70 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 



turn tail to a swallow, and have known the 

 little pewee in question to whip him beauti- 

 fully. From the great crested to the little 

 green fly-catcher, their ways and general 

 habits are the same. Slow in flying from 

 point to point, they yet have a wonderful 

 quickness, and snap up the fleetest insects 

 with little apparent effort. There is a con- 

 stant play of quick, nervous movements 

 underneath their outer show of calmness 

 and stolidity. They do not scour the limbs 

 and trees like the warblers, but, perched 

 upon the middle branches, wait like true 

 hunters, for the game to come along. There 

 is often a very audible snap of the beak as 

 they seize their prey. 



The wood-pewee, the prevailing species in 

 this locality, arrests your attention by his 

 sweet, pathetic cry. There is room for it 

 also in the deep woods, as well as for the 

 more prolonged and elevated strains. 



Its relative, the phosbe-bird, builds an ex- 

 quisite nest of moss on the side of some 

 shelving cliff or overhanging rock. The 

 other day, passing by a ledge near the top 

 of a mountain in a singularly desolate lo- 

 cality, my eye rested upon one of these 

 structures, looking precisely as if it grew 



