262 BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



At noon a neighbor, bearing a letter, knocked at 

 the door, but there was no response, and, forcing the 

 latch, he found the hermit staring at the fireplace 

 with sightless eyes, and Pudge, the old dog, sleeping 

 his last sleep. 



The cottage is gone ; the wild growths are en- 

 croaching upon the little glade ; lightning long since 

 killed the stately oak that sheltered the old man's 

 home ; but the story of the gentle hermit still re- 



Ruffed Grouse. 



mains, I think, handed down, year after year, by 

 every bird of the old woods, for here they gather to 

 sing their sweetest songs, and here, this sparkling, 

 sunny, merry Christmas morning, I found them, red- 

 birds and jays, nuthatches, tits, and the Carolina wren, 

 and all seemed calling to the old man to scatter seeds 

 and crumbs, as years ago he had done, that they, 

 too, as well as the dwellers in-doors, might have a 

 merry Christmas. 



