In a certain locality in the interior of New York, I know, every
season, where I am sure to find a nest or two of the slate-colored
snow-bird. It is under the brink of a low, mossy bank, so near the
highway that it could be reached from a passing vehicle with a whip.
Every horse or wagon or foot passenger disturbs the sitting bird. She
awaits the near approach of a sound of feet or wheels, and then darts
quickly across the road, barely clearing the ground, and disappears
amid the bushes on the opposite side.

In the trees that line one of the main streets and fashionable drives
leading out of Washington city, and less than half a mile from the
boundary, I have counted the nests of five different species at one
time, and that without any very close scrutiny of the foliage, while
in many acres of woodland, half a mile off, I searched in vain for a
single nest. Among the five that interested me most was that of a blue
grossbeak. Here this bird, which, according to Audubon's observations,
in Louisiana is shy and recluse, affecting remote marshes and the
borders of large ponds of stagnant water, had placed its nest in the
lowest twig of the lowest branch of a large sycamore, immediately over
a great thoroughfare, and so near the ground that a person standing in
a cart or sitting on a horse could have reached it with his hand. The
nest was composed mainly of fragments of newspaper and stalks of
grass, and, though so low, was remarkably well concealed by one of the
peculiar clusters of twigs and leaves which characterize this tree.
The nest contained young when I discovered it, and though the parent
birds were much annoyed by my loitering about beneath the tree, they
paid little attention to the stream of vehicles that was constantly
passing. It is a wonder to me when the birds could have built it, for
they are much shyer when building than at other times. No doubt they