IRamble 



grotesque shape, while others are straight-stemmed, 

 but with never a branch that is not crooked as a 

 corkscrew. The leaves are gone, and the bare 

 twigs stand out boldly against the dark-blue sky, 

 suggesting that much might come of a study of 

 twigs. They are as characteristic of trees as the foli- 

 age, or, if not quite, sufficiently so to make it im- 

 portant to the painter of winter landscapes. I 

 have seen the top of one tree on the trunk of an- 

 other in more than one pretentious picture. About 

 the trunks of the sassafras-trees, supported by a 

 villainous wire fence, was a dense growth of green- 

 brier, and here the thrushes had lingered until 

 early autumn. Their nests were still intact, and 

 one was occupied by a pair of white-footed vesper- 

 mice, that had roofed the original structure, and 

 now had a cosy home, through which neither 

 wind nor snow could penetrate. Shaking the 

 tangled vines until the nest began to tremble, I 

 brought the mice to their door, which figuratively 

 opened and shut so quickly that I could not see 

 it. They came into view much as the drops of 

 moisture gather on the outside of a glass, and, 

 when on the outside of their nest, began to inves- 

 tigate me. As I stood perfectly still, one ran 

 upon my outstretched arm, but at once realized I 

 was of flesh and blood, and ran away with such 

 haste I could not follow it. How they travel at 

 all in such tangles has always been a mystery; 

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