Mounting toward the upland again, I pause reverently as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon the woods.  It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day.  And as the hermit’s evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene exaltation of sentiment of which music, literature, and religion are but the faint types and symbols.

1865.

V

BIRDS’-NESTS

How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when absorbed in building their nests!  In an open space in the woods I see a pair of cedar-birds collecting moss from the top of a dead tree.  Following the direction in which they fly, I soon discover the nest placed in the fork of a small soft maple, which stands amid a thick growth of wild cherry-trees and young beeches.  Carefully concealing myself beneath it, without any fear that the workmen will hit me with a chip or let fall a tool, I await the return of the busy pair.  Presently I hear the well-known note, and the female sweeps down and settles unsuspectingly into the half-finished structure.  Hardly have her wings rested before her eye has penetrated my screen, and with a hurried movement of alarm she darts away.  In a moment the male, with a tuft of wool in his beak (for there is a sheep pasture near), joins her, and the two reconnoitre the premises from the surrounding bushes.  With their beaks still loaded, they move around with a frightened look, and refuse to approach the nest till I have moved off and lain down behind a log.  Then one of them ventures to alight upon the nest, but, still suspecting all is not right, quickly darts away again.  Then they both together come, and after much peeping and spying about, and apparently much anxious consultation, cautiously proceed to work.  In less than half an hour it would seem that wool enough has been brought to supply the whole family, real and prospective, with socks, if needles and fingers could be found fine enough to knit it up.  In less than a week the female has begun to deposit her eggs,—­four of them in as many days,—­white tinged with purple, with black spots on the larger end.  After two weeks of incubation the young are out.

Excepting the American goldfinch, this bird builds later in the spring than any other,—­its nest, in our northern climate, seldom being undertaken till July.  As with the goldfinch, the reason is, probably, that suitable food for the young cannot be had at an earlier period.

  [Illustration:  FINDING A BIRD’S-NEST]

Like most of our common species, as the robin, sparrow, bluebird, pewee, wren, etc., this bird sometimes seeks wild, remote localities in which to rear its young; at others, takes up its abode near that of man.  I knew a pair of cedar-birds, one season, to build in an apple-tree, the branches of which rubbed against the house.  For a day or two before the first straw was laid, I noticed the pair carefully