tHE dOLOGISt 



199 



parallel beams which protruded out 

 over the edge, thus allowing the rope 

 to run free. When all was ready, two 

 of us started for the beach below — a 

 mere distance of 110 feet, but entail- 

 ing a three-mile walk by way of the 

 nearest gorge or break in the sea- 

 wall. Arrived below, climbed into 

 the chair armed with a light two-tined 

 pick. My companion who was to give 

 the signals, when I was ready could 

 scarcely make himself heard to those 

 above on account of the blustering 

 eastwind which was blowing accom- 

 panied by occasional snow flurries. 



After some little delay I began to 

 ascend in a spinning, dizzying fashion 

 which was most disconcerting and 

 equally unexpected. However, I soon 

 arrived opposite the ledge and the sig- 

 nal was given to hold fast. But 

 though opposite the ledge, I was hang- 

 ing fully five feet out, but from there 

 I had a good view. The rocky shelf 

 was about four feet deep and was 

 partly covered with dead grasses. A 

 little clump of three dwarfed raspber- 

 ry bushes, rooted in a crevice as 

 though striving for more light. But 

 these things were secondary. What 

 impressed me most was the array of 

 nests — nests in all stages of dilapida- 

 tion. I counted five corresponding to 

 that number of years. Older than 

 these were merely confused piles of 

 sticks, matted and decayed. And 

 there on my left was the new nest, 

 whether empty or not I could not tell. 

 Reaching out with the hook, I pulled 

 myself in far enough to look into the 

 nest. It contained only four eggs — a 

 small set — but nevertheless 1 felt it 

 was complete, since the bird had been 

 sitting on the nest each time we 

 had come. But the nest was farther- 

 est from the edge and was still about 

 four feet beyond my reach. My hold 

 on the ledge was far from secure and 

 I could feel it giving way. In a mom- 



ent 1 was swinging off into space 

 again, as a shower of rocks clattered 

 down below me. I needed two hooks, 

 the second one to take a fresh hold 

 fartherback. Again and again I tried 

 to reach the nest, but the strain was 

 too great — the overhang being only 

 twenty-five feet above me, and the 

 pick would not hold in the loose 

 rocks. Finally I got a fairly good 

 hold and pulled myself in far enough 

 so that with my left hand I was able 

 to seize the frail little raspberry 

 stems close down at the roots. Slen- 

 der as they were, they held long 

 enough for me to reach out with the 

 hook and get a new hold farther back 

 in a crevice. 



Now with my left hand I could just 

 reach the outer edge of the nest I 

 pulled the whole thing toward me and 

 with cold and trembling hands, I re- 

 moved the four eggs — one at a time, 

 in safety to the collecting box which 

 was suspended about my neck. 

 Swinging off again, the signal was 

 given and I was gently lowered. The 

 whole performance occupied about 

 two hours and during that time the 

 Ravens were rarely seen, and then 

 only at a distance, when they would 

 appear over the woods to the east- 

 ward about one half mile away, give 

 a croak or two and disappear. Upon 

 subsequent examination and compar- 

 ison I found that the eggs showed no 

 signs of incubation and were consid- 

 erably smaller than I had expected 

 to find them, being but slightly larger 

 than the largest crow's eggs in my 

 collection. 



This set is now in the possession or 

 Mr. John E. Thayer of Lancaster, 

 Mass. 



Hoping that the birds might at- 

 tempt to nest again in the same 

 place, I revisited Margaretville on 

 April 20th, but saw no sign of them 

 in the vicinity of their old home. On 



