200 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 
sunlight shimmers through the young hemlocks, 
a friendly kree-ah from a bush near by will pre- 
pare you for the low song that trills in descend- 
ing scale through the cool morning air, and breaks 
the hush of sunrise, as one after another of the 
peaceful songsters takes it up and carries it along. 
Tn this swamp, on the soft decayed wood in the 
top of an old stump, five or six feet from the 
ground, one of the veeries’ nests was found, and 
I think that careful search might have revealed 
others. But although such places seem _ best 
suited to their tastes, I have found a nest in a lo- 
cality as dissimilar as could be imagined. It was 
on the edge of a raspberry patch where the sun 
beat down nearly all day long. The nest was de- 
serted when I found it. Such a pretty structure 
as it was! Within a foot or so of the ground, 
wedged in between the sides of a young beech, it 
was made almost entirely of old leaves, and com- 
pletely disguised by the crisp brown ones still 
clinging to the twigs. The lining was of dead 
leaves, roots, and stems. The four eggs were a 
beautiful, unspotted, robin’s-egg blue. What a 
pity it seemed that such an attractive little home 
should be broken up! Who will ever know its 
tragedy! Perhaps the lonely father bird still 
haunts the woods mourning for his little mate ! 
In his own quiet way, the veery is a peculiarly 
sociable bird. So, although his song‘ is the least 
remarkable of the three thrushes, his conyersa- 
