THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 33 



bird did not appear upon the scene. The final his- 

 tory of this nest I am unable to give, as I did not 

 again visit it till late in the season, when, of course, it 

 was empty. 



Years pass without my finding a brown-thrasher's 

 nest ; it is not a nest you are likely to stumble upon 

 in your walk ; it is hidden as a miser hides his gold 

 and watched as jealously. The male pours out his 

 rich and triumphant song from the tallest tree he 

 can find, and fairly challenges you to come and look 

 for his treasures in his vicinity. But you will not find 

 them if you go. The nest is somewhere on the outer 

 circle of his song; bs is never so imprudent as to 

 take up his stand very near it. The artists who draw 

 those cosy little pictures of a brooding mother-bird 

 with the male perched but a yard away in full song, 

 do not copy from nature. The thrasher's nest I found 

 was thirty or forty rods from the point where the 

 male was wont to indulge 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 conceal- 

 ment 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 tho 

 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 tho 

 door for ill luck, as one day, not long afterward, when 



