THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 75 



On the corner of a wild cherry clump and bram- 

 ble patch, Mrs. Chestnut-sided Warbler sits all 

 day long, guarding her jewels by a curtained 

 window. What a time for quiet bird contempla- 

 tion ! Perhaps she thinks of the bees buzzing 

 over her head among the raspberry blooms, for 

 nectar, or the soft rustling of scores of moths and 

 butterflies' wings ; wings as white as snow-flakes, 

 as blue as the June sky ; sooty, flame-colored and 

 yellow wings, rising and falling aslant or flutter- 

 ing "topsy turvy" down through the thick leaves 

 close to her nest. Sometimes a breeze sweeps 

 through the bushes, and rocks her house "from 

 pillar to post," but she understands the riotous 

 wind and clings the closer. If it were possible 

 for a hand to shake her tiny structure in such a 

 way, how quickly she would fly from it. But she 

 is a sturdy little bird, and it is only when you 

 have carefully lifted up the last leaf that conceals 

 her back that you hear her slip away through the 

 thickly-growing stems, out of sight. 



The cup-like nest, composed of tough grasses, 

 fine bark strips and weed stalks, is securely lashed 

 on one side to a raspberry shoot and on the other 

 side to a small choke-cherry sapling, while a num- 

 ber of slender under-growing stems beneath, help 

 to support it. Madam is an excellent designer, 

 but looking at the nest at first, one might suppose 

 she slighted her work, after the frame had been 



