120 
THE WILSON BULLETIN— June, 1922 
retired to the other side of the bush aud the bird returned to the nest 
at once. On my approach, he jumped off again and began to sing the 
familiar notes of the Bell Vireo, thus confirming my previous diagnosis. 
I then examined the four eggs, all sharply ovate, three white and one 
twelve millimeters in length, with an irregular ring of pale brown spots 
around the largest diameter. The nest was less than two inches in 
diameter, inside measurement, and one and three-quarter inches deep. 
It was hung below a small horizontal fork, and made outside of the 
cotton of cottonwood trees or the silk of milkweeds and decaying paper 
bits, lined with tiny root hairs and other more brittle material. Before 
the birds could fly, something, cat or snake it may be, brought to naught 
this thing of joy. I have saved the nest to show my bird-loving friends, 
but not fastened to the twigs as it should be. It makes one wonder why 
the evolution of “ the survival of the fittest ” has not resulted in teach- 
ing all perching birds to build higher from their ground enemies, and I 
imagine that the answer is that they build today exactly as they did ten 
thousand years ago, not having yet been apprised of the law of evolution. 
J. M. Bates. 
Red Cloud, Nebraska. 
