FOOD OF THE GOLDFINCH. 167 



however, is an humble plant ; and when covered by the 

 snow, the poor birds are half famished for want. We 

 then see them striving to satisfy their hunger by picking 

 some solitary green head of the plant remaining above 

 the frozen snow, and so tame, that they will suffer a 

 very near approach before they take flight. As the 

 frost continues, our little garden visitors diminish daily, 

 and by spring only a few pairs remain of all the flocks 

 of autumn. Yet it is very remarkable, notwithstanding 

 this natural predilection, how readily this bird conforms 

 to a perfect change in its diet, and in all the habits of 

 its life. Most of our little songsters, when captured 

 as old birds, become in confinement sullen and dis- 

 pirited ; want of exercise, and of particular kinds of 

 food, and their changes, alter the quality of the fluids : 

 they become fattened, and indisposed to action by re- 

 pletion ; fits and ailments ensue, and they mope and 

 die. But I have known our goldfinch, immediately 

 after its capture, commence feeding on its canary or 

 hemp-seed, food it could never have tasted before, nib- 

 ble his sugar in the wires like an enjoyment it had been 

 accustomed to, frisk round its cage, and dress its plu- 

 mage, without manifesting the least apparent regret for 

 the loss of companions or of liberty. Harmless to the 

 labors or the prospects of us lords of the creation, as so 

 many of our small birds are, we have none less charge- 

 able with the commission of injury than the goldfinch ; 

 yet its blameless, innocent life does not exempt it from 

 harm. Its beauty, its melody, and its early reconcilia- 

 tion to confinement, rendering it a desirable companion, 

 it is captured to cheer us with its manners and its voice, 

 in airs and regions very different from its native thistly 

 downs, and apple-blossom bowers. 



The tree-creeper (certhia familiaris) is as little ob- 

 served as any common bird we possess. A retired in- 

 habitant of woods and groves, and not in any manner 

 conspicuous for voice or plumage, it passes its days with 

 us, creating scarcely any notice or attention. Its small 

 size, and the manner in which it procures its food, both 

 tend to secrete him from sight. It feeds entirely on 

 small insects, which it seeks between the crevices in 



