igO WINTER SKETCHES. 



she has glued a cluster of tiny eggs, thimble- 

 shaped and finely ornamented with ribs and 

 furrows and arranged in almost regular order. 

 Whence had come to her little head that intelli- 

 gence, that conscious knowledge of the means 

 employed that certain ends may be attained — the 

 wonderful tact and foresight, manifested in this 

 scrap of light and shadow that flitted among the 

 underbrush last season .■■ To this shoot she came 

 and reasoned, it would seem! "At the base of 

 this leaf stalk is a bud. I do not see it now, but 

 I know it is there. In the cold weather, when I 

 am dead, or have crawled into a snug crevice for 

 Winter quarters, this leaf will fade and drop away; 

 then it will be seen plainly enough. From the 

 uncovered bud a knot of tender leaves will grow 

 next summer, and upon these my caterpillars love 

 to feed ; so, just under this bud I will glue my 

 eggs, that when they are hatched, my weaklings 

 may have the proper food close at hand ! " 



From somewhere overhead comes down a finely- 

 spun Winter lyric, which faithfully expresses the 

 emotions of that valiant little singer, the chicka- 

 dee. At times his tune is not half played out, or 

 perhaps I do not catch the piping of the lower 

 notes. Perhaps, just here, there is a scarcity of 

 grub in the tall warehouses, or he sees a cluster 

 of spiders' eggs in the crevices of the bark that 

 can not be had for a mere song. Yet he never 



