nnot tell. She did not move as I approached; she did not
even turn her head to look at me. It was strange. I went right up to
the nest, and yet she did not fly. Stretching out my hand, I found
that she was dead, her unhatched eggs still under her cold and
pulseless bosom.

I could have wept for my little friends. There was nothing to indicate
the cause of the tragedy, no disturbance of the nest, no marks of
violence on her body. Possibly she had eaten or drunk poison; perhaps
she had received a fatal blow from an enemy, and had just had strength
enough left to come home to die. Her mate was gone. He was doubtless
unable to bear the ghastly sight of his dead companion on her nest.

A little field sparrow came to a tragical end in a different way. I
found his body dangling among the bushes on a bank. Two small but
tough grapevine twigs growing out horizontally and close together
formed a very acute angle, and this was the trap in which the innocent
bird was caught. In some way one of his legs had slipped between the
branches, the angle of which became more acute, of course, toward the
apex. Thus the more he struggled the more tightly his tarsus became
wedged in the trap, the foot preventing it from slipping through. To
think of pushing his leg backward, and so releasing himself, was beyond
the poor bird's cerebral power; so he fluttered until exhausted, then
dangled there to die of starvation. The place being very secluded, no
predatory beast or fowl had found the little corpse.

If there were only some way of protecting the nests of our beautiful
and useful birds of the wildwood, what a boon it would be to men and
fowls! So many nests come to grief that one wonders sometimes that any
brood is ever reared. During a recent spring, with exhausting toil and
patience, I found the nests of several shy woodland birds--the
Kentucky, the hooded, and the creeping warblers--all of them real
discoveries for me. I promised myself a rare treat in watching the
development of the nurslings from babyhood to youth. Alas! all the
nests were robbed, those of the Kentucky and hooded warblers of their
young, and that of the creeping warbler of its eggs. I trust I am not
naturally vindictive; but had I the brigands in my power who despoiled
those nests, I certainly should wring their necks.

Our small birds must ever be on the _qui vive_. Danger is always
lurking near, as a few concrete cases will show. Brush was thrown