ty of his nest, oscillating between anxiety for his brood and
solicitude for his musical reputation. Some of the sparrows still
sing, and occasionally across the hot fields, from a tall tree in the
edge of the forest, comes the rich note of the scarlet tanager. This
tropical-colored bird loves the hottest weather, and I hear him even
in dog-days.

The remainder of the summer is the carnival of the swallows and
flycatchers. Flies and insects, to any amount, are to be had for the
catching; and the opportunity is well improved. See that sombre,
ashen-colored pewee on yonder branch. A true sportsman he, who never
takes his game at rest, but always on the wing. You vagrant fly, you
purblind moth, beware how you come within his range! Observe his
attitude, the curious movement of his head, his "eye in a fine frenzy
rolling, glancing from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven."

His sight is microscopic and his aim sure. Quick as thought he has
seized his victim and is back to his perch. There is no strife, no
pursuit,--one fell swoop and the matter is ended. That little sparrow,
as you will observe, is less skilled. It is the Socialis, and he finds
his subsistence properly in various seeds and the larvae of insects,
though he occasionally has higher aspirations, and seeks to emulate
the peewee, commencing and ending his career as a flycatcher by an
awkward chase after a beetle or "miller." He is hunting around in the
dull grass now, I suspect, with the desire to indulge this favorite
whim. There!--the opportunity is afforded him. Away goes a little
cream-colored meadow-moth in the most tortuous course he is capable
of, and away goes Socialis in pursuit. The contest is quite comical,
though I dare say it is serious enough to the moth. The chase
continues for a few yards, when there is a sudden rushing to cover in
the grass,--then a taking to wing again, when the search has become to
close, and the moth has recovered his wind. Socialis chirps angrily,
and is determined not to be beaten. Keeping, with the slightest
effort, upon the heels of the fugitive, he is ever on the point of
halting to snap him up, but never quite does it,--and so, between
disappointment and expectation, is soon disgusted and returns to
pursue his more legitimate means of subsistence.

In striking contrast to this serio-comic strife of the sparrow and the
moth, is he pigeon hawk's pursuit of the sparrow or the goldfinch. It
is a race of surprising spee