186 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 
The beautiful little indigo birds, looking like patches 
of blue sky among the leaves; are-nearly gone. The 
tanagers, with their tropical brilliancy, are almost 
extinct. Never one escapes if seen by a collector. The 
flickers, with golden wing shafts and crowns of crimson, 
are hunted like outlaws. The American gold finches, 
so sprightly and musical, and formerly: so plentiful in 
every field and orchard, where they were at home in 
trees or on pasture thistles, gems of jet and gold, are 
now seen only occasionally. They were too pretty to 
be allowed to live in this wicked world. 
The blue birds have had an equally hard fate. They 
naturally seek the haunts of men. They are confiding 
creatures, and too innocent to practice cunning, so they 
easily fall a prey to those who go in search of them. 
Last summer I visited many familiar old pastures and 
stumpy fields in which formerly I could find dozens of 
pairs nesting in May or June. In neither of these 
localities was there one left. They had been hunted 
until all were killed. The rollicking bobolinks, immor- 
_talized by Irving, no longer thrill the school-boys in 
country meadows. Their natural companions, the 
clover blossoms and buttercups, annually appear, but 
the glad, tuneful voices are hushed. The .plumage of 
these birds was attractive, and their bodies delicate 
morsels on the table—to these people “sweeter than 
song.” The wee humming birds, whose diminutive 
forms should have secured them from harm, are now 
oftener seen on wearing apparel than on the flowers. 
Their shining wings and ruby throats proved “their 
