s. First, those that repair or appropriate the last year's nest,
as the wren, swallow, bluebird, great-crested flycatcher, owls,
eagles, fish hawk, and a few others. Secondly, those that build anew
each season, though frequently rearing more than one brood in the same
nest. Of these the phoebe-bird is a well-know example. Thirdly, those
that build a new nest for each brood, which includes by far the
greatest number of species. Fourthly, a limited number that make no
nest of their own, but appropriate the abandoned nests of other birds.
Finally, those who use no nest at all, but deposit their eggs in the
sand, which is the case with a large number of aquatic fowls. 1866.

V

SPRING AT THE CAPITAL WITH AN EYE TO THE BIRDS

I came to Washington to live in the fall of 1863, and, with the
exception of a month each summer spent in the interior of New York,
have lived here ever since.

I saw my first novelty in Natural History the day after my arrival.
As I was walking near some woods north of the city, a grasshopper of
prodigious size flew up from the ground and alighted in a tree. As I
pursued him, he proved to be nearly as wild and as fleet of wing as a
bird. I thought I had reached the capital of grasshopperdom, and that
this was perhaps one of the chiefs or leaders, or perhaps the great
High Cock O'lorum himself, taking an airing in the fields. I have
never yet been able to settle the question, as every fall I start up a
few of these gigantic specimens, which perch on the trees. They are
about three inches long, of a gray striped or spotted color, and have
quite a reptile look.

The greatest novelty I found, however, was the superb autumn weather,
the bright, strong, electric days, lasting well into November, and the
general mildness of the entire winter. Though the mercury occasionally
sinks to zero, yet the earth is never so seared and blighted by the
cold but that in some sheltered nook or corner signs of vegetable life
still remain, which on a little encouragement even asserts itself. I
have found wild flowers here every month of the year; violets in
December, a single houstonia in January (the little lump of earth upon
which it stood was frozen hard), and a tiny weed-like plant, with a
flower almost microscopic in its smallness, growing along graveled
walks and in old plowed fields in February. The liverwort sometimes
comes out as early as the first week in March, and the little frogs
begin to pipe doubtful