THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 5 
I could wish Robin less native and plebeian in 
one respect, — the building of his nest. Its coarse 
material and rough masonry are creditable neither 
to his skill as a workman nor to his taste as an 
artist. I am the more forcibly reminded of his 
deficiency in this respect from observing yonder 
hummingbird’s nest, which is a marvel of fitness 
and adaptation, a proper setting for this winged 
gem, —the body of it composed of a white, felt- 
like substance, probably the down of some plant or 
the wool of some worm, and toned down in keeping 
with the branch on which it sits by minute tree- 
lichens, woven together by threads as fine and frail 
as gossamer. From Robin’s good looks and musi- 
cal turn, we might reasonably predict a domicile of 
equal fitness and elegance. At least I demand of 
him -as clean and handsome a nest as the king- 
bird’s, whose harsh jingle, compared with Robin’s 
evening melody, is as the clatter of pots and kettles 
beside the tone of a flute. I love his note and 
ways better even than those of the orchard starling 
or the Baltimore oriole; yet his nest, compared 
with theirs, is a half-subterranean hut contrasted 
with a Roman villa. There is something courtly 
and poetical in a pensile nest. Next to a castle in 
the air is a dwelling suspended to the slender branch 
of a tall tree, swayed and rocked forever by the 
wind. Why need wings be afraid of falling? Why 
build only where boys can climb? After all, we 
must set it down to the account of Robin’s demo- 
cratic turn: he is no aristocrat, but one of the 
