The fourth branch of this family is of crow-blackbirds and grackles. They have a right to the name of blackbird, for they are quite black. At least they look so a little way off, but if one gets near and sees the sunshine on them, he will see that they reflect blue or green or purple, from their feathers.

Then, too, like others of their family, they go in flocks, and they have a dignified walk on the ground. Some birds who are so social that they like to live in a crowd prefer to go a little apart to nest. But these birds make their rude, clumsy nests all close together.

Blackbirds are fond of corn; who can blame them for that? Thousands of them have been shot because they eat it. But farmers who shoot them forget, or perhaps they do not know, that corn is not the only thing they eat.

Insects as well as birds are fond of corn, and it isn't so easy to keep them away. The birds eat great numbers of them, such as grasshoppers, caterpillars, beetles, and cut-worms, besides mice. All these creatures eat the farmers' crops. So when birds destroy them, they earn some of the corn. They do more than clear the fields of troublesome insects, they eat great quantities of the seeds of weeds that the farmer is always fighting.

Blackbirds are most often seen on the ground, walking around with great dignity. They are looking for food in the grass, or in the field in ploughing time. When they are closely watched, it is often found that they are not in mischief.

Mr. Warren, State Ornithologist of Pennsylvania, tells a story which shows how easy it is to be mistaken. He was with a friend who had thirty acres of corn growing, and was much vexed to see blackbirds walking about among the young plants. They seemed very busy about something, and he was sure they were pulling up his crop. So he got out his guns, and Mr. Warren went with him to punish the birds.

They shot thirty-one of them. Then they began to see what they had been eating. In all the thirty-one, only seven had the least bit of corn, and even they were mostly filled with insects. The rest were stuffed full of insects which do much harm to young corn, mostly cut-worms.

The farmer had killed thirty-one birds who were working for him as hard as they could. No money could hire help that would do so much good as they were doing.

In the Eastern States we have the Crow Blackbird, or Purple Grackle, and the Bronzed Grackle, whose habits are the same.

The purple grackle is a handsome bird, larger than a robin, with very light eyes. His plumage looks black in the shade, but when the sun is on it, shows rich green and blue, and it shines like satin. The bronzed grackle shows purple, and blue, and green, with metallic bronze on the back.

The purple grackle is said to eat corn, and also the eggs and young of other birds. But what he eats has been found out by the Agricultural Department, in the way I told you of. It is given out by them that he does not do so much harm to nests as has been said, and among the crops he does good enough to pay for all the corn he eats.

It is very hard to see just what a bird is eating. It is not even safe to believe all we think we see.

The only time the purple grackle can do more harm than good is when he comes with a big crowd of his friends, and settles down to spend the winter. Then he should be driven away from crops.

I want you to understand me about this. I do not say that these birds never eat the eggs and young of others. What I do say is, that there is plenty of evidence to show that they do it not half so much as people say. I have watched birds for twenty years, as closely, I believe, as any one ever watched them, and I never saw any of the bad deeds that are laid to the blue jay, or the shrike, or the kingbird, or the purple grackle. They may be guilty occasionally, but they are not the villains they are often said to be.

Besides, however bad we may call a few birds, we are ourselves worse. Birds kill only to eat. Many of them are made to feed upon each other, and cannot live in any other way. They kill quickly, and do not generally—if they ever do—torture their prey.

How is it with us? We kill for sport, or for useless show, and we kill in a way that often wounds and leaves our victim to suffer tortures before he dies. Do you think it is fair for us to say hard things about the birds?

In the Rocky Mountains and west of them the common blackbird is Brewer's Blackbird, sometimes called blue-headed grackle. He is not so shy as his brother of the East. He is amiable and friendly with people, and as familiar as the robin in New England. He is often seen in the streets of towns. He will come into yards, and even take food from a doorstep.

Brewer's blackbird is a restless, uneasy fellow, like most of his family. He is always bustling about, and flying hither and thither with rustling wings.

In summer, these birds feed mostly upon insects, which they find on the ground. They have an amusing way of being fair in their feeding. As they walk about in little social parties looking for food, those who come last in the string find the insects nearly all picked up before they get a chance. So they take this clever way of getting their turn at the good things. Every few minutes those in the rear rise and fly over the heads of their friends and alight just before them. So they have the first pick for a while. Then, in a few minutes, those left behind fly over their heads, and take the lead for a time. So, without any quarreling, each one has a fair chance with all the rest. Other birds have found out this way of playing fair. I have seen great blue herons three feet tall do the same thing.

In winter, when insects are scarce, the blackbird turns to grain and the seeds of weeds. But it has been found that he does more good by the weeds he keeps down than harm by the grain he eats.

Brewer's blackbird usually nests in trees, not very high. One time a naturalist going about in Arizona, where are few or no trees, found a curious thing,—a good many blackbird nests, a little settlement one might call it, on the ground, and all strung along close to the edge of a steep bank. At first he could not see why the birds had chosen to be on the edge of a precipice. Then he remembered that horses and cattle roamed over the country, and these animals are careful never to graze close to an edge which might crumble and give them a fall. He concluded that the birds had wit enough to know that. If their nests were out on the plains, they would be likely to be stepped on, but near the edge, they were safe from hoofs.

The common call of Brewer's blackbird is a harsh "chack;" but in the spring he turns musical, and serenades his mate with what we must call songs, because songs are what he intends. They are droll enough to listen to, and not very sweet.

This bird is about the size of a robin, with violet-colored head in the sunlight. His mate is slate-colored.

Birds who live in a crowd learn to be fair in their treatment of one another. An interesting story is told of the way a flock of blackbirds go to bed at night. They come to the roosting-place in little parties from all the country around. One would suppose the first one to get there would choose his place to sleep, and let the last one take what was left.

But no! as they arrive, they alight in some big old tree outside the roosting-place. When all are in, they fly up together, circle around for a while, then all settle at the same time in the place where they are to sleep.