JOURNAL OP MAINE ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 



55 



wood rises a stretch of high hills, 

 covered with old growth sugar maples. 

 It is Memorial Day, and although it 

 is early in the morning, it bids fair 

 to be a warm, sunny day. 



The birds are here before us, and 

 are catching insects, and we are at 

 once impressed with the variety of 

 birds that are here in numbers. As 

 we stand near the edge of the woods, 

 watching the different species flit here 

 and there, we hear the shrill cry 

 K-a-e, K-a-e, of a Red Shouldered 

 Hawk (Buteo lineatus). Looking to 

 the westward, to the hill tops above, 

 we see a pair of these hawks (old set- 

 tlers, having nested in this vicinity 

 for years). They shoot down toward 

 the river bottom, as like an arrow, 

 with not a flutter of their wings. 

 They pass over the treetops, just out 

 of gunshot, and circle, higher and 

 higher, occasionally uttering their 

 shrill cries. They seem to be watch- 

 ing the ground below. Presently 

 their circles take them nearer a wet, 

 marshy stretch of unoccupied pasture 

 land, overgrown with clumps of scrub 

 spruce, fir balsams and gray birches. 

 Down they go toward a strip of cattail 

 flags and disappear from our view. 

 We conclude they have spied a frog 

 or a snake in the wet grass. Had it 

 been earlier in the season, before the 

 frogs, snakes and mice had thawed 

 out, we might conclude they were af- 

 ter a hare (Lepus), or a Grouse 

 (Bonasa). Presently they rise up 

 over the tops of the tall poplars and 

 maples, and pass over our heads, and 

 with our field-glass, we discern one 

 of them has a frog in his talons. 

 With shrill cries they pass on, up the 

 stream, and the small songsters scur- 

 ry into the thick, new foliage and are 

 still till their harsh cries have died 

 away. As we follow this pair of 

 hawks, up the stream, with our 

 eyes, we learn they are relining an 

 old nest, used in years past. What, 



nest building! You say, and this the 

 30th of May? Yes, nest building. 

 Twice have they made an attempt to 

 rear their young and have been dis- 

 turbed. But this locality has been 

 their summer home for many years, 

 and they cannot make up their minds 

 to nest elsewhere, for this seems like 

 home to them. Along the latter days 

 of April they came, while there was 

 yet a patch of snow here and there, 

 and relined an old nest, near where 

 we now stand, with green hemlock 

 boughs, in the southern part of this 

 woods. This nest, they had occupied 

 in years past. But a boy had watch- 

 ed them relining this nest from the 

 hilltop above, and after the eggs were 

 laid, he had climbed to the nest and 

 taken the set of three. 



Then they went to a tall maple, 

 across the stream, and repaired an~ 

 other old nest. But this boy wanted 

 a series of eggs from the same pair 

 of birds, to show the similarity in the 

 markings-, so he removed the two eggs 

 they had deposited there. We will 

 pass up across the meadow to a tall, old 

 yellow birch, near the bank of the 

 stream, to observe this nest. The air 

 is full of bird songs. The crows are 

 busy feeding their young, and set up 

 a loud cawing as we enter the woods. 

 A male Downy Woodpecker (Dryo- 

 bates pubescens medianus) is on that 

 tall, stately, old elm, and on a dead 

 limb he is drumming away to his 

 mate below. When suddenly he flut- 

 ters down to a maple stub, where he 

 and his mate are excavating their 

 summer home. We come to a wet 

 creek and cross on a fallen log, and 

 as we work our way through the 

 dense underbrush, we hear the pecul- 

 iar Yank, Yank, of the White Bellied 

 Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis). See 

 him there, running up and down that 

 birch stub, and round and round it? 

 He does not seem to care whether he 

 goes head first or not. But what is it 



