THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS 77 



in his brilliant recitative. It was in an open field 

 under a low ground- juniper. My dog disturbed 

 the sitting bird as I was passing near. The nest 

 could be seen only by lifting up and parting away 

 the branches. All the arts of concealment had 

 been carefully studied. It was the last place you 

 would think of looking, and, if you did look, 

 nothing was visible but the dense green circle of 

 the low-spreading juniper. When you approached, 

 the bird would keep her place till you had begun 

 to stir the branches, when she would start out, and, 

 just skimming the ground, make a bright brown 

 line to the near fence and bushes. I confidently 

 expected that this nest would escape molestation, 

 but it did not. Its discovery by myself and dog 

 probably opened the door for ill-luck, as one day, 

 not long afterward, when I peeped in upon it, it 

 was empty. The proud song of the male had ceased 

 from his accustomed tree, and the pair were seen 

 no more in that vicinity. 



The phoebe-bird is a wise architect, and perhaps 

 enjoys as great an immunity from danger, both in 

 its person and its nest, as any other bird. Its 

 modest, ashen-gray suit is the color of the rocks 

 where it builds, and the moss of which it makes 

 such free use gives to its nest the look of a natural 

 growth or accretion. But when it comes into the 

 barn or under the shed to build, as it so frequently 

 does, the moss is rather out of place. Doubtless 

 in time the bird will take the hint, and when she 

 builds in such places will leave the moss out. I 



