A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 107 



Tlie last brood departed from the nest jnst five days 

 later than the first. 



The nests are built at last, and straightway the eggs 

 are laid, five or six in each nest; but five is the usual 

 number, and the odd one generally does not hatch. 

 They are as ugly as eggs well can be: dirty green, 

 streaked with dirtier brown ; dull, rough emeralds rolled 

 in the mud. ^'--i '**' 



And all this while, although there is nothing much 

 to do until after incubation, an incessant chattering 

 keeps up. I have tried to fathom the secret of such 

 ceaseless jabberings, but without result. It can scarcely 

 be the scolding of ill-tempered wives, and the efforts of 

 impatient husbands to check the clamor; for, if so, 

 there is not a patient, easy-going grakle in existence. 

 At any rate, as is always the case with birds, and so on 

 up, madam has the most to say, and also, that sweetest 

 solace of female existence, the last word. Still, there is 

 no quarrelling, either among mated birds, or between 

 near neighbors. So far as the colony in the pines truly 

 pictures grakle life, they are exceedingly well-behaved, 

 a fact which does not shield them from much unmerit- 

 ed persecution at the hands of prejudiced agriculturists, 

 of all people those that should be practical ornitholo- 

 gists, and who, as a class, are most ignorant of the sub- 

 ject. 



The eggs once hatched, something like work com- 

 mences. From early morning until late in the evening 

 — so long, indeed, as there is suflScient light to enable 

 them to see a worm — the male bird for the first week, 



