gay little redstart,
which we had watched almost from the laying of the foundations. We made
our visit. Yesterday there were two pearls of promise within; to-day,
alas! nothing.

Squirrels, we said; for those beasts were the bugaboo of the woods to
its feathered inhabitants. Hardly a nest was so high, so well hidden, or
so closely watched, but some unlucky day a little fellow--sportsman,
would you call him?--- in gray or red fur, would find his chance, and
make his breakfast on next year's song birds.

Musing on this and other tragedies among our friends, we silently turned
to the next neighbor. At this door we could knock, and we always did.
(We desired to be civil when circumstances permitted.) A rap or two on
the dead trunk brought hastily to the door, twenty-five feet high, a
small head, with a bright red cap and necktie, and eager, questioning
eyes. Observing that he had guests, he came out, showing his black and
white coat. But one glance was usually enough; he declined to entertain
us, and instantly took his leave. We knew him well, however--the
yellow-bellied woodpecker, or "sapsucker," as he was called in the
vicinity. This morning we did not need to knock, for one of the family
was already outside,--a young woodpecker, clinging to the bark, and
dressing his nest-ruffled plumage for the grand performance, his first
flight. We resolved at once to assist at the debut, secured reserved
seats with a good view, and seated ourselves to wait.

Didst ever, dear reader, sit in one position on a camp-stool without a
back, with head thrown back, and eyes fixed upon one small bird thirty
feet from the ground, afraid to move or turn your eyes, lest you miss
what you are waiting for, while the sun moves steadily on till his
hottest rays pour through some opening directly upon you; while
mosquitoes sing about your ears (would that they sang only!), and flies
buzz noisily before your face; while birds flit past, and strange notes
sound from behind; while rustling in the dead leaves at your feet
suggests snakes, and a crawling on your neck proclaims spiders? If you
have not, you can never appreciate the enthusiasms of a bird student,
nor realize what neck-breaks and other discomforts one will cheerfully
endure to witness the first flight of a nestling.

This affair turned out, however, as in many another case of great
expectations, to be no remarkable performance. When the debutant had
made his toilet, he flew, as if he ha