THE LIFE OF BIRDS 159 
only. So long as he sits silently on some stake 
or bush in the neighborhood of his family 
circle, you notice only his glossy black-cap and 
the white feathers in his handsome tail ; but let 
a Hawk or a Crow come near, and you find 
that he is something more than a mere lazy 
listener to the Bobolink : far up in the air, de- 
termined to be thorough in his chastisements, 
you will see him, with a comrade or two, driv- 
ing the bulky intruder away into the distance, 
till you wonder how he ever expects to find his 
own way back again. He speaks with emphasis 
on these occasions, and then reverts, more 
sedately than ever, to his accustomed silence. 
We know but little, even now, of the local 
distribution of our birds. I remember that in 
my very last conversation with Thoreau, in De- 
cember, 1861, he mentioned most remarkable 
facts in this department, which had fallen under 
his unerring eyes. The Hawk most common at 
Concord, the Red-tailed species, is not known 
near the seashore, twenty miles off,—as at 
Boston or Plymouth. The White-breasted Spar- 
row is rare in Concord; but the Ashburnham 
woods, thirty miles away, are full of it. The 
Scarlet Tanager’s is the commonest note in 
Concord, except the Red-eyed Flycatcher’s ; 
yet one of the best field ornithologists in Bos- 
ton had never heard it. The Rose-breasted , 
