Tenants of a Season. 3 



path is seldom worn by foot of man, a thick briar-bush, 

 standing out from the hedge, leans over the little brook 

 that under its canopy of fresh green hart's-tongue 

 wanders by unseen. In the thorny tangle of the briar 

 a pair of these skilful weavers will set to work upon 

 their dwelling, and the fast opening leaves of April 

 will soon draw over it a green veil. 



The structure is indeed a triumph of the builder's 

 art. Without, it is an oval ball of moss felted with 

 wool and hair, and thickly studded with scraps of gray 

 lichen fiom the stems of ancient trees. Within, it is 

 cushioned so deeply that nearly three thousand feathers 

 have been counted in a single nest. All this is finished 

 in a fortnight, or less, from the first layer of moss to 

 the last feather in the lining. The entrance is at the 

 side a tiny hole, not always easy to discover. How 

 eight young birds find air to breathe in such close 

 quarters, and how their parents contrive to feed them 

 ail in their right turns, must ever remain a mystery. 

 And the wonder grows when we consider that twelve 

 or even twenty eggs have been found in one of these 

 diminutive nurseries. 



The long-tailed tit has neither equal nor second, but 

 perhaps no bird approaches her more nearly ihan the 

 wrert. The materials she chooses vary with her sur- 

 roundings. Here, skilfully woven of green moss, the 

 nest fills a hollow in an old stump so naturally, that 

 among fringes of lichen, and dark festoons of ivy, it 

 seems but the growth of time. There, under the brown 



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