cehouse by the river, and to reach the sawdust filling for a
nesting-place.

THE PH[OE]BE

Another April bird whose memory I fondly cherish is the ph[oe]be-bird,
the pioneer of the flycatchers. In the inland farming districts, I used
to notice him, on some bright morning about Easter Day, proclaiming his
arrival, with much variety of motion and attitude, from the peak of the
barn or hay-shed. As yet, you may have heard only the plaintive,
homesick note of the bluebird, or the faint trill of the song sparrow;
and the ph[oe]be's clear, vivacious assurance of his veritable bodily
presence among us again is welcomed by all ears. At agreeable intervals
in his lay he describes a circle or an ellipse in the air, ostensibly
prospecting for insects, but really, I suspect, as an artistic flourish,
thrown in to make up in some way for the deficiency of his musical
performance. If plainness of dress indicates powers of song, as it
usually does, the ph[oe]be ought to be unrivaled in musical ability, for
surely that ashen-gray suit is the superlative of plainness; and that
form, likewise, would hardly pass for a "perfect figure" of a bird. The
seasonableness of his coming, however, and his civil, neighborly ways,
shall make up for all deficiencies in song and plumage.

The ph[oe]be-bird is a wise architect and perhaps enjoys as great an
immunity from danger, both in its person and its nest, as any other
bird. Its modest ashen-gray suit is the color of the rocks where it
builds, and the moss of which it makes such free use gives to its nest
the look of a natural growth or accretion. But when it comes into the
barn or under the shed to build, as it so frequently does, the moss is
rather out of place. Doubtless in time the bird will take the hint, and
when she builds in such places will leave the moss out. I noted but two
nests the summer I am speaking of: one in a barn failed of issue, on
account of the rats, I suspect, though the little owl may have been the
depredator; the other, in the woods, sent forth three young. This latter
nest was most charmingly and ingeniously placed. I discovered it while
in quest of pond-lilies, in a long, deep, level stretch of water in the
woods. A large tree had blown over at the edge of the water, and its
dense mass of upturned roots, with the black, peaty soil filling the
interstices, was like the fragment of a wall several feet high, rising
from the edge of the languid current. In a niche i