ut their presence
was welcome, whatever the reason for it. Like the chickadee, with whom
they have the good taste to be fond of associating, they are always busy
and cheerful, appearing not to mind either snow-storm or low
temperature. No reasonable observer would ever tax them with effeminacy,
though the creeper, it must be owned, cannot speak without lisping.

Following my usual practice, I began a catalogue of the month's birds,
and at the end of a fortnight discovered, to my astonishment, that the
name of the downy woodpecker was missing. He had been common during
November, and is well known as one of our familiar winter residents. I
began forthwith to keep a sharp lookout for him, particularly whenever I
went near any apple orchard. A little later, I actually commenced making
excursions on purpose to find him. But the fates were against me, and go
where I would, he was not there. At last I gave him up. Then, on the
27th, as I sat at my desk, a chickadee chirped outside. Of course I
looked out to see him; and there, exploring the branches of an old
apple-tree, directly under my window, was the black-and-white woodpecker
for whom I had been searching in vain through five or six townships. The
saucy fellow! He rapped smartly three or four times; then he
straightened himself back, as woodpeckers do, and said: "Good-morning,
sir! Where have you been so long? If you wish to see _me_, you had
better stay at home." He might have spoken a little less pertly; for
after all, if a man would know what is going on, whether in summer or
winter, he must not keep too much in his own door-yard. Of the thirty
birds in my December list, I should have seen perhaps ten if I had sat
all the time at my window, and possibly twice that number had I confined
my walks within the limits of my own town.

While the migration is going on, to be sure, one may find birds in the
most unexpected places. Last May I glanced up from my book and espied an
olive-backed thrush in the back yard, foraging among the currant-bushes.
Raising a window quietly, I whistled something like an imitation of his
inimitable song; and the little traveler--always an easy dupe--pricked
up his ears, and presently responded with a strain which carried me
straight into the depths of a White Mountain forest. But in December,
with some exceptions, of course, birds must be sought after rather than
waited for. The 15th, for example, was a most uncomfortable day,--so
uncomfortabl