682 
which the nest was stayed and held to the 
limb above. There it hung bruised and dead, 
gibbeted to its own cradle. This nest was 
the theater of another little tragedy later in 
the season. Some time in August a bluebird, 
indulging its propensity to peep and pry into 
holes and crevices, alighted upon it and 
probably inspected the interior ; but by some 
unlucky move it got its wing entangled in this 
same fatal horse-hair. Its efforts to free itself 
appeared only to result in its being more se- 
curely and hopelessly bound; and there it per- 
ished ; and there its form, dried and embalmed 
by the summer heats, was yet hanging in Sep- 
tember, the outspread wings and plumage 
showing nearly as bright as in life. 
Before the advent of civilization in this 
country, the oriole probably built a much 
deeper nest than it usually does at present. 
When now it builds in remote trees and along 
the borders of the woods, its nest, I have no- 
ticed, is long and gourd-shaped; but in or- 
chards and near dwellings it is only a deep 
cup or pouch. It shortens it up in proportion 
as the danger lessens. Probably a succession 
of disastrous years, like the present one, would 
cause it to lengthen it again beyond the reach 
of owl’s talons or jay-bird’s beak. 
The first song-sparrow’s nest I observed 
the past season was in a field under a frag- 
ment of a board, the board being raised from 
the ground a couple of inches by two poles. 
It had its full complement of eggs, and 
probably sent forth a brood of young birds, 
though as to this I cannot speak positively, 
as I neglected to observe it further. It was 
well sheltered and concealed, and was not 
easily come at by any of its natural enemies, 
save snakes and weasels. But concealment 
often avails little. In May, a song-sparrow, 
that had evidently met with disaster earlier 
in the season, built its nest in a thick mass 
of woodbine against the side of my house, 
about fifteen feet from the ground. Perhaps 
it took the hint from its cousin, the Eng- 
lish sparrow. The nest was admirably placed, 
protected from the storms by the overhanging 
eaves and from all eyes by the thick screen 
of leaves. Only by patiently watching the 
suspicious bird, as she lingered near with food 
in her beak, did I discover its whereabouts. 
That brood is safe, I thought, beyond doubt. 
But it was not: the nest was pillaged one 
night, either by an owl, or else by a rat that 
had climbed into the vine, seeking an en- 
trance to the house. The mother-bird, after 
reflecting upon her ill luck about a week, 
seemed to resolve to try a different system of 
tactics and to throw all appearances of con- 
cealment aside. She built a nest a few yards 
from the house beside the drive, upon a 
THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 
smooth piece of greensward. There was not 
a weed or a shrub or anything whatever to 
conceal it or mark its site. The structure 
was completed and incubation had begun 
before I discovered what was going on. 
“ Well, well,” I said, looking down upon the 
bird almost at my feet, “this is going to the 
other extreme indeed ; now, the cats will have 
you.” The desperate little bird sat there day 
after day, looking like a brown leaf pressed 
down in the short green grass. As the 
weather grew hot, her position became very 
trying. It was no longer a question of keep- 
ing the eggs warm, but of keeping them from 
roasting. ‘The sun had no mercy on her, and 
she fairly panted in the middle of the day. 
In such an emergency, the male robin has 
been known to perch above the sitting female 
and shade her with his outstretched wings. 
But in this case there was no perch for the 
male bird, had he been disposed to make a 
sunshade of himself. I thought to lend a 
hand in this direction myself, and so stuck a 
leafy twig beside the nest. This was probably 
an unwise interference; it guided disaster to 
the spot; the nest was broken up, and the 
mother-bird probably was caught, as I never 
saw her afterward. 
For several summers past a pair of kingbirds 
have reared, unmolested, a brood of young 
in an apple-tree, only a few yards from the 
house ; but, during the present season, disaster 
overtook them also. The nest was completed, 
the eggs laid, and incubation had just begun, 
when, one morning about sunrise, I heard 
loud cries of distress and alarm proceed from 
the old apple-tree. Looking out of the wmdow 
I saw a crow, which I knew to be a fish-crow, 
perched upon the edge of the nest hastily 
bolting the eggs. The parent birds, usually 
so. ready for the attack, seemed overcome 
with grief and alarm. They fluttered about 
in the most helpless and bewildered manner, 
and it was not till the robber fled on my 
approach that they recovered themselves and 
charged upon him. The crow scurried away 
with upturned, threatening head, the furious 
kingbirds fairly upon his back. The pair lin- 
gered around their desecrated nest for several 
days, almost silent, and saddened by their loss, 
and then disappeared. They probably made 
another trial elsewhere. 
The fish-crow fishes only when it has de- 
stroyed all the eggs and young birds it can 
find. It is the most despicable thief and 
robber among our feathered creatures. From 
May to August, it is gorged with the fledge- 
lings of the nest. Itis fortunate that its range 
is so limited. In size it is smaller than the 
common crow, and is a much less noble and 
dignified bird. Its caw is weak and feminine 
