbed his prey. When an in- 
sect came between him and myself, he would fear- 
lessly dash directly toward me, as if he meant to fly 
in my face or alight on my head, often coming within 
a few feet of me. He seemed to be as confiding 
as a child. When I stepped to the other end of the 
gravel-bank, going even a little beyond it, curiously 
enough, the bird pursued me; then, as an experi- 
ment, I walked back to my first post of observation, 
and, to my surprise, he followed me again. Was he 
really desirous of my company? Or did he know 
that I intended to ring his praises in type? At 
length I stole away a short distance among the trees, 
but presently a loud chirping in my rear arrested 
my attention. I turned back, and found it to be 
my new-made friend, the hooded warbler, who, 
strange to say, seemed to be calling me back to his 
haunt. Then I climbed to the top of the gravel- 
ank ; he selected perches higher up in the saplings 
