i8o Bird - Lore * 



one pair of Orchard Orioles and two pairs of Baltimores; three pairs of Flickers, 

 one pair each of Downy Woodpeckers, Wood Peewees, Red-eyed Vireos, 

 Rose-breasts, Warbling Vireos, Hummingbirds, Screech Owls, ancj Chickadees, 

 five pairs of Field Sparrows, two pairs of Brown Thrashers, one pair of Crows 

 (eggs and nest removed as soon as laid, birds pretended to go away but didn't), 

 two pairs of Jays, half a dozen pairs of Meadowlarks and Purple Crackles, 

 a trio of Red-wings, a number of Coldfinches, nests not yet located, two pairs 

 of Yellow Warblers and Starlings — Starlings everywhere — so disagreeable to 

 the bird brotherhood in general as to deserve the name of feathered cats, and 

 last of all a platonic pair of Night Herons, the last of the flock that wintered 

 here, who, being nestless, still roost in the spruces and go down to tidewater 

 on foraging excursions. 



The morning chorus has, for the past week, resolved itself to a sextet, the 

 voices of Robin, Catbird, Wood Thrush, Wren, Song Sparrow and the drum- 

 ming of the Flicker above being particularly distinguishable. The Baltimore 

 Oriole is songless, though his wife still admonishes him querulously. His 

 plumage is still of the brightest, and, this morning as I saw him hanging upside 

 down from one of the heavily laden branches of the great cherry tree, his 

 colors seemed complimentary of the cherries themselves. 



A healthy cherry tree is so well shingled with deep green leaves as to form 

 an almost impenetrable screen to the watcher, and many birds are conse- 

 quently seen as silhouettes. The Oriole ate voraciously and yet scolded more 

 than he ate. Soon he was joined by his mate, and then my attention was 

 attracted by the careful way in which they kept on the outside of the trees in 

 feeding, a rather unusual proceeding on the part of birds of bright hues. 

 Were the glowing cherries offering them sufficient color protection? 



No; a second later a number of Robins dived in among the branches and 

 the tree literally exploded birds. A flock of some forty Starlings, adults and 

 young of the year, and half as many Robins, all engaged in a beak and wing 

 fight. In some cases the birds separated into pairs to fight it out, in others 

 small groups kept whirling about while the feathers flew. The battle waged 

 all over the garden and down across the Meadowlarks' old grass field. Now 

 and then, four or five young Starlings would perch on the top wire of the fence, 

 only to be swooped off sometimes by Robins and sometimes by their own kin, 

 who had lost their heads after the fashion of agitated human parents. Results, 

 dead, one Robin and one Starling; maimed, three Robins and one young 

 Starling, with a queer wing, who, however, trailed off so quickly that it could 

 not be caught. 



Robins are certainly pugnacious birds, but the Starling is more than a 

 match for them in a scientific encounter; for while the Robin pecks, the Starling 

 gives powerful, well-directed hammer blows on the head of its victim that are 

 very damaging. Also, the Starling, as far as my experience holds good, is fully 

 as quarrelsome as his countryman, the English Sparrow, in addition to the 



