llowing the dreadful tragedy in
Florida, where thousands perished of hunger, and not one of the
blue-coated darlings was to be seen where had always been many.

Perhaps, too, even more destructive than the death by hunger that year
is the death which I am assured is common in all years about Washington,
and doubtless other places; death at the hands of man--for the table.
Who could eat a bluebird! It is bad enough to doom the bobolink to the
pot after he has changed his coat and become a reedbird, and given some
reason for his fate by his unfortunate fondness for rice. But what
excuse can there be for bringing the "Darling of the Spring" to this
woeful end?

To the deserted orchard came but one bird, a ph[oe]be, and I believe his
object was to retire from the world, for he was the most modest bird of
his family that I ever saw. He dwelt in an obscure corner, and never so
much as tried the peak of the barn, which was temptingly near. When he
called it was almost in a whisper. I saw no indications that he had a
nest or a family, and I am inclined to think that he was a misanthrope
and a hermit.

[Sidenote: _A BIRD BABY SHOW._]

Under my window on the other side came a vesper sparrow family. Three
youngsters in bright new coats, quite unlike the worn and faded hues of
their parents' dress. On the stone wall, or perched on a telegraph pole,
close to the solitary insulator on the summit, the singer poured out his
sweet little song, ending--in his best moods--in an exquisite trill
that resembled the silver bell of the chewink. The family spent their
time in the road or the meadow, the mother working hard to supply the
hungry little mouths, which gave vent to queer whining cries. One day
when it was raining the mother and one infant were out on the usual
business, when suddenly they became aware of a chipmunk about eighteen
inches from them, and at the same instant he saw them. He sat up very
erect to look over the grass, and, holding his funny little hands over
his heart, stared at the pair as if he had never seen birds. The baby
sparrow flew a foot or two, but the elder ran toward him most valiantly,
upon which the brave chipmunk took to his heels, scrambled up the stone
wall, and disappeared.

Before the window, too, were always the swallows, for the telegraph wire
was a favorite perch. And after the young were out, there was every day
a baby show, the eave and tree swallows having adopted the wires as
their out-of-do