THE GOLDEN EAGLE.

Burchall, the traveller, speaks of an ostrich's nest which he observed in South Africa, as a bare concavity scratched in the sand. It was six feet in diameter, surrounded by a shallow trench, and without the smallest trace of any materials, such as grass, leaves, or sticks, to give it a resemblance to many other nests.

As we think of other birds, we are reminded that

The lark, too, asks

A lonely dwelling, hid beneath a turf,

Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof:

Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays
Pours forth, as earth ne'er owns.

The structure, if so it may be called, of the golden eagle is quite flat, without any perceptible hollow, and commonly set between two rocks, in a dry inaccessible place. It is constructed nearly like a floor, with great sticks, five or six feet long, supported at the ends, and crossed with pliant branches. It has no covering above, and the same nest serves for a whole generation.

The nest of the wood-pigeon is composed of the rudest materials. These are only a few loose sticks, but the dwelling is admirably adapted for concealment. "How often," says Mr. Jesse, have I observed the strong, rapid flight of a wood-pigeon from a tree, and heard the noise produced by his wings, and then looked

66

THE WINDOW-SWALLOW,

up into the tree expecting to see his nest, without being able to perceive it. This has been owing to the various deposits of dead leaves and small branches which have been accumulated in various parts of the tree, and which have exactly the same appearance which the nest of the wood-pigeon has."

When the window-swallow begins to provide a suitable dwelling for its family, the crust or shell of its nest seems to be formed of such dirt or loam as is nearest at hand. This is tempered and wrought together with small pieces of broken straw, to render it tough and tenacious; and, as the bird often builds against a perpendicular wall without any projecting ledge under, its utmost efforts are needed to secure a firm foundation. To effect its purpose, the swallow not only clings with its claws, but partly supports itself by strongly inclining its tail against the wall; and thus steadied, it works and plasters the materials into the face of the brick or stone. But then, that this work may not, while it is soft and fresh, be pulled down by its own weight, the bird does not proceed too fast. Building only in the morning, there is time enough for it to dry and harden. About half an inch seems a sufficient layer for a day; yet in about ten or twelve days a nest is formed, strong, compact, and warm, with

THE SAND-MARTIN.

a small opening towards the top, and fully adapted to the purposes intended.

The outer part of the nest is full of knobs; nor is the inside smoothed with any exactness, but it is made soft and warm by a lining of small straws, grasses, and feathers, or by a bedding of moss and wool. Sometimes these birds begin many dwellings, and leave them unfinished; but when once a nest is built in a sheltered place, after much labour, it serves for several seasons.

The sand-martin mines deep holes in sand or chalk cliffs, to the depth of two or more feet, at the end of which it forms a loose nest of fine grass and feathers, put together with but little art. With what does this little bird make its chamber? Merely with its beak,

a sharp awl, which is very hard, and tapers suddenly from a broad base to a point. With this tool it works, picking away from the centre to the circumference of the opening, which is nearly circular, and working round and round as it proceeds, the gallery being more or less curved in its course, and being narrow and funnel-shaped at the end. One observer watched a swallow cling with its sharp claws to the face of a sandbank, and peg in its bill as a miner would his pickaxe, till it had loosened a considerable portion of the sand, and tumbled it down amongst the rubbish below.

THE BURROWING OWL.

Another swallow often chooses the chimney of an old farm-house, while the martin occupies the eaves. Here, too, sparrows find a crevice; sometimes they choose the roof of a house, or if the latter be of thatch, they scoop out a hole for their nests of hay and straw, lined with feathers. Failing here,

Within the hedge

The sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs.

Nor will these birds disdain to fix their abode in some tree. They like to build, too, under the mud-bottom of a rook's nest, which defends them from the rain.

The white owl seeks the antique ruin'd wall,
Fearless of rapine; or, in hollow trees,

Which age has cavern'd, safely courts repose.

A different course is taken by the burrowing owl of America. It resides only in the villages of the marmot or prairie dog, where excavations are so commodious as to render it unnecessary that this bird should build for itself, as it is said to do in other parts of the world, where burrowing animals do not exist. These villages, which are numerous, vary in extent, sometimes covering a few acres, and at others spreading over the surface of the country for miles. They are composed of mounds, about two feet in width at the base, and seldom rising eighteen inches above the surface of the soil. The entrance is