he hen-hawk, he has observed that both male and female take part in
incubation. "I was rather surprised," he says, "on one occasion, to see
how quickly they change places on the nest. The nest was in a tall
beech, and the leaves were not yet fully out. I could see the head and
neck of the hawk over the edge of the nest, when I saw the other hawk
coming down through the air at full speed. I expected he would alight
near by, but instead of that he struck directly upon the nest, his mate
getting out of the way barely in time to avoid being hit; it seemed
almost as if he had knocked her off the nest. I hardly see how they can
make such a rush on the nest without danger to the eggs."

The kingbird will worry the hawk as a whiffet dog will worry a bear. It
is by his persistence and audacity, not by any injury he is capable of
dealing his great antagonist. The kingbird seldom more than dogs the
hawk, keeping above and between his wings, and making a great ado; but
my correspondent says he once "saw a kingbird riding on a hawk's back.
The hawk flew as fast as possible, and the kingbird sat upon his
shoulders in triumph until they had passed out of sight,"--tweaking his
feathers, no doubt, and threatening to scalp him the next moment.

That near relative of the kingbird, the great crested flycatcher, has
one well-known peculiarity: he appears never to consider his nest
finished until it contains a cast-off snake-skin. My alert
correspondent one day saw him eagerly catch up an onion skin and make
off with it, either deceived by it or else thinking it a good
substitute for the coveted material.

One day in May, walking in the woods, I came upon the nest of a
whip-poor-will, or rather its eggs, for it builds no nest,--two
elliptical whitish spotted eggs lying upon the dry leaves. My foot
was within a yard of the mother bird before she flew. I wondered what
a sharp eye would detect curious or characteristic in the ways of the
bird, so I came to the place many times and had a look. It was always
a task to separate the bird from her surroundings, though I stood
within a few feet of her, and knew exactly where to look. One had
to bear on with his eye, as it were, and refuse to be baffled. The
sticks and leaves, and bits of black or dark brown bark, were all
exactly copied in the bird's plumage. And then she did sit so close,
and simulate so well a shapeless, decaying piece of wood or bark!
Twice I brought a companion, and, guiding hi