ing to beat the snake off. Their tails and wings were spread,
and, panting with the heat and the desperate struggle, they presented a
most singular spectacle. They uttered no cry, not a sound escaped them;
they were plainly speechless with horror and dismay. Not once did they
drop their wings, and the peculiar expression of those uplifted palms,
as it were, I shall never forget. It occurred to me that perhaps here
was a case of attempted bird-charming on the part of the snake, so I
looked on from behind the fence. The birds charged the snake and
harassed him from every side, but were evidently under no spell save
that of courage in defending their nest. Every moment or two I could see
the head and neck of the serpent make a sweep at the birds, when the one
struck at would fall back, and the other would renew the assault from
the rear. There appeared to be little danger that the snake could strike
and hold one of the birds, though I trembled for them, they were so bold
and approached so near to the snake's head. Time and again he sprang at
them, but without success. How the poor things panted, and held up their
wings appealingly! Then the snake glided off to the near fence, barely
escaping the stone which I hurled at him. I found the nest rifled and
deranged; whether it had contained eggs or young, I know not. The male
sparrow had cheered me many a day with his song, and I blamed myself for
not having rushed at once to the rescue, when the arch enemy was upon
him. There is probably little truth in the popular notion that snakes
charm birds. The black snake is the most subtle, alert, and devilish of
our snakes, and I have never seen him have any but young, helpless birds
in his mouth.

* * * * *

If one has always built one's nest upon the ground, and if one comes of
a race of ground-builders, it is a risky experiment to build in a tree.
The conditions are vastly different. One of my near neighbors, a little
song sparrow, learned this lesson the past season. She grew ambitious;
she departed from the traditions of her race, and placed her nest in a
tree. Such a pretty spot she chose, too,--the pendent cradle formed by
the interlaced sprays of two parallel branches of a Norway spruce. These
branches shoot out almost horizontally; indeed, the lower ones become
quite so in spring, and the side shoots with which they are clothed
droop down, forming the slopes of miniature ridges; where the slopes