now,” said the Iris.liman, ‘‘they would 
have (the old fox out, but the smell is 
too stale now to follow. I have steen that 
old dog throw up his head and go clean 
across the field, and the fox come out of 
the wall on the other side. Then the 
■whole pack ’ll be off, runnin’ an’ roar¬ 
in’, -makin’ a hell of a racket, like a band 
of music.” 
He showed me a burrow where last 
spring a litter of young foxes had been 
dug out. He could tell that the young 
ones were in the burrow by the chicken 
bones, mouse and rabbit fur, and the 
odds and ends of all sorts which they 
had strewn about the opening. 
I could understand how the old man’s 
heart warmed to the music of his hounds, 
and the excitement of the chase, but my 
sympathies were with the fox, and I 
chuckled at a tale he told me of a hunt 
in North Lexington, where the fox had 
taken the hounds to the railroad track, 
and there thrown them completely off 
the scent. Snow covered the ground, and 
when it was too late to catch him, the 
hunters discovered that he had run for 
an eighth of a mile on the bare rail, and 
then leaped off to the side. Long may 
Reynard hunt in the moonlit cedars; my 
neighbors, I am sure, can spare his litter 
an occasional hen. ♦ 
A Oj O "V 
N a tube Abo ut Boston 
VII. 
BY RALPH HOFFMANN 
Most people are too clever; they go 
in when it rains. Ornithologists,‘how¬ 
ever, My associating intimately with 
robins and rcd-wlnged blackbirds have 
discovered the beauty of the country in 
a spring rain. Saturday, May 4, opened 
with a cold, gray sky, and a searching 
east wind; by the middle of the morning 
even the robins were occasionally forced 
into shelter by the driving showers. But 
whenever the clouds lifted a little and 
the force of the rain abated, the vesper- 
sparrows and the blackbirds scattered 
over the fields in search of food, or sang 
from some fence-post or tree. 
In'the midst of the rain I was piloted 
by a fellow-enthuslist to Shaker Glen 
in Woburn, to renew my acquaintance 
with one of the loveliest spots near Bos¬ 
ton, and to meet a little flock of black- 
throated green warblers, which had re¬ 
turned on May Day to the white pines 
at the head of the glen. A broad lane 
led us between solid stone walls, past 
an old apple orchard into neglected pas¬ 
ture, of which young pitch pines were 
fast taking possession. From the pasture 
we looked down into the treotops at the. 
head of the glen; the rain softening the 
red of the maples and heightening the 
brown of th-e elm buds, blended the 
whole into a mass of delicate color. 
Three streams were romping down 
from the slopes that enclose the entrance 
j to the glen, feeding innumerable plants 
of hellebore, which, rising stout and tall 
and green, made a miniature forest along 
the banks, and over the islands through 
which the streams made their way. An 
occasional patch of cowslip in full flower 
was the only other striking evidence of 
the progress which the plants were mak¬ 
ing, but by looking closely at the banks 
of the brooks or the rocky ledges above, 
one could discover the promise of a suc¬ 
cession of woodland flowers. Rue anem- > 
one was already wide open, and here '• 
and there patches of windflowers were 
showing the pink undersurface of their 
sepals. Gold-thread and columbine were 
still in bud, but in the pastures the clus¬ 
ters of houstonia, drenched with rain, 
were bending till they touched the grass. 
The lower part of the glen is narrow and 
rocky, and the steep hillsides are hidden 
by drooping hemlocks. The Cheerful voice 
of a solitary vireo greeted us here; he was 
j convoying a little group of migrants, a 
ruby-crowned kinglet, a black and white 
creeper and a black-throated green warbler. 
What a pity that this last attractive little 
bird has to bear ©o long and clumsy a 
name! 
My companion had seen brown thrashers 
and chewinks on April 29, but it must have 
been only the advance guard of the flock, 
for I had been able to find none in Bel¬ 
mont. There had evidently been no gen¬ 
eral movement during the last week, for 
though a yellow warbler or two, and at 
least one chebee appeared in Cambridge on 
May Day, the orchards and gardens which 
these two species generally inhabit are still 
(May 5) deserted. 
On May Day, too, the warm southwest 
I wind started a little flight of chimney 
swifts; they drifted up in the afternoon 
from who knows where. House wrens, 
singing and scolding, in Belmont, Sunday, 
May 5, complete the list of arrivals of 
which I have so far ‘heard. 
We certainly must have that series of 
bird maps for the migration months. How 
interesting it would be, when everything is 
held back in this way, to know where the 
orioles are waiting. Have they reached 
Philadelphia yet, or are they already in ' 
Central Park? When Mr. Chapman finds 
that he can edit bird lore, and assist with 
the auk, take care of all his work in the 
American Museum, give his entertaining 
and instructive lectures, and still have 
plenty of spare time, he will be just the 
man to establish a line of observers from 
Cape Race to Key West, and during the 
spring and fall, furnish the students of 
birds accurate information as to the ad¬ 
vancing column. 
One poor migrant, at least, one of the 
band of Savannah -spartows that have 
been lingering about Fresh Pond, will 
never see his native salt marsh or grassy 
meadow again. He came to a sudden and . 
tragic end. A fine finch was singing on 
one side of the road and a goldfinch 
across the way, each ■‘•going it,” to use 
a colloquial expression which suits the 
interminable nature of the song of these 
two species. I had never before heard a 
pine finch sit and -sing as if for ever, 
and had never had an opportunity to 
compare his performance with that of 
his near relative, the goldfinch. Their 
songs were very similar In form; but 
that of the pine finch was 'huskier, -and 
often interrupted by the curious, comb- 
