WAYSIDE RAMBLES. 19 
times in quick succession. He rested a moment, 
and then repeated the comedy. 
On another occasion a creeper was preening his 
ruffled feathers, having evidently just taken a bath; 
and how do you suppose he went about it? Inquitea 
characteristic fashion, you may rest assured. Instead 
of sitting crosswise on a perch, as most birds would 
have done, he clung to the vertical bole of a large 
oak-tree, holding himself firmly against the shaggy 
bark, and daintily straightening out every feather 
from his breast to his flexible tail. Growing tired 
of this position— apparently so, at least — he 
shuffled up to a fork made by the trunk and a large 
limb, where he found a more comfortable slanting 
perch on which to complete his toilet. Once, after- 
ward, I saw a creeper arranging his plumes in the 
same way. 
But the quaintest exploit of this bird still remains 
to be described. One autumn day, while rambling 
along the foot of arange of steep cliffs, I caught sight 
of one of these birds darting from a tree toward the 
perpendicular wall of rock. For a few moments I 
lost him, but followed post-haste, muttering to my- 
self, “ What if I should find the little clown climbing 
up the face of the cliff! That would be a perform- 
ance worth describing to my bird-loving friends, 
would n’t it?’? (Surely a monomaniac may talk 
aloud to himself.) I could scarcely believe my 
eyes, for the next moment my happy presenti- 
ment was realized; there was the creeper scaling 
the vertical face of the cliff, with as much ease and 
