The material used is the tough and wiry Bushman’s grass; the tree usually chosen for the suspension of the nest, is a species of acacia, the giraffe thorn, which derives its name from its constituting the chief food of the beautiful camelopard, and on account of its size and the umbrella-shaped disposition of its foliage is a great ornament to the arid wastes of Caffraria.
The instinct of the birds seems to have pointed out to them that it is peculiarly adapted for the purpose, as its smooth and polished bark keeps off many an enemy who, if he could ascend the stem, would be but too happy to give them a friendly call; and besides, the wood is extremely hard and tough, so that the branches are able to bear the great weight of the nests.
When about to make a new construction, the birds hang the Bushman’s grass over a suitable branch, and by means of weaving and plaiting it, form a roof of some little size. Under this cover are sheltered a quantity of nests, increasing in number with each new brood, for although the same nest-mass is occupied for several successive seasons, the birds never breed in the same nests a second time.
In consequence of this custom, when they have to provide for a new brood, they enlarge the roof, and build a second row of nests just like the combs of a hornet’s habitation. Layer after layer is thus added, until the mass, spreading out like an extended umbrella, attains so enormous a size as to be easily mistaken by the traveller for a thatched dwelling erected by the natives in arboreal elevation, as a defence against wild beasts. Ultimately the branch, however strong, breaks under the accumulated weight, and comes crashing to the ground; an accident which fortunately leaves the breeding months undisturbed, as it generally occurs during the rainy season after the dried grass has absorbed a vast quantity of moisture. One of the wonders of these prodigious nests is that the birds should be able so easily to find their way to their own particular home. Of all the hundreds of holes with which these nest-cities are frequently pierced, one is as like as possible to the other, yet notwithstanding this similarity the inmates glide in and out without any hesitation.
BAYA SPARROW.
On turning to Asia we likewise find many admirable nest-builders. Among these the Baya, or Toddy Bird, is one of the most curious. In shape it resembles the sparrow, as also in the brown feathers of the back and wings; the head and breast are of a bright yellow, and in the rays of a tropical sun have a splendid appearance when the birds are flying by thousands in the same grove. They make a chirping noise, but have no song; they associate in large communities, and cover clumps of palmyras, acacias, and date-trees with their nests. These are formed in a very ingenious manner by long grass woven together in the shape of a bottle, and suspended by so slender a thread to the end of a flexible branch that even the squirrel dare not venture his body on so fragile a support, however his mouth may water at the eggs and prey within. These nests contain several apartments, appropriated to different purposes: in one the hen performs the office of incubation; another, consisting of a little thatched roof and covering a perch without a bottom, is occupied by the male, who cheers the female with his chirping note. The Hindoos are very fond of these birds for their docility and sagacity; when young, they teach them to fetch and carry, and at the time the young women resort to the public fountains their lovers instruct the baya to pluck the tica or golden ornament from the forehead of their favourite and bring it to their master.
THE TAILOR BIRDS.
The Tailor-bird of Hindostan (Sylvia sutoria) is equally curious in the structure of its nest, and far superior in the elegance and variety of its plumage, which in the male glows with the varied tints of the colibri. Selecting a suitable leaf, generally one which hangs from the end of a slender twig, the little artist pierces a row of holes along each edge, using his beak as a shoemaker uses his awl. When the holes are completed the feathered tailor next selects his thread, which is a long fibre of some plant, and passing it through the holes, draws the sides of the leaf towards each other, so as to form a kind of hollow cone, the point downwards. Generally a single leaf answers the purpose, but whenever the bird cannot find one sufficiently long, it sews two together, or even fetches another leaf and fastens it with the fibre. The interior of the hollow is then lined with a quantity of soft white down, and thus a warm, light, and elegant nest is constructed, scarcely visible among the foliage, and safe from the attacks of almost every foe but man. Who, on witnessing these miracles of instinct, would not exclaim with the poet: