Long before sunset the sky became clouded, the shadows in the wood were deepened, and wild life was better heard than seen. Then the resounding rain-drops striking the crisp leaves dulled all other sounds, and bade me seek refuge. I had not long to search, and, without hesitation, pushed through a jagged opening into a huge hollow maple. It is seldom that such convenient shelters are unoccupied; certainly this one was not. Spiders in that hollow tree, How they came and glared at me! On trembling bridges overhead To and fro in anger sped; But the fear they would arouse, While unbidden in their house, Failed my stubborn nerves to touch, Though they threatened overmuch. From the moss, with glittering eye, Mottled snake went gliding by; With its forkéd tongue thrust out, Wondered what I was about, Standing in the hollow tree, Wild-life’s home, this century. Centipedes, uncanny forms, Slimy, slippery, noisome worms, From the cracks and crannies there Startled each from hidden lair, Crept and crawled, above, below, Threatened me with direst woe If I chanced to cross their path, If I dared excite their wrath. From a distant nook afar, Gleaming like a double star, Eyes of owlet, full of fire, Questioned my insane desire Here within the tree to stand, Trespassing on wild-life’s land. Why not in the outer world? This the question at me hurled. But I stubbornly refused To be other than amused. Nor till night I bent my way Homeward, hermit for the day. Snow-Birds.