orchard, and once
at least one of them sang at some length from a birch-tree within a few
feet of the piazza, between it and the bowling alley. As far as I have
ever been able to discover, the hermit, for all his name and consequent
reputation, is less timorous and more approachable than any other New
England representative of his "sub-genus."

On this trip I settled once more a question which I had already settled
several times,--the question, namely, whether the wood thrush or the
hermit is the better singer. This time my decision was in favor of the
former. How the case would have turned had the conditions been reversed,
had there been a hundred of the wood thrushes for one of the hermits, of
course I cannot tell. So true is a certain old Latin proverb, that in
matters of this sort it is impossible for a man to agree even with
himself for any long time together.

The conspicuous birds, noticed by everybody, were a family of hawks. The
visitor might have no appreciation of music; he might go up the mountain
and down again without minding the thrushes or the wrens,--for there is
nothing about the human ear more wonderful than its ability not to hear;
but these hawks passed a good part of every day in screaming, and were
bound to be attended to by all but the stone-deaf. A native of the
region pointed out a ledge, on which, according to his account, they had
made their nest for more than thirty years. "We call them mountain
hawks," he said, in answer to an inquiry. The keepers of the hotel,
naturally enough, called them eagles; while a young Canadian, who one
day overtook me as I neared the summit, and spent an hour there in my
company, pronounced them fish-hawks. I asked him, carelessly, how he
could be sure of that, and he replied, after a little hesitation, "Why,
they are all the time over the lake; and besides, they sometimes dive
into the water and come up with a fish." The last item would have been
good evidence, no doubt. My difficulty was that I had never seen them
near the lake, and what was more conclusive, their heads were
dark-colored, if not really black. A few minutes after this conversation
I happened to have my glass upon one of them as he approached the
mountain at some distance below us, when my comrade asked, "Looking at
that bird?" "Yes," I answered; on which he continued, in a
matter-of-fact tone, "That's a crow;" plainly thinking that, as I
appeared to be slightly inquisitive about such matters,