ich 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.

The pewees, as a class, are the best architects we have. The kingbird
builds a nest altogether admirable, using various soft cotton and
woolen 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 form
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 measure; or by the fish hawk,
which adds to and repairs its nest year after year, till the whole
would make a cart load.

One of the rarest of nests is that of the eagle, because the eagle is
one of the rarest of birds. Indeed, so seldom is the eagle seen that
its presence always seems accidental. It appears as if merely pausing
on the way, while bound for some distant unknown region. One
September, while a youth, I saw the ring-tailed eagle, the young of
the golden eagle, an immense, dusky bird, the sight of which filled me
with awe. It lingered about the hills for two days. Some young cattle,
a two-year-old colt, and half a dozen sheep were at pasture on a high
ridge that led up to the mountain, and in plain view of the house. On