tinuing until columns of whitish ice were formed. Some were pointed like inverted icicles; others were perfectly sylindrical in shape. With the background of the dark mine depths, they had a sort of wild sepulchral beauty. Somewhere in the mine be­tween these formations (which indeed barred the whole mine up) water was falling in some deep pool of water sounding like clear perfect chimes. Old Mines always have a luring mysteriousness for me, but at the same time fear seizes me too and the longer I remain inside the greater it grows until I must rush out to day light again. What a relief it was to-day to come forth!
     For a short distance I followed the streams bank, then, leaping across I climbed a wire fence and proceeded to where a forest aisle - one of those rare sylvan beauties - extended along the north side of the hollow. I noticed for the first time that there was hardly a beech here, a noteworthy fact as most of the woods around here are made up mostly of that tree. Presently a new bird-song came from down the hollow. It was a rapid song, each note being the same. There was nothing especially beautiful about it but its newness added a charm to it. The call seemed to be