his impudence (_his_ impudence!) the mother suddenly
appeared, with an insect in her beak, and joined her voice to her
husband's. I was just declaring how cruel as well as useless it was for
us to stay, when she ungratefully gave a ludicrous turn to what was
intended for a very sage and considerate remark, by dropping almost at
my feet, stepping upon the edge of her nest, and offering the morsel to
one of her young. We watched the little tableau admiringly (I had never
seen a prettier show of nonchalance), and thanked our stars that we had
been saved from an involuntary slaughter of the innocents while
trampling all about the spot. The nest, which we had tried so hard to
find, was in plain sight, concealed only by the perfect agreement of its
color with that of the dead pine-branches in the midst of which it was
placed. The shrewd birds had somehow learned--by experience, perhaps,
like ourselves--that those who would escape disagreeable and perilous
conspicuity must conform as closely as possible to the world around
them.

According to my observation, the towhee is not much given to singing
after July; but he keeps up his call, which is little less musical than
his song, till his departure in late September. At that time of the year
the birds collect together in their favorite haunts; and I remember my
dog's running into the edge of a roadside pasture among some
cedar-trees, when there broke out such a chorus of _cherawinks_ that I
was instantly reminded of a swamp full of frogs in April.

After the tanager the Baltimore oriole (named for Lord Baltimore, whose
colors he wears) is probably the most gorgeous, as he is certainly one
of the best known, of New England birds. He has discovered that men,
bad as they are, are less to be dreaded than hawks and weasels, and so,
after making sure that his wife is not subject to sea-sickness, he
swings his nest boldly from a swaying shade-tree branch, in full view of
whoever may choose to look at it. Some morning in May--not far from the
10th--you will wake to hear him fifing in the elm before your window. He
has come in the night, and is already making himself at home. Once I saw
a pair who on the very first morning had begun to get together materials
for a nest. His whistle is one of the clearest and loudest, but he makes
little pretensions to music. I have been pleased and interested,
however, to see how tuneful he becomes in August, after most other birds
have ceased to sing,