136 A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 



time three of the eggs were hatched, and 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 rush- 

 ing sound, and mounting higher falls toward 

 you again. She is only firing 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 

 neighbor 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 interest and affection, and, if 

 upon the ground, is usually something so 

 dainty and exquisite amid the natural wreckage 

 and confusion. A ground nest seems so ex- 

 posed, 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 undei 



