XI. 



A TRAGEDY IN THE MAPLE-TREE. 



OxE of my windows looks into a large yard, 

 with trees so thick that when the foliage is out 

 I cannot see the street, from which the roar of 

 vehicles alone reminds me that I am in the 

 closely-built city. The birds are fond of this 

 pleasant green nook, and here I have often 

 studied their ways. 



Early in May of last year I had the good 

 fortune to see what was to me then a new 

 phase of sparrow-life, — a domestic quarrel end- 

 ing in separation, and a wooing ending in mar- 

 riage. The scene of the drama was a home es- 

 tablished in a hole in the trunk of a maple-tree 

 twenty feet from my window. It is where a 

 branch has been taken off, and the opening is 

 perhaps three inches long and two wide. 



In the three years I have watched it I have 

 felt peculiar interest in that nest, from its cozy 

 situation, and have taken more notice of the 

 little housekeepers than of any who occupy 



