rently so wise on some
occasions and so absurd on others! This vesper sparrow in bringing food
to her young, going through the same tactics over and over, learns no
more than a machine would. But, of course, the bird does not think;
hence the folly of her behavior to a being that does. The wisdom of
nature, which is so unerring under certain conditions, becomes to us
sheer folly under changed conditions.

When the mother bird's suspicion gets the better of her, she often
devours the food she has in her beak, so fearful is she of betraying her
precious secret. But the next time she comes she may only maneuver
briefly before approaching the nest, and then again hesitate and parley
with her fears and make false moves and keep her eye on me, as if I had
only just appeared upon the scene.

One of the best things a bird-lover can have in front of his house or
cabin is a small dead tree with numerous leafless branches. Many kinds
of birds love to perch briefly where they can look around them. I would
not exchange the old dead plum-tree that stands across the road in front
of my lodge for the finest living plum-tree in the world. It bears a
perpetual crop of birds. Of course the strictly sylvan birds, such as
the warblers, the vireos, the oven-bird, the veery and hermit thrushes,
do not come, but many kinds of other birds pause there during the day
and seem to enjoy the unobstructed view.

All the field and orchard and grove birds come. In early summer the
bobolink perches there, then tiptoes, or tip-wings, away to the meadows
below, pouring out his ecstatic song. The rose-breasted grosbeak comes
and shows his brilliant front. The purple finch, the goldfinch, the
indigo bunting, the bluebird, the kingbird, the phoebe-bird, the great
crested flycatcher, the robin, the oriole, the chickadee, the high-hole,
the downy woodpecker, the vesper sparrow, the social sparrow, or chippy,
pause there in the course of the day, and some of them several times
during the day. Occasionally the scarlet tanager lights it up with his
vivid color.

But more than all it is the favorite perch of a song sparrow whose mate
has a nest not far off. Here he perches and goes through his repertoire
of three or four different songs from dawn till nightfall, pausing only
long enough now and then to visit his mate or to refresh himself with a
little food. He repeats his strain six times a minute, often preening
his plumage in the intervals. He sings several