The Birds and Poets 21 1 



fied it, the mere examination of the structure of 

 the different varieties of nests within easy reach 

 in the winter thickets seldom fails to reveal some- 

 thing of interest. One December day I found an 

 old thrush's nest in the woods^ and upon pulling 

 it apart discovered embedded in the bottom a small 

 piece of faded newspaper. The printing was 

 scarcely discernible, but I was able to decipher 

 a few lines about a modern design of shotgun, 

 which was stated to be very much superior to the 

 older models, — and on the reverse side of the scrap 

 the only words that were distinct were "Would 

 you run?" And this advertisement of a modern 

 death-dealing weapon found its way into the little 

 home of the thrush! One might in his fancy trace 

 those printed lines from the little nest in the forest 

 back to the news-stand, and to the printing office, 

 then perchance to the desk of the man who penned 

 the words, little thinking they ultimately would 

 be woven into the texture of a bird's home. 



Scraps of paper and cloth are frequently found 

 interwoven into the texture of nests of various 

 birds. One day in May, while seated on my sum- 

 mer porch, a sharp storm came up, and a robin's 

 nest in an elm tree near by was blown down upon 

 the cement walk, and four young featherless, help- 

 less birds tumbled to their death. As I could do 

 nothing to restore the little robin household, I 

 contented myself with examining the nest, and at 

 the base of it, under the mud, I found a piece of 

 white cloth as large as a handkerchief. How the 



