240 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



I must quote Thoreau once more, this time 

 from memory, and for substance only. I am 

 with him, heart and soul, when he prays for 

 more hawks, though at the cost of fewer 

 chickens. And I like the spirit of a friend 

 of mine who girdled a tall pine tree in his 

 woods, that it might serve as a perching sta- 

 tion for such visitors. 



As we approached the village again, we 

 came upon two phcebes. Like the white- 

 breasted swallow, the phoabe winters in 

 Florida, and is by a long time the earliest 

 member of its family to arrive in New Eng- 

 land. Red-winged blackbirds were numer- 

 ous, of course, every one a male, and in one 

 place we passed a flock of crow blackbirds 

 feeding on the ground. 



Not the least interesting bird of the fore- 

 noon was a shrike, sitting motionless and 

 dumb in an apple tree. The shrike has all 

 the attractiveness of singularity. He is no 

 lover of his kind, save as the lion loves the 

 lamb and the hawk the chicken. Lonesome ? 

 No, I thank you. Except in breeding-time, 

 he is sufficient unto himself. Even when he 

 happens to feel like conversation, he goes 



