AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 47 



tude of the forest brings out the individuality of a bird to as great an 

 extent as the white carpet of snow makes it distinct to the eye. 



Two miles north of my native village is a small woodland lake fed 

 by innumerable springs. From this lake flows a brook which is dammed 

 up at the village to form a mill-pond. Between the mill-pond and 

 the lake is a wood-clad hill which makes it necessary for the brook 

 to flow in a wide curve around its base. To go around the edge 

 of the pond, follow the windings of the brook to the lake, and 

 then return to the village by skirting the base of the hill on 

 the opposite side, makes one of the best rambles to be had any- 

 where. As we start from the village in the morning, while the sun 

 is still among the branches of the spruces on the hill we can see out in 

 the rushes of the pond, the rough heaps of sticks, roots and grasses 

 that the muskrats have made into homes for the winter. Any calm 

 evening last fall we would have noticed that the surface of the water 

 was broken by the long V-shaped ripples made by these animals as they 

 were gathering the material for these houses. 



Fortune seems to be with us at the very first, for before reaching the 

 head of the pond, we see, picking at the red berries on a dog-wood, a 

 flock of large heavy-billed birds. These are Pine Grosbeaks, most of 

 them females and young as is shown by the yellowish tinge, although 

 a few males are shown to be present by the pink flashes that we see 

 as the sun glances from their plumage. 



As we leave the pond and start up the brook, we are no sooner in the 

 shadow of the spruces than we hear a "kip, kip, kip" followed by a 

 whir which sounds like a peal of thunder. We start involuntarily, then 

 look at each other and laugh. Everyone starts when a Ruffed Grouse 

 whirs away, and knows that his neighbors do. The Grouse rumbles 

 away a few rods at full speed then we see him set his wings and sail 

 lightly downwards. But we have to go up some distance beyond the 

 the place where he appeared to alight before starting him up again for 

 he will probably run when he strikes the ground. 



Old Nature with its beautiful blanket of snow, appears to have turned 

 over a new leaf, and many are the stories, and not a few tragedies that 

 can be read from the white page. The ground is covered with tracks, 

 many of them being made by the red squirrel. Here from this stump 

 are the tiny tracks of a wood mouse; they disappear under yonder flat 

 stone. Here the track of a rabbit crosses our path, and we can almost 

 see him loping along, stopping occasionally to browse the tender buds 

 within reach. As we follow the tracks we find where the clear cut trail 

 of old Reynard has joined in. We follow the double track to see what 

 the outcome will be. Here the lengthened tracks of Bunny show that 



