of the time, and sang and fluttered among the oaks,
in numbers greater than common. Nature usually
observes a stern fitness in her adaptation of means
to ends. Birds are to be found in the forests,
on the prairies, and in the still untenanted openings
of the west—and often in countless numbers;
more especially those birds which fly in flocks, and
love the security of unoccupied regions—unoccupied
by man is meant— wherein to build their
nests, obey the laws of their instincts, and fulfil
their destinies. Thus, myriads of pigeons, and
ducks, and geese,
etc., are to be found in the
virgin woods, while the companionable and friendly
robin, the little melodious wren, the thrush, the
lark, the swallow, the marten, and all those pleasant
little winged creatures, that flit about our dwellings
and grounds, and seem to be sent by Providence, expressly
to chant their morning and evening hymns to God in
our ears, most frequent the peopled districts.
It has been said by Europeans that the American birds
are mute, in comparison with those of the Old World.
This is true, to a certain extent, as respects those
which are properly called forest birds, which do,
in general, appear to partake of the sombre character
that marks the solemn stillness of their native haunts.
It is not true, however, with the birds which live
in our fields, and grounds, and orchards, each of
which sings its song of praise, and repeats its calls
and its notes, as richly and as pleasantly to the
ear, as the birds of other lands. One large class,
indeed, possesses a faculty that enables it to repeat
every note it has ever heard, even to some of the
sounds of quadrupeds. Nor is this done in the
discordant tones of the parrot; but in octaves, and
trills, and in rich contra-altos, and all the other
pleasing intonations known to the most gifted of the
feathered race. Thus it is, that one American
mocking-bird can outsing all the birds of Europe united.
It seemed that morning as if every bird that was accustomed
to glean its food from the neighborhood of Castle
Meal was on the wing, and ready to accompany the party
that now sallied forth to catch the bee. This
party consisted of le Bourdon, himself, as its chief
and leader; of Peter, the missionary, and the corporal.
Margery, too, went along; for, as yet, she had never
seen an exhibition of Boden’s peculiar skill.
As for Gershom and his wife, they remained behind,
to make ready the noontide meal; while the Chippewa
took his accoutrements, and again sallied out on a
hunt. The whole time of this Indian appeared
to be thus taken up; though, in truth, venison and
bear’s meat both abounded, and there was much
less necessity for those constant efforts than he
wished to make it appear. In good sooth, more
than half his time was spent in making those observations,
which had led to the advice he had been urging on his
friend, the bee-hunter, in order to induce him to fly.
Had Pigeonswing better understood Peter, and had he
possessed a clearer insight into the extent and magnitude
of his plans of retributive vengeance, it is not probable
his uneasiness, at the moment, would have been so
great, or the urgency for an immediate decision on
the part of le Bourdon would have appeared as urgently
pressing as it now seemed to be.