On examining another Wrens’ nest a few evenings ago, I found the young ones had flown, and as there was a cock-nest in some wrack left by the river in a bush a few yards off, I gave it a shake to see if the old ones had taken possession of it for another brood; and I was surprised to see one, and then a second young one come flying out, and a third putting out its head to reconnoitre.  Whether the whole brood was there I don’t know, as I did not disturb them further.  As I had examined this nest only ten days before, when it had not an egg in it, I was at first at a loss to account for these young ones; but I have now no doubt they were the young from the adjoining nest, which had taken up their quarters for the night in the new house.  But how had they learnt the way?  Young birds generally roost where night finds them, and if I had found only one, I should not have been surprised, but to find at least three, probably six or seven, in a nest where I am certain they were not bred, was something new to me.  I went several times in the evening after this, but never found them; I suppose the fright I gave them deterred them from lodging there again.

The editor of “Loudon’s Magazine,” in a paragraph appended to this article, says:  “We have examined the Wrens’ nests sent; their staple materials are moss, feathers, and hair.  Into the moss on the exterior of the nest are woven a more or less perfect but feeble frond or two, and separate pinnae as well of Aspidium Filix-Mas, and leaves of apple, elm, and oak trees.  Interiorly cows’ hair is not scarce, and is partly inwoven with the moss and laces it together, and partly mingled with the feathers; a horse-hair or two are also observable.  The feathers in each nest, apparently those of domestic fowls, are numerous enough to fill the hollow of the hand when the fingers are so folded over as not to much compress the feathers.”

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ALARM-NOTE OF ONE BIRD UNDERSTOOD BY OTHER SPECIES OF BIRDS.

In Montagu’s “Ornithological Dictionary,” under the article “Song of Birds,” there is the following remark:  “Regarding the note of alarm which birds utter on the approach of their natural enemies, whether a Hawk, an Owl, or a Cat, we consider it to be a general language perfectly understood by all small birds, though each species has a note peculiar to itself.”  I was last April very much pleased at witnessing an illustration of the truth of this opinion.  I found a nest of young Throstles at the root of a hazel, and although they could scarcely fly, yet as they were near a footpath, and the next day was Sunday, when many idle and mischievous lads would be rambling about, I thought they would be safer out of their nest than in it; and as I knew that when so far fledged, if they were once disturbed they would not continue in the nest, I took one from the nest and made it cry out, and then put it back again; but in one minute, not only it but its three companions had disappeared in the long dry grass which