material. They belong to the same order of birds, and yet the hawks build their own nests, collecting the material and arranging it much after the fashion of higher birds, while the owls make practically no nest, at the most collecting a little material and scattering it about with little regard for arrangement. But the difficulty disappears when we realize that the owls have probably always nested in hollows which require no nest material, while the hawks, if they ever nested in hollows, have long ceased to do so, building 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 decidedly uncanny appearance. His plumage is unusually soft and fluffy, but is too thin to enable him to withstand 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 individuals may be found in a company. The extreme seclusiveness of the birds during the day makes it very difficult to find them, and they are undoubtedly more numerous than generally reported, and are likely to be present in many places where their presence is not now suspected. They seek the darkest and most secluded corner possible and remain quiet all day. Their noiseless flight might easily be mistaken for that of the whippoorwill. Let us hope that the good qualities of this owl will be fully recognized before 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 moonlight,
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,
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