WHERE LIRDS ROOST. 121 
dismay as I approach, until I start back, lest they 
should impale themselves on the sharp thorns. 
Sometimes the thrasher ensconces himself for the 
night in the brush-heaps which the wood-choppers 
have made on the slopes, making his presence 
known by his peculiar way of scolding at my offi- 
cious intrusion. 
One cannot help admiring the wise forethought 
displayed by many birds in creeping into the thick 
thorn-bushes at night, where they may sleep without 
fear of attack from their nocturnal foe, the owl. 
Full well they seem to know he cannot force his 
bulky form through the thick network of branch 
and thorn. How he must gnash his teeth with 
rage —if owls ever do that—when he espies his 
coveted prey sleeping peacefully just beyond the 
reach of his talons! Still, it sometimes happens 
that even a small bird ventures into too close 
quarters in these terrible prickly bushes; for I once 
found a dead sparrow completely wedged in among 
the fierce thorns, where it had evidently been 
caught in such a way as to prevent its escape. 
Something over a year after the preceding facts 
were published, I was seized with a whim to re- 
sume my investigations on bird roosts. One of my 
nocturnal rambles seems to be deserving of some- 
what minute description. It was a delightful 
evening of early spring, with a warm westerly 
breeze stirring the bursting leaves. The sun had 
set, and the dusk was falling over fields and woods. 
The bright moon, a little more than -half full, 
