AN OCTOBER DIARY. 885 



The winter may be "open" or "hard," the words lo- 

 cally used to express a mild or severe season ; but it 

 matters not with these birds, they are here just the 

 same; and this fact does not apply equally strongly to 

 any others ; for, comparing year with year, the numbers 

 of many other species vary considerably. 



One can scarcely grow enthusiastic over the song of 

 these Northern sparrows; it is too shrill and uniform, 

 and 80 soon becomes tiresome. I suspect they seldom 

 sing such songs as is recorded of them far away in the 

 New England woods; but to-day, hearing a number of 

 them for the first time, it was a veritable treat. 



October 30. — A steady rain and dense fog were the 

 prominent features of the day. How quickly the weather 

 changes from one extreme to the other! With a gum- 

 cloth cape over my shoulders, I sauntered to the meadows, 

 but all the world had gone wrong ; every tree and bush 

 was sobbing. The only birds seen were nuthatches, 

 and these were upside-down. Why do they not get 

 wet? The rain falls against the grain of their feathers. 

 At all events, they appear to keep dry, and kept up, 

 also, their usual high spirits, " quank-quanking" at every 

 fourth hop, with mathematical precision. 



I tried to outstare a chipmunk, on my way home, but 

 it was not to be done. The little fellow never winked, 

 and I believe I did. As I stared, I approached. This 

 motion on my part the chipmunk saw, and he measured 

 my movements without winking. When I was within 

 five short steps there came a flash, like brown lightning, 



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