300 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



posed of a great mass of straw and feathers, with 

 the nest in the centre ; but the spotted eggs, per- 

 haps, show that these birds once built open nests, 

 the dots and marks on the eggs being of use in 

 concealing their conspicuous white ground. Some- 

 thing seems already to have hinted to Nature that 

 this protection is no longer necessary, and we 

 often find eggs almost white, like those of wood- 

 peckers and owls, which nest in dark places. 



We have all heard of birds flocking together for 

 some mutual benefit — the crows, for instance, 

 which travel every winter day across country to 

 favourite "roosts." In the heart of a city we can 

 often study this same phenomenon of birds 

 gathering together in great flocks. In New York 

 City, on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, 

 there stands a tree — a solitary reminder of the 

 forest which once covered all this paved land. 

 To this, all winter long, the sparrows begin to 

 flock about four or five o'clock in the afternoon. 

 They come singly and in twos and threes until 

 the bare limbs are black with them and there 

 seems not room for another bird; but still they 

 come, each new arrival diving into the mass of 

 birds and causing a local commotion. By seven 

 o'clock there are hundreds of English sparrows 

 perching in this one tree. At daylight they are 

 off again, whirring away by scores, and in a few 

 minutes the tree is silent and empty. The same 



