64 THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 



flown and searched sharply for them, in places 

 where dull-sighted mortals could not have found 

 a single spear in a month. 



In this admirably wrought spring mattress, are 

 four eggs, three of which are small, oval, cream- 

 tinted and marked with quite large, chestnut- 

 colored blotches. The fourth is disproportion- 

 ately larger, and so unsuited to the character of 

 the tiny nest that, though dumb and quiescent, it 

 plainly tells a story of uncivil intrusion and ill 

 breeding. Ah ! this is the egg of that uninvited 

 guest, the cow blackbird, a veritable tramp and 

 parasite among the birds. She never takes the 

 pains to build a house of her own, nor shows any 

 signs of maternal love, but skulks here and there 

 about the woods and fields, invariably choosing 

 the nests of birds smaller than herself in which to 

 practice her impositions, and trusts to luck for a 

 successful issue. Notwithstanding her lawless, 

 vagabond ways, she is very cunning, and knows 

 that if she lays more than one egg in a single 

 nest the enterprise would prove disastrous. The 

 brothers or sisters to this shelled scapegrace that 

 appears before me, helpless and innocent enough, 

 perhaps lie in four or five other nests. 



The red-start and Maryland yellow-throat, down 

 there in the swamp, have one apiece to take care 

 of. The lesser fly-catcher takes the responsibil- 

 ity under protest, and the vireos, in their good- 



