WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 169 



ity. This process he will repeat fifty times a day. No 

 matter how terribly frightened, his assurance quickly 

 returns, and another foray follows ; so that you begin 

 by thinking him the most cowardly and end by finding 

 him the most impudent of birds. 



I own I love the blackbird, and never weary of observ- 

 ing him. There is a bold English independence about 

 him an insolent consciousness of his own beauty. 

 He must somehow have read Shakespeare, for he 

 seems quite aware of his " orange tawny bill " and 

 deep black hue. He might really know that he figures 

 in a famous ballad, and that four-and-twenty of his 

 species were considered a dish to set before a king. 



It is a sight to see him take his bath. In a meadow 

 not far from the house here is a shallow but clear 

 streamlet, running down a deep broad ditch over- 

 shadowed by tall hemlock and clogweed, arched over 

 with willow, whose leaves when the wind blows and 

 their under-side is exposed give the hedge a gray tint, 

 with maple and brier. Hide yourself here on a summer 

 morning among the dry grass and bushes, and pres- 

 ently the blackbird comes to stand a minute on a 

 stone which checks the tiny stream like a miniature 

 rock, and then to splash the clear water over head 

 and back with immense energy. He repeats this 

 several times, and immediately afterwards flies to an 

 adjacent rail, where, unfettered by boughs, he can 

 preen his feathers, going through his toilet with the 

 air of a prince. Finally, he perks his tail up, and 

 challenges the world with the call already mentioned, 



6a 



