THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 63 



every contrivance that Nature has provided, with 

 the exception of wings, has failed her, she takes 

 to them for protection, flitting away as silently as 

 a shadow. 



It seems as if the bird, with well-considered 

 forethought, located her nest where the common 

 biped or quadruped stroller would not be likely to 

 tread upon it. How exquisitely the little cavity 

 is formed in the side of the sloping drift of leaves, 

 as if a small cannon-ball had been pressed into the 

 mass, leaving there a nicely-moulded hollow ! On 

 the highest side of the incline the builder has, with 

 much skill and sagacity, pulled out from beneath 

 the solid heap many of the leaves, so that a half 

 roof or gablet is formed, and one looking down, 

 directly above the nest, can not see it. The 

 leaves within are broken into fine bits and well 

 packed and trimmed with breast and wing, and 

 neatly arranged around the rim. To make her 

 bed more elastic, and also to keep the leaf-scraps 

 in place, the careful little architect has woven in 

 and glued to them, in the most ingenious way, a 

 number of black and white horse hairs, as if she 

 had chosen these particular colors to suit her own. 

 Where did she find them ? Not in the stables or 

 city streets nor open fields, for she is rarely or 

 never seen in such places. Not in these woods, 

 for no kind of cattle visit them. On distant wood 

 roadsides and scrub pasture-lands, perhaps, she has 



