288 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



qnented fields, always on the ground, or flitting, like 

 wind-tossed feathers, from j^lace to place. Like horned 

 larks, they are strictly upland birds ; at least I have nev- 

 er seen a specimen on the meadoAVS or along the river 

 shore. This, however, is inapplicable to them when in 

 more southern localities. 



When pij^its are carefully approached they will main- 

 tain a safe distance by running, and if confident of your 

 innocent intentions in drawing near, will often entertain 

 you with a delightful song. It is a clear, flute-like war- 

 ble, moderately varied, and seldom are the repetitions 

 quite the same. 



My experience makes them a bird of our open win- 

 ters, lovers of dead grass and frost-nipped weeds, and 

 never, like horned larks or arctic buntings, rejoicing in 

 polar temperature and boundless reaches of untrodden 

 snow. 



In winter, as well as at other times, we have with us 

 cedar-birds in abundance — every one trim as a dandy, 

 neat as a shining pin. They are too lazy or too particular 

 to sing, and it is said, probably with truth, that they die 

 of nervous shock if their plumage be soiled. They never 

 associate with others than their own kind, and under no 

 circumstances are they demonstrative. I would be glad 

 to become an enthusiast in their praises could I learn 

 their merits. I fear they are but feather-deep; still I 

 am thankful that they bear me out in my assertion that 

 a birdless winter is a mere figment of the imagination. 



Another feature of our woods in winter is the shrike, 

 the foe of song-birds, but particularly a pursuer of the 

 omnipresent tree-sparrow. It is a bird that suggests an 



