the hawks, if they ever nested in hol- 

 lows, have long ceased to do so, build- 

 ing their nests among the branches of 

 trees, where a relatively large amount 

 of material is necessary. The few 

 species of hawks which now nest in 

 hollows have gone back to that method 

 after a long period of open nesting and 

 have retained the nest material even 

 here where it seems unnecessary. 



The monkey-like appearance of this 

 owl, emphasized by his tawny color 

 and screeching voice, gives him a de- 

 cidedly uncanny appearance. His 

 plumage is unusually soft and fluffy, 

 but is too thin to enable him to with- 

 stand the rigors of a northern winter. 

 Curiously enough, the feathers on the 

 back of his tarsus grow up instead of 

 down, giving that part of his plumage 

 a rather ungroomed appearance. One 



edge of his middle toe-nail is toothed 

 like a comb. 



During the nesting season only a 

 single pair can be found in a place, but 

 at other times the species is more or 

 less gregarious in the regions in which 

 it is numerous. Often a dozen individ- 

 uals may be found in a company. The 

 extreme seclusiveness of the birds dur- 

 ing the day makes it very difficult to 

 find them, and they are undoubtedly 

 more numerous than generally re- 

 ported, and are likely to be present in 

 many places where their presence is 

 not now suspected. They seek the 

 darkest and most secluded corner pos- 

 sible and remain quiet all day. Their 

 noiseless flight might easily be mis- 

 taken for that of the whippoorwill. 

 Let us hope that the good qualities of 

 this owl will be fully recognized be- 

 fore his hiding-place is discovered. 



A SPRINGTIME. 



One knows the spring is coming; 



There are birds; the fields are green; 

 There is balm in the sunlight and moon- 

 light, 



A dew in the twilights between. 



But ever there is a silence, 



A rapture great and dumb. 

 That day when the doubt is ended, 



And at last the spring is come. 



Behold the wonder, O silence! 



Strange as if wrought in a night, — 

 The waited and lingering glory. 



The world-old fresh delight! 



O blossoms that hang like winter. 



Drifted upon the trees, 

 O birds that sing in the blossoms, 



O blossom-haunting bees, — 



O green leaves on the branches, 



O shadowy dark below, 

 O cool of the aisles of orchards. 



Woods that the wild flowers know, 



O air of gold and perfume. 



Wind, breathing sweet, and sun, 



O sky of perfect azure — 



Day, Heaven and Earth in one! 



Let me draw near thy secret. 

 And in thy deep heart see 



How fared, in doubt and dreaming, 

 The spring that is come in me. 



For my soul is held in silence, 

 A rapture, great and dumb, — 



For the mystery that lingered. 

 The glory that is come! 



— IV. D. Hozvells. 



