THE JAY. 181 



conspicuously before us then, have all since disap- 

 peared ; and while Tits of various species seem more 

 numerous than ever, we notice new arrivals, and 

 listen to the whistle and chatter of the Redwing and 

 Fieldfare, which have come to pass the winter 

 with us. 



But since the leaves have fallen, a curtain has 

 dropped which long concealed from view our shier 

 woodbirds. The Pigeon, of whose presence we 

 were usually aware from hearing his loud "coo," or 

 flapping wing, is now seen perched upon the leafless 

 bough. We can now watch every movement of the 

 nimble Nuthatch, and observe the stealthy actions 

 of the Creeper, and as we pick the last over-ripe 

 blackberry, or taste the fallen beech-mast, in our 

 search for shells or fungi, we fancy that November 

 is not such a dull month after all as some would 

 represent it. On the contrary, a prying naturalist can 

 find much to interest him at this season of the year. 



A noisy chattering disturbs our reflections, and 

 we look up just in time to catch sight of one of the 

 shiest of our wood-birds, the Jay. So long as the 

 green leaves screened our approach, we knew him 

 only " as the blind man knows the Cuckoo by the 



