150 BIRDS>-NESTS. 



point to point, alighting only for a moment 

 at a time, the male silent, but the female ut- 

 tering this strange, tender note. It was a 

 rendering into some new sylvan dialect of 

 the human sentiment of maidenly love. It 

 was really pathetic in its sweetness and 

 childlike confidence and joy. I soon dis- 

 covered that the pair were building a nest 

 upon a low branch a few yards from me. 

 The male flew cautiously to the spot, and 

 adjusted something, and the twain moved 

 on, the female calling to her mate at inter- 

 vals, love-e, love-e, with a cadence and ten- 

 derness in the tone that rang in the ear long 

 afterward. The nest was suspended to the 

 fork of a small branch, as is usual with the 

 vireos, plentifully lined with lichens, and 

 bound and rebound with masses of coarse 

 spider-webs. There was no attempt at con- 

 cealment except in the neutral tints, which 

 made it look like a natural growth of the 

 dim, gray woods. 



Continuing my random walk, I next paused 

 in a low part of the woods, where the larger 

 trees began to give place to a thick second- 

 growth that covered an old Bark-peeling. I 

 was standing by a large maple, when a small 

 bird darted quickly away from it, as if it 



