THE PERCHING BIRDS. 



37 



Probably there is no more characteristic bird of 

 the winter landscape of the Northern and Middle 

 States than the black-capped titmouse, or Chicka- 

 dee, as it is usually called. 

 As I have said of the 

 nuthatches, they have 

 no predilections as to 

 locality, and are as 

 ready to glean from trees 

 about your yard as to 

 hunt in the depths of 

 the woods. They are 

 happily constituted as 

 to food, and when one 

 supply fails can readily 

 turn to another, and 

 thrive as well on vege- 

 table substances as upon 

 the fat larvae of in- 

 sects. They are never silent. It is a matter of 

 chick-a-dee-dee, or tsee-deet, or phe-bee, all the day 

 long, the last of the three notes perhaps being a 

 love-call. 



Yet, common as they are, they never startle you 

 with some strange act that makes you wonder if birds 

 are as brainy as people. They are commonplace, 

 and yet have such winning ways that you never tire 

 of them. Even when they have nests in the hollows 

 of old trees, and are concerned about their young, 

 they do not forget to be cheerful, and sing as con- 

 stantly as though care was unknown. Of all our 

 birds, they are the tamest, I believe. I have often 



Chickadee. 



