AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY 71 



but when the north wind drives the rain and sleet against the branches, 

 and this is turned into a coating of ice, and when the snow covers the 

 ground and the seed-bearing shrubs, then would one fear for these 

 small birds. One day, after a very long rain storm which had been 

 followed by freezing, I went out as usual to visit the Haunt. The band 

 ot Winter Friends appeared at once, seeming as cheerful as ever. I 

 noticed, however, that the Creeper hitched straight up the tree-trunks 

 instead of following a spiral course, and I found that this was the south 

 side of the trees, which had been somewhat protected from the wind. 



The Chickadees and Kinglets seemed unable to work, and flew about 

 somewhat aimlessly. I remember last year one storm in particular; I 

 quote from my journal: "In the evening it snowed hard, and as there 

 was no wind and the snow was very adhesive, the limbs of the trees 

 and every tiny twig had a complete covering of snow. As I looked at 

 the grove all white it seemed like some wonderland in the soft light of 

 late evening. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in Na- 

 ture;" yet I cannot help wondering how the Kinglets and creepers en- 

 joyed it. 



Of the larger birds, Herring Gulls are casual; I see them flying over 

 occasionally; I have one record of Hairy Woodpecker and one of King- 

 fisher, in winter. One of the larger birds is of particular interest to me, 

 and he is frequently seen or heard in the Haunt. In my journal of Jan- 

 uary 22, 1902, I read as follows: "In the evening a dull thick mist 

 overhung the land to the height of the tree-tops, and through its damp 

 veil the moonlight penetrated with difficulty. Everything looked un- 

 natural; queer shadows crept and swayed in the wood, while high above 

 was a clear starry sky, and a nearly full moon. All at once as I stood 

 wondering at the strange appearance of my familiar haunt, I heard a 

 call, a cry, wierd and indescribable, from the grove. It came slowly 

 nearer and nearer, till close by, it made me feel an awe of the place. 

 I moved closer to the sound as if drawn by some unseen power, and 

 the cry grew farther and farther away, until it seemed to mingle with 

 the soft rustling of the slightly swaying branches, blending with the 

 mist, and then dying away completely. I waited some time and then 

 walked home, vainly trying to fit words to the call, and for a long time 

 I felt the strange effect of that experience." 



It was, of course, an owl; these birds with their silent, down-covered 

 wings are to me the greatest woodland mysteries. Rarely seen, but 

 when once seen long remembered; not loved, but rather held in awe, and 

 admired. It is not strange that the owl is the symbol of wisdom. I 

 have often smiled to see them turn their faces quite over their backs, 



