DECEMBER OUT-OF-DOORS. 55 



unless we include the red -bellied nut- 

 hatches, whose frequent quaint twitterings 

 should, perhaps, come under this head 

 were the chickadees and a single robin. The 

 former 1 have down as uttering their sweet 

 phoebe whistle which I take to be cer- 

 tainly their song, as distinguished from all 

 their multifarious calls on seven of the 

 thirty-one days. They were more tuneful 

 in January, and still more so in February; 

 so that the titmouse, as becomes a creature 

 so full of good humqr and high spirits, may 

 fairly be said to sing all winter long. The 

 robin's music was a pleasure quite unex- 

 pected. I was out on Sunday, the 30th, for 

 a few minutes' stroll before breakfast, when 

 the obliging stranger (I had not seen a robin 

 for a fortnight, and did not see another for 

 nearly two months) broke into song from a 

 hill-top covered with pitch-pines. He was 

 in excellent voice, and sang again and 

 again. The morning invited music, 

 warm and cloudless, like an unusually fine 

 morning in early April. 



For an entire week, indeed, the weather 

 had seemed to be trying to outdo itself. I 

 remember in particular the day before 



