EACH AFTER ITS KIND 



at least one fine woodsy poem. I refer to Trow- 

 bridge's "Pewee." 



The nesting-habits of the two birds differ as 

 widely as do their songs. The phoebe is an architect 

 tvho works with mud and moss, using the latter in 

 a truly artistic way, except when she is tempted, as 

 she so often is, to desert the shelving rocks by the 

 waterfalls, or along the brows of the wooded slopes, 

 for the painted porches of our houses or the sawed 

 timbers of our outbuildings, where her moss is in- 

 congruous and gives away the secret she so care- 

 fully seeks to guard. You cannot by any sleight-of- 

 hand, or of beak, use moss on a mud nest so as to 

 blend it with a porch or timber background. But 

 in the niches of the mossy and lichen-covered over- 

 hanging rocks of the gorges and mountain-sides, 

 where her forbears practiced the art of nest-build- 

 ing, and where she still often sets up her "procre- 

 ant cradle," what in the shape of a nest can be 

 more pleasing and exquisite than her moss-covered 

 structure? It is entirely fit. It is Nature's own handi- 

 work, and thoroughly in the spirit of the shelving 

 rocks. 



The pewee uses no mud and no moss. She uses 

 lichens and other wild, woodsy things, and her nest 

 is one of the most trim and artistic of wild-bird 

 structures; it is as finished and symmetrical as an 

 acorn-cup. It is cup-shaped, and sits upon a hori- 

 zontal branch of beech or maple as if it were a grown 

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