CHRISTMAS AT SABBA DAY FALLS. 
Christmas Day was warm, cloudy at best, 
densely foggy at worst. Soon after breakfast 
we were swinging westward up the valley road, 
determined to find Sabba Day Falls or perish 
in the attempt. As we passed the crossbill 
feeding - ground no birds were in sight, but a 
moment later, high in the air, we heard bird 
voices. Looking skyward, we saw a flock of 
from one to two hundred birds whirling round 
and round, like ashes drawn upwards over a 
fire. They were at a very great height, and 
were gradually rising. As they increased their 
distance they disappeared and reappeared sev¬ 
eral times; then they vanished wholly, swal¬ 
lowed up in the high air. I think they were 
our crossbills, goldfinches, and siskins, and that 
they were soaring in search of fair weather, 
perhaps intending to migrate to some other 
favorite haunt. Christmas Day is not a time 
when one expects much color in a White Moun¬ 
tain landscape, but the warm air, the moisture, 
and the contrasts against snow below and fog 
above combined to produce and to make evident 
