86 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



the cliff is still wet, the egg-hunter takes his life in 

 his hands. Last year, for the first time, I did not 

 see the birds about the mountain at all, and three 

 ascents of the cliff with a rope disclosed nothing 

 except a partridge's nest on a dry, mossy shelf. My 

 observation was not continuous nor thorough 

 enough to say definitely that they were not there, 

 but apparently this historic pair of birds have met 

 their end at last. I cannot help hoping so, for they 

 took, I am sure, a tremendous toll of bird life, in- 

 cluding, I know, many meadow-larks and flickers. 

 Their hunting range, too, is great. I cannot say 

 how great, but once or twice when I was on the 

 mountain summit I have seen one of them coming 

 from over the mountain on the far side of the valley, 

 winging much like a pigeon, from regions at least 

 fifteen miles away. If they hunt over a circle of 

 only thirty miles in diameter (and probably it is 

 very much more) the territory a pair can cover 

 is considerable. The Cooper and sharp-shinned 

 hawks (smallish hawks, of fifteen to eighteen and 

 ten to twelve inches, respectively) can be told apart 

 because the Cooper has a rounded tail, the sharp- 

 shinned a square tail. Both may be told from the 

 small falcons — i.e., the so-called sparrow and pigeon 

 hawks, because the falcons have long, pointed 

 wings, the hawks short, rounded ones. Both 

 Cooper and sharp-shinned hawks breed in the lati- 

 tude of New England and New York, and even as 

 far south as Florida. Both build nests in forest 

 trees, the sharp-shinned selecting almost always 

 evergreens, the Cooper taking an old crow's nest 

 when convenient. They are true hawks in habit, 



