70 
WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIKDS. 
gives it quite the appearance of a little hawk ! How happy 
was I ! 
Look ! look 1 They fly towards that great black oak over 
the spring ! As I live ! there's a nest there ! I hear the 
cry of the young ones ! Strange place for mocking birds 
to build in, according to accounts. But this is a new varie- 
ty ; they, no doubt, prefer large trees. 
The mate now flew to the same cluster of scrubby twigs^ 
or small limbs, that grew out from a diseased portion of the 
trunk that formed a large knot, bristling " like quills upon 
a fretful porcupine." She lit in the bosom of this ugly 
excrescence, and, as I again heard the cries of the young, 
I sprang from my place of concealment — with my heart in 
my throat — ^leaped the fence, ran at full speed to the tree, 
stripped of my coat and shoes, and before I knew what I 
was doing, had ascended as nimbly as a squirrel the trunk 
of a tree that I would not have attempted to climb for a for- 
tune, under other circumstances. 
It was well I did not stop to think, or I should never have 
reached the limbs. As it was, now that I found myself up, 
the difficulty of getting at the nest seemed as great as ever. 
The small limbs that bristled out from the great excrescence^ 
were as tough as they could be, and, how I was to drag my 
body over them so as to reach the nest was the question — 
but when, by rising on tip-toe, I could peep over the edges 
of the nest and see the heads and bright eyes of four lusty 
young birds, I literally tore my way through all obstruc- 
tions, and with eager hands grasped at my treasure. I seiz- 
ed three, and the fourth sprang out in time to elude me and 
sailed down. Just at this moment I saw my old friend B. 
approaching to see what I could be at. I shrieked out to him 
in my tribulation ; for the little wretches had bitten my hand 
so severely that the pain, and imminent danger of falling 
combined, had compelled me to let them go and save my 
neck. 
"My mocking birds! Catch my mocking birds, Mr. B. 
