THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 5 



I could wish Robin less native and plebeian in 

 one respect, — the building of his nest. Its coarse 

 material and rough masonry are creditable neither 

 to his skill as a workman nor to his taste as an 

 artist. I am the more forcibly reminded of his 

 deficiency in this respect from observing yonder 

 hummingbird's nest, which is a marvel of fitness 

 and adaptation, a proper setting for this winged 

 gem, — the body of it composed of a white, felt- 

 like substance, probably the down of some plant or 

 the wool of some worm, and toned down in keeping 

 with the branch on which it sits by minute tree- 

 lichens, woven together by threads as fine and frail 

 as gossamer. From Robin's good looks and musi- 

 cal turn, we might reasonably predict a domicile of 

 equal fitness and elegance. At least I demand of 

 him as clean and handsome a nest as the king- 

 bird's, whose harsh jingle, compared with Robin's 

 evening melody, is as the clatter of pots and kettles 

 beside the tone of a flute. I love his note and 

 ways better even than those of the orchard starling 

 or the Baltimore oriole; yet his nest, compared 

 with theirs, is a half-subterranean hut contrasted 

 with a Roman villa. There is something courtly 

 and poetical in a pensile nest. Next to a castle in 

 the air is a dwelling suspended to the slender branch 

 of a tall tree, swayed and rocked forever by the 

 wind. Why need wings be afraid of falling ? Why 

 build only where boys can climb? After all, we 

 must set it down to the account of Robin's demo- 

 cratic turn: he is no aristocrat, but one of the 



