My Neighbor's Wood-Shed 199 



pressed where now my hand rests, and the 

 knife of an Indian made the deep gash that 

 the skill of the joiner has cunningly con- 

 cealed. 



Here is a piece of bark with a neatly cut 

 hole in it, the work of a woodpecker ; and 

 here another chip, that has been channelled 

 by a carpenter bee. Nothing but chips to 

 be cast into the fire, yet written all over 

 with unread history ; chips to be trampled 

 into the earth by my garrulous neighbors, 

 who often gather in force at the wood-shed 

 and chatter until the very air is thick with 

 platitudes. 



But this shed is something more than a 

 shelter for firewood : it is a rich mine for him 

 who is zoologically inclined. It is a great 

 place for walking-sticks. I do not mean peri- 

 patetic firewood, but those green and brown 

 twigs that are generously legged and look 

 like animated splinters when in motion. 

 Curious insects, these, whose homes are not 

 here but among the oaks of the hill-side, yet 

 there I see them but seldom ; here, quite 

 often. The last I found was full four 

 inches long and of a beautiful bright-green 

 color. If was cunning, and foiled my at- 



