162 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



A LETTER FROM MISSOURI. 



In our minds, as well as in literature, birds are invariable associated 

 with the spring time and the flowers and the warm summer days. Only 

 the bird lover finds them in the winter. These little sparrows and other 

 modestly dressed birds are never noticed by any one else. But, though 

 most of our bright plumaged birds disappear at the first signs of 

 approaching cold, yet we have some whose beauty is unsurpassed. 

 The Cardinal, for instance, and the Blue Jay and the Bluebird. All 

 winter we find the Cardinal abundant along the streams, and wherever 

 there is scrubby growth. He is silent most of tne winter, but by the 

 middle or latter part of February, the hills and woodlands are ringing 

 with his whistle. 



The Blue Jay is at his best now. There are no nests for him to rob, 

 so the other birds leave him in peace. And there is no bird note so 

 pleasing as his "jay, jay, jay," echoing and reechoing through the leaf- 

 less woods, where the handsome fellow, in his search for mast has dis- 

 covered a Screech Owl, and ever ready for mischief, immediately be- 

 gins to call to his comrades to acquaint them with his find. And poor 

 little Owl, it is little of sleep he will get that day, unless he seeks a new 

 hiding place. 



Another winter bird is the Crow. No winter landscape is complete 

 without one or more of these big black fellows flapping their way across 

 the gray sky, or perched in some lonely tree. They gather in hundreds 

 and thousands along the river at this season, in search of food. On the 

 margin of the river and along the edges of the sandbars where the waters 

 are likely to cast up anything edible, they may be seen in numbers. 

 And they may be seen riding the cakes of ice that come down the river 

 after a thaw. They roost in the trees along the banks, and from before 

 sunset, far into the night, the din of their cawing can be heard. They 

 sleep off the night, and with the first signs of dawn, they all awake and 

 resume their deafening cries, continuing till it is light enough to see, 

 when they disperse and go a breakfasting. 



Yesterday I visited a neighbor, and while there sat by aback window 

 tnat looks out on the garden. A few feet from the window is a fence 

 along which grow briars and weeds, and there is a peach tree whose 

 branches almost brush the window. While I sat there, a Crested 

 Titmouse alighting on a limb three feet away, peered at me fearlessly. 

 I think he is the same one that has visited me before when I was there. 



A pair of Carolina Wrens came along the fence, examining the posts, 

 and the bases of the briars and weeds for something good. A few 

 minutes later, I heard the clear sweet notes of the male, and saw he and 



