230 IN BIRD LAND. 



ingly for food. Here were also a number of redstarts, 

 — sonnets in black and gold, — the young beseech- 

 ing their parents constantly for more luncheon. A 

 beautiful chestnut-sided warbler wheeled into sight 

 and reeled off his jolly little trill, and then gave his 

 half-grown baby a tidbit from his beak. On another 

 part of the mountain the song of a black-throated 

 green warbler fell pensively on the ear, coming from 

 the thick branches of a tall tree, like a requiem from 

 a broken heart. Presently he flitted down into plain 

 view, his curiosity drawing him toward his auditor 

 sitting beneath on the grass. No doubt his mate 

 was crouched on her nest far up in one of the trees. 



In a thicket on the acclivity of the mountain, I 

 heard a loud, appealing call, which was new to me ; 

 and yet it evidently came from the throat of a young 

 bird pleading for its dinner. By dint of a good deal 

 of peering about and patient waiting, I at length 

 found it to be a juvenile chestnut-sided warbler. 

 Lying on the ground beneath the green canopy 

 of the bushes, I watched it a long time, hoping to 

 see the old bird feed it ; but she was too shy to 

 come near, although the youngster grew almost des- 

 perate in its entreaties. An old nest in the crotch 

 of a sapling near at hand announced where the 

 little fellow had, no doubt, been hatched. It was 

 a beautiful nest, as compactly built as the cottage 

 of a goldfinch, and was decorated, like a red-eyed 

 vireo's nest, with tiny balls of spider-web and strips 

 of paper. 



Not far away from this charmed spot a red-eyed 



