AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 135 



and have wandered into the British Museum. I believe there is also a 

 representative of this unique class of garment in our own National Mu- 

 seum. If so, it was doubtless unearthed in some very old tomb, be- 

 neath whose protecting walls it had been preserved from the grasping 

 hand of the conquerors. No reasonable amount of money could pur- 

 chase one of these royal jackets today, while probably no offer could 

 tempt the Mexican government to part with the two perfect specimens 

 preserved in old Chapultepec. 



Of the jackets themselves, little need be said, save that they were not 

 unlike the box jackets — or automobile coats — affected by the ladies of 

 today, excepting that they have no sleeves. They were laced with 

 thongs of rawhide in front and fitted the wearer but loosely, being in- 

 tended as a mark of highest royalty, rather than as a garment of com- 

 fort. They were thrown on over other robes of office, and seldom, if 

 ever, worn outside the palace gates. Only the very best and most 

 gaudy feathers were used for the coat of the Montezuma. Inferior and 

 less desirable garments were made for other members of the royal 

 household from the remaining feathers of the trogan. So delicate were 

 the skins of these precious birds that they had to be trapped rather than 

 shot, lest the resulting fall from the tree tops should ruin the feathers- 

 Like the Woodpeckers, the quetzals (and, in fact, all the trogans) 

 nest in hollow trees, laying their four or five pure white eggs in the 

 bottom of some cavity, natural or otherwise. These nests are very 

 hard to find; consequently their eggs are as valuable as their skins. 



SOME CURIOUS NESTS. 



1;y Np:t.i.ie Moore Mason. 



One day in June I was out in the field near a deserted house. It 

 was an ideal spot for the feathered songsters. 



Near an old fence was a row of graceful willows, a little distance 

 from those a clump of bushes, then a small orchard of apple trees, 

 and by the roadside a row of stately elms and rock maples, with lilac 

 and other bushes galore. 



Scarcely was I prepared to listen when I heard a sharp note of 

 alarm and saw a bird about as large as a robin fly to a tree. With 

 awakened zeal I walked toward the bird who kept repeating his note 

 of alarm, inquiry or anger, or whatever one might call it; then I saw a 

 bird with crest up, a sulphur-yellow breast, gray throat, rufous color- 

 ing on his tail and primaries of wings and I knew at last that I had 

 seen the Great Crested Flycatcher. 



But why is he so anxious? Surely there must be a home near. If I 

 can only find it what joy will be mine. 



