AN OSPREY'S NEST. 



It was a beautiful June morning- when I started to take a walk in the 

 Maine woods. There could not be a more beautiful spot than Pema- 

 quid Point, a narrow neck of land, with the blue ocean on either side, 

 stretching out in all directions above the green fir trees that help so 

 much toward making the point beautiful. I started along a narrow and 

 dusty road that wound in and out among the fir trees which were so 

 thick, that a human being could hardly penetrate them without the help 

 of a hatchet. Now and then an old house came into view, having a 

 clearing, a few fruit trees, a hen house and possibly an old barn beside 

 it. Doubtless some old patriarch, who risked his life for his country in 

 the Civil War, lives here, who would, if you happened to ask him, tell 

 you stories about the fighting he did. 



The birds were singing on both sides of me as I walked merrily on, 

 and flowers of all kinds were waving in the gentle breeze at my feet. 

 My intentions were to follow this road to New Harbor, and thence take 

 another road to Pemequid Beech, but the time for my return was slow- 

 ly approaching, much to my regret, so I decided to go back through the 

 woods, thus avoiding the dusty road and the sun which was becoming 

 rather hot. I found a place where the trees did not grow as closely 

 together, so I decided to strike in there and feel my way homeward as 

 best I could. 



Although these woods were too thick for rapid walking, they were 

 just what I liked. The wider the woods are, the more wood folk live 

 there; so I walked along, hoping to make some new discovery of the 

 ways of the wood folk. I was not sorry, however, to run upon a nar- 

 row path once in a while, that led me in the direction in which I was 

 going. It was on one of these narrow paths that I discovered a very 

 interesting bit of bird life. I heard some strange and alarming cries 

 above my head, such as I had never heard before, and, glancing in the 

 direction of the cries, I saw two Ospreys flying about high in the air, 

 calling their cry that in osprey language must mean, "Danger is com- 

 ing, be on the watch." Looking around, I saw that I was in a clearing 

 that had been recently robbed of its trees by some woodcutters. Near 

 the edge of this clearing were two tall hemlocks, both of which were 

 dead at the top, and at the top of the lower of the two was a large pile 

 of sticks, which I soon found to be the osprey's nest. The nest was 

 made entirely of sticks, which were woven tightly together, being over 

 three feet in diameter and about three feet deep. It projected far over 

 the topmost branches of the tree. 



