IN THE HEMLOCKS 61 
warbler pauses a moment and hastens away; the 
Maryland yellow-throat peeps shyly from the lower 
bushes and utters his “Fip! fip!” in sympathy; 
the wood pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, 
and the red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eying 
me with a curious, innocent look, evidently much 
puzzled. But all disappear again, one by one, ap- 
parently without a word of condolence or encourage- 
ment to the distressed pair. I have often noticed 
among birds this show of sympathy, —if indeed it 
be sympathy, and not merely curiosity, or desire to 
be forewarned of the approach of a common danger. 
An hour afterward I approach the place, find all 
still, and the mother bird upon the nest. As I 
draw near she seems to sit closer, her eyes growing 
large with an inexpressibly wild, beautiful look. 
She keeps her place till I am within two paces of 
her, when she flutters away as at first. In the 
brief interval the remaining egg has hatched, and 
the two little nestlings lift their heads without ~be- 
ing jostled or overreached by any strange bedfellow. 
A week afterward and they were flown away, — so 
brief is the infancy of birds. And the wonder is 
that they escape, even for this short time, the skunks 
and minks and muskrats that abound here, and that 
have a decided partiality for such tidbits. 
I pass on through the old Barkpeeling, now 
threading an obscure cow-path or an overgrown 
wood-road; now clambering over soft and decayed 
logs, or forcing my way through a network of briers 
and hazels; now entering a perfect bower of wild 
