Of late years, however, it has seemed to me that the pretty nests on the secluded streets of New England towns are growing scarcer.  The orioles are peace-loving birds, and dislike the society of those noisy, pugnacious little rascals, the English sparrows, which have of late taken possession of our streets.  Often now I find the nests far away from any house, on lonely roads where a few years ago they were rarely seen.  Sometimes also a solitary farmhouse, too far from the town to be much visited by sparrows, has two or three nests swinging about it in its old elms, where formerly there was but one.

It is an interesting evidence of the bird’s keen instinct that where nests are built on lonely roads and away from houses they are noticeably deeper, and so better protected from bird enemies.  The same thing is sometimes noticed of nests built in maple or apple trees, which are without the protection of drooping branches, upon which birds of prey can find no footing.  Some wise birds secure the same protection by simply contracting the neck of the nest, instead of building a deep one.  Young birds building their first nests seem afraid to trust in the strength of their own weaving.  Their nests are invariably shallow, and so suffer most from birds of prey.

In the choice of building material the birds are very careful.  They know well that no branch supports the nest from beneath; that the safety of the young orioles depends on good, strong material well woven together.  In some wise way they seem to know at a glance whether a thread is strong enough to be trusted; but sometimes, in selecting the first threads that are to bear the whole weight of the nest, they are unwilling to trust to appearances.  At such times a pair of birds may be seen holding a little tug-of-war, with feet braced, shaking and pulling the thread like a pair of terriers, till it is well tested.

It is in gathering and testing the materials for a nest that the orioles display no little ingenuity.  One day, a few years ago, I was lying under some shrubs, watching a pair of the birds that were building close to the house.  It was a typical nest-making day, the sun pouring his bright rays through delicate green leaves and a glory of white apple blossoms, the air filled with warmth and fragrance, birds and bees busy everywhere.  Orioles seem always happy; to-day they quite overflowed in the midst of all the brightness, though materials were scarce and they must needs be diligent.

The female was very industrious, never returning to the nest without some contribution, while the male frolicked about the trees in his brilliant orange and black, whistling his warm rich notes, and seeming like a dash of southern sunshine amidst the blossoms.  Sometimes he stopped in his frolic to find a bit of string, over which he raised an impromptu jubilate, or to fly with his mate to the nest, uttering that soft rich twitter of his in a mixture of blarney and congratulation whenever she found some particularly choice material.  But his chief part seemed to be to furnish the celebration, while she took care of the nest-making.