230 IN BIRD LAND. 
ingly for food. Here were also a number of redstarts, 
— sonnets in black and gold, — the young beseech- 
ing their parents constantly for more luncheon. A 
beautiful chestnut-sided warbler wheeled into sight 
and reeled off his jolly little trill, and then gave his 
half-grown baby a tidbit from his beak. On another 
part of the mountain the song of a black-throated 
green warbler fell pensively on the ear, coming from 
the thick branches of a tall tree, like a requiem from 
a broken heart. Presently he flitted down into plain 
view, his curiosity drawing him toward his auditor 
sitting beneath on the grass. No doubt his mate 
was crouched on her nest far up in one of the trees. 
In a thicket on the acclivity of the mountain, I 
heard a loud, appealing call, which was new to me ; 
and yet it evidently came from the throat of a young 
bird pleading for its dinner. By dint of a good deal 
of peering about and patient waiting, I at length 
found it to be a juvenile chestnut-sided warbler. 
Lying on the ground beneath the green canopy 
of the bushes, I watched it a long time, hoping to 
see the old bird feed it; but she was too shy to 
come near, aithough the youngster grew almost des- 
perate in its entreaties. An old nest in the crotch 
of a sapling near at hand announced where the 
little fellow had, no doubt, been hatched. It was 
a beautiful nest, as compactly built as the cottage 
of a goldfinch, and was decorated, like a red-eyed 
vireo’s nest, with tiny balls of spider-web and strips 
of paper. 
Not far away from this charmed spot a red-eyed 
