ere
from a sudden shower! Always the freshness and coolness, and always
the delicate mossy nest of the phoebe-bird! The bird keeps her place
till you are within a few feet of her, when she flits to a near
branch, and, with many oscillations of her tail, observes you
anxiously. Since the country has become settled, this pewee has fallen
into the strange practice of occasionally placing its nest under a
bridge, hay-shed, or other artificial structure, where it is subject
to all kinds of interruptions and annoyances. When placed thus, the
nest is larger and coarser. I know a hayloft beneath which a pair has
regularly placed its nest for several successive seasons. Arranged
along on a single pole, which sags down a few inches from the flooring
it was intended to help support, are three of these structures,
marking the number of years the birds have nested there. The
foundation is of mud with a superstructure of moss, elaborately lined
with hair and feathers. Nothing can be more perfect and exquisite than
the interior of one of these nests, yet a new one is built every
season. Three broods, however, are frequently reared in it.

[Illustration: NEST OF PHOEBE.]

The pewees, as a class, are the best architects we have. The king-bird
builds a nest altogether admirable, using various soft cotton and
woollen substances, and sparing neither time nor material to make it
substantial and warm. The green-crested pewee builds its nest in many
instances wholly of the blossoms of the white-oak. The wood pewee
builds a neat, compact socket-shaped nest of moss and lichens on a
horizontal branch. There is never a loose end or shred about it. The
sitting bird is largely visible above the rim. She moves her head
freely about, and seems entirely at her ease,--a circumstance which I
have never observed in any other species. The nest of the
great-crested flycatcher is seldom free from snake skins, three or
four being sometimes woven into it.

About the thinnest, shallowest nest, for its situation, that can be
found is that of the turtle-dove. A few sticks and straws are
carelessly thrown together, hardly sufficient to prevent the eggs from
falling through or rolling off. The nest of the passenger pigeon is
equally hasty and insufficient, and the squabs often fall to the
ground and perish. The other extreme among our common birds is
furnished by the ferruginous thrush, which collects together a mass of
material that would fill a half-bushel m