WILD LIFE OF ORCHARD AND FIELD 



searches carefully for such small insects and 

 their eggs as are not well concealed. There is 

 one now in the tree next my window, in the 

 edge of the city, as I write. He flew from the 

 neighboring horse - chestnut to the foot of the ai- 

 lantus, and began a spiral march upward. I see 

 him creep steadily round and round and round the 

 trunk, with his tail pressed in against the tree to 

 sustain him (like the pointed stick trailing behind 

 a Pennsylvania wagon), peering into every crevice, 

 poking his bill into all the knot-holes and scars 

 where limbs have been shivered off, running out on 

 each branch, here picking up half a dozen eggs that 

 only a bird's sharp eye could find, there transfixing 

 with his pointed tongue some dormant beetle laid 

 away on his bark shelf, or tearing open the pupa- 

 case of some unlucky young moth, snugly dream- 

 ing of a successful debut in May. This creeper 

 is always to be found in our winter woods and 

 orchards, yet is nowhere abundant; its life is a 

 solitary one, and, although not shy, it is so restless- 

 ly active as easily to elude the eye. If, in the 

 early spring, you have the rare fortune to hear 

 its song, regard the privilege as precious. 



Another creeping bird, almost always moving 

 head downward, more often seen in midwinter, 



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