Birds and the Fruit-Farm 301 



for birds, but any one who has lived there long 

 enough to see things as they are, not merely 

 wonderful chiu-ches, art galleries, and ancient ruins, 

 but methods of farming, of horticulture, of market- 

 ting; facts of food supply, wages, taxation, — the 

 jrude, every-day facts of Italian life, — soon discovers 

 that Italy has few birds. The wonder is that any 

 [exist there. 



Start, some May morning, from Menaggio, on 

 jLake Como, for a walk up the valley into the moun- 

 ' tains. Your purpose is to climb San Croce. On 

 the winding way you cut across the fields. What 

 is this rude "rick" or tower you see by the copse 

 of bushes? This "Roccolo" embowered amidst 

 concealment? As you pass, a low-browed, swarthy, 

 ill-kept man, with rings in his ears, opens the low 

 door and glares upon you. You have disturbed 

 him in his lair. As you came up the hill you heard 

 birds whistling, crying, calling to their mates. 

 Where are they? None are in sight. Now you 

 discover that these cries came from the low, dark, 

 shabby tower. You see a sight that sickens you. 

 The tower is a trap. The imprisoned birds are 

 blind — blinded by the fowler with red-hot wires. 

 They are shrieking with pain, calling out in agony 

 to any of their kind. Their helpless cries are a 

 decoy. A linnet, a fieldfare, two yellow-hammers, 

 a red-wing, flying over the land hear the cries; are 

 drawn by them toward the tower. See the 

 ''Roccolo'* embowered midst the pretty green 

 foliage! The birds fly to the relief of their kind! 



