THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 8/ 



eyed little towhees were as snugly packed within 

 the round shells, as the leaves were in the buds. 

 For a brief period while they were breaking 

 through their prison walls, it became necessary 

 for them to breathe, so in some mysterious way, 

 a little air cell in the end of each egg had been 

 previously formed for this particular purpose. 

 How much they had grown since they had been 

 released ! Through the dark plumbeous shocks of 

 down which sparsely beset their pot-shaped bodies 

 the skin appears as if it were tanned, and is only a 

 shade or two duller than the color of the feathers 

 on the flanks of the old birds. But one can not 

 linger long over the young family, for they are 

 shivering, and appear to be in need of sheltering 

 wings ; besides, the father and mother are in a 

 world of distress as they flit from bush to bush, 

 almost within reach. Both the male and female 

 now utter the same notes, " You shan't have — - 

 towkee-e-e." The introductory words of this asser- 

 tion come from their sharp-pointed tongues in 

 creaking discordant tones, which almost sets the 

 teeth on edge, they are so harsh, while the last 

 note has a kind of dismal, pathetic intonation. 

 Nature has given to the birds the power of elo- 

 quently expressing their strong emotion. Human 

 parents could not express with a more effect- 

 ing voice their anxiety for their children, than 

 do these towhees for their nestlings. But as I 



