WOOD DUCKS AND BLOODROOT. 



THE maple swamps of Ale wife Brook are 

 places rich in birds, but they are even richer in 

 foul odors. They are not pleasant at any hour, 

 least of all at sunrise. In -order to go from 

 Cambridge in the early morning into any other 

 woods than these, it is necessary to walk quite a 

 long distance, or else to take the first train 

 which goes out from Boston over the Fitchburg 

 tracks. On April 20 I caught this train at 

 Hill's Crossing at 6.41 A. M., having walked out 

 Concord Avenue to the Tudor place, round the 

 northern edge of Fresh Pond, past the slaughter- 

 house opposite Black's Nook and over the mead- 

 ows to the little station. The walk was charm- 

 ing, for at that early hour there were more birds 

 than men in Cambridge streets, and the men 

 were laborers, with earnest faces, strong arms, 

 and brown hands, who seemed close to the soil 

 and its secrets. In the Harvard Observatory 

 grounds a ruby-crowned kinglet was singing. 

 Less than an inch longer than a humming bird, 

 this little creature has one of the most delightful 



