i82 Bird- Lore 



weight of superior size. The StarHng, without apparent reason, will attack 

 a Robin on the nest, the melee, in two cases, having caused the set of eggs to 

 be broken, and it has not been an uncommon sight to see a pair of Robins 

 within a few feet of their home, parrying with difficulty the vicious thrusts of 

 a single Starling. It would be interesting to know if there is some special 

 antipathy between these two species, or if it is merely because the nest of the 

 Robin is so much more conspicuous than that of any other bird that it invites 

 attack. 



For some time after the battle, the great cherry tree remained in apparent 

 quiet; but though not a form had been seen to enter, cherry pits were contin- 

 ually dropping, together with some ripe fruit, and I crept cautiously back of 

 the tree to find the cause. When my eyes became accustomed to the depths 

 of the dim, flecked shade, I saw a solemn company of five feasting in a manner 

 almost suggestive of funeral baked meats — two pairs of crested Cedar-birds 

 and an odd one. Later in the day I found that a pair of these was incubating, 

 their nest being high in a nearby apple tree. The birds that were evidently 

 mated sat close together, but the single bird was somewhat apart and wore 

 a very alert and knowing expression, keeping such a sharp lookout on things 

 beyond that it would frequently leave the tree to make excursions after 

 insects, Flycatcher fashion. 



As a slight noise, little more than the wind in the grass, disturbed him, 

 and he slunk off down the meadow, quickly seeking the protecting sides of a 

 half dried water-course, a fresh commotion arose in the tree. A Catbird began 

 it by calling for help, and quickly succeeded in collecting a crowd among which 

 the sharp warning note of the Wood Thrush was prominent. Even a couple 

 of Purple Crackles responded, a quite unusual occurrence, as they do not seem 

 to have quick sympathies, and are so often rebuked for conduct unbefitting 

 polite birds by their tuneful brethren as to be beyond the pale. The enemy 

 this time consisted of two adult red squirrels and three in the kitten stage; 

 all were feasting on the cherries, the young merely eating the pulp, the par- 

 ents splitting the pits with great relish. To many hard pecks, aimed chiefly 

 at their poppy eyes, the squirrels replied by a fiendish chattering, but it took 

 a systematic onslaught of twenty minutes duration to dislodge even one of the 

 merry devils. Meanwhile, a single Crow, perching in the top of a sycamore, 

 kept up an insistent monotonous one-minute calling, not unlike the tolling of 

 a cracked buoy bell veiled by fog. 



At best, the natural enemies of the wild song-bird make an appalling array, 

 and it seems miraculous that any survive when the unnatural foes are added 

 to the list — the cat, the tree-trimmer and the rustic vandal who cuts every 

 wayside bush and draping vine on the odious general principle of neatness. 

 In sitting in one's own garden, in and out of season, so many lesser details 

 appear in addition to the greater ones; and yet it is dangerous to take the 

 guiding of the balance-wheel of nature into one's own hands too rashly. 



