ing upon a decayed branch, chirped vigorously,
no doubt in celebration of the victory. What the emotions of the parent
birds were, on seeing their destroyer's head so thoroughly bruised, and
a part of their little ones at least spared to them, I can only
conjecture; but I imagined the news spread immediately, and that my
praises as the deliverer were sung in that neighborhood ever after.

Till the middle of July there is a general equilibrium; the tide stands
poised; the holiday-spirit is unabated. But as the harvest ripens
beneath the long, hot days, the melody gradually ceases. The young are
out of the nest and must be cared for, and the moulting season is at
hand. After the Cricket has commenced to drone his monotonous refrain
beneath your window, you will not, till another season, hear the
Wood-Thrush in all his matchless eloquence. The Bobolink has become
careworn and fretful, and blurts out snatches of his song between his
scolding and upbraiding, as you approach the vicinity 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 more in dog-days than at any other time.

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. You might think him studying the atmosphere or the light, for
he has an air of contemplation and not of watchfulness. But step closer;
observe 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