I 70 IN BIRD LAND. 



But before describing the inmates of the nursery 

 it would be well to give some attention to the nursery 

 itself, its site and structure. By going to the books 

 I might tell you of many quaint nests, of the nests of 

 the tailor-bird, the water-ouzel, the parula warbler, 

 the burrowing owl, and many others; but — begging 

 pardon for my conceit — I prefer not to get my 

 material second-hand. One would rather describe 

 one's own observations, even though one may not be 

 able to present so rare a list of curios. The nest of 

 the common wood-thrush, right here in my own 

 neighborhood, is of far more personal interest than 

 the remarkable nest of the fairy martin of Australia, 

 which I have small hope of ever seeing. 



Having mentioned the nest of the wood-thrush, 

 I might as well begin with it. It is not a remarkable 

 structure from an architectural point of view. It might 

 be called a semi-adobe dwelling, thatched with vari- 

 ous kinds of grasses and leaves, and lined with vege- 

 table fibres. It is much like the nest of the robin, 

 only Madam Thrush does not go quite so extensively 

 into the plastering business. It has been interesting 

 to study the ingenuity of these sylvan architects in 

 choosing sites for their nests. They seem to know 

 just where a nest may be built with the least labor in 

 order to make it sit firmly in its place. In the woods 

 that I most frequently haunt there is a sort of bushy 

 sapling whose branches, at a certain point on the 

 main stem, often grow out almost horizontally for a 

 few inches, and then form an elbow by shooting up 

 almost vertically, thus making an arbor, as it were. 



