WHERE THE SUMMER WENT. 



Did she not come a-down this way? 



Would I could trace her steps to-day. 



I saw the floating of her hair, 



And now she seems not anywhere. 



Her brow was wreathed with cardinal flower, 



Her arms were heaped with goldenrod ; 



And now for her the crimson tears 



Are dripping in the woodbine bower, 



Are dripping downward to the sod. 



Oh ! Is she hiding now her face 



From me, for but a little space? 



Or gone, where other summers went, 



To rest through centuries content. 



Within the Biding-place of God ? 



— Mrs. Cora A. Matson Dolson. 



A VISIT TO A RED-TAILED HAWK'S NEST. 



High up in a towering hemlock which 

 stood one-third of its length above the 

 other trees of the forest, a pair of red- 

 tailed hawks had built their nest. Year 

 after year it grew, as the birds returned 

 and repaired it; and year after year it 

 was the home of a happy family. High 

 above the cares and troubles of the 

 world; unmolested, save by the sun and 

 shadows, it cradled its restless brood 

 in summer, sheltered the squirrels in 

 autumn and rocked the little owls in 

 winter. Deep in its roomy crevices 

 many a brown nut was hidden by deft 

 little paws, and over the openings 

 spiders spun their webs, like sentinels 

 to guard the stores within. 



One of those sunny mornings, just 

 as the crows were nesting and the leaf- 

 buds bursting in the sunlight of early 

 spring, I ]iai)pcned to be near this tree, 

 glass in hand, watching the newly- 

 arrived warblers and the growing insect 

 life about me. Little s]:)i(lers were hang- 

 ing their first webs in the sun, newly 

 matured flies sported on cris]) new 

 wings, and the black ants in a dead tree 

 nearby kei)t dropping down little hits 



of decayed wood. Chipmonks raced 

 and chattered on the ,dry leaves and 

 gazed curiously from vantage points on 

 stumps and rocks. The crows called 

 and cawed from the spicy pine tops 

 back of me, and the broody call of the 

 female on her nest seemed to take in, 

 from the air and sunlight, a sound 

 of dreamy softness. Everything was 

 peaceful and happy. 



Ah of a sudden the loud, quick 

 scream of a hawk came from overhead. 

 It sent the warblers helter-skelter and 

 the chipmonks to their holes. Soon it 

 was repeated, and, from way off in the 

 distance, an answer came floating back 

 as though born of the wind. A swift- 

 moving shadow shot past and I saw 

 a hawk alight in the tall hemlock, and 

 soon another came and settled in the 

 same tree. I listened and waited. It 

 seemed as though the sunlight would 

 betray me, or the soft breeze of spring- 

 time would carry tidings of my presence 

 to that lone treetop, and its tenants 

 would l)e gone. lUit no; for soon I 

 heard the loud voice of the male bird 

 callini:- and crooning- a love song, so 



180 



