The Swallow-tailed Kite usually builds its nest in the tallest trees of wild localities, where it is quite concealed by the foliage of the smaller branches. The nest is often constructed with sticks and twigs, but when obtainable, Spanish moss or the fibrous inner bark of the cottonwood is used to make a thick and substantial lining. Some observers state that the material is collected by the female, but that the male assists in the construction of the nest. He is certainly a faithful mate, for during the period of incubation she seldom leaves the nest and he brings food to her. Both birds assist in feeding the young. During this time, both sexes are vicious and will attack any intruder, be it bird, beast or even man. An interesting habit of this Kite is its method of leaving its nest. It does not fly from the side, but seems to rise directly upward, “as if it were pushed up with a spring.” On alighting, it hovers over the nest and with an almost imperceptible motion of its wings gently lowers itself until the nest is reached. The antics of the Swallow-tailed Kite during the mating season are particularly interesting. An observer of bird life says: “Of all aerial performances I have ever witnessed, the mating of the Swallow-tailed Kite excels. Ever charming and elegant, they outdo themselves at this season. In Becker County, Minnesota, in the spring of 1886, they chose as their mating ground an open space over the mouth of an ice-cold brook that made its way out from a dark, tangled larch swamp. From my boat on the lake I had an excellent view of them. All the afternoon seven of these matchless objects sported, chasing each other here and there, far and near, sailing along in easy curves, floating, falling and rising, then darting with meteor-like swiftness, commingling and separating with an abandon and airy ease that is difficult to imagine. The next day three pairs were selecting nesting sites.” TO THE BIRDS. Dear birds, an easy life was yours E’er man, the slayer, trod Your earth from all its seas and shores Went up your praise to God. What though to weasel, stoat and fox Your toll of lives you paid, And hungry hawks might tithe your flocks That through the woodland play’d? Short fears were yours and sudden death, Long life and boundless room; No cities choked you with their breath, Or scared you with their gloom. Pure streams and quiet vales you had; No snare nor line nor gun Made war against your legions glad That wanton’d in the sun. Hope on, and some day you shall see, When these ill days have end, That man the slayer—who but he?— Is changed to man, the friend. —Henry Johnstone. OLD-FASHIONED OUTINGS. PART I.