294 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



Let me recapitulate. An ordinary half-mile stroll be- 

 yond the city limits may enable you to see forty or more 

 species of birds possibly fifty. Fully one-half of them 

 will be in flocks. Many will cluster in the thick-set ce- 

 dars ; others will be scattered over the weedy fields. 

 Hundreds delight to lurk in the angles of a zigzag fence ; 

 others come boldly to the front and bid you welcome. 



Divide these many winter birds in another manner, 

 and we shall find that fully one-half may claim to be 

 songsters ; and better than all else, none are lazy, moping 

 noodles, as are so many summer birds when the noon- 

 tide heat is tropical, but, on the contrary, every feather 

 of them is awake, alive, ready for fight or fun, and bub- 

 bling over witli melody or loquacity. 



Do you really think, then, a January jubilee a myth ? 

 The midwinter morning I was last here, the temperature 

 was as low as ten, and never above twenty, degrees that 

 is, take the whole range of the fields and woods but 

 then scattered about were warmer, sheltered nooks, and 

 such are the concert-halls affected by our winter song- 

 sters. 



One doesn't buy a ticket for the roof when he goes to 

 the opera. "Why look for birds, then, on the north side 

 of a hill ? I found them yesterday on a sunny slope, and 

 tarrying a bit I heard them. 



The clear call of the crested tit opened the concert. 

 The abundant tree-sparrows twittered ; kinglets trilled 

 a merry roundelay ; snow-birds chirped ; a cardinal per- 

 formed an inimitable solo ; and to all the downy wood- 

 pecker was alike attentive, and drummed a tuneful ac- 

 companiment on the most resonant tree in all the woods. 



