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 theatre 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 wings entangled in this
same fatal horse-hair. Its efforts to free itself appeared only to
result in its being more securely and hopelessly bound; and there it
perished; and there its form, dried and embalmed by the summer heats,
was yet hanging in September, the outspread wings and plumage showing
nearly as bright as in life.

A correspondent writes me that one of his orioles got entangled in a
cord while building her nest, and that though by the aid of a ladder
he reached and liberated her, she died soon afterward. He also found
a "chippie" (called also "hair bird") suspended from a branch by a
horse-hair, beneath a partly constructed nest. I heard of a cedar-bird
caught and destroyed in the same way, and of two young bluebirds,
around whose legs a horse-hair had become so tightly wound that the legs
withered up and dropped off. The birds became fledged, and left the nest
with the others. Such tragedies are probably quite common.

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 noticed, is long and gourd-shaped; but in orchards 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 one under review, 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 in the spring of 1881 was in
the field under a fragment 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