372 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 



oped. The bird sat on the remaining eggs next day. I 

 called off the boy in another direction that he might 

 not find it. 



Oct. 17, 1856. As I stood looking at Emerson's 

 bound under the railroad embankment, I heard a smart 

 tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, saw 

 four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaint- 

 ance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and 

 four feet of me. I had heard them further off at first, 

 and they had followed me along the hedge. They day- 

 day'di and lisped their faint notes alternately, and then, 

 as if to make me think they had some other errand than to 

 peer at me, they pecked the dead twigs with their bills, — 

 the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows. 



Dec. 3, 1856. Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of 

 chickadees and their winter habits. As you walk along 

 a wood-side, a restless little flock of them, whose notes 

 you hear at a distance, will seem to say, " Oh, there he 

 goes ! Let 's pay our respects to him." And they will 

 flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the near- 

 est twig to you, as if they were minding their own busi- 

 ness all the while without any reference to you. 



Nov. 8, 1857. I do not know exactly what that sweet 

 word is which the chickadee says when it hops near to 

 me now in those ravines. 



Ifarch 21, 1858. Standing by the mud-hole in the 

 swamp, I hear the pleasant phebe note of the chickadee. 

 It is, methinks, the most of a wilderness note of any 

 yet. It is peculiarly interesting that this, which is one 

 of our winter birds also, should have a note with which 

 to welcome the spring. 



