A DECEMBER DAY WITH THE BIRDS. 201 



and eying me suspiciously, seem to ask, " What do 

 you mean, sir, sitting here on a log ? " The crested 

 titmice and white-bellied nuthatches are quite up- 

 set, not knowing what to think of the spectacle 

 before them. Two blue jays flurry about, and re- 

 sent my presence with loud objurgations. A hairy 

 woodpecker utters his demur in a shrill ch-i-r-r, and 

 even the bluebirds sigh for sheer amazement. At- 

 tracted by the unusual commotion, a bevy of gold- 

 finches sweep across the adjacent corn-field, looping 

 the air with undulatory flight, and, alighting in the 

 trees above me, exclaim, Pe-cliicJc-o-pee ! pe-chick- 

 o-pee I in a tumult of wonder that cannot be other- 

 wise expressed. A pair of cardinal grossbeaks in 

 brilliant plumage dash up, and chip their protest 

 in unequivocal accents ; while, as if to make a cli- 

 max, a Carolina wren hops about on the leaves, 

 flirts his tail with an emphasis not to be mistaken, 

 and scolds as only a wren can. 



I must have presented a strange spectacle to my 

 feathered spectators ; perhaps they took me for a 

 one-animal menagerie (I am not prepared to dis- 

 pute their conclusion if they did), for all of them, 

 as soon as they espied me, seemed to cry out: 

 '' Isn't it wonderful, wonderful, to see a man sitting 

 on a log right here in the woods ? How can he do 



