480 DAN BEARD'S ANIMAL BOOK 



a cartload of brush which had been carried there 

 by a couple of old fish-hawks; there they would 

 keep house and rear their families. In the mid- 

 dle of the brush heap was a basin-like hollow lined 

 with sea-weed, bits of sponge, pieces of fish-net and 

 fish lines, all of which made a soft nest, soft enough 

 for the fuzzy, big-eyed, claw-footed babies who 

 were cradled there. 



I describe the nest minutely from knowledge 

 gained by inspection of other nests. I never was 

 within fifty feet of this particular nest. 



It was not a lack of curiosity to examine the 

 woodpile home which prevented me from closer 

 observation, but whenever I attempted to approach 

 the woodpile the parent birds would swoop down 

 at my head so savagely and scream so fiercely that 

 I was glad to make my escape by taking ignomini- 

 ously to my heels and sprinting for cover. 



HOME OF THE AMERICAN OSPREY. 



Within half a day's journey of New York City 

 lies an almost desert island, whose barren wilder- 

 ness is interrupted marred, I had almost said 

 by a single habitation. A stone lighthouse perched 

 upon the bluff at the end of the island seems a 

 natural accessory to a lonesome symphony of rock, 

 sand, water, and sky. The inhospitable coast of 

 this island offers no safe port or harbor, but the 

 treacherous sandy beach is ragged and broken with 

 huge boulders and rocks, against whose flinty sides 

 the storm wave is dashed with angry impetus, and 



