Y / 1 ~ /^v YX^y /'syC, 
Edited by Jno. H. Sage, Portland, Conn. 
The Snowbird at Home. 
BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM, WASHINGTON, D. C. 
S OME birds have peculiar claims upon our gratitude and affection. 
We take it as a matter of course that the robin, the bluebird and 
all who follow in their train should come back to us in spring. It is only 
natural. But when they have all left us again and we are trying to 
make the best of the first cold, gloomy days, the sight of a stray 
woodpecker or bluejay on 
our trees, or of a band of 
chickadees or flock of juncos 
outside our windows is an 
event to be proclaimed, and 
does more to put us in tune 
with winter than all our 
conscious moralizing. 
The independent bluejay 
dashes about as if intent on 
business of his own, but the 
junco sits and plumes his 
feathers before the door as 
though he were an old 
friend who had come back to 
us, and knew we would soon 
find it in our hearts to look 
after his wants. 
When winter is over and 
we need his good cheer no 
longer, the gentle snowbird 
quietly slips away, going back to the forest for the summer. It was 
always a trial to me to have my little winter friends disappear in this 
way, and as I went about visiting the nests of the newcomers, I had 
EASTERN SNOWBIRD. 
(Sheppard, del., Nichols, sc.) 
From “Coues’ Key to North American Birds.” Estes & 
Lauriat, publishers. Copyright. 1882, 1884 and 1887, by 
Estes & Lauriat. 
