74 THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 



young one was taken, when it was about half grown, 

 by some nocturnal walker or daylight prowler, some 

 untoward fate seemed hovering about them. It was 

 a season of calamities, of violent deaths, of pillage 

 and massacre, among our feathered neighbors. For 

 the first time I noticed that the orioles were not safe 

 in their strong pendent nests. Three broods were 

 started in the apple-trees, only a few yards from 

 the house, where, for several previous seasons, the 

 birds had nested without molestation ; but this time 

 the young were all destroyed when about half grown. 

 Their chirping and chattering, which was so notice- 

 able one day, suddenly ceased the next. The nests 

 were probably plundered at night, and doubtless by 

 the little red screech-owl, which I know is a denizen 

 of these old orchards, living in the deeper cavities of 

 the trees. The owl could alight upon the top of the 

 nest, and easily thrust his murderous claw down into 

 its long pocket and seize the young and draw them 

 forth. The tragedy of one of the nests was height- 

 ened, or at least made more palpable, by one of the 

 half-fledged birds, either in its attempt to escape or 

 while in the clutches of the enemy, being caught and 

 entangled in one of the horse-hairs by which the nest 

 was stayed and held to the limb above. There it 

 hung bruised and dead, gibbeted to its own cradle. 

 This nest was the theatre of another little tragedy 

 later in the season. Some time in August a bluebird, 

 indulging its propensity to peep and pry into holes 

 and crevices, alighted upon it and probably inspected 



