OUR WINTER BIRDS. 65 



so different in his plain gray winter coat, which he puts 

 on in September and wears until April, that it is with 

 difficulty we recognize him, so complete is the trans- 

 formation. The brilliant yellow and black have disap- 

 peared, and only faint tracings of greenish-yellow about 

 the head and throat remain. But he is apparently as 

 happy in his sombre suit, picking up millet, as when 

 more brilliantly attired and rollicking amid the round- 

 ed globes of the dandelion, scattering the airy seeds, 

 and capturing them as they start on their winged, 

 course. 



Our little gymnast, the titmouse, or black -capped 

 chickadee, must not be forgotten. He is not regarded 

 as migratory, and yet he comes to us each winter, and 

 seems to go northward in the spring. He is the most 

 fearless bird of my acquaintance, frequently eating from 

 my hand, and is almost omnivorous, taking anything 

 that comes in his way, from a bone that we hang on a 

 tree for his tiny lordship to pick, down to a plate of 

 preserved berries which we have placed on the door- 

 step for the bluebirds. But he is quite exclusive in 

 his society, and does nQt mingle freely with the other 

 winter birds. The cold Northern snow-storms seem 

 only to increase his jollity ; now here, now there, cling- 

 ing to a bough head downward, chanting his chick-a- 

 dee-dee. Emerson pictures him to the life in the fol- 

 lowing lines : 



" When piped a tiny voice hard by, 

 Gay and polite, a cheerful cry, 



