ORNITHOLOGIST 



— AND- 



OOLOGIST. 



81.00 per 

 Annum. 



PUBLISHED BY FRANK B. WEBSTER. 



Established, March, 1875. 



Single Copy 

 10 cents. 



Vol. XVI. 



HYDE PARK, MASS., DECEMBER, 1891. 



No. 12. 



Reminiscences. 



Did you ever, good reader, tal<e a trip back 

 to tlie old liome, after some years of absence, 

 and try to trace out the old familiar paths you 

 have travelled so many times'? 



You mounted the hill, then topped with 

 sturdy pines, and the sides clothed with a 

 thrifty growth of oak and maple, but now bare, 

 and only covered with a growth of low under- 

 brush. You seated yourself upon a stone and 

 gazed upon the scene about you. There, on the 

 hill-side, was the thicket whence yon had 

 taken, one year, the nest of the Hlaek and 

 White Creeper; here was the little meadow, 

 from which came the nests of the Maryland 

 Yellow-tliroat; beyond the (irouse bred, and 

 farther on, where the wood ran into an open, 

 was the haunt of the Bob-white. 



The brook, bordered with birch and alders, 

 the scene of many days with the Woodcock, is 

 now but a trickling thread among the stones 

 and roots, and a lumj) rose in your tliioat. and 

 a feeling of loneliness and desolation crept ovei- 

 you. as yon swei)t the panorama with eager 

 eyes, to find some spot which you could say, 

 '■Well, that looKs natural." Far away, where 

 the woodland succeeds to the meadow border- 

 ing the river, stands a huge rock, cracked and 

 seamc<l by the wear and tear of many wintry 

 storms and sumrner suns, rent into deep 

 crevices by the mighty convulsions of the 

 earth, when life was not. Here was a favorite 

 resort, and surely liere would be f(nind some- 

 thing of the old life. 



Your steps were bent that way, and surely 

 enough there was the old fire-i)lace in a con- 

 venient crevice, still blackened by the smoke 

 of many fires. With e.ager liands you turned 

 over the rocks in a convenient corner and dis- 

 closed the remnants of an old tomato can or 

 broken-eared kettle, which revived the mem- 

 ories of many a feast on boiled eggs, snatched 

 from the lien-liouse as you ran by. You could 



have had all the boiled eggs that you wanted 

 at home, but they tasted better out here, fla- 

 vored as they were with the perfume of the 

 pines, hemlocks, and cedars, and savored 

 with the spice of appetite. 



The next call was at the corner grocery, 

 where, on rainy days, you used to edge nearer 

 the little knot of loungers about the great 

 stove and listen to the tales of wonderful hunt- 

 ing feats, which you firmly resolved to emulate 

 ! when you got older, (you got older, but alas, 

 those feats were then as far distant as ever). 



" Hello, Jack," says a familiar voice, "what 

 brings you back to the old place ? Come over 

 and see the folks; there are a few of us left 

 here." It is difficult to connect the bearded 

 young farmer with the smooth-faced boy of 

 fifteen years ago, who shared your bench at 

 school, roamed wMth you those woodland paths 

 and pulled hair and punched noses with you 

 in some boy's quarrel. 



I Before you leave he says. " .J.ack, are you 

 such a crank on birds" eggs as you used to be ? 

 I heard you was, and was going to send you a 

 lot I found in the attic a few weeks ago. I 

 packed them all up and you can take them 

 with you if yon want them. I have no use for 

 them. Lost all my interest. Good-bye." 



Do you want them ? No need to ask. When 



I you get home, you pore over those old data 



I blanks, which bring you messages as from 



anotlier land long left behind. And this 



reminds me, I have become the fortunate pos- 



' sessor of a small cabinet of birds' eggs, 



i through the kindness of my good fiiend Mr. 



Wade, a former editor and publisher of this 



magazine, who has lost his interest in them, 



altliough he is as a great lover of nature and 



.seeker after nature's truths as ever. "'Tis 



an ill wind that blows no one good," and when 



tlie wind blew away Bro. Wade's interest, it 



blew the eggs my way, and I deposited them 



at the rooms of my pet society, and then I go 



at an odd hour and pore over them, reading 



Oopyrijiht. 1831, by KitAVK B. Webstek. 



