THE DRAWBRIDGE. 295 



Then an interlude. Not mournful silence either, keep- 

 ing one sadly shivering as the wind swept by, but only 

 a brief waiting until a host of linnets dropped among 

 the trees and sang a sweet hymn of thankfulness that 

 such sunny nooks as this were vouchsafed by kindly 

 Nature to our winter birds. Yet no sooner does No- 

 vember roll around than the poet's corner of the coun- 

 try weeklies, and the essayists' pages of the pretentious 

 journals, teem with regrets at the sad silence of our woods 

 in winter, or gush with nonsense about dreary snow-clad 

 fields. Out upon such rot ! 



A somewhat striking feature of the creek shore near 

 the bridge is the number of large catalpas, or Indian 

 bean-trees. My neighbors persist in calling them " ca- 

 tawbas," and the boys say "candle-trees." In spite of 

 its short-lived attraction when in bloom, it can scarcely 

 be considered a fine growth. Its large leaves are coarse, 

 the long seed-pods suggestive of broken and withered 

 twigs. It has one peculiarity worthy of mention : except 

 the hornbeam, no native tree is so apt to have angular 

 branches. In one that I can see from the boat, every 

 branch is either straight or bent at right angles. In one 

 instance a long bough grows horizontally for some ten 

 feet, then extends directly earthward for nearly three, 

 when it turns inward, and grows horizontally towards 

 the tree's trunk. Nothing in the present surroundings 

 of the tree could have influenced this peculiar method 

 of growth, hence our constant wonder why it should be 

 so. Gray speaks of this tree as a southern species, and 

 refers to its introduction into the northern States. If 



