A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 135 



as the mother hawk sprang up, either by accident 

 or intentionally, she threw two of the young hawks 

 some feet from the nest. She rose up and screamed 

 angrily. Then, turning toward us, she came like 

 an arrow straight at the young lady, a bright plume 

 in whose hat probably drew her fire. The damsel 

 gathered up her skirts about her and beat a hasty 

 retreat. Hawks were not so pretty as she thought 

 they were. A large hawk launched at one's face 

 from high in the air is calculated to make one a little 

 nervous. It is such a fearful incline down which 

 the bird comes, and she is aiming exactly toward 

 your eye. When within about thirty feet of you, 

 she turns upward with a rushing sound, and, mount- 

 ing higher falls toward you again. She is only fir- 

 ing blank cartridges, as it were; but it usually has 

 the desired effect, and beats the enemy off. 



After we had inspected the young hawks, a neigh- 

 bor of my friend offered to conduct us to a quail's 

 nest. Anything in the shape of a nest is always 

 welcome, it is such a mystery, such a centre of in- 

 terest and affection, and, if upon the ground, is usu- 

 ally something so dainty and exquisite amid the natu- 

 ral wreckage and confusion. A ground-nest seems 

 so exposed, too, that it always gives a little thrill of 

 pleasurable surprise to see the group of frail eggs 

 resting there behind so slight a barrier. I will walk 

 a long distance any day just to see a song sparrow's 

 nest amid the stubble or under a tuft of grass. It 

 is a jewel in a rosette of jewels, with a frill of weeds 

 or turf. A quail's nest I had never seen, and to be 



