78 THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 



loud cries of distress and alarm proceed from the old 

 apple-tree. Looking out of the window I saw a crow, 

 which I knew to be a fish-crow, perched upon the 

 edge of the nest, hastily bolting the eggs. The parent 

 birds, usually so ready for the attack, seemed over- 

 come with grief and alarm. They fluttered about in 

 the most helpless and bewildered manner, and it was 

 not till the robber fled on my approach that they 

 recovered themselves and charged upon him. The 

 crow scurried away with upturned, threatening head, 

 the furious kingbirds fairly upon his back. The pair 

 lingered around their desecrated nest for several days, 

 almost silent, and saddened by their loss, and then 

 disappeared. They probably made another trial else- 

 where. 



The fish-crow only fishes when it has destroyed 

 all the eggs and young birds it can find. It is the 

 most despicable thief and robber among our feathered 

 creatures. From May to August it is gorged with the 

 fledgelings of the nest. It is fortunate that its range 

 is so limited. In size it is smaller than the common 

 crow, and is a much less noble and dignified bird. 

 Its caw is weak and feminine a sort of split and 

 abortive caw, that stamps it the sneak-thief it is. This 

 crow is common farther south, but is not found in 

 this State, so far as I have observed, except in the 

 valley of the Hudson. 



One season a pair of them built a nest in a Norway 

 spruce that stood amid a dense growth of other or- 

 namental trees near a large unoccupied house. They 



