at on a limb holding the egg in his forepaws and bit a hole
in one side of it. Then he drained the contents, dropped the shell to the
ground and was about to get another egg when he was driven off.
Apparently he forgot the location of the nest after that, for the other
three eggs hatched out safely.

* * * * *

The air is filled with bird music. It began with the larks, closely
followed by the robins, and then the noise of the crows. No change in the
program since the days of Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida when:

_"The busy day
Wak'd by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows."_

Then came the liquid notes of the cowbirds, like the pouring of mingled
molasses and olive oil. Three handsome fellows in ebony and dark brown
sit on the branch of a tall elm and just beneath them sit three brownish
gray females, all in a row. Cowbird No. 1 comes nearer the end of the
branch, ruffles out his head as if he were about to have a sick spell
and then emits that famous molasses and oil kind of whistle, sufficient
to identify the cowbird anywhere. The other males repeat his example and
meanwhile the females look on with approving eyes, as if it was a
vaudeville performance by amateurs in polite society. The cowbirds, male
and female, are all free lovers. There is no mating among them. The
female lays her eggs in some other bird's nest, like the English cuckoo,
as if she were too busy with the duties and pleasures of society to care
for her own children.

A diskcissel[TN-4] sits on a tree instead of a reed or a bush as usual
and sings "See, see, Dick Cissel, Cissel." Chewinks are down scratching
among the dry leaves with the white-throated sparrows, their
strong-muscled legs sending the leaves flying as if a barnyard hen were
doing the scratching. A beautiful hermit thrush is near but he is silent.
The chewink in his harlequin suit of black, white, and chestnut varies
his sharp and cheerful "Chewink" with a musical little strain, "Do-fah,
fah-fah-fah-fah," and one of the white-throated sparrows now and then
stops feeding and flies up to a hazel twig to give his sweet and
plaintive little "pea-a-body, peabody, peabody." Very pretty, but not so
beautiful as the three broad white stripes on his crown and the white
choker under his chin.

Suddenly a brown thrasher breaks into a melody from the top of a wild
cherry, and then it is as if a famous operatic coloratura soprano had
joi