1 1 6 
SNOW ON FLOWERS. 
One needn’t be surprised to look out and see 
their white mantles wrapping the green hill-tops 
the 9th day of June! Of course, a few hours 
of sunshine translates them into spirit-like clouds 
that strand themselves among the mountain-tops, 
until those greedy wreckers, the dry breezes, 
drink them up and they disappear. The fact 
that this snow fell on flowers and budding trees 
did not prevent its being fifteen or sixteen inches 
deep, but those birds like perpetual cold weather, 
rarely leaving the Arctic regions or the tops of 
high mountains, except when snow goes with 
them ; and to this storm Mrs. Maxwell was in- 
debted for their presence. 
Successful as she was with her gun in her new 
surroundings, she was not always dependent upon 
it, as she captured several specimens without its 
aid. One of them, a beautiful, fierce goshawk, 
she caught with her naked hands ! 
His presence was announced by a wild outcry 
from the poultry. Hastening to the barn she 
discovered him trying to bury his talons in the 
back of the very king of the roost ! Shutting the 
doors, she interfered in behalf of his black-Span- 
ish majesty, by seizing his foe from behind by 
the legs, and pinioning his head under her arm 
before he had time to use his savage beak ! He 
was a beautiful bird — one of the very handsom- 
est of the predatory family — a dark slate color, 
