1 8 A MARCH RAMBLE. 



they do not relish seeds ; the insects are not mov- 

 ing in hosts, and their weak, slender bills are not 

 fitted to dig under the bark for dainty morsels. 



The sounds heard are of the woods. How 

 sharply the tack, tack, of the wood-chopper's axe 

 comes to your ear, as if conveyed thi'ough a tube. 

 Here a white oak tree, recently sawed squarely and 

 smoothly from its stump, gives one a good oppor- 

 tunity to count the annual rings. A diagram of 

 seventy circling years is here plainly drawn on 

 this cross-cut bole, and tells a curious story since it 

 started out from its shell so long ago. The first 

 ten years of its life the sapling was weakly and 

 slim, in consequence of the overshadowing branches 

 of its elderly neighbors ; but after reaching its 

 teens it began to be more thrifty. From the fif- 

 teenth to the thirtieth year it grew more rapidly 

 than at any other period of its existence. Outside 

 the thirtieth ring, which was the broadest, they 

 became narrower and more indistinct. The tree 

 had grown faster on the southwestern side, as 

 shown by the curious irregular zones. This evi- 

 dently was due to the milder winds and the genial 

 influence of the sun's rays, in the spring, on the 

 rich, mucilaginous sap. The ducts in the older 

 layers have become clogged, and seem no longer to 



