Pa ee 
THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 39 
than that, they hugged the nest so closely and formed 
such a compact mass, that though there were five of 
them, they preserved the unit of expression, — no 
single head or form was defined; they were one, and 
that one was without shape or color, and not separa- 
ble, except by closest scrutiny, from the one of the 
meadow-bottom. That nest prospered, as bobolinks’ 
nests doubtless generally do; for, notwithstanding 
the enormous slaughter of the birds during their fall 
migrations by Southern sportsmen, the bobolink ap- 
pears to hold its own, and its music does not dimin- 
ish in our Northern meadows. 
Birds with whom the struggle for life is the sharpest 
seem to be more prolific than those whose nest and 
young are exposed to fewer dangers. The robin, the 
sparrow, the pewee, etc., will rear, or make the at- 
tempt to rear, two and sometimes three broods in a 
season; but the bobolink, the oriole, the kingbird, the 
goldfinch, the cedar-bird, the birds of prey, and the 
woodpeckers, that build in safe retreats, in the trunks 
of trees, have usually but a single brood. If the bob- 
olink reared two broods, our meadows would swarm 
with them. 
I noted three nests of the cedar-bird in August in 
a single orchard, all productive, but all with one or 
more unfruitful eggs in them. The cedar-bird is the 
most silent of our birds, having but a single fine note, 
so far as I have observed, but its manners are very 
expressive at times. No bird known to me is ¢a- 
pable of expressing so much silent alarm while on 
the nest as this bird. As you ascend the tree and 
draw near it, it depresses its plumage and crest, 
stretches up its neck, and becomes the very picture 
of fear. Other birds, under like circumstances, hardly 
