with equanimity.

The English sparrows are not the only birds that disturb the harmony of
the bird realm. Offenders must needs come there as well as in the
human sphere. A friend who is entirely trustworthy tells me the
following story. He and his wife were driving along a country road,
when their attention was directed to a kingbird in hot pursuit of a
red-headed woodpecker, which had evidently been poaching on the
first-named bird's preserves. Being an expert flyer, the kingbird had
almost overtaken the fugitive, when suddenly the red-head wheeled to
one side, flung himself somehow or other over a telegraph wire, turning
at the same time and catching with his claws at the wire, where he
clung, his body bent in an arc, holding his enemy at bay with his long,
pointed beak and spiny tail. Of course, the martin could not attack
him in that position, as he could not afford to run the risk of being
impaled on the red-head's spear.

Nor was that all. The martin sailed a short distance away, and the
woodpecker thought it safe to take to wing again. The kingbird again
started in swift pursuit, filling the air with his loud chirping, sure
of his game this time; but he was balked, as before, by the red-head's
sudden dash to the telegraph wire. This little comedy was repeated
several times while my friends watched with surprise and amusement.

There is tragedy as well as comedy in the world of feathers. Ernest
Thompson Seton's graphic animal stories would leave a pleasanter taste
in the mouth if they ended less tragically, but they would not be so
true to life as it is in the faunal realm. It must be true that the
lives of most birds and animals end in tragedy, so numerous, alert, and
persistent are their foes. As soon as a bird begins to grow old and
infirm, losing its keenness of vision and its swiftness of movement, it
cannot help falling a prey to its rapacious enemies. For this reason
you seldom find a feeble animal or bird in the open, or one that has
lain down and died a natural death.

However, strange as it may seem, I have found the corpses of several
birds in the wild outdoors. At an abandoned limestone quarry one
spring I discovered the nest of a pair of phoebes. I called at the
pretty domicile a number of times in my rambles. It was set on a shelf
of one stratum of rock, and roofed over by another. One day I noticed
the little dame sitting quietly in her cup, and decided to go near;
just why, I ca