necks and horrified looks the birds alighted upon the branches, and
between their screams would snatch off a cherry, as if the act was some
relief to their outraged feelings.

The chirp and chatter of the young of birds which build in concealed or
inclosed places, like the woodpeckers, the house wren, the high-hole,
the oriole, is in marked contrast to the silence of the fledglings of
most birds that build open and exposed nests. The young of the
sparrows,--unless the social sparrow be an exception,--warblers,
fly-catchers, thrushes, never allow a sound to escape them; and on the
alarm note of their parents being heard, sit especially close and
motionless, while the young of chimney swallows, woodpeckers, and
orioles are very noisy. The latter, in its deep pouch, is quite safe
from birds of prey, except perhaps the owl. The owl, I suspect,
thrusts its leg into the cavities of woodpeckers and into the
pocket-like nest of the oriole, and clutches and brings forth the birds
in its talons. In one case which I heard of, a screech-owl had thrust
its claw into a cavity in a tree, and grasped the head of a red-headed
woodpecker; being apparently unable to draw its prey forth, it had
thrust its own round head into the hole, and in some way became fixed
there, and had thus died with the woodpecker in its talons.

The life of birds is beset with dangers and mishaps of which we know
little. One day, in my walk, I came upon a goldfinch with the tip of
one wing securely fastened to the feathers of its rump, by what
appeared to be the silk of some caterpillar. The bird, though
uninjured, was completely crippled, and could not fly a stroke.
Its little body was hot and panting in my hands, as I carefully broke
the fetter. Then it darted swiftly away with a happy cry. A record of
all the accidents and tragedies of bird life for a single season would