ROCK RUINS. TT 
jecting stone of the wall, as much at home as in the old 
place. From this it can be seen that its affection for locality 
is very strong. Notwithstanding Scops’ long absence it is 
as tame as ever, taking its food from my hand, and behaving 
in the old manner. Its plumage at this time (Oct. 31, 1867) 
is perfect, most of the feathers having recently changed. It 
is mostly gray; there are but few marks of red, and but a 
faint wash of cream-color on the back, not red. 
In your book on the “Birds of New England” are given 
two instances of this bird’s first plumage being in the red; 
but my bird’s is decidedly in the gray. If it is red at all, 
it must be at some time hereafter. You also mention one 
occurrence of the young bird in the gray plumage, and,to 
give an additional example, I would, for the benefit of stu- 
dents, add one from my own experience. 

ROCK RUINS. 
BY A. HYATT. 

I was accosted once by a gray-headed patriarch, moe 
at the door of his farm-house, with these words: “I hav 
heard of you, and wished to see you; my neighbors tell me 
that you are a rock-hunter.” After many questions he con- 
tinued: “I have read nothing but this,’—holding up the 
well-thumbed family Bible, —“and seen nothing but that,” 
—pointing to the extensive landscape the house afforded, — 
“and yet,” said he, “a long life spent with them both before 
me, has given me more to think about than I can master. 
The rains pour down their floods upon these hills till every 
little hollow holds a muddy rivulet which ,empties into that 
silver thread you see yonder, until it too is a broad, yellow 
current. It has struck me, stranger, that those rains, in the 
hands of the Almighty, are the instruments which have cut 

