THE AMERICAN MAGPIE. 27 
of the bird’s bill, but which was unpierced. Of course the only remedy for 
such a habit is the shot-gun. 
To say that Magpies are garrulous would be as trite as to say hens cackle, 
and the adjective could not be better defined than “talking like a Magpie.” 
The Magpie is the symbol of loquacity. The very type in which this is 
printed is small pica; that is small Magpie. Much of this bird’s conversation 
is undoubtedly unfit for print, but it has always the merit of vivacity. A 
party of Magpies will keep up a running commentary on current events, now 
facetious, now vehement, as they move about; while a comparative cessation 
of the racket means, as likely as not, that some favorite raconteur is holding 
forth, and that there will be an explosion of riotous laughter when his tale 
is done. The pie, like Nero, aspires to song; but no sycophant will be 
found to praise him, for he intersperses his more tuneful musings with 
chacks and barks and harsh interjections which betray a disordered taste. In 
modulation and quality, however, the notes sometimes verge upon the human; 
and it is well known that Magpies can be instructed until they acquire a 
handsome repertoire of speech. 
In order that their double quartet of youngsters may be lined up for 
the egg harvest, the Magpies take an early start at home building. April is 
the nesting month, but I have two records for March 30th,—one of five 
eges at Chelan, and one of eight in Yakima County. In the latter instance 
the first egg must have been deposited not later than March 18th. And 
because the season affords him no protection, the Magpie resorts to two 
expedients in nest building in lieu of concealment: he first seeks retirement, 
the depths of some lonesome swamp, an unfrequented draw, or wooded 
spring, in the foothills, and then he erects a castle which would do credit 
to a feudal baron. The nest is a ball of interlacing sticks set about a hollow 
half-sphere of dried mud. The amount of labor expended upon one of 
these structures is prodigious. The greasewood nest shown in the accompany- 
ing cut is three feet deep and two feet thru, and the component sticks are 
so firmly interwoven that no ordinary agency, short of the human hand, can 
effect an entrance. ‘The bird enters thru an obscure passage in one side, 
and, if surprised upon the nest, has always a way of escape planned thru 
the opposite wall. The mud cup is carefully shaped with walls an inch or 
two in thickness, a total breadth of eight or ten inches, and a like depth. In 
the best construction this cavity is filled to a depth of three or four inches 
with a loose mat of fine twigs of a uniform size. Upon this in turn is placed 
a coiled mattress of fine, clean rootlets, the whole affording a very sanitary 
arrangement. 
Another fortress, of single construction, was four feet deep and three 
and a half feet thru; and that, too, after making liberal allowance for chance 
projections. The component sticks measure up to three feet in length and 
