Where Town and Country Meet 



even digging all day in a ditch, as Irish 

 laborers do. But the sedentary man who 

 tries his hand, or foot, at them can scarcely 

 comprehend how muscles become so tireless. 

 I am especially desirous, on this crisp, 

 midwinter day, to hear what songs or chirps 

 we may expect from the few forest birds 

 that linger with us, in these Northern States, 

 throughout the cold weather. The piece of 

 woodland I am traversing is well sheltered 

 on three sides by hills, and is chiefly com- 

 posed of thick clumps of evergreens, inter- 

 spersed with more open patches of birch, 

 beech, and maple, forming in all an excel- 

 lent winter resort for the birds. And yet 

 one might pass by such a piece of woodland, 

 on a traveled road, and hear not a single 

 bird-voice, though there were numbers of 

 birds sheltered among the evergreens. My 

 experience has been that these winter birds, 

 as a rule, have to be disturbed or startled 

 in some way before they will make their 

 presence known by any vocal sign. None 

 of them has a sustained song, and few utter 

 more than a dry, pinched chirp or two, or 

 a raucous scream, as the blue jay, when dis- 

 turbed in their winter retreats. One or two 

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