Beyond the Snow-Path 



I fall in with that silent but beautiful winter 

 resident of our Northern woods, the wax- 

 wing, or cedar-bird. The tiny red knobs 

 at the extremities of the wing and tail feath 

 ers of this bird suggest umbrella-ribs with 

 their tips covered with sealing-wax. Wax- 

 wing, so far as my experience goes, is quite 

 dumb, a sort of Quaker bird in the woods, 

 still waiting to be moved by the spirit of 

 song. He has this peculiarity, which, I 

 think, belongs to no other bird, that he can 

 adjust his stomach at will to either a purely 

 vegetable or meat diet. When the cherries 

 ripen, he lives on nothing else so long as 

 he can get them ; but the rest of the time his 

 food is entirely insectivorous. 



While I am resting on the top of an old 

 rail fence that runs through the heart of the 

 woods, a white-breasted nuthatch bobs 

 around the trunk of a pine-tree, scarcely six 

 feet away; and, utterly oblivious or careless 

 of my presence, runs diligently up and down 

 the rough bark, seeking for larvae or for 

 hibernating insects. The nuthatch is the 

 most insouciant, absorbed, and heedless of 

 danger of all the feathered tribe. Either he 

 does not fear man, or else he is so utterly 

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