iSTov. 1890.] 



AND OOLOGIST. 



173 



Leaving liere. we find bird life growing very 

 scant, but see the Junco and Wiiite-tiiroated 

 Sparrow appiuontly breeding at a lieight of 

 2,000 feet. 



Speaking of tiiis latter bird, it is liere in 

 these mountains that I heard its voice at its 

 greatest perfection, at least two more notes 

 being added to its song as heard in the low- 

 lands. It warbles at intervals during the 

 entire day, calling back and forth with its 

 companions; and later on, as I lay in my 

 blankets on the sloi)es of Mount Willey, in the 

 darkness of the night, and surrounded by the 

 sombre depths of the spruce forest, lit only by 

 the glimmering stars, I heard it again, like 

 a voice of hope calling from the depths of 

 gloomy despair, and enlivening the solitude 

 with its cheery notes. And as the tirst rays of 

 the rising sun adorned the east he, first of all, 

 lifted up liis voice in glac'ness and praise. 



Not for all tlie world could I, since that 

 gloi ions day, harm one of those little creatures, 

 or take its nest. I would feel as if I had killed 

 or robbed my own brother. 



But 1 have digressed, both from my path 

 and my story. We are now nearly to timber 

 line, Hud soon have passed out where the only 

 vegetation is low bushes, a few stunted ever- 

 greens, twisted and gnarled by the force of the 

 winds wliirli sweej) over the summit, and the 

 low, creeping mountain cranberry {iiva ursi), 

 which covers the soil wlierever any is found to 

 cover the rocks. A few more hundred feet 

 and we step upon the top. It lias been a hard 

 climb, but the view is worthy of the labor. 



We can follow the course of the Saco River 

 from where it emeiges from the Notch until it 

 disappears in tlu' distant fields of Maine. 

 Below us are the viUagcs si)read out in minute 

 panorama, the buihlings looking like toy- 

 houses, and the ])e<)ple indistinguishable except 

 by the aid of the glasses. 



To the south, on either side tlie valley, the 

 two ranges show their length; to the east, the 

 hills of Maine are nearly Hattened into the 

 plain, though near by they are considerable 

 eminences, and the view is unbroken to the 

 horizon, witli river, lake and field vaiying the 

 picture; while to the north are the monarchs 

 of the range, too numerous to mention, cul- 

 minated by Washington, now for weeks cloud- 

 capped, and on whose sides the patches of 

 snow and ice are i)lainly discernible. 



As we stand on the northern span we see a 

 slu)wer gathering about Mount Washington, 

 and sweeping down the Notch. Washington 

 is iiidJeu fronr view, and tlu'u follows Munroe; 



Willey and Webster disappear, and the bank 

 of fog, swirling and swaying with the force of 

 tlie wiiul, draws nearer and nearer. 



In the midst of it all, in the gap between 

 Bartlett and Kearsarge, high in the air, and 

 in the very path of the wind, soars a large 

 hawk. He sways back and forward, ever and 

 anon coming to a standstill, facing and in the 

 very teeth of the gale, and hovering there 

 without the slightest discernible motion, brav- 

 ing and conquering the very power of the wind, 

 a grand triumph of skill and power. It was a 

 majestic sight. 



The wind is so strong that we are glad to 

 get under the lee of a little house which crowns 

 the summit, and which is firmly bound to the 

 rock with iron rods. 



After plucking a few flowers of tiie bear- 

 berry as mementoes for abseiit friends, we 

 strike down the side of the mountain, avoiding 

 the paths, and soon are crashing our way 

 thr(uigh the foliage, below timber line. 



We follow directly down the southeast side 

 of the moiuitain, and as we near the foot we 

 strike a ledge showing fine specimens of tab- 

 ular and drusy c]uartz, which we stop and 

 sample. 



But the night is drawing near, and we hurry 

 away, starting two partridges with their broods 

 of young. Signs of bear are not infrequent, 

 but we see none, though one was shot here on 

 the night of the 23d. 



We reach the house at 7 o'clock, having 

 taken six hours for the ascent and four hours 

 for the return. F. A. Bates. 



Two Days in the Field. 



Last Summer was spent on Mackinac Island. 

 There the migrations commenced in the middle 

 of August, and from then until the 10th 

 of September I made it an almost daily prac- 

 tice of rising at daybreak, the better to ob- 

 serve the migrants. 



On the morning of Aug. 30th, I awoke at the 

 first streak of dawn, and hastily donning my 

 clothes stole softly out doors. Here I found my 

 gun and fishing creel, and taking a bite of 

 food, was soon on the road; first througli 

 a circular cleared space, where a few ghostly 

 figures fiitted silently from under my feet. 

 Vesper Sparrows disturbed mayhap from their 

 last night's resting places. Where the road 

 turns through the evergreens I heard a few^ 



