Suddenlyceasingtheircriesandthreats。theyperchedquietlywithinreachofmyhand，andwatchedmeinmyworkofmanumission。
This，owingtotheflutteringterroroftheprisoners，wasanaffairofsomedelicacy；buterelongIwasrewardedbyseeingoneofthemflyawaytoaneighboringtree，whilethecripple，makingaparachuteofhiswings，camelightlytotheground，andhoppedoffaswellashecouldwithoneleg，obsequiouslywaitedonbyhiselders。AweeklaterIhadthesatisfactionofmeetinghiminthepine—walk，ingoodspirits，andalreadysofarrecoveredastobeabletobalancehimselfwiththelamefoot。IhavenodoubtthatinhisoldageheaccountedforhislamenessbysomehandsomestoryofawoundreceivedatthefamousBattleofthePines，whenourtribe，overcomebynumbers，wasdrivenfromitsancientcamping—
ground。Oflateyearsthejayshavevisitedusonlyatintervals；andinwintertheirbrightplumage，setoffbythesnow，andtheircheerfulcry，areespeciallywelcome。TheywouldhavefurnishedAesopwithafable，forthefeatheredcrestinwhichtheyseemtotakesomuchsatisfactionisoftentheirfatalsnare。Countryboysmakeaholewiththeirfingerinthesnow—crustjustlargeenoughtoadmitthejay’shead，and，hollowingitoutsomewhatbeneath，baititwithafewkernelsofcorn。Thecrestslipseasilyintothetrap，butrefusestobepulledoutagain，andhewhocametofeastremainsaprey。
Twicehavethecrow—blackbirdsattemptedasettlementinmypines，andtwicehavetherobins，whoclaimarightofpreemption，sosuccessfullyplayedthepartofborder—ruffiansastodrivethemaway，——tomygreatregret，fortheyarethebestsubstitutewehaveforrooks。AtShadyHill（1）（now，alas！emptyofitssolong—lovedhousehold）theybuildbyhundreds，andnothingcanbemorecheerythantheircreakingclatter（likeaconventionofold—fashionedtavern—signs）astheygatherateveningtodebateinmassmeetingtheirwindypolitics，ortogossipattheirtent—doorsovertheeventsoftheday。Theirportisgrave，andtheirstalkacrosstheturfasmartialasthatofasecond—rateghostinHamlet。Theynevermeddledwithmycorn，sofarasIcoulddiscover。
（1）ThehomeoftheNortons，inCambridge，whowereatthetimeofthispaperinEurope。
ForafewyearsIhadcrows，buttheirnestsareanirresistiblebaitforboys，andtheirsettlementwasbrokenup。Theygrewsowontedastothrowoffagreatpartoftheirshyness，andtotoleratemynearapproach。OneveryhotdayIstoodforsometimewithintwentyfeetofamotherandthreechildren，whosatonanelmboughovermyheadgaspinginthesultryair，andholdingtheirwingshalf—spreadforcoolness。Allbirdsduringthepairingseasonbecomemoreorlesssentimental，andmurmursoftnothingsinatoneveryunlikethegrinding—organrepetitionandloudnessoftheirhabitualsong。Thecrowisverycomicalasalover，andtohearhimtryingtosoftenhiscroaktotheproperSaintPreux（1）standardhassomethingtheeffectofaMississippiboatmanquotingTennyson。
Yettherearefewthingstomyearmoremelodiousthanhiscawofaclearwintermorningasitdropstoyoufilteredthroughfivehundredfathomsofcrispblueair。Thehostilityofallsmallerbirdsmakesthemoralcharacteroftherow，forallhisdeaconlikedemeanorandgarb，somewhatquestionable。Hecouldneversallyforthwithoutinsult。Thegoldenrobins，especially，wouldchasehimasfarasIcouldfollowwithmyeye，makinghimduckclumsilytoavoidtheirimportunatebills。Idonotbelieve，however，thatherobbedanynestshereabouts，fortherefuseofthegas—works，which，inourfree—and—easycommunity，isallowedtopoisontheriver，suppliedhimwithdeadalewivesinabundance。Iusedtowatchhimmakinghisperiodicalvisitstothesalt—marshesandcomingbackwithafishinhisbeaktohisyoungsavages，who，nodoubt，likeitinthatconditionwhichmakesitsavorytotheKanakasandothercorvineracesofmen。
（1）SeeRousseau’s*LaNouvelleHeloise。*
Oriolesareingreatplentywithme。Ihaveseensevenmalesflashingaboutthegardenatonce。Amerrycrewofthemswingtheirhammocksfromthependulousboughs。Duringoneoftheselateryears，whenthecanker—wormsstrippedourelmsasbareaswinter，thesebirdswenttothetroubleofrebuildingtheirunroofednests，andchoseforthepurposetreeswhicharesafefromthoseswarmingvandals，suchastheashandthebutton—wood。Oneyearapair（disturbed，Isuppose，elsewhere）builtasecondnextinanelmwithinafewyardsofthehouse。Myfriend，EdwardE。Hale，toldmeoncethattheoriolerejectedfromhisweballstrandsofbrilliantcolor，andIthoughtitastrikingexampleofthatinstinctofconcealmentnoticeableinmanybirds，thoughitshouldseeminthisinstancethatthenestwasamplyprotectedbyitspositionfromallmaraudersbutowlsandsquirrels。Lastyear，however，IhadthefullestproofthatMr。Halewasmistaken。Apairoforiolesbuiltonthelowesttrailerofaweepingelm，whichhungwithintenfeetofourdrawing—roomwindow，andsolowthatIcouldreachitfromtheground。Thenestwaswhollywovenandfeltedwithravellingsofwoollencarpetinwhichscarletpredominated。Wouldthesamethinghavehappenedinthewoods？Ordidthenearnessofahumandwellingperhapsgivethebirdsagreaterfeelingofsecurity？Theyareverybold，bytheway，inquestofcordage，andIhaveoftenwatchedthemstrippingthefibrousbarkfromahoneysucklegrowingovertheverydoor。But，indeed，allmybirdslookuponmeasifIwereameretenantatwill，andtheywerelandlords。WithshameIconfessit，Ihavebeenbulliedevenbyahummingbird。
Thisspring，asIwascleansingapear—treeofitslichens，oneoftheselittlezigzaggingblurscamepurringtowardme，couchinghislongbilllikealance，histhroatsparklingwithangryfire，towarnmeofffromaMissouri—currantwhosehoneyhewassipping。Andmanyatimehehasdrivenmeoutofaflower—bed。Thissummer，bytheway，apairofthesewingedemeraldsfastenedtheirmossyacorn—cupuponaboughofthesameelmwhichtheorioleshadenlivenedtheyearbefore。Wewatchedalltheirproceedingsfromthewindowthroughanopera—glass，andsawtheirtwonestlingsgrowfromblackneedleswithatuftofdownatthelowerend，tilltheywhirledawayontheirfirstshortexperimentalflights。Theybecamestrongofwinginasurprisinglyshorttime，andIneversawthemorthemalebirdafter，thoughthefemalewasregularasusualinhervisitstoourpetuniasandverbenas。Idonotthinkitgroundenoughforageneralization，butinthemanytimeswhenIwatchedtheoldbirdsfeedingtheiryoung，themotheralwaysalighted，whilethefatherasuniformlyremaineduponthewing。
Thebobolinksaregenerallychancevisitors，tinklingthroughthegardeninblossoming—time，butthisyear，owingtothelongrainsearlyintheseason，theirfavoritemeadowswereflooded，andtheyweredriventotheupland。SoIhadapairofthemdomiciledinmygrassfield。Themaleusedtoperchinanapple—tree，theninfullbloom，and，whileIstoodperfectlystillcloseby，hewouldcircleaway，quiveringroundtheentirefieldoffiveacres，withnobreakinhissong，andsettledownagainamongtheblooms，tobehurriedawayalmostimmediatelybyanewraptureofmusic。HehadthevolubilityofanItaliancharlatanatafair，and，likehim，appearedtobeproclaimingthemeritsofsomequackremedy。*Opodeldoc—
opodeldoc—try—Doctor—Lincoln’s—opodeldoc！*heseemedtorepeatoverandoveragain，witharapiditythatwouldhavedistancedthedeftest—tonguedFigarothateverrattled。IrememberCountGurowskisayingonce，withthateasysuperiorityofknowledgeaboutthiscountrywhichisthemonopolyofforeigners，thatwehadnosinging—birds！Well，well，Mr。HepworthDixon（1）hasfoundthetypicalAmericainOneidaandSaltLakeCity。Ofcourse，anintelligentEuropeanisthebestjudgeofthesematters。Thetruthistherearemoresinging—birdsinEuropebecausetherearefewerforests。Thesesongsterslovetheneighborhoodofmanbecausehawksandowlsarerarer，whiletheirownfoodismoreabundant。
Mostpeopleseemtothink，themoretrees，themorebirds。EvenChateaubriand，whofirsttriedtheprimitive—forest—cure，andwhosedescriptionofthewildernessinitsimaginativeeffectsisunmatched，fanciesthe\"peopleoftheairsingingtheirhymnstohim。\"Sofarasmyownobservationgoes，thefartheronepenetratesthesombresolitudesofthewoods，themoreseldomdoeshehearthevoiceofanysinging—bird。InspiteofChateaubriand’sminutenessofdetail，inspiteofthatmarvellousreverberationofthedecrepittreefallingofitsownweight，whichhewasthefirsttonotice，Icannothelpdoubtingwhetherhemadehiswayverydeepintothewilderness。
Atanyrate，inalettertoFontanes，writtenin1804，hespeaksof*meschevauxpaissantaquelquedistance。*TobesureChateaubriandwasattomountthehighhorse，andthismayhavebeenbutanafterthoughtofthe*grandseigneur，*butcertainlyonewouldnotmakemuchheadwayonhorsebacktowardthedruidfastnessesoftheprimaevalpine。
（1）Inhisbookoftravels，*NewAmerica。*
Thebobolinksbuildinconsiderablenumbersinameadowwithinaquarterofamileofus。Ahouselesslandpassesthroughthemidstoftheircamp，andinclearwesterlyweather，attherightseason，onemayhearascoreofthemsingingatonce。Whentheyarebreeding，ifIchancetopass，oneofthemalebirdsalwaysaccompaniesmelikeaconstable，flittingfromposttopostoftherail—fence，withashortnoteofreproofcontinuallyrepeated，tillI
amfairlyoutoftheneighborhood。Thenhewillswingawayintotheairandrundownthewind，gurglingmusicwithoutstintovertheunheedingtussocksofmeadow—grassanddarkclumpsofbulrushesthatmarkhisdomain。
Wehavenobirdwhosesongwillmatchthenightingale’sincompass，nonewhosenoteissorichasthatoftheEuropeanblackbird；butformereraptureIhaveneverheardthebobolink’srival。Buthisopera—seasonisashortone。Thegroundandtreesparrowsareourmostconstantperformers。ItisnowlateinAugust，andoneofthelattersingseverydayandalldaylonginthegarden。Tillwithinafortnight，apairofindigo—birdswouldkeepuptheirlively*duo*foranhourtogether。WhileIwrite，IhearanoriolegayasinJune，andtheplaintive*may—be*ofthegoldfinchtellsmeheisstealingmylettuce—seeds。Iknownotwhattheexperienceofothersmayhavebeen，buttheonlybirdIhaveeverhardsinginthenighthasbeenthechip—bird。Ishouldsayhesangaboutasoftenduringthedarknessascockscrow。Onecanhardlyhelpfancyingthathesingsinhisdreams。
\"Fatheroflight，whatsunnieseed，WhatglanceofdayhastthouconfinedIntothisbird？ToallthebreedThisbusieraythouhastassigned；
Theirmagnetismworksallnight，AnddreamsofParadiseandlight。\"
Onsecondthought，IremembertohaveheardthecuckoostrikethehoursnearlyallnightwiththeregularityofaSwissclock。
Thedeadlimbsofourelms，whichIsparetothatend，bringustheflickereverysummer，andalmostdailyIhearhiswildscreamandlaughcloseathand，himselfinvisible。Heisashybird，butafewdaysagoIhadthesatisfactionofstudyinghimthroughtheblindsashesatonatreewithinafewfeetofme。Seensonearandatrest，hemakesgoodhisclaimtothetitleofpigeon—woodpecker。
Lumberershaveanotionthatheisharmfultotimber，digginglittleholesthroughthebarktoencouragethesettlementofinsects。Theregularringsofsuchperforationswhichonemayseeinalmostanyapple—orchardseemtogivesomeprobabilitytothistheory。Almosteveryseasonasolitaryquailvisitsus，and，unseenamongthecurrantbushes，alls*BobWhite，BobWhite，*asifhewereplayingathide—and—seekwiththatimaginarybeing。Ararervisitantistheturtle—dove，whosepleasantcoo（somethinglikethemuffledcrowofacockfromacoopcoveredwithsnow）Ihavesometimesheard，andwhomIoncehadthegoodlucktoseeclosebymeinthemulberry—tree。Thewild—pigeon，oncenumerous，Ihavenotseenformanyyears。（1）Ofsavagebirds，ahen—hawknowandthenquartershimselfuponusforafewdays，sittingsluggishinatreeafterasurfeitofpoultry。Oneofthemonceofferedmeanearshotfrommystudy—windowonedrizzlydayforseveralhours。ButitwasSunday，andIgavehimthebenefitofitsgracioustruceofGod。
（1）Theymadetheirappearanceagainthissummer（1870）。——J。R。L。
Certainbirdshavedisappearedfromourneighborhoodwithinmymemory。IrememberwhenthewhippoorwillcouldbeheardinSweetAuburn。Thenight—hawk，oncecommon，isnowrare。Thebrownthrushhasmovedfartherupcountry。ForyearsIhavenotseenorheardanyofthelargerowls，whosehootingwasonceofmyboyishterrors。Thecliff—swallow，strangeemigrant，thateastwardtakeshisway，hascomeandgoneagaininmytime。Thebank—swallows，wellnighinnumerableduringmyboyhood，nolongerfrequentthecrumblycliffofthegravel—pitbytheriver。Thebarn—swallows，whichonceswarmedinourbarn，flashingthroughthedustysun—streakofthemow，havebeengonethesemanyyears。
Myfatherwouldleadmeouttoseethemgatherontheroof，andtakecounselbeforetheiryearlymigration，asMr。WhiteusedtoseethematSelborne。*Eheufugaces！*Thankfortune，theswiftstillglueshisnest，androllshisdistantthundersnightanddayinthewide—throatedchimneys，stillsprinklestheeveningairwithhismerrytwittering。ThepopulousheronryinFreshPondmeadowshaswellnighbrokenup，butstillapairortwohaunttheoldhome，asthegypsiesofEllangowantheirruinedhuts，andeveryeveningflyoverusriverwards，clearingtheirthroatswithahoarsehawkastheygo，and，incloudyweather。scarcehigherthanthetopsofthechimneys。SometimesIhaveknownonetoalightinoneofourtrees，thoughforwhatpurposeInevercoulddivine。Kingfishershavesometimespuzzledmeinthesameway，perchedathighnooninapine，springingtheirwatchman’srattlewhentheyflittedawayfrommycuriosity，andseemingtoshovetheirtop—heavyheadsalongasamandoesawheelbarrow。
Somebirdshaveleftus，Isuppose，becausethecountryisgrowinglesswild。Ioncefoundasummerduck’snestwithinaquarterofamileofourhouse，butsucha*trouvaille*wouldbeimpossiblenowasKidd’streasure。Andyetthemeretamingoftheneighborhooddoesnotquitesatisfymeasanexplanation。Twentyyearsago，onmywaytobatheintheriver，Isaweverydayabraceofwoodcock，onthemiryedgeofaspringwithinafewrodsofahouse，andconstantlyvisitedbythirstycows。Therewasnogrowthofanykindtoconcealthem，andyettheseordinarilyshybirdswerealmostasindifferenttomypassingascommonpoultrywouldhavebeen。Sincebird—nestinghasbecomescientific，anddignifieditselfasoology，that，nodoubt，ispartlytoblameforsomeofourlosses。
Butsomeoldfriendsareconstant。Wilson’sthrushcomeseveryyeartoremindmeofthatmostpoeticorornithologists。Heflitsbeforemethroughthepine—walkliketheverygeniusofsolitude。A
pairofpeweeshavebuiltimmemoriallyonajuttingbrickinthearchedentrancetotheice—house；alwaysonthesamebrick，andnevermorethanasinglepair，thoughtwobroodsoffiveeachareraisedthereeverysummer。Howdotheysettletheirclaimtothehomestead？Bywhatrightofprimogeniture？Oncethechildrenofamanemployedabouttheplace*oologized*thenest，andthepeweesleftusforayearortwo。IfelttowardsthoseboysasthemessmatesoftheAncientMariner（1）didtowardshimafterhehadshotthealbatross。Butthepeweescamebackatlast，andoneofthemisnowonhiswontedperch，sonearmywindowthatIcanheartheclickofhisbillashesnapsaflyonthewingwiththeunerringprecisionastatelyTrasteverinashowsinthecaptureofhersmallerdeer。Thepeweeisthefirstbirdtopipeupinthemorning；
andduringtheearlysummerhepreludeshismatutinalejaculationof*pewee*withaslenderwhistle，unheardatanyothertime。Hesaddenswiththeseason，and，assummerdeclines，hechangeshisnoteto*cheu，pewee！*asifinlamentation。HadhebeenanItalianbird，Ovidwouldhavehadaplaintivetaletotellabouthim。Heissofamiliarasoftentopursueaflythroughtheopenwindowintomylibrary。
（1）InColeridge’spoemofthatname。
Thereissomethinginexpressiblydeartomeintheseoldfriendshipsofalifetime。Thereisscarceatreeofminebuthashad，atsometimeorother，ahappyhomesteadamongitsboughs，andtowhichIcannotsay，\"Manylightheartsandwings，Whichnowbehead，lodgedinthylivingbowers。\"
MywalkunderthepineswouldlosehalfitssummercharmwereI
tomissthatshyanchorite，theWilson’sthrush，norhearinhaying—
timethemetallicringofhissong，thatjustifieshisrusticnameof*scythe—whet。*IprotectmygameasjealouslyasanEnglishsquire。Ifanybodyhadoologizedacertaincuckoo’snestIknowof（Ihaveapairinmygardeneveryyear），itwouldhaveleftmeasoreplaceinmymindforweeks。Ilovetobringtheseaboriginesbacktothemansuetudetheyshowedtotheearlyvoyagers，andbefore（forgivetheinvoluntarypun）theyhadgrownaccustomedtomanandknewhissavageways。Andtheyrepayyourkindnesswithasweetfamiliaritytoodelicateevertobreedcontempt。IhavemadeaPenn—treatywiththem，preferringthattothePuritanwaywiththenatives，whichconvertedthemtoalittleHebraismandagreatdealofMedfordrum。Iftheywillnotcomenearenoughtome（asmostofthemwill），Ibringthemclosewithanopera—glass，——amuchbetterweaponthanagun。Iwouldnot，ificould，convertthemfromtheirprettypaganways。TheonlyoneIsometimeshavesavagedoubtsaboutistheredsquirrel。I*think*heoologizes。I
*know*heeatscherries（wecountedfiveofthematonetimeinasingletree，thestonespatteringdownlikethesparsehailthatpreludesastorm），andthathegnawsoffthesmallendofpearstogetattheseeds。Hestealsthecornfromunderthenosesofmypoultry。Butwhatwouldyouhave？HewillcomedownuponthelimbofthetreeIamlyingundertillheiswithinayardofme。Heandhismatewillscurryupanddownthegreatblack—walnutformydiversion，chatteringlikemonkeys。CanIsignhisdeath—warrantwhohastoleratedmeabouthisgroundssolong？NotI。Letthemsteal，andwelcome。IamsureIshould，hadIhadthesamebringingupandthesametemptation。Asforthebirds，Idonotbelievethereisoneofthembutdoesmoregoodthanharm；andofhowmanyfeatherlessbipedscanthisbesaid？