A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



exposed part of the snowy surface in the 

 twilight, the owl would doubtless swoop 

 down upon it. I think the owl has learned 

 to distinguish me from the rest of the pass- 

 ers-by ; at least, when I stop before him, 

 and he sees himself observed, he backs down 

 into his den, as I have said, in a very amus- 

 ing manner. Whether bjuebirds, nuthatches, 

 and chickadees — birds that pass the night 

 in cavities of trees — ever run into the 

 clutches of the dozing owl, I should be glad 

 to know. My impression is, however, that 

 they seek out smaller cavities. An old 

 willow by the roadside blew down one sum- 

 mer, and a decayed branch broke open, 

 revealing a brood of half-fledged owls, and 

 many feathers and quills of bluebirds, orioles, 

 and other songsters, showing plainly enough 

 why all birds fear and berate the owl. 



The English house sparrows, which are 

 so rapidly increasing among us, and which 

 must add greatly to the food supply of the 

 owls and other birds of prey, seek to baffle 

 their enemies by roosting in the densest 

 evergreens they can find, in the arbor-vitae, 

 and in hemlock hedges. Soft-winged as 

 the owl is, he cannot steal in upon such a 

 retreat without giving them warning. 



