the hawks, if they ever nested in hol- 
lows, have long ceased to do so, build- 
ing their nests among the branches of 
trees, where a relatively large amount 
of material is necessary. The few' 
species of hawks which now nest in 
hollows have gone back to that method 
after a long period of open nesting and 
have retained the nest material even 
here where it seems unnecessary. 
The monkey-like appearance of this 
owl, emphasized by his tawny color 
and screeching voice, gives him a de- 
cidedly uncanny appearance. His 
plumage is unusually soft and fluffy, 
but is too thin to enable him to with- 
stand the rigors of a northern winter. 
Curiously enough, the feathers on the 
back of his tarsus grow up instead of 
down, giving that part of his plumage 
a rather ungroomed appearance. One 
edge of his middle toe-nail is toothed 
like a comb. 
During the nesting season only a 
single pair can be found in a place, but 
at other times the species is more or 
less gregarious in the regions in which 
it is numerous. Often a dozen individ- 
uals may be found in a company. The 
extreme seclusiveness of the birds dur- 
| ing the day makes it very difficult to 
find them, and they are undoubtedly 
more numerous than generally re- 
ported, and are likely to be present in 
many places where their presence is 
not now suspected. They seek the 
darkest and most secluded corner pos- 
sible and remain quiet all day. Their 
noiseless flight might easily be mis- 
taken for that of the whippoorwill. 
Let us hope that the good qualities of 
this owl will be fully recognized be- 
fore his hiding-place is discovered. 
A SPRINGTIME. 
One knows the spring is coming; 
There are birds; the fields are green; 
There is balm in the sunlight and moon- 
light, 
A dew in the twilights between. 
But ever there is a silence, 
A rapture great and dumb, 
That day when the doubt is ended, 
And at last the spring is come. 
Behold the wonder, O silence! 
Strange as if wrought in a night,- — 
The waited and lingering glory, 
The world-old fresh delight! 
O blossoms that hang like winter, 
Drifted upon the trees, 
O birds that sing in the blossoms, 
O blossom-haunting bees, — 
O green leaves on the branches, , 
O shadowy dark below, 
O cool of the aisles of orchards, 
Woods that the wild flowers know, — 
O air of gold and perfume, 
Wind, breathing sweet, and sun, 
O sky of perfect azure — 
Day, Heaven and Earth in one! 
Let me draw near thy secret, 
And in thy deep heart see 
How fared, in doubt and dreaming, 
The spring that is come in me. 
For my soul is held in silence, 
A rapture, great and dumb,— 
For the mystery that lingered, 
The glory that is come! 
— W, D. Howells. 
156 
