"Phoebe is all it has to say In plaintive cadence o'er and o'er," sings the poet, but he had not so close acquaintance with him as I enjoyed behind my blind. There were two mud cottages in the neighborhood, and two pairs of birds to occupy them, and no phoebe of spirit will tolerate in silence another of his kind near him. Sparrows of all sorts might come about; juncos and chickadees, thrushes and warblers, might alight on his chosen tree,--rarely a word would he say; but let a phoebe appear, and there began at once a war of words. It might be mere friendly talk, but it sounded very much like vituperation and "calling names," and I noticed that it ended in a chase and the disappearance of one of them. Again, whenever a phoebe alighted on the fence he made a low but distinct remark that sounded marvelously like "cheese-it," and several times the mysterious bird treated me to a very singular performance. He hovered like a humming-bird close before a nest, looking into it and uttering a loud strange cry, like the last note of "phoebe" repeated rapidly, as "be-be-be." Was it derision, complaint, or a mere neighborly call? This was not for the benefit of his own family, for he did it before the robin's nest. I thought at first he meant mischief to the young robins, but although he approached very near he did not actually touch them. The loudest note this bird uttered was, of course, his well-known "phoebe," which he delivered from the peak of the barn (never from the dead tree) with an emphasis that proclaimed to all whom it might concern that he had something on his mind. It was plain that he was a person of cares; indeed, his whole bearing was that of one with no nonsense about him, with serious duties to perform. I wonder if these birds are ever playful! Even the babies are dignified and self-contained. Phoebes in a frolic would be a rare sight. Of the two nests whose owners I had to study, one was on a low beam in the cow-barn, where a person might look in; the other under the eaves of a farm-building close by.