ita. IN AN OLD DESERTED GARDEN— 
bird flew out. It had a nest at the top, and 
it would have puzzled any one to get at it. 
The dead and living branches of a guelder- 
rose were inextricably mixed up with a may 
bush. Inside this thicket the hedge-sparrow 
we had heard continued to tweet its plain- 
tive pleading notes. It was just the spot to 
find the bird, as it loves concealment, and is 
solitary in its habits, being seldom seen with 
another except at nesting time. Parting 
the twigs and looking into the semi-darkness, 
I caught sight of the hen. She did not seem 
frightened. Close by was her nest about 
four feet from the ground (it is always built 
low). It was a cup-shaped solid structure, 
large tor the. sizé of the bird,. anc! made set 
short dead twigs, the cup being three inches 
across, and lined with horse hair, which was 
white in this instance. A few ends of red 
skein wool contrasted strongly with the 
white hair. There were four glossy pure 
greenish-blue eggs in it: five are generally 
laid. Some of the cognomens of our little 
friend are ‘ hedge-sparrow,’ as it is very fond 
