Birds and Seasons in My Garden 



233 



the Black and White, the Myrtle Warbler, the Redstart, who if it turned 

 sky-blue, could not disguise its flickering flight, and the Blackpoll. 



In the greenest of seasons, the leaves of creeper and swamp maples will be 

 turning when the first of the half-dozen small, but most characteristic, winter 

 birds arrive. These we greet with a wholly different feeling from that called 

 forth by the migrants, who, though interesting, are but marks of the passing 

 season. There is something about the winter birds that makes for a sturdy sort 

 of permanence. They may, to a certain extent, come and go; but, as long as we 

 remember them with food and shelter, they are quite sure to abide. 



When, in late September, a little feathered something bobs in and out among 

 the apple twigs. I know, without looking in detail, that the Golden-crowned 



WHERE ALL UXKXOWX TO ME AX 0\ EX-BIRD HAS XESTED 



Kinglet has arrived, and that it is time to expect the Winter Wren about the 

 wood-pile, the White-throat in Thrush Lane, and the Junco hobnobbing with 

 both Song and a few unabashed English Sparrows on the feeding-board. Now, 

 at any time, I watch for flocking Purple Finches in the honeysuckle, — a spec- 

 tacle often repeated in all but the severest weather of January and February. 



As the leaves fall away, there are many surprises and the finding of empty 

 nests in wholly unexpected places, one of the greatest of these having been the 

 ground nest among the ferns from which the Oven-bird takes its name. 



We always have these birds in the spring. In past times a few have nested, 

 but lately they have left the place for near-by woods; yet, in raking leaves from 



