which most birds utter when caught by a cat or a hawk - the voice of uncontrolled terror and pain, which is nearly the same in all species-dissonant and piercing. The other notes and calls are characteristic, but this last is the simple screech of common terrified nature.

When my bluebirds dashed at each other with beak and claw, their preliminary utterances had to my ears anything but a hostile sound. Indeed, for the bluebird to make a harsh, discordant sound seems out of the question. Once, when the two males lay upon the ground with outspread wings and locked beaks, a robin flew down by them and for a moment gazed intently at the blue splash upon the grass, and then went his way.

As the birds drifted about the grounds, first the males, then the females rolling on the grass or in the dust in fierce combat, and between times the members of each pair assuring each other of undying interest and attachment, I followed them, apparently quite unnoticed by them. Sometimes they would lie more than a minute upon the ground, each trying to keep his own or to break the other's hold. They seemed so oblivious of everything about them that I wondered if they might not at such times fall an easy prey to cats and hawks. Let me put their watchfulness to the test, I said. So, as the two males clinched again and fell to the ground, I cautiously approached them, hat in hand. When

ten feet away and unregarded, I made a sudden dash and covered them with my hat. The struggle continued for a few seconds under there, then all

was still. Sudden darkness had fallen upon the field of battle. What did they think had happened? Presently their heads and wings began to brush the inside of my hat. Then all was still again. Then I spoke to them, called to them, exulted over them, but they betrayed no excitement or alarm. Occasionally a head or a body came in gentle contact with the top or the sides of my hat.

But the two females were evidently agitated by the sudden disappearance of their contending lovers, and began uttering their mournful alarmnote. After a minute or two I lifted one side of my hat and out darted one of the birds; then I lifted the hat from the other. One of the females then rushed, apparently with notes of joy and congratulation, to one of the males, who gave her a spiteful tweak and blow. Then the other came and he served her the same. He was evidently a little bewildered, and not certain what had happened or who was responsible for it. Did he think the two females were in some way to blame? But he was soon reconciled to one of them again, as was the other male with the other, yet the two couples did not separate till the males had come in collision once more. Presently, however, they drifted apart, and each pair was soon holding an animated con

versation, punctuated by those pretty wing gestures, about the two bird-boxes.

These scenes of love and rivalry had lasted nearly all the forenoon, and matters between the birds. apparently remained as they were before — the members of each pair quite satisfied with each other. One pair occupied one of the bird-boxes in the vineyard and reared two broods there during the season, but the other pair drifted away and took up their abode somewhere else.

If they had come to an understanding, why this continued demonstration and this war between them? The unusual thing was the interest and the activity of the females. They outdid the males in making love and in making war. With most species of our birds, the females are quite indifferent to the blandishments of the males, if they are not actually bored by them. They flee from them, or spitefully resent their advances. In April a female robin may often be seen fighting off three or four of her obstreperous admirers, as if every feminine sentiment she possessed had been outraged.

But the bluebird is an exception; the female is usually very responsive, but only in the instance above related have I seen her so active in the courtship.

L

IV

A WALK IN THE FIELDS

ET us go and walk in the fields. It is the middle of a very early March- a March that has in some way cut out April and got into its place. I knew an Irish laborer, who during his last illness thought, when spring came, if he could walk in the fields, he would get well. I have observed that farmers, when harassed by trouble, or weighed down by grief, are often wont to go and walk alone in the fields. They find dumb sympathy and companionship there. I knew a farmer who, after the death of his only son, would frequently get up in the middle of the night and go and walk in his fields. It was said that he had been harsh and unjust to his son, and, during the last day the latter had worked and when the fatal illness was coming upon him, the father had severely upbraided him because he left his task and sat for a while under the fence. One can fancy him going to this very spot in his midnight wanderings, and standing in mute agony where the cruel words had been spoken, or throwing himself upon the ground, pleading in vain at the door of the irrevocable past. That door