it again this time, no doubt. I remember one 

 nest along Maurice River, perched so high above 

 the gums of the swamp as to be visible from my 

 home across a mile of trees, that has stood a 

 landmark for the oystermen this score of years. 



The sensations of my climb into this fish-hawk's 

 nest of the marsh are vivid even now. Going 

 up was comparatively easy. When I reached 

 the forks holding the nest, I found I was under 

 a bulk of sticks and corn-stalks which was about 

 the size of an ordinary haycock or an unusually 

 large wash-tub. By pulling out, pushing aside, 

 and breaking off the sticks, I worked a precari- 

 ous way through the four feet or more of debris 

 and scrambled over the edge. There were two 

 eggs. Taking them in my hands, so as not to 

 crush them, I rose carefully to my feet. 



Upright in a hawk's nest ! Sixty feet in the 

 air, on the top of a gaunt old white oak, high 

 above the highest leaf, with the screaming 

 hawks about my head, with marsh and river 

 and bay lying far around ! It was a moment of 

 exultation ; and the thrill of it has been trans- 

 mitted through the years. My body has been 

 drawn to higher places since ; but my soul has 

 [67] 



