isturbed that they make only slight effort to conceal their nests,
and we shall find plenty of the beautiful bird cradles rocking with every
passing breeze.

A windy day will also reveal an interesting feature of the marsh. The
soft, velvety grass, which abounds in such places, is so pliant and
yielding that it responds to every breath, and each approaching wave of
air is heralded by an advancing curl of the grass. At our feet these
grass-waves intersect and recede, giving a weird sensation, as if the
ground were moving, or as if we were walking on the water itself. Where
the grass is longer, the record of some furious gale is permanently
fixed--swaths and ripples seeming to roll onward, or to break into green
foam. The simile of a "painted ocean" is perfectly carried out. There is
no other substance, not even sand, which simulates more exactly the
motions of water than this grass.

In the nearest clump of reeds we notice several red-winged blackbirds,
chattering nervously. A magnificent male bird, black as night, and with
scarlet epaulets burning on his shoulders, swoops at us, while his
inconspicuous brownish consorts vibrate above the reeds, some with grubs,
some empty mouthed. They are invariable indexes of what is below them. We
may say with perfect assurance that in that patch of rushes are two nests,
one with young; beyond are three others, all with eggs.

We find beautiful structures, firm and round, woven of coarse grasses
inside and dried reeds without, hung between two or three supporting
stalks, or, if it is a fresh-water marsh, sheltered by long, green fern
fronds. The eggs are worthy of their cradles--pearly white in colour, with
scrawls and blotches of dark purple at the larger end--hieroglyphics which
only the blackbirds can translate.

In another nest we find newly hatched young, looking like large
strawberries, their little naked bodies of a vivid orange colour, with
scanty gray tufts of down here and there. Not far away is a nest,
overflowing with five young birds ready to fly, which scramble out at our
approach and start boldly off; but as their weak wings give out, they soon
come to grief. We catch one and find that it has most delicate colours,
resembling its mother in being striped brown and black, although its
breast and under parts are of an unusually beautiful tint--a kind of
salmon pink. I never saw this shade elsewhere in Nature.

Blackbirds are social creatures, and where we find one nes