116 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



Another bird which from a neighboring tree had evidently watched 

 the fight now fluttered down to the scene. He or she— more probably 

 the latter — perched on a stone near by and intently watched the 

 struggle whether with looks expressive of admiration for victor or of 

 secret lament over victim I could not tell. Perhaps my own feelings 

 protruding themselves through my field-glass perceived in her the 

 latter; certain it is she did not join the triumph song — but just as 

 certain it is that she flew away under the voluble protection of her 

 triumphant Lord and Master. 



And there lay the dead chippy, his chestnut head dyed crimson now, 

 and his poor bleeding eyes closed forever; and there — right before my 

 eyes, on this glorious Spring day — had been enacting just another 

 expression of that tragedy old as the world. 



A very demure robin has her nest in a locust tree near my window. 

 She is evidently a staid old matron secure in a nest that proved faithful 

 last year and kindly tolerant of all the chatter and fuss of the inexperi- 

 enced young nesl-builders about her. 



The Red-headed Woodpecker may be seen flashing in crimson and 

 white amid the foliage and performing acrobatic feats apparently for 

 the amusement of his admiring mate. 



The Baltimore Oriole known colloquially as the Fire Bird or Golden 

 Robin; has made his appearance; he is in richest color-glory just now 

 a most beautiful Oriole alights upon a nearby tree upon which hangs a 

 last year's Oriole nest. Perhaps he grows reminiscent for his pure 

 whistling melody modulates into full pathetic cadences as he suddenly 

 flies away. 



Another bird not often seen though frequently heard is the Turtle 



Dove; its plaintive "Coo, coo" or its more prolonged call "Achg coo, 



coo, coo" breaks sadly upon the country stillness. Its note is that of 



warning nay of rebuke to the chattering, quarrelling, carolling, 



rollicking young Warblers around it. Yet if — Cassandra-like— it tells 



of storms, and cats, and bad boys, and grape-shot, and telegraph wires, 



and all the thousand natural ills that bird-flesh is heir to, it is — also 



Cassandra-like-heard but not heeded. The morning concert wakens 



hopeful as ever, nature-demands have as joyous fulfilment, and no 



to-morrow shadows darken the happy to-day of our wise little brothers 



in Bird-land. 



Sister M. Fides. 



