, elegant
bird that is restricted to the West. I had never seen this species.
Nothing like him is known in the East, the crested flycatcher being most
nearly a copy of him, although the manners of the two birds are quite
unlike. The body of the western bird is as large as that of the robin,
and he must be considerably longer from tip of beak to tip of tail. He
is a fine-looking fellow, presenting a handsome picture as he stands on
a weed-stalk or a fence-post, his yellow jacket gleaming in the sun. He
is the possessor of a clear, musical voice, and if he had the vocal
organs of some of the oscines, he certainly would be one of the best
feathered lyrists of America. Unfortunately he is able to do nothing but
chirp and chatter, although he puts not a little music into his simple
vocal exercises.

It was surprising to note on how slender a weed-stalk so large a bird
was able to perch. There being few trees and fences in this region, he
has doubtless gained expertness through practice in the art of securing
a foot-hold on the tops of the weed-stems. Some of the weeds on which he
stood with perfect ease and grace were extremely lithe and flexible and
almost devoid of branches.

But what was the cause of this particular bird's intense solicitude? It
was obvious there was a nest in the neighborhood. As I sought in the
grass and weed-clumps, he uttered his piercing calls of protest and
circled and hovered overhead like a red-winged blackbird. Suddenly the
thought occurred to me that the flycatchers of my acquaintance do not
nest on the ground, but on trees. I looked around, and, sure enough, in
the shallow hollow below me stood a solitary willow tree not more than
fifteen or twenty feet high, the only tree to be seen within a mile. And
that lone tree on the plain was occupied by the flycatcher and his mate
for a nesting place. In a crotch the gray cottage was set, containing
three callow babies and one beautifully mottled egg.

In another fork of the same small tree a pair of kingbirds--the same
species as our well-known eastern bee-martins--had built their nest, in
the downy cup of which lay four eggs similarly decorated with brown
spots. The birds now all circled overhead and joined in an earnest plea
with me not to destroy their homes and little ones, and I hurriedly
climbed down from the tree to relieve their agitation, stopping only a
moment to examine the twine plaited into the felted nests of the
kingbirds. The willow