68 



Bulletin of the 



To me there'd be no pleasure 



As a fashion plate to shine. 

 But I'd take about a dollar 



And skip to the place loved best 

 Where the hawks built in the hickory 



And the eggs are in the nest. 



When the season of grim winter 



Is replaced by balmy spring 

 And you hear the frogs a' croaking 



And the birds begin to sing, 

 A sort of joyous feeling 



Goes a' creeping over you 

 And out comes the collecting box 



And strap and climbers too. 

 Then good bye to the city 



For about a month or so 

 And welcome to the forest 



Where sweet pure breezes blow. 

 And when with expiring vacation 



You bid nature's realm farewell 

 The most pleasant of the pictures 



That in the memory dwell 

 Is the place of all the places 



The most of all you bless 

 Where the hawk built in the hickory 



And the eggs are where — well guess. 



Eggs of the Red-tailed Hawk 

 Selected from a series in the collection of J. Warren Jacobs. 



