IN THE CATSKILLS 



Mountains, an offshoot of the Catskills. We had 

 been traveling, three of us, all day in search of a 

 trout lake, which lay far in among the mountains, 

 had twice lost our course in the trackless forest, 

 and, weary and hungry, had sat down to rest upon 

 a decayed log. The chattering of the young, and 

 the passing to and fro of the parent birds, soon ar- 

 rested my attention. The entrance to the nest was 

 on the east side of the tree, about twenty-five feet 

 from the ground. At intervals of scarcely a min- 

 ute, the old birds, one after the other, would alight 

 upon the edge of the hole with a grub or worm in 

 their beaks; then each in turn would make a bow 

 or two, cast an eye quickly around, and by a single 

 movement place itself in the neck of the passage. 

 Here it would pause a moment, as if to determine 

 in which expectant mouth to place the morsel, and 

 then disappear within. In about half a minute, 

 during which time the chattering of the young 

 gradually subsided, the bird would again emerge, 

 but this time bearing in its beak the ordure of one 

 of the helpless family. Flying away very slowly 

 with head lowered and extended, as if anxious to 

 hold the offensive object as far from its plumage as 

 possible, the bird dropped the unsavory morsel in 

 the course of a few yards, and, alighting on a tree, 

 wiped its bill on the bark and moss. This seems 

 to be the order all day, carrying in and carrying 

 out. I watched the birds for an hour, while my 

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