10 



as he is sometimes called. We are fortunate, for there is our bird in 

 his snufE-colored coat and dappled vest. I believe he is the very same 

 bird that I found here last j^ear. Is he not a picture to remember, 

 sitting on the topmost branch of that tree, with the morning sun 

 bringing out the red tints in his brown coat. Listen to that shower 

 of song, so full-toned, loud and clear. Such ecstatic trills and qua- 

 vers; and Nature has been his only teacher, but there is none above 

 her. Does he sing all the year round ? In the South he now and then 

 sings a low, dreamy, lulling song at night. Let us separate and ex- 

 amine every foot of ground quietly and closely for the nest, being 

 careful not to frighten the birds. But here is the nest. Why do you 

 suppose the male bird is no nearer his mate? To throw us off the 

 track, and distract our attention from his treasures? Is this the nest, 

 this straggling mass of twigs, roots, bark and leaf stems on the flat 

 projection of that fence-rail? Is it ever on the ground? See how 

 artfully it is concealed. It is the last place I would have thought of 

 looking, and when you do look, you can see nothing but a mass of 

 green leaves. What delicately pretty eggs. How many are there? 

 "Four. But one is different — a dirty, speckled looking egg — not like 

 those pale-green ones flecked with brown." Let me see it. It's a 

 cow-bird's egg. "What is a cow-bird?" You have certainly seen 

 them in the cow pasture, as black as crows, but much smaller and 

 with an evil, thievish eye. It is a bird of low principles. What do I 

 mean by that? It makes some other bird hatch its eggs. I have 

 caught it in the act of carrying off wren's eggs; and, of course, it had 

 left an egg of its own in the wren's nest. Is it not a shame that our 

 lovely brown thrush, devoid of a single vice, will have to rear this 

 ugly little foundling, who has taken the place of at least one nestling? 

 It will be much larger than the others, and, if it is like its kind, will 

 be very selfish and claim everything in sight, pushing the baby 

 thrashers aside. 



Suppose we sit down on the bank of this stream and rest a while. 

 What was that splash? Ah! A kingfisher after his prey. There he 

 mounts to his perch in that branch of sycamore overhanging the 

 water, with a fish in his beak. How will he kill it? Watch him and 

 see. There, he is beating it on the limb of the tree until the spines 

 of its fins are crushed. Is he choking? No, but certainly his eating 

 is not very enjoyable, judging by his gulping, stretching of neck, 

 jerldng of wings and contortion of body. What advantage is it to him 

 that he is all ashy-blue and purple and silver-gray and white, instead 

 of bright scarlet? Do you suppose a minnow looking up through the- 



