The Audubon Warbler 



the shelter of deciduous trees as well. A nest which we attempted to 

 photograph in a northern city was placed in the lowermost available 

 crotch of an elm tree, one of a row of shade trees in front of a fashionable 

 residence, and not ten feet up. The composition of the nest was so 

 unusual — strings and white horsehair — that we decided we "needed" 

 it in our business. But the situation was very prominent, under review 

 of we knew not how many lorgnettes. Moreover, we did not know the 

 state of local sentiment, nor did we care to provoke discussion. Accord- 

 ingly, we provided ourselves (my astute partner, J. H. Bowles, was 

 particeps criminis in this affair) with a convenient nest of Western Chip- 

 ping Sparrow containing three well incubated eggs, to supply to the 

 inquisitive eyes the place of the Audubon n/4, to be abstracted. When 

 we had photographed the nest in situ, therefore, with due and discour- 

 aging solemnity, we quietly substituted Western Chipping Sparrow 

 n/3, pressing the new nest firmly down into place, so that the prevailing 

 winds would not disturb it. Judge of our amusement and satisfaction 

 when, upon strolling by half an hour later, we saw the female Audubon 

 sitting upon her foster eggs. We had not expected so complete a success. 

 To be sure, the bird appeared a little discontented, as though chiding 

 herself for folly in providing such a shallow nest. The next day, also, 

 found the victim of our little deception still in charge, so we retired, 

 quoting the comfortable proverb, as good for birds as for humans, "What 

 you don't know doesn't hurt you." 



Few warblers express such a frank concern for the welfare of their 

 domicile as do these lordly Audubons. When the young are grown, 

 the parents throw discretion to the winds and advance within a foot or 

 so of the intruder, prostrating themselves along the branches, or spreading 

 their tails and wings in frantic efforts to arouse a distracting cupidity. 

 The young are gentle, well-behaved little creatures, whom no one could 

 possibly wish to harm. When the nest is quitted, they follow their 

 parents dutifully through the treetops; or if the season is early, the male 

 takes charge of his brood while his mate prepares another nest. When 

 the season is ended, the family party works slowly over the mountain- 

 side above timberline. Such parties I met in July at 10,000 feet on 

 Shasta, where the only other birds one might expect were Thurber 

 Juncoes, or, perhaps, the heavenly Rosy Finch. 



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