chimney, or a redwing to the swamp. After the 

 cold rains of late May have taken off the blossoms 

 and with them the bees, the place becomes melo- 

 dious with his song. It is thenceforth his estate, 

 and he dominates it with his small personality. 

 With him his house is his castle, and in true 

 medieval fashion he barricades his door. Within 

 is snug enough, but without it has a feudal and 

 forbidding look, — a formidable barrier of twigs, 

 ere<5ted perhaps against the house-sparrow or for 

 fear the robber-owl may peer too closely. 



In this choice of a building site the bird reveals 

 something of itself. Contrast the wren with the 

 phoebe, a cliff-dweller, loving the conta<3: of the 

 ledge itself better than any bush or tree. The 

 song-sparrow has an eye for the wild rose and the 

 yellow warbler for apple blossoms, but the phoebe 

 has some austere traits which make the stern rock 

 more congenial to her. Some birds are architedts, 

 others builders merely. The vireos are a family of 

 artists, whereas the improvident cuckoo will not 

 even lay a proper floor to her nest. 



A look into some nests is a glance at the do- 

 mestic life of a savage people, and yet we find the 

 virtues we most esteem — patience, perseverance 



31 



