that have come under my observation, the snake-skin was in faded fragments 

 woven into the texture of the nest, and one would not be aware of its presence 

 unless he pulled the nest to pieces. True, Mr. Frank Bolles reports finding a 

 nest of this bird with a whole snake-skin coiled around a single egg; but it 

 was the skin of a small garter-snake, six or seven inches long, and could not 

 therefore have inspired much terror in the heart of the bird's natural enemies. 

 Dallas Lore Sharp, author of that delightful book, "Wild Life Near Home," 

 tells me he has seen a whole skin dangling nearly its entire length from the 

 hole that contained the nest, just as he has seen strings hanging from the 

 nest of the king-bird. The bird was too hurried or too careless to pull in 

 the skin. Mr. Sharp adds that he cannot "give the bird credit for appreciat- 

 ing the attitude of the rest of the world toward snakes and making use of the 

 fear." Then, a cast-off snake-skin looks very little like a snake. It is thin, 

 shrunken, faded, papery, and there is no terror in it. Then, too, it is dark in 

 the cavity of the nest, consequently the skin could not serve as a scarecrow in 

 any case. Hence, whatever its purpose may be, it surely is not that. It looks 

 like a mere fancy or whim of the bird. There is that in its voice and ways 

 that suggests something a little uncanny. Its call is more like that of the 

 toad than that of a bird. If the toad did not always swallow its own cast-ofif 

 skin, the bird would probably seize upon that. 



At the best we can only guess at the motives of the birds. As I have 

 elsewhere said, they nearly all have reference in some way to the self-preser- 

 vation of these creatures. But how the bits of an old snake-skin in a bird's 

 nest can contribute specially to this end, I cannot see. 



Nature is not always consistent ; she does not always choose the best 

 means to a given end. For instance, all the wrens seem to use about the best 

 material at hand for their nests except our house-wren. What can be more 

 unsuitable, untractable, for a nest in a hole or cavity than the twigs the house- 

 wren uses? Dry grasses or bits of soft bark would bend and adapt themselves 

 easily to the exigencies of the case, but stift, unyielding twigs! What a con-" 

 trast to the suitableness of the material the humming-bird uses — the down of 

 some plant, which seems to have a poetic fitness! 



Beside my path in the woods a downy woodpecker, late one fall, drilled 

 a hole in the top of a small dead black birch for his winter quarters. My 

 attention was first called to his doings by his white chips upon the ground. 

 Every day as I passed I would rap upon his tree, and if he was in he would 

 appear at his door and ask plainly enough what I wanted now. One day 

 when I rapped, something else appeared at the door — I could not make out 

 what. I continued my rapping, when out came two flying-squirrels. On the 

 tree being given a vigorous shake, it broke off at the hole, and the squirrels 

 went sliding down the air to the foot of a hemlock, up which they disappeared. 

 They had dispossessed Downy of his house, had carried in some grass and 



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