226 THE WILD. 



every object, is far less favourable for these impressions 

 than night; not only because at the latter season the mind 

 is solemnised, but also because the obscurity renders 

 visible objects dim and uncertain ; gives to familiar things 

 strange and fantastic forms ; and, while the peculiar con- 

 ditions of the atmosphere render sounds more distinct, 

 these are often of an unwonted character, vague in their 

 origin, and cannot be corrected by the sense of sight. 



In the forests of Lower Canada and the New England 

 States I have often heard in spring a mysterious sound, 

 of which to -this day I know not the author. Soon after 

 ]iight sets in, a metallic sound is heard from the most 

 sombre forest swamps, where the spruce and the hemlock 

 give a peculiar density to the woods, known as the " black 

 growth." The sound comes up clear and regular, like 

 the measured tinkle of a cow-bell, or gentle strokes on a 

 piece of metal, or the action of a file upon a saw. It 

 goes on, with intervals of interruption, throughout the 

 hours of darkness. People attribute it to a bird, which 

 they call the whets'aw ; but nobody pretends to have seen 

 it, so that this can only be considered conjecture, though 

 a highly probable one. The monotony and pertinacity of 

 this note had a strange charm for me, increased doubtless 

 by the mystery that hung over it. Night after night, it 

 would be heard in the same spot, invariably the most 

 sombre and gloomy recesses of the black-timbered woods. 

 I occasionally watched for it, resorting to the woods 

 before sunset, and waiting till darkness ; but, strange to 

 say, it refused to perform under such conditions. The 



