4234 The Zoologist — November, 1874. 



trunk. Happily, in this case there was no need to reach it, and 

 the finder was enabled to ascertain when the young were hatched 

 by sending a man up the tree high enough to look into the nest 

 without disturbing it. A few days before his first ascent there had 

 been a strong wind blowing for some time, and the slender branch 

 was swayed to and fro to such an extent that, notwithstanding the 

 depth of the saucer-like nest, one of the eggs was jerked out upon 

 the grass below and broken, though not irreparably so. When 

 I saw it, it was in two pieces, but unmistakably the egg of an 

 oriole — in size equal to that of a blackbird, but shining white, with 

 black or rather dark claret-coloured spots at the larger end. It 

 has been carefully preserved by Mr. Tomlin. 



As long as his man remained in the tree the hen bird continued 

 to fly round, uttering at intervals a loud flute-like note, and 

 occasionally making a curious noise, such as a cat makes when 

 angry. 



It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to remark that, as regards 

 situation, form, and the materials of which it was composed, the 

 nest did not differ from those which one is accustomed to see upon 

 the Continent. Invariably placed in, and suspended under, the 

 fork of a horizontal bough, the sides of the nest are firmly bound 

 to each branch of the fork with blades of dry grasses and fibrous 

 roots. There is generally a good deal of sheep's wool in the nest 

 itself, which, taken in connection with its peculiar shape, gives it 

 a very singular and unique appearance. 



On the 12th of July as we approached the nest in question, the 

 hen bird was silting, but left as we advanced, and perched in a 

 neighbouring elm, whence at intervals she uttered the peculiar 

 noise to which I have referred. Not wishing to keep her too long 

 from her young, we left the spot in about ten minutes, after care- 

 fully inspecting the nest with a binocular. Returning again in 

 half an hour, and a third time two or three hours later, we saw the 

 hen on each occasion quit the nest and take up her position as 

 before at a little distance. Once only did I catch a glimpse of her 

 more brightly coloured mate as he darted between two trees. He 

 was very shy, and silent too, being seldom heard except very early 

 in the morning or at twilight. This, however, is the case with 

 most song birds after the young are hatched, for they are then so 

 busy providing food for the little mouths that they have scarcely 

 time to sit and sing. Mr. Tomlin, who had other and better 



