THE WOOD PEWEE. 



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wreathed in their tenderest greens; the fresh blossoms, opening to the wooing 

 breeze, are exhaling their choicest odors ; the air hums with teeming insect life. 

 But the Wood Pewee takes only a languid interest in all these matters. His 

 memory is haunted by an unforgotten sorrow, some tragedy of the ancestral 

 youth, and he sits alone, apart, saying ever and anon as his heart is freshly 

 stirred, pe-a-wee, pe-a-wee. 



As the season advances, however, the drawling minor notes contrast less 

 strangely with the surroundings. Bobolink's note tinkles distantly from the 

 meadows or is hushed under the weight of increasing family cares. Oriole 

 still flutes, but only spasmodically, ami soon we know he too will be silent. 

 When the days reach their full length and the trees can hold not another leaf, 

 then the heart of the olive stranger grows warm. He feels that he has o >me 

 to his own, and from some ashen limb on the border of a woodsy aisle, his oft- 

 repeated notes blend perfectly with the languorous air. When other birds are 

 silent through the heat of the day, this soothful singer interprets rather than 

 breaks the delicious stillness of the sunlit shades by his gentle inquiry. 

 pe-a-zvee? pe-a-ivee? And then from time to time, lest his quaint interroga- 

 tion should seem yet too obtrusive, he answers himself with a quainter note 

 of perfect comprehension and content, ah-pea-wee. 



Altho fond of the deeper woods the Wood Pewee is by no means confined 

 to them. He is even a little partial to the haunts of men if they include orchard 

 and ample shade trees. His whistled notes present an irresistible temptation 

 to imitation, hut when he hears his name called by unfamiliar lips he exhibits 

 only mild surprise without resentment. 



The nest of the Wood Pewee is one of the most sightly and romantic struc- 

 tures which an ingenious Nature has evolved. Who would not, after the Hang- 

 bird's nest perhaps, choose a home which looked as if it grew upon the very 

 limb which supported it? A rather shallow cup — not a saucer — made of -pi it 

 grass, weed-fibers, delicate strips of grapevine bark, and abundant moss, is 

 settled into the crotch of a lichen-covered horizontal limb, or perhaps it is 

 saddled upon the middle of the limb, even tho it be not over an inch in thick- 

 ness. In place of cement or vulgar mud, the builders use spiders' silk, the 

 toughest of substances for its size, and delightfully sticky. When the walls are 

 laid, a fairy network of this substance is spread over the outside; and lichens, 

 carefully selected to correspond with those alreadv appearing on the limb, are 

 plentifully used to decorate and conceal the surface. The resulting creation 

 appears like a moss-covered knot where knots are common, and that is all. 



But of what use is all this cunning art of decorative concealment, if the 

 proud architects have to go and give the secret away after all? One has only 

 to determine the general vicinity of a Pewee's nest, and then wait quietly at 

 some little distance until the bird flies straight to it. Even when standing 

 beneath the exact spot, the bird, in utter guilelessness or confidence, will settle 



