IN THE HEMLOCKS 61 



warbler pauses a moment and hastens away; the 

 Maryland yellow-throat peeps shyly from the lower 

 bushes and utters his "Fip! fip!" in sympathy; 

 the wood pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, 

 and the red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eying 

 me with a curious, innocent look, evidently much 

 puzzled. But all disappear again, one by one, ap- 

 parently without a word of condolence or encourage- 

 ment to the distressed pair. I have often noticed 

 among birds this show of sympathy, — if indeed it 

 be sympathy, and not merely curiosity, or desire to 

 be forewarned of the approach of a common danger. 



An hour afterward I approach the place, find all 

 still, and the mother bird upon the nest. As I 

 draw near she seems to sit closer, her eyes growing 

 large with an inexpressibly wild, beautiful look. 

 She keeps her place till I am within two paces of 

 her, when she flutters away as at first. In the 

 brief interval the remaining egg has hatched, and 

 the two little nestlings lift their heads without be- 

 ing jostled or overreached by any strange bedfellow. 

 A week afterward and they were flown away, — so 

 brief is the infancy of birds. And the wonder is 

 that they escape, even for this short time, the skunks 

 and minks and muskrats that abound here, and that 

 have a decided partiality for such tidbits. 



I pass on through the old Barkpeeling, now 

 threading an obscure cow- path or an overgrown 

 wood-road; now clambering over soft and decayed 

 logs, or forcing my way through a network of briers 

 and hazels; now entering a perfect bower of wild 



