less and silent on a
branch, head drawn down upon his shoulders, apparently in the deepest
meditation. When he sees food coming he is gently agitated, rises upon
his weak legs, softly flutters his wings and opens his mouth, but
never--never cries. Should one put a hand down to take him, as seemingly
could be done easily, he will slip out from under it, drop to the
ground, and disappear, in perfect silence.

The cry-baby of the bird world is the Baltimore oriole. As soon as this
fluffy young person appears outside of his nursery, sometimes even
before, he begins to utter a strange almost constant "chrr-r-r." He is
not particularly active of movement, but he cannot keep silent. One
little oriole mother whom I watched in Massachusetts had no help in
raising her brood, her mate spending his time on the upper branches of
the tree. He could not be blamed, however; he was, so far as I could
see, perfectly willing to aid in the support of the family, but Madam
actually would not allow him even to visit the homestead. When the young
were out he assumed his share of the labor. The first yellow-haired
bairn mounted the edge of the nest one morning, and after a little
stretching and pluming, tried to fly. But alas he was held! Two or
three times he renewed the attempt, his struggles always ending in
failure, and I feared I should see a tragedy. Half an hour later the
mother returned, and whether she pushed him down, or merely advised him
to go back and try again, I cannot say. The fact is that he did
disappear in the nest, where he remained for two or three hours, for it
is probably safe to assume that the urchin who came up later was the
same. This time, without delay upon the brink, he climbed upon a twig,
hopped about a little, and before long flew several feet, alighting on a
small branch of the same tree. Hardly had he established himself safely
and resumed his ordinary call, when down upon him from above came a
robin, who, strange to say, had a nest in one of the upper branches of
the same tall maple. This robin had always recognized the right of the
oriole parents to their share of the tree, but the young one was a
stranger, and he fell upon him accordingly. He knocked him off his
perch; the unfortunate little fellow fell a few feet, then gathered
himself, fluttered and caught at the outside of a clump of leaves on the
end of a twig, where after frantic struggling he managed to secure a
hold. Perhaps the robin saw his mistak