THE DRAWBRIDGE. 261 



of these old fences, and knows their nooks and corners 

 as well as his northern brethren know the safe crannies 

 of an old stone wall. 



The raccoon, too, has occasion to think well of fences. 

 From his hollow tree he will carefully crawl to the top 

 rail of the fence below, and run a long distance, a dozen 

 panels, perhaps, before touching the ground, and so the 

 prowling dogs are hopelessly baffled. 



Bats have learned the comfort, if they do not know 

 the security, of a weed-encompassed fence, and hang by 

 day from the lower side of a broad rail in blissful expec- 

 tation of the coming night. 



Lastly, the pert chipmunks. The first lesson in geog- 

 raphy taught them, I take it, is the zigzag coast-line of 

 the nearest fence. And once learned, what more grace- 

 ful sight than to see them dart from panel to panel, 

 dodging the knot-holes, leaping the projections, hugging 

 the under side of a rail for an instant, and then peeping 

 slyly at you from some coigne of vantage that it seeks 

 when danger threatens. It does not appear that chip- 

 munks are at a disadvantage upon any uneven surface, 

 but their grace culminates scurrying at utmost speed 

 adown the warped sections of an old worm-fence. 



The ornithology of these fences is half the bird his- 

 tory of the county. It cannot be dwelt upon now, but 

 a few marked features of it may be briefly mentioned. 

 Here, about the rank growths of poke, thistle, and James- 

 town weed, congregate those beautiful yellow and black 

 finches, 



Whose wavy flight and cheery whistle 

 Adorn the wastes o'enn-own with thistle: 



