AN OCTOBER DIARY. 281 



side of the trunk, when yon make a business of watch- 

 ing them closely, and to snppose them gone, when, in 

 fact, they were merely hiding, would be a most natural 

 mistake. 



I believe, if I were asked to name a literally resident 

 bird, one that could be readily found any day and at 

 all times of day, I should, at least, think of the nut- 

 hatches. Certainly, in the past ten years, I have seen 

 individuals every week of the year — possibly every 

 day. Quank-quank — Tat-a-tat ! I hear them now, al- 

 thougli it is past sundown, and even the wood pee-wees 

 sing in their sleep. In May and June one might readi- 

 ly suppose tliat tliese birds were wanting, as their voices 

 are lost in the great volume of bird-music that resounds 

 through the woods ; but tliey are here, nevertheless, and 

 gather up insects with the same assiduity, and repeat 

 their monotonous song with the same painfully monot- 

 onous regularity as in autumn or winter. Yet, strange 

 to say, these stay-at-homes, with all their conspicuous 

 ways, have never guided me to their nests. Of course, 

 they breed here ; we have dead trees and nest linings in 

 sufficiency, and all the surroundings that they require, 

 and, too, I have seen the young, with pin-feathers more 

 abundant than full spread plumage ; but no nest or eggs. 

 This is one of the pleasant experiences in store for me 

 — to find a nest. 



The nuthatches should have a better name with us. 

 They have absolutely nothing to do with nuts; never 

 hatched or hatcheted one in their lives, nor yet fooled 

 with a wormy one, to get out the grub; but spend their 

 days in insect-hunting, in so tireless a manner that they 



