THE CRESTED FLYCATCHER. 313 



thrilling adventure. The Crested Flycatcher is the monitor and cynic of the 

 woods. His harsh outcry greets you as you enter the portals of his chosen 

 temple, and he rails at worshipper and priest alike in hollow mocking tones 

 which grate upon the nerves of the would-be devotee. Quarrelsome if not 

 courageous, meddlesome and impudent, the wood-folk are glad when increas- 

 ing family cares enjoin upon this fretful tyrant a more prudent silence. 



Quite unlike other Flycatchers this bird of the cinnamon garb nests in 

 holes in trees. A hollow limb at a moderate height is preferred, but old Wood- 

 pecker holes do not come amiss, or new ones either for the matter of that. 

 Orchard trees are often chosen and a convenient knot-hole admitting to the 

 decaying interior will be most eligible. Artificial sites, — bird-houses and the 

 like, have also been used of late years. The hollow, if capacious, is half-tilled 

 with trash of every conceivable description, — string, fur, feathers, grass, leaves, 

 and what not. There is only one sine qua non : — a cast-off snake skin the bird 

 must and will have, if possible. This, be it noted, is a harsh rustling affair, 

 and is placed almost invariably near the top of the heap, or thrown clear around 

 the rim. 



Various conjectures have been advanced to account for this strange taste. 

 Since their nests are often ill-smelling affairs, it has been suggested that the 

 birds really have a weakness for the aroma of the snake, and so provide a 

 convenient smelling bottle to sustain the sitting bird at her weary task. It is 

 well known that a garter snake in spring exhales an odor like wild crab- 

 apple blossoms, but the comparison is not likely to recommend the serpent as a 

 fashionable bouquet. A nest found in Oberlin throws a clearer light upon 

 the problem. A cavity in an apple tree from which a grandmotherly 

 old Flicker had been evicted, was filled half way to the top with tufts 

 of cow-hair and bunches of chicken-feathers, but it contained no snake-skin. 

 Its place was supplied by a crumpled piece of tough tissue paper, which rustled 

 ominously when the hand was inserted. The secret was out. It is the rustle 

 of the snake-skin which either delights the bird, or to which it trusts for giving 

 warning of an enemy's approach during the owner's absence— a sort of burglar 

 alarm, as it were. 



Apropos of this curious penchant for snake-skins, Mrs. Blanchan offers a 

 clever conceit to account for the bird's crest. It is from the early fright the 

 youngsters get at discovering a snake in the nest. No snakey ; no pompadour ! 



The eggs are not the least remarkable objects connected with these strange 

 birds. Not only are they more heavily marked than those of any other hole- 

 nesting species, but the color is distributed in longitudinal streaks and pen- 

 scratchings. purplish brown and umber on a creamy buff ground. Among 

 these are interspersed spots and blotches and hair-lines .if every degree of deli- 



