The Baltimore oriole loves to attach its nest to the swaying branches
of the tallest elms, making no attempt at concealment, but satisfied
if the position be high and the branch pendent. This nest would seem
to cost more time and skill than any other bird structure. A peculiar
flax-like substance seems to be always sought after, and always
found. The nest when completed assumes the form of a large, suspended
gourd. The walls are thin but firm, and proof against the most driving
rain. The mouth is hemmed or over-handed with horse-hair, and the
sides are usually sewed through and through with the same.

Not particular as to the matter of secrecy, the bird is not particular
as to material, so that it be of the nature of strings or threads. A
lady friend once told me that while working by an open window, one of
these birds approached during her momentary absence, and, seizing a
skein of some kind of thread or yarn, made off with it to its
half-finished nest. But the perverse yarn caught fast in the branches,
and, in the bird's efforts to extricate it, got hopelessly tangled.
She tugged away at it all day, but was finally obliged to content
herself with a few detached portions. The fluttering strings were an
eye-sore to her ever after, and passing and repassing, she would give
them a spiteful jerk, as much as to say, "There is that confounded
yarn that gave me so much trouble."

From Pennsylvania, Vincent Barnard (to whom I am indebted for other
curious facts) sent me this interesting story of an oriole. He says a
friend of his, curious in such things, on observing the bird beginning
to build, hung out near the prospective nest skeins of many-colored
zephyr-yarn, which the eager artist readily appropriated. He managed
it so that the bird used nearly equal quantities of various high,