IN THE CATSKILLS 



fine grass, in which a plain brown bird is sitting 

 upon four pale blue eggs. 



The wonder is that a bird will leave the appar- 

 ent security of the treetops to place its nest in the 

 way of the many dangers that walk and crawl upon 

 the ground. There, far up out of reach, sings the 

 bird ; here, not three feet from the ground, are its 

 eggs or helpless young. The truth is, birds are the 

 greatest enemies of birds, and it is with reference 

 to this fact that many of the smaller species build. 



Perhaps the greatest proportion of birds breed 

 along highways. I have known the ruffed grouse 

 to come out of a dense wood and make its nest at 

 the root of a tree within ten paces of the road, 

 where, no doubt, hawks and crows, as well as 

 skunks and foxes, would be less likely to find it 

 out. Traversing remote mountain-roads through 

 dense woods, I have repeatedly seen the veery, or 

 Wilson's thrush, sitting upon her nest, so near me 

 that I could almost take her from it by stretching 

 out my hand. Birds of prey show none of this 

 confidence in man, and, when locating their nests, 

 avoid rather than seek his haunts. 



In a certain locality in the interior of New York, 

 I know, every season, where I am sure to find a 

 nest or two of the slate-colored snowbird. It is 

 under the brink of a low mossy bank, so near the 

 highway that it could be reached from a passing 

 vehicle with a whip. Every horse or wagon or 

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