THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 
limb of a plane-tree that stood by the road- 
side, about forty feet from the ground. Every 
day for nearly a week as I passed by I saw 
_ the sitting bird upon the nest. Then one 
morning she was not in her place, and on 
examination the nest proved to be empty — 
robbed, I had no doubt, by the red squirrels, 
as they were very abundant in its vicinity 
and appeared to make a clean sweep of 
every nest. The wood pewee builds an ex- 
quisite nest, shaped and finished as if cast in 
a mold. It is modeled without and within 
with equal neatness and art, like the nest of 
the humming-bird and the little gray gnat- 
catcher. The material is much more re- 
fractory than that used by either of these 
birds, being, in the present case, dry, fine ce- 
dar twigs; but these were bound into a shape 
as rounded’ and compact as could be molded 
out of the most plastic material. Indeed, the 
nest of this bird looks precisely like a large, 
lichen-covered, cup-shaped excrescence of 
the limb upon which it is placed. And the 
bird, while sitting, seems entirely at her ease. 
Most birds seem to make very hard work 
of incubation. It is a kind of martyrdom 
which appears to tax all their powers of en- 
durance. ‘They have such a fixed, rigid, pre- 
determined look, pressed down into the nest 
and as motionless as if made of cast-iron. 
But the wood pewee is an exception. It is 
largely visible above the rim of the nest. Its 
attitude is easy and graceful; it moves its 
head this way and that, and seems to take 
note of whatever goes on about it; and if its 
neighbor were to drop in for a little social 
chat, it could doubtless do its part. In fact, 
it makes light and easy work of what, to 
most other birds, is such a serious and en- 
grossing matter. If it does not look like play 
with her, it at least looks like leisure and quiet 
contemplation. 
There is no nest-builder that suffers more 
from crows and squirrels and other enemies 
than the wood-thrush. It builds as openly and 
unsuspiciously as if it thought all the world 
as honest as itself. Its favorite place is the 
fork of a sapling, eight or ten feet from the 
ground, where it falls an easy prey to every 
nest-robber that comes prowling through the 
woods and groves. It is not a bird that 
skulks and hides like the cat-bird, the brown- 
thrasher, the chat, or the cheewink, and its 
nest is not concealed with the same art as 
theirs. Our thrushes are all frank, open-man- 
nered birds; but the veery and the her- 
mit build upon the ground, where they at 
least escape the crows, owls, and jays, and 
stand a better chance to be overlooked by 
the red squirrel and weasel also; while the 
robin seeks the protection of dwellings and 
685, 
out-buildings. For years I have not known 
the nest of a wood-thrush to succeed. The 
past season I observed but two, both appar- 
ently a second attempt, as the season was 
well advanced, and both failures. In one case, 
the nest was placed in a branch that an 
apple-tree, standing near a dwelling, held out 
over the highway. The structure was barely 
ten feet above the middle of the road, and 
would just escape a passing load of hay. It 
was made conspicuous by the use of a large 
fragment of newspaper in its foundation—an 
unsafe material to build upon in most cases. 
Whatever else the press may guard, this par- 
ticular newspaper did not guard this nest from 
harm. It saw the egg and probably the 
chick, but not the fledgeling. A murderous 
deed was committed above the public high- 
way, but whether in the open day or under 
cover of darkness I have no means of know- 
ing. The frisky red squirrel was doubtless 
the culprit. The other nest was in a maple 
sapling, within a few yards of the little rustic 
summer-house already referred to. The first 
attempt of the season, I suspect, had failed 
in a more secluded place under the hill; so 
the pair had come up nearer the house for 
protection. The male sang in the trees near 
by for several days before I chanced to see 
the nest. The very morning I think it was 
finished, I saw a red squirrel exploring a tree 
but a few yards away; he probably knew 
what the singing meant as well as I did. I 
did not see the inside of the nest, for it was 
almost instantly deserted, the female having 
probably laid a single egg, which the squirrel 
had devoured. 
If I were a bird, in building my nest I 
should follow the example of the bobolink, 
placing it in the midst of a broad meadow, 
where there was no grass, or flower, or growth 
unlike another to mark its site. I judge that 
the bobolink escapes the dangers to which 
I have adverted as few or no other birds do. 
Unless the mowers come along at an earlier 
date than she has anticipated, that is, before 
July 1st, or a skunk goes nosing through the 
grass, which is unusual, she is as safe as . 
bird well can be in the great open of nature. 
She selects the most monotonous and uni- 
form place she can find amid the daisies or 
the timothy and clover, and places her simple 
structure upon the ground in the midst of it. 
There is no concealment, except as the great 
conceals the little, as the desert conceals the 
pebble, as the myriad conceals the unit. You 
may find the nest once, if your course chances 
to lead you across it and. your eye is quick 
enough to note the silent brown bird as she 
darts swiftly away; but step three paces in 
the wrong direction, and your search will 
