i2 The Wilson Bulletin.— No. 43. 



snatch up their insect prey. What a delight to watch the 

 wagtails, especially during the mating time. Ever pugnaci- 

 ous, they are now ready to fight upon the least provocation, 

 garrulous, envious, jealous all the time. Full of malice, the 

 males battle for the possession of a fair lady, some clashing 

 together in the air, some running against one another as the 

 ancient knights in the tournaments, some crowding one a- 

 nother at the edge of the roof in fierce angry combat, till the 

 weaker one has to "give up" and is chased clear out of sight 

 and reach, and then they enter upon their household duties. 

 "Any old place" is good enough for the nest; in a tree, upon 

 the beams of a house or barn, in a stonepile, in a brick wall 

 the carelessly constructed nest is placed always revealing the 

 fact that these birds originally bred in holes. The most 

 beautiful nest I ever saw of this species was placed on the 

 top beam of our enormous "Turner hall" at Niesky, Silesia, 

 65 feet above the ground. On June ist, 1890 I climbed up 

 to it. Outwardly a mass of rootlets, grass-blades, straws, 

 moss, and paper it was rather a cozy domicile on the inside, 

 soft to the touch of the hand, composed of and walled with 

 wool, hair, lichens and other similar material. Six eggs 

 were in it, grayish, speckled with lilac and gray, and as I 

 gaze upon them at present, they bring back to my memory 

 that beautiful nest, the anxious parents and the dangerous 

 climb in the dusk of that June day. 



Both of the season's broods wander along the streams 

 and ramble about the swampy ditches, playfully devouring 

 thousands of worms, snapping at insects in a short, jerky 

 flight, or gathering them from the earth, running rapidly to 

 and fro, constantly calling to one another, till evening comes 

 and all meet with starlings and swallows, to roost in the 

 willows fringing the swamps and ponds till the chilling 

 frosts of October cover the ground. One morning we awaken 

 to find that all have left us for the south. 



Away from the abode of man to the mountains we 

 must wander to find the other member of the true wagtails. 

 Where the ice cold waters of the brook tumble from rock to 



