80 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



boast. Frequent visits have shown that it, then, is a 

 great haunt for winter birds, and then it was, during 

 the past winter, that I happened upon a flock of cross- 

 bills. 



Any bird of pluck, if wounded, will be found to be 

 cross-billed, when carelessly handled. Even a hen, with 

 young chickens, may be classed as a crossbill. Faith- 

 ful retrievers have learned, to their sorrow, that a 

 wounded bittern is a veritable crossbill. Spaniels have 

 been stabbed to death by them. None such were the 

 little birds I saw last December. On the contrary, they 

 were the gentlest wild birds I have ever met, and their 

 " crossness " lay only in the twist of their beaks. There 

 were hundreds of them, and their black and red plum- 

 age showed admirably against the deep blue of the 

 cloudless sky, or the wide-spread whiteness of the snow- 

 clad meadows. These birds did not confine themselves 

 to the cedars, but wandered to the scattered birches as 

 well, and clambered, in a curiously parrot-like manner, 

 over every limb and twig. They were as much at ease, 

 when head down and tail up, as in the normal position, 

 and were never still for a second. I walked directly up 

 to them, and they simply kept a little beyond arm's 

 length. With a butterfly net I could have caught a 

 dozen. When on the trees they scarcely uttered a 

 sound. Possibly a faint chirp now and then, but of 

 this I cannot be positive ; when fairly upon the wing, 

 however, they warbled with much animation. Later, 

 when, with common consent, they formed a dense flock, 

 and flew away, the united songs of the happy company 

 were clear, loud, and melodious. 



