sted
something, and the twain moved on, the female calling to her mate at
intervals, _love-e, love-e_, with a cadence and tenderness in the
tone that rang in the ear long afterward. The nest was suspended to
the fork of a small branch, as is usual with the vireos, plentifully
lined with lichens, and bound and rebound with masses of coarse
spider-webs. There was no attempt at concealment except in the
neutral tints, which made it look like a natural growth of the dim,
gray woods.

Continuing my random walk, I next paused in a low part of the woods,
where the larger trees began to give place to a thick second-growth
that covered an old Barkpeeling. I was standing by a large maple,
when a small bird darted quickly away from it, as if it might have
come out of a hole near its base. As the bird paused a few yards
from me, and began to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once
excited. When I saw it was the female mourning ground warbler, and
remembered that the nest of this bird had not yet been seen by any
naturalist,--that not even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs,--I
felt that here was something worth looking for. So I carefully began
the search, exploring inch by inch the ground, the base and roots of
the tree, and the various shrubby growths about it, till, finding
nothing and fearing I might really put my foot in it, I bethought me
to withdraw to a distance and after some delay return again, and,
thus forewarned, note the exact point from which the bird flew. This
I did, and, returning, had little difficulty in discovering the
nest. It was placed but a few feet from the maple-tree, in a bunch
of ferns, and about six inches from the ground. It was quite a
massive nest, composed entirely of the stalks and leaves of dry
grass, with an inner lining of fine, dark brown roots. The eggs,
three in number, were of light flesh-color, uniformly specked with
fine brown specks. The cavity of the nest was so deep that the back
of the sitting bird sank below the edge.

In the top of a tall tree, a short distance farther on, I saw the
nest of the red-tailed hawk,--a large mass of twigs and dry sticks.
The young had flown, but still lingered in the vicinity, and, as I
approached, the mother bird flew about over me, squealing in a very
angry, savage manner. Tufts of the hair and other indigestible
material of the common meadow mouse lay around on the ground
beneath the nest.

As I was about leaving the woods, my hat almost brushed