26 Proceedings of the Newport Natural History Society. 
and watching the finches and yellow warblers in the willows 
by the side of the road, my attention was suddenly attracted, 
by a commotion among the birds, to a tree standing by a 
stone wall in one of the fields close at hand. Almost in 
an instant there was a large gathering of birds, consisting 
principally of robins and sparrows, but with others inter¬ 
mingled, which flew about the tree in a most excited man¬ 
ner, uttering their notes of alarm and distress. Occasionally 
some of them would dart down at the stone wall, as if to 
throw themselves against it. For some time I could get 
no clue to the cause of all this excitement. I fancied 
that perhaps a snake had made an attack upon some nest. 
But as I watched the point of attack of the birds as they dart¬ 
ed, screaming and scolding, at the wall, the secret was 
out upon discovering a weasel working his way along within 
it. I had a good view of him, but I could not see that he 
had anything in his mouth. But apparently the birds instinc¬ 
tively regarded him as we would a robber in our houses. 
He soon disappeared, but it was a long time before the 
noise and excitement among the birds passed away. These 
two incidents seem to show that in some way, in the face 
of a common enemy, the birds recognize that in union there 
is strength, and that for common defense they sink for the 
time individual differences. 
A small ravine just east of the railroad station at Tiv¬ 
erton is the home of many cat-birds in summer. In some 
respects cat-birds, although not unhandsome, are to me 
rather uncanny creatures. Their characteristic notes are 
actually feline in sound, while their jerky, tilting motions 
as they peer out at you from the thickets suggest distrust¬ 
fulness, and are unattractive. But I like to hear them when, 
undisturbed and unapprehensive, they give themselves up 
to song. It is a pinchbeck affair, it is true, quite weak 
and thin, a medley in which you catch distinct resemblances 
to the songs of other birds—for he is a mocking-bird. Often 
have I caught the robin strain in his song. But after all 
it sounds like only an imitation, as if he were trying, all by 
himself in a shy sort of way, to see whether he can sing 
