A GREEN MOUNTAIN CORN-FIELD. 107 



tain that I was no collector, but only an 

 innocent admirer of birds in the bush? 

 Sought after as his carcass is by every New 

 England ornithologist, the mourning war- 

 bler exercises only a reasonable discretion 

 in fighting shy of every animal that walks 

 upright. 



It is evident, however, that for birds, as 

 for ourselves, the same thing often has both 

 a bright and a dark side. If men are some- 

 times heartless, and never to be altogether 

 confided in, yet at the same time their 

 doings are in various respects conducive to 

 the happiness and increase of feathered 

 life ; and this not only in the case of some 

 of the more familiar species, but even in 

 that of many which still retain all their 

 natural shyness of human society. A clear- 

 ing like that in which I was now resting 

 offers an excellent illustration of this ; for 

 it is a rule without exceptions that in such 

 a place one may see and hear more birds in 

 half an hour than are likely to be met with 

 in the course of a long day's tramp through 

 the unbroken forest. The mourning war- 

 bler himself likes a roadside copse better 

 than a deep wood, jealous as he may fee of 



