90 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



quest of which I had traveled miles through the 

 New Hampshire mountain valleys, always in vain. 

 As I turned, one of these beautiful creatures, 

 with wings widespread and tail like a fan, was 

 sailing just above, but parallel with, the fence. 

 He paused upon it, looked towards me with his 

 large, fearless eyes, and then noisily tapped a 

 knot in the upper pole with his beak. " Moose 

 birds at last! " I exclaimed, and at once felt the 

 strongest liking for them. There was nothing 

 in their appearance to confuse them with their 

 wicked cousins the blue jays ; in fact, I found my 

 instincts rebelling at the idea of both being Cor- 

 vidce. Their large rounded heads had no sign of 

 a crest, and the white on the crown and under the 

 chin gave them a singularly tidy look, as though 

 their gentle faces were tippeted. Their plu- 

 mage as a whole was Quaker-like in tone, so that, 

 considering their demure and gentle bearing, the 

 name " Whiskey Jack," applied to them by the 

 lumbermen, seemed to me absurdly inappropriate. 

 While I watched these birds, they moved 

 slowly along the fence towards the swamp, com- 

 ing nearer and nearer, and finally passing within 

 about fifty feet of me. One of them was a 

 young bird, with but little white on his dusky 

 brown head ; two others were females, also less 

 white than the males. Finally they vanished in 

 the swamp, the last bird going upstairs on a 



