At the Water’s Edge 
to confess that, after watching some grand old 
barbarian bird of prey like this—a typical can- 
nibal-chief in feathers—there zs something ex- 
cessively diminutive and slightly tame in a 
civilized little song bird. I sometimes think I 
modulate too easily into the mood of my sur- 
roundings. This chameleon trick has a disad- 
vantage as well as advantage. 
The osprey is quite abundant around the 
numerous creeks to the north of Cape May, 
where two or three could be seen at a time, 
circling suspiciously over the water, and occa- 
sionally making a fatal dash upon some finny 
resident beneath, and not hesitating to plunge 
entirely under water for the capture of their 
prey. But sometimes this operation proves fatal 
to both parties; for, when he attacks a fish he 
is unable to lift out of the water, and does not 
succeed in letting go his hold immediately, the 
fish drags him under, and it proves a double 
tragedy. In several instances the dead body 
of a large fish, with the osprey still clinging 
to it, has been washed upon the beach. For 
some reason, fish hawks feel particularly amiable 
toward crow blackbirds, which they allow to 
nest in the cavities of their own huge struct- 
ures; in one case four grackles’ nests having 
IgI 
