134 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



from its leg with my left hand — an awkward job — and 

 bo set the bird free, so far as its legs were concerned. 

 Immediately it found this out, and commenced using its 

 claws with considerable effect. I was receiving more 

 scratches than desirable, and let the bird up from the 

 ground. For a moment it was undecided, and I thought 

 meditated an attack. It had all the diabolism of ex- 

 pression ever seen in a wild-cat's face. I stood ready 

 with my stick to strike it if it approached, but instead, 

 it rose slowly upward and flew over the creek, and when 

 over the middle of the stream, gave an unearthly cry, 

 and fell dead. 



I waited for many minutes, in hopes the bittern that 

 I knew was skulking in the weeds on the shore would 

 make his appearance ; but in vain. In all probability, 

 from some unseen outlook, he was just as patiently 

 watching me, and wishing I would disappear. "Well, I 

 did as he wished, and slowly sculled the boat until oppo- 

 site the clump of willows. While not so graceful as the 

 weeping- willow, the kind here is a handsome one, and has 

 the great merit of being attractive to most birds. Dur- 

 ing the early summer particularly, the newly arrived 

 warblers congregate in its thick-set branches, and when, 

 in JNbvember, it has dropped every leaf, its bared twigs 

 are favorite resting-places for the enormous flocks of 

 redwings which tarry until late in the marshy mead- 

 ows. 



My attention has recently been called to the fact that 

 about the roots of these willows there are always many 

 burrows, and the opinion expressed that the meadow- 



