IN THE HEMLOCKS 



with the cold and the snow. So different are the 

 habits of birds in different localities. Even the crow 

 does not winter here, and is seldom seen after De- 

 cember or before March. 



The snowbird, or "black chipping-bird," as it 

 is known among the farmers, is the finest architect 

 of any of the ground-builders known to me. The 

 site of its nest is usually some low bank by the 

 roadside, near a wood. In a slight excavation, 

 with a partially concealed entrance, the exquisite 

 structure is placed. Horse and cow hair are plen- 

 tifully used, imparting to the interior of the nest 

 great symmetry and firmness as well as softness. 



Passing down through the maple arches, barely 

 pausing to observe the antics of a trio of squirrels, 

 two gray ones and a black one, I cross an an- 

 cient brush fence and am fairly within the old hem- 

 locks, and in one of the most primitive, undisturbed 

 nooks. In the deep moss I tread as with muffled 

 feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate in the dim, 

 almost religious light. The irreverent red squirrels, 

 however, run and snicker at my approach, or mock 

 the solitude with their ridiculous chattering and 

 frisking. 



This nook is the chosen haunt of the winter 

 wren. This is the only place and these the only 

 woods in which I find him in this vicinity. His 

 voice fills these dim aisles, as if aided by some 

 marvelous sounding-board. Indeed, his song is very 

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