218 STRA Y FEA THERS FROM MANY BIRDS. 



watches our movements from the sycamores, uttering 

 his shrill rasping cry of warning at intervals. 



As we go out of the shrubbery and pass the little 

 swampy corner where the elder and alder trees grow, 

 we meet with the Robin. With a sharp call of welcome 

 he hops from the brushwood by the side of the stream 

 and perches daintily on the top of an old elder stump 

 covered with ivy. How neat and trim he looks this 

 morning, and what a beautiful contrast of colour his 

 bright orange breast forms with the snow. With a 

 hurried flick of his wings and tail, he passes into the 

 thicket, and his loud notes lend life and animation to 

 the woods. High up above our heads the Titmice are 

 busy in the trees ; they are the acrobats among birds 

 and delight to turn and twist their bodies into every 

 conceivable attitude. They are restless little creatures, 

 all of them, and will soon be gone ; but we can hear 

 their merry notes far away among the trees long after 

 they have passed from view. We are now once more 

 in the open fields and the wind is rising, blowing the 

 fine powdered snow along the hedgerows and shaking it 

 from the branches. Here all things look particularly 

 desolate and dreary, and the gathering clouds seem to 

 foretell another snowstorm. But birds are not al- 

 together absent. In the little weedy corner of the 

 pasture field a party of Goldfinches are busy among the 

 thistle stems. How pretty these little Finches look 



