small
bindweed; Pterotheca nemausensis, a sort of hawkweed; and Poa pratensis,
or smooth-stalked meadow-grass. When it is downy, the plant forms almost
the whole nest, as is the case with the flax-leaved bindweed; when
smooth, it forms only the framework, destined to support a crumbling
mass of micropus, as is the case with the small bindweed. When making
this collection, which I am far from giving as the birds' complete
herbarium, I was struck by a wholly unexpected detail: of the various
plants, I found only the heads still in bud; moreover, all the sprigs,
though dry, possessed the green colouring of the growing plant, a sign
of swift desiccation in the sun. Save in a few cases, therefore, the
Shrike does not collect the dead and withered remains: it is from the
growing plants that he reaps his harvest, mowing them down with his beak
and leaving the sheaves to dry in the sun before using them. I caught
him one day hopping about and pecking at the twigs of a Biscayan
bindweed. He was getting in his hay, strewing the ground with it.

The evidence of the Shrike, confirmed by that of all the other
workers--weavers, basket-makers or woodcutters--whom we may care to call
as witnesses, shows us what a large part must be assigned to discernment
in the bird's choice of materials for its nest. Is the insect as highly
gifted? When it works with vegetable matter, is it exclusive in its
tastes? Does it know only one definite plant, its special province? Or
has it, for employment in its manufactures, a varied flora, in which its
discernment exercises a free choice? For answers to these questions we
may look, above all, to the Leaf-cutting Bees, the Megachiles. Reaumur
has told the story of their industry in detail; and I refer the reader
who wishes for further particulars to the master's Memoirs.

The man who knows how to use his eyes in his garden will observe, some
day or other, a number of curious holes in the leaves of his lilac- and
rose-trees, some of them round, some oval, as if idle but skilful
hands had been at work with the pinking-iron. In some places, there is
scarcely anything but the veins of the leaves left. The author of the
mischief is a grey-clad Bee, a Megachile. For scissors, she has her
mandibles; for compasses, producing now an oval and anon a circle, she
has her eye and the pivot of her body. The pieces cut out are made into
thimble-shaped wallets, destined to contain the honey and the egg:
the larger, ova