We know where _our_ whippoorwill nests every year in May, and we often pay the mother-bird a visit in order to get a peep at her brown speckled eggs, and later at her two brown babies; but we never bother them, contenting ourselves with taking their picture with a kodak. This last is very difficult to do, for mamma whippoorwill always selects a dense, shady part of the woods for her motherly duties. The nest is flat on the ground, generally under a palmetto leaf, which keeps off the rain. It is composed of dry leaves which seem to have been just scratched together, and is not noticeable unless the bird is there. Even then, the brown color of the bird blends with that of the ground and leaves, so that it takes sharp eyes to detect her. When the young birds first leave the nest they sprawl about in a comical manner. When in repose they squat flat on the ground, with wings spread out to the fullest extent, and they keep up a rolling motion with their bodies from side to side, for all the world as if they wanted to roll over, but were prevented from doing so by the position of their large wings. TWILIGHT BIRDS. COLE YOUNG RICE. Swallow, I follow Thy skimming Over the sunset skies-- Follow till joy is dimming To sadness in my eyes. And hollow seems now thy twittering High up where the bittering Night-blown winds arise. Throstle, the wassail Thou drinkest Daily of chalice buds-- Wassail in which thou linkest Thy notes of springtime moods-- Should docile thy elfish fluttering Where twilight is uttering Sorcery through the woods. Plover, thou lover Of moorlands Drained by the surfing sea-- Lover of marshy tourlands, What is the world to thee? Nay rover, wing on unquerying O'er mallows ne'er wearying Over the pebbly sands! But sparrow, the care o' Thy nesting Pierces thy vesper song-- Care o' the young thy breasting Shall warm through the blue night long-- Till, an arrow, seems thy dittying, Of pain to the pitying Heart that knows earth's wrong. AWESOME TREES.