NEW GLEANINGS IN OLD FIELDS 



loosen his pole from the nest, all the young birds 

 had fallen to the ground. The mother was darting 

 and screaming about them, when suddenly she fell 

 to the ground dead, a victim, no doubt, to her exces- 

 sive emotion of grief. Birds are very delicate, high- 

 strung creatures, and probably die of apoplexy or 

 heart failure as frequently as human beings. 



IV 



Love the wood-rose, but leave it on its stalk, hints 

 the poet. So, I say, find a bird's nest, but touch not 

 the eggs. It seems to profane the nest even to touch 

 its contents with the utmost care. One June day, I 

 found the nest of the yellow- winged sparrow, — the 

 sparrow one often hears in our fields and mead- 

 ows, that has a song that suggests a grasshopper. I 

 was sitting on the fence that bounded a hill meadow, 

 watching the horned larks, and hoping that one of 

 them would disclose the locality of its nest. A few 

 yards from me was a small bush, from the top of 

 which a yellow-winged sparrow was sending out its 

 feeble, stridulous song. Presently a Uttle brown bird 

 came out of the meadow and alighted in the grass 

 but a few yards from the singer. Instantly he flew to 

 the spot, and I knew it was his mate. They seemed 

 to have some conversation together there in the grass, 

 when, in a moment or two, they separated, the male 

 flitting to his perch on the bush and continuing his 

 song, while the female disappeared quickly into the 



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