A NOOK IN THE ALLEGHANIES 181 



gave me, for all that, an exhilarating sensa- 

 tion of unexpectedness. Crossbills are as- 

 sociated in my mind with Massachusetts 

 winters and New Hampshire summers and 

 autumns. On the 30th of April, and in 

 southwestern Virginia, a long way from 

 New Hampshire to the mind of a creature 

 whose handiest mode of locomotion is by 

 rail, they seemed out of place and out of 

 season ; the more so because, to the best 

 of my knowledge, there were no very high 

 mountains or extensive coniferous forests 

 anywhere in the neighborhood. However, 

 my sensation of surprise, agreeable though 

 it was, and therefore not to be regretted, 

 had, on reflection, no very good reason to 

 give for itself. Crossbills are a kind of 

 gypsies among birds, and one ought not to 

 be astonished, I suppose, at meeting them 

 almost anywhere. Some days after this 

 (May 12), in the national cemetery at Ar- 

 lington (across the Potomac from Washing- 

 ton), I glanced up into a low spruce-tree in 

 response to the call of an orchard oriole, 

 and there, at work upon the cones, hung a 

 flock of five crossbills, three of them in red 

 plumage. They were feeding, and had no 



