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maidenly love. It was really pathetic in its sweetnest 

 and childlike confidence and joy. I soon discovered 

 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 intervals, love-e, 

 love-e, with a cadence and tenderness in the tone that 

 rang in the ear long afterward. The nest was sus- 

 pended 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 concealment 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 Barkpeeling. I was standing by a large ma- 

 ple, when a small bird darted quickly away from it, 

 as if it might have come out of a hole near its base, 

 As the bird paused a few yards from me, and began 

 to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once excited. 

 When I saw it was the female mourning ground 

 warbler, and remembered that the nest of this bird 

 Mad not yet been seen by any naturalist, that not 

 even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs, I felt 

 that here was something worth looking for. So I 

 carefully began the search, exploring inch by inch the 

 ground, the base and roots of the tree, and the vari- 

 ous shrubby growths about it, till, finding nothing, 



