176 Clear Skies and Cloudy. 



A red-headed woodpecker in November, and 

 cloudy at that, is equal to half a dozen sun- 

 beams. It will penetrate the gloom to that ex- 

 tent, and send desolation a little deeper into the 

 beyond. 



Six birds already, and my walk has just com- 

 menced. There is yet a trace of youthful vigor 

 left. I always jump from the top step of the 

 stile ; not always gracefully, I admit ; and, 

 tripping this time, I shook the near earth as I 

 sprawled in the briers. Bob White went off 

 with a whirr as if I was some blundering sports- 

 man ; and I had not picked a tenth of the 

 desmodium and bidens seeds from my clothing 

 before another and another went whizzing off 

 to my neighbor's sproutland, whither I too was 

 bound. Could a field in November be sud- 

 denly shorn of its weeds, what a wealth of wild 

 life would be exposed ! Looking across country, 

 it is by mere chance we see any bird, and very 

 seldom life of any other form. Birds can see 

 us when we cannot see them ; probably, while I 

 was yet several rods away, a skulking woodcock 

 knew of my approach. Quail and woodcock ! 

 I did not smack my lips over them as mere 



