144 TYRANT FLYCATC.YER, OR KING. BIRD. 
water from the overhanging branches of some tree, where he sits to 
dry and dress his plumage. ’ : 
Whatever antipathy may prevail against him for depredations on 
the dtones, or, if you will, onythe bees, I can assure the cultivator that 
this bird is greatly his friend, in destroying multitudes of insects, 
whose larve prey on the harvests of his fields, particularly his corn, 
fruit-trees, cucumbers, and pumpkins. . These noxious insects are 
the daily food of this bird; and he destroys, upon a very moderate 
average, some hundreds of them daily. The death of every King 
Bird is therefore an actual loss to the farmer, by multiplying the 
numbers of destructive insects, and encouraging the “depredations of 
Crows, Hawks, and Eagles, who avoid as much as possible his imme- 
diate vicinity. For myself, I must say that the King Bird possesses 
no common share of my regard. I honor this little bird for his extreme 
affection for his young; for his contempt of danger, and unexampled 
intrepidity ; for his meekness of behavior when there are no calls on 
his courage, a quality which, even in the human race, is justly consid- 
ered so noble: : 
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility ; 
But when the blast of war, &c. 5 
but, above all, I honor and esteem this bird for the millions of ruin- 
ous vermin which he rids us of; whose depredations, in one season, 
but for the services of this and other friendly birds, would far over- 
balance all the produce of the bee-hives in fifty. 
As a friend to this persecuted bird, and an enemy to prejudices of 
every description, will the reader allow me to set this mater in a 
somewhat clearer and stronger light, by presenting him with a short 
poetical epitome of the King Bird’s history ? 
Far in the south, where vast Maragnon flows, 
And boundless forests unknown wilds enclose ; 
Vine-tangled shores, and suffocating woods, 
Parched up with heat or drowned with pouring floods ; 
Where cach extreme alternately peeves, 
And Nature sad their ravages bewails ; 
Lo! high in air, above those trackless wastes, . 
With spring’s return the King Bird hither hastes ; 
Coasts the famed Gulf,* and, from his height, explores 
Its thousand streams, its Jong-indented shores, 
Its plains immense, wide opening on the day, 
Its lattes and isles, where feathered millions play : 
All tempt not him ; till, gazing from on high, 
CoLumBia’s regions wide below him lie; 
There end his wanderings and his wish to roam, 
There lie his native woods, his fields, his home ; 
Down, circling, he descends, from azure heights, 
And ona fie clows sassafras alights. 
Fatigued and silent, for a while he views 
His old frequented haunts, and shades recluse ; 
Sees brothers, comrades, every hour arrive — 
Hears, humming round, the tenants of the hive: 
Love fires his breast ; he wooes, and soon is blest; 
And in the blooming orchard builds his nest. 
“Oy 
* Of Mexico. 
