230 
HARPER’S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 
spring bough resists the wind by its softness and 
pliancy; the autumn branches by maturity and 
sturdy strength. And during the intermediate 
summer, while the sap is fluid or passing into 
pulp, the leaf is sucked by lame, for which it 
is at once birth-place, shelter, and sustenance. 
The juice is the food for the larvae, which are 
the food for the birds in the season of the young. 
When this food fails the birds cease to breed, 
and they leave for the south when their sum¬ 
mer mission is ended. 
As we say of the birds, so of the insects; 
they migrate from the leaf when it no longer 
furnishes suitable food for their young. And, 
still further, in neither case is the cold the nec¬ 
essary cause. We are accustomed to say that 
the leaves are stripped by the cold; the truth 
is, they fall because they are ripe, and warm 
weather would remove them as effectually. All 
these things work together, but the cold is a 
concomitant rather than a cause. If the frost 
should come earlier, the leaves would onlv with- 
er and cling to the boughs; if later, they would 
be already fallen through ripeness. The white 
oak seems to be growing here on its northern 
limit; certainly it is the last to put forth its 
leaves. “Plant corn when white-oak leaves 
are big as a squirrel’s foot,” was the Indian 
rule. The October frosts find them yet green 
and growing, and they consequently do not fall 
at once, but often only wither upon the branch, 
where they cling and flutter through all the 
winter gales, until the tender power of the 
spring bud pushes them away. 
Worms and insects are the almost exclusive 
food of all birds during the breeding season. 
Even if any other were suitable it is not pro¬ 
duced early enough for the purpose. All the 
fly-catchers, of course, limit themselves to these. 
You may watch swallows from May until Sep¬ 
tember, and have them constantly in sight, and 
yet never find them alighting any more than 
the petrel, except at their nests, or perhaps in 
giving their young the first lessons from the 
ridge of the barn to the dead top of some old 
apple-tree. They never touch grain though the 
barn should be filled, nor seeds of any kind. 
They find their food in that myriad of flies 
whose buzzing fills the upper air every where, 
over wood and field and town, during the hot 
days of summer. These are out of sight, but 
you may hear them so plainly that, though you 
may be familiar with the sound, you sometimes 
think they must be a swarm of runaway bees. 
Toward evening, or at the approach of a storm, 
they descend nearer to the earth, and then the 
low flight of the swallow becomes a sign of rain. 
But not the class of fly-catchers alone, but 
also birds which are graminivorous most of the 
year are examples of the same fact. The bob¬ 
olink, the reed-bird of the Delaware, and the 
rice-bird of the low flats of the Mexican Gulf, 
feed their young and subsist themselves upon 
worms and insects during the breeding season, 
like the robin and the lark; and even the crow 
and hawk at that time are further instances. 
There is, therefore, no excuse for the wanton 
destruction of birds, even if a man who would 
wantonly shoot a bird were conscientious about 
excuses. Those insects which pass the winter 
in a state of torpidity are revived very early; 
indeed, a very fine day in winter will give you 
the sight of buzzing flies and spiders as lively 
as in summer any where along the sunny slopes 
of mossy rocks. But insects are also hatched 
early. As soon as the twelfth of April I no¬ 
ticed a swarm of young mosquitoes of a large 
kind bursting their swaddling bands and rising 
from the surface of a pond, a southeast storm 
of wind and rain, and by no means a gentle 
one, prevailing at the time. 
When the breeding season is over, and the 
young are grown, most species begin to assem¬ 
ble in flocks, and then become graminivorous. 
These flocks are, in most instances, young birds, 
the old ones having left earlier. That birds 
guide their young in their southward journeys 
is a pleasant fancy, and nothing more. Almost 
all our birds breed twice in a season, and the 
oldest children always receive early and some¬ 
times rough instruction in the art of self-reli¬ 
ance, and the parents quietly leave the last 
brood, freeing themselves most expeditiously 
from family cares. You will find very few old 
red-breasts among September robins, and not 
even the faded summer plumage of an old bob¬ 
olink among many flocks. It is a common be¬ 
lief that they change their color thus suddenly. 
The truth is, the flocks are all of young birds. 
Wild pigeons are said never to pick up the 
beach-nuts in the woods near their breeding- 
places, but to leave them for their young; and 
this desertion of other birds may be only the 
same kindness. Certain it is, thev seek else- 
where the same kind of food which is ready 
here, and by which their young are sustained. 
This assembling in flocks for the southern 
journey—for they generally come in the spring 
by pairs—marks a change in habits, place, and 
food. Those which have passed the summer in 
dense swamps and thickets now come into the 
open fields, and the shy acquaintances of your 
summer walks in remote, still woods, will now 
return your visits, and husk out our lettuce 
heads and steal flower seeds from your very 
door. 
There are two mountain ash-trees under my 
window, and the fruit proved very attractive to 
a flock of wax-wings. An old gentleman, an 
invalid, who lived opposite, wished it to be pre¬ 
served, for the red berries were pleasant to see, 
brightened by winter’s sun and snow, and re¬ 
lieved eyes weary of the same prospect. So 
one morning, when the tree was as full of birds 
as berries, I raised the window and thrust out 
a double-barrel loaded with powder only—the 
little pilferers eying me meanwhile with good- 
natured impudence. When I fired they disap¬ 
peared over the tree-tops in terrible fright and 
confusion ; but having held a roll-call in a ma¬ 
ple grove, and finding none missing, they at 
once returned and resumed breakfast with the 
