AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 145 



of insect eggs and their progeny. They are tame, rashly tame, but no 

 true heart can resist the jocular "day, day, day, day — chick, chickadee, 

 dee, dee, dee" with which they greet us. They are curious but all be- 

 ings have their faults and we often love them the more for possessing 

 them. And in all nature what sound is purer, sweeter, and so fraught 

 with religious fervor as the exquisite "phe-be" call of the Chickadee? 



A less lovable relation of the volatile Chickadee is the Tufted Tit- 

 mouse, clothed in fatigue uniform with a military crest. In habits he 

 resembles his cousin, but is less lively, less gymnastic, and with no note 

 to correspond to the heavenly "phe-be" call of the Chickadee. His 

 "day-day-day" is hoarser, as of a Chickadee who has taken cold. 



The coquettish Carolina Wren is the only one of her family that re- 

 mains here in the winter. The smaller, chunky House Wren is many 

 leagues away. I have called our permanent Wren "coquettish," which 

 word no one will deny as applicable who has observed her actions. Per- 

 haps we came upon her feeding on a hillside, rustling the sere leaves 

 noisly, oblivious of the whole world. She takes no notice of our near- 

 er approach but continues to be deeply absorbed in satisfying the crav- 

 ings of nature. With a sharp little "chip" she puffs up in alarming dis- 

 habille, as if to exhibit her primness by contrast. Then, spruced up 

 once more, she cocks her head about, tosses it from side to side, and 

 adjusts her tail a dozen times. Then by flying from numberless perch- 

 es, with countless "chips," she manages to get up the hillside. At a 

 safe distance she pauses a moment, then with a parting flirt, slips into 

 the brush to resume feeding. 



Garrulous denizens of field and forest during the winter months are 

 the much abused Crows. A half-mile away perhaps, their noisy "caws" 

 like the pompous blasts of the trombone, sound loud and clear. By far 

 the greater part of the Crow community has migrated, but in the dead 

 of winter we may still see a dozen or more in the coarse of a day's 

 walk. Generally in pairs they occupy a certain domain, assuming su- 

 preme power, and woe betide the unlucky Hawk or Owl who ventures 

 into their territory. 



The fact that the Cardinal Grosbeak, or Redbird, spends the winter 

 with us is very little credited by the public. The reason is obvious 

 -enough. He then frequents wooded glens where few persons penetrate 

 in the season of snow, and moreover is not in song as in spring and 

 rsummer. Mr. Abbott, if I mistake not, would have us believe that in 

 winter they sing most constantly and joyously, but, although that may 

 l)e true in astern Pennsylvania it certainly is not here. They often 

 :gather in parties of from ten to twenty, restlessly flying about a certain 

 "valley, with their sharp, metallic "pict." 



