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The graceful cup itself, to judge by its looks, might be made of white floss silk, I have no curiosity to know the actual material, and is cushioned inside with downy fibres from the cottonwood-tree. It is dainty enough for a fairy's cradle. The wood-pewee, in dress and manners nearly resembling his Eastern brother, "The pewee of the loneliest woods, Sole singer in the solitudes,"

Our first call was upon a small dame very high up in the world, thirty feet at least. The mention of Fifth Avenue suggests that possibly our manners were not above criticism. We introduced ourselves to Madam Wood-Pewee not by ringing and sending up cards, but by pausing before her door, seating ourselves on our stools, and leveling our glasses at her house.

Into that retired corner came the cries of flicker and blue jay from the high ground beyond. On the edge sang the indigo-bird and the wood-pewee, and cardinal and wood-thrush song formed the chorus to all the varied notes that we heard. Upon our entrance the next morning, my first glance at the nest was one of dismay the material seemed to be pulled out a little.

This little performance was repeated three or four times before the pupil received the tidbits he so urgently desired. Other sweet baby-talk in the trees came from the wood-pewee. The pewee I had noted from the building of her beautiful lichen-covered cradle in the crotch of a wild-cherry tree. The branch, dead and leafless, afforded no screen for the brave little mother.

But there is little charm in the music, for it is in truth a dismal chant, with the air and cheerfulness of a funeral dirge a pessimistic performance that inspires the listener with a desire to choke him then and there. This bird's nest, as well as his song, is unlike that of our wood-pewee.

All wild creatures are afraid of fire, therefore the camp-fire is a barrier they will not pass, and a blazing firebrand will drive any of them away. =Birds= Among the feathered tribes of the woods you will find the owl, the woodcock, and the grouse. Of the smaller birds, the nuthatch, the wood and hermit thrush, whippoorwill, woodpeckers, wood-pewee, and others.

It is not a chorus, indeed, for one rarely hears more than a single performer, but it is a solo that fully makes up for want of numbers, and amply satisfies the lover of bird music, so strong, so sweet, so moving are his notes. But on my first morning in the grove, what was my dismay I may almost say despair to find that the Western wood-pewee led the matins! Now, this bird has a peculiar voice.

That plaintive, forsaken, persistent note, never ceasing, even in the noonday silence, comes from the wood-pewee, drooping upon the bough of some high tree, and complaining, like Mariana in the moated grange, "weary, weary, weary!"

His peculiar trilling song was heard from morning till night; he came familiarly about the camp, eating from the dog's dish, and foraging for crumbs at the kitchen door. Next to the wood-pewee, he was the most friendly of our feathered neighbors.

It is loud, pervasive, and in quality of tone not unlike our Eastern phoebe, lacking entirely the sweet plaintiveness of our wood-pewee. A pewee chorus is a droll and dismal affair. The poor things do their best, no doubt, and they cannot prevent the pessimistic effect it has upon us. It is rhythmic, but not in the least musical, and it has a weird power over the listener.