and, panting with the heat and the desperate struggle, they presented
a most singular spectacle. They uttered no cry, not a sound escaped
them; they were plainly speechless with horror and dismay. Not once
did they drop their wings, and the peculiar expression of those
uplifted palms, as it were, I shall never forget. It occurred to me
that perhaps here was a case of attempted bird-charming on the part of
the snake, so I looked on from behind the fence. The birds charged the
snake and harassed him from every side, but were evidently under no
spell save that of courage in defending their nest. Every moment or
two I could see the head and neck of the serpent make a sweep at the
birds, when the one struck at would fall back, and the other would
renew the assault from the rear. There appeared to be little danger
that the snake could strike and hold one of the birds, though I
rembled for them, they were so bold and approached so near to the
snake's head. Time and again he sprang at them, but without success.
How the poor things panted, and held up their wings appealingly!
Then the snake glided off to the near fence, barely escaping the stone
which I hurled at him. I found the nest rifled and deranged; whether
it had contained eggs or young I know not. The male sparrow had
cheered me many a day with his song, and I blamed myself for not having
rushed at once to the rescue, when the arch enemy was upon him.
There is probably little truth in the popular notion that snakes charm
birds. The black snake is the most subtle, alert, and devilish of our
snakes, and I have never seen him have any but young, helpless birds
in his mouth.

We have one parasitical bird, the cow-bird, so-called because it walks
about amid the grazing cattle and seizes the insects which their heavy
tread sets going, which is an enemy of most of the smaller birds.
It drops its egg in the nest of the song-sparrow, the social sparrow,