this morning. Something is the matter;
and, recollecting that yesterday I had seen a red squirrel in the trees
not far from the nest, I at once inferred that the nest had been
harried. Going to the spot, I found my fears were well grounded; every
egg was gone. The joy of the thrush was laid low. No more songs from the
tree-top, and no more songs from any point, till nearly a week had
elapsed, when I heard him again under the hill, where the pair had
started a new nest, cautiously tuning up, and apparently with his recent
bitter experience still weighing upon him.

There is no nest-builder that suffers more from crows and squirrels and
other enemies than the wood thrush. It builds as openly and
unsuspiciously as if it thought all the world as honest as itself. Its
favorite place is the fork of a sapling, eight or ten feet from the
ground, where it falls an easy prey to every nest-robber that comes
prowling through the woods and groves. It is not a bird that skulks and
hides, like the catbird, the brown thrasher, the chat, or the chewink,
and its nest is not concealed with the same art as theirs. Our thrushes
are all frank, open-mannered birds; but the veery and the hermit build
on the ground, where they may at least escape the crows, owls, and jays,
and stand a good chance of being overlooked by the red squirrel and
weasel also; while the robin seeks the protection of dwellings and
outbuildings. For years I have not known the nest of a wood thrush to
succeed. During the season referred to I observed but two, both
apparently a second attempt, as the season was well advanced, and both
failures. In one case, the nest was placed in a branch that an
apple-tree, standing near a dwelling, held out over the highway. The
structure was barely ten feet above the middle of the road, and would
just escape a passing load of hay. It was made conspicuous by the use of
a large fragment of newspaper in its foundation,--an unsafe material to
build upon in most cases. Whatever else the press may guard, this
particular newspaper did not guard this nest from harm. It saw the egg
and probably the chick, but not the fledgeling. A murderous deed was
committed above the public highway, but whether in the open day or under
cover of darkness I have no means of knowing. The frisky red squirrel
was doubtless the culprit. The other nest was in a maple sapling, within
a few yards of the little rustic summer-house already referred to. The
first attempt