THE WANDERING ALBATROSS. 643 



than a few inches above the soil. In one sense it is not a pretty 

 nest. It is certainly not a neat one, and its apparent roughness 

 of construction is probably intended to make it less conspicuous. 

 The discovery of a Nightingale's nest is not an easy task, unless 

 the eye be directed to the spot by watching the movements of the 

 bird. It is always most carefully hidden under growing foliage, 

 and so well is it concealed that, even in places where Nightingales 

 abound, the detection of a nest is always welcome to the egg- 

 hunter. 



The materials of the nest are equally calculated for conceal- 

 ment, consisting of straw, grass, little sticks, and dried leaves, all 

 being jumbled together with such "artless art," that even when a 

 nest is seen its real nature often escapes the discoverer. If the 

 same materials were seen in a branch at any height from the 

 ground they would at once attract attention, but in the position 

 which they occupy they look like a mass of loose debris that has 

 been blown by the wind and arrested by the foliage among which 

 it has lodged. 



The eggs are equally inconspicuous, being dull olive - brown, 

 without a spot or streak. After they are laid, the lively song of 

 the Nightingale becomes less and less frequent, while after the 

 young are hatched the bird is silent until the next season. The 

 Nightingale is as anxious to conceal itself as its nest, and never 

 intentionally shows its brown plumage, though it will sing within 

 six feet of a listener who will remain quiet. In the spring the 

 bird seems as if it must sing, no matter who may be near, and its 

 spirit of rivalry is so great that the "jug-jug" of one Nightingale 

 is sure to set singing all the others within hearing. 



The Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans), the giant of 

 the petrel tribe, makes its nest after a peculiar fashion. 



It chooses the summit of lofty precipices near the sea, and its 

 nest may be found most plentifully in Tristan d'Acunha and the 

 Marion Islands. The Albatross is lord of the country, and no 

 other living being seems to intrude upon its nesting-place. So 

 completely do the birds feel themselves masters of the situation, 

 that if a human being penetrates to their haunts, they quietly 

 move about as if he were non-existent, and do not appear to take 

 the least notice of him. On such elevated positions the cold is 

 necessarily intense, but the Albatross cares not for the cold, and 

 brings up its white-coated young in a temperature that few human 

 beings like to endure longer than needful. 



