221 
A Basket of Chips. 
This double-register utterance consti¬ 
tutes the characteristic conversational or 
call note of the tufted titmice, by means 
of which, probably, they come or keep 
together, but it does not exhaust their 
vocabulary. Indeed, I am strongly in¬ 
clined to believe that if any species of 
bird be studied carefully, it will be found 
to have many unsuspected little quips 
and quh'ks of conversation. The fact 
that it is impossible to write the song 
of any species, because of individual va¬ 
riety, is becoming well known ; and it 
seems probable that much of the same 
individuality is to be found in the chips 
and calls. And why should not the wild 
birds have something of the variety of ar¬ 
ticulations possessed by domestic fowls, 
— a slighter, earlier manifestation of 
man’s articulatory powers ? It never 
surprises me when I hear a familiar bird 
utter a strange note; nor am I inclined 
to question another’s record of a song or 
call that has no correspondence with my 
own recorded experience. 
Hence, when on a day of mid-May I 
heard a peculiar cry, which may be in¬ 
terpreted (as well as syllables will per¬ 
mit) ts-yanh’, the last syllable very nasal 
and with a metallic ring, and traced the 
unusual woodland sound to a tufted tit¬ 
mouse in a neighboring tree, it seemed 
quite natural that I should thus have 
stumbled upon a word of the titmouse 
language that I had not happened to hear 
before. 
Nor was I surprised at another time, 
early in spring, to hear from a tufted 
titmouse another utterance that was new 
to me. This could hardly be called a 
word or call, but was probably intended 
for a musical performance designed to 
form an important factor in the court¬ 
ship then in progress. The bird — 
doubtless a male — perched on a twig in 
some brush, was stooping with elevated 
and rapidly quivering wings, uttering a 
high-pitched, bell-like, vibratory note, 
very attractive to my ear, as, I have no 
doubt, it was also to that of his lady-love. 
The usual note of the white-breasted 
nuthatch has been written yank and 
hank. My own observation would lead 
me to adopt the second of these terms as 
most closely representing the sound, but 
with the substitution of an h for the k^ 
and with the explanation that the n re¬ 
presents nearly the sound of the French 
nasal, so that the call is a close rhyme 
for vin. When J first heard the call it 
suggested to my mind an old woman say¬ 
ing querulously, “ Hanh, hanh ? ” But 
whether the tone of the first nuthatch I 
met was particularly light and uncertain, 
or whether the first impression has been 
altered by familiarity, there is now to 
my ears a sturdier ring to the note. It 
has a muffled quality, also, as though the 
bird were carrying in its mouth the nut 
it is designing to hatch. Sometimes it 
suggests one of the notes of a distant 
crow or the subdued chimp of a song 
sparrow. Again I imagine it to resemble 
a note from a far-off bluebird. There is 
a ventriloquial effect to it that seems to 
separate it from that little bluish bird 
that is so carefully inspecting the bark 
of the tree in the foreground. 
Much has been said of the propensity 
of the nuthatch to progress head up or 
down indifferently, but his tendency is 
generally upward, though he does not 
hesitate to reverse his position for con¬ 
venience’ sake. Nor is he peculiar in 
the latter regard, as is supposed by many 
observers. I have seen the brown creeper 
move a short distance down a tree trunk 
with his tail pointed toward the zenith, 
and I am a competent witness to a some¬ 
what related feat on the part of a downy 
woodpecker that was on the under side 
of a horizontal limb, and dropped off with 
his back toward the ground, but righted 
himself by an aerial somersault before he 
had fallen a foot. 
The mention of the downy woodpecker 
floods my mind with memories. I never 
before fully realized how thoroughly the 
little elf is identified with my rambles 
through the separate domains of Nature, 
