ad with his beak before devouring it.

As I enter the woods the Slate-colored Snowbird (_Fringilla Hudsonia_)
starts up before me and chirps sharply. His protest when thus disturbed
is almost metallic in its sharpness. He breeds here, and is not esteemed
a snowbird at all, as he disappears at the near approach of winter, and
returns again in spring, like the Song-Sparrow, and is not in any way
associated with the cold and the snow. So different are the habits of
birds in different localities. Even the Crow does not winter here, and
is seldom seen after December or before March.

The Snow-Bird, or "Black Chipping-Bird," as it is known among the
farmers, is the finest architect of any of the ground-builders known to
me. The site of its nest is usually some low bank by the roadside near a
wood. In a slight excavation, with a partially concealed entrance, the
exquisite structure is placed. Horse-hair and cow-hair are plentifully
used, imparting to the interior of the nest great symmetry and firmness
as well as softness.

Passing down through the maple arches, barely pausing to observe the
antics of a trio of squirrels,--two gray ones and a black one,--I cross
an ancient brush fence and am fairly within the old hemlocks, and in one
of the most primitive, undisturbed nooks. In the deep moss I tread as
with muffled feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate in the dim, almost
religious light. The irreverent red squirrels, however, run and snicker
at my approach, or mock the solitude with their ridiculous chattering
and frisking.

This nook is the chosen haunt of the Winter Wren. This is the only place
and these the only woods in which I find him in this vicinity. His voice
fills these dim aisles, as if aided by some marvellous sounding-board.
Indeed, his song is very strong for so small a bird, and unites in a
remarkable degree brilliancy and plaintiveness. I think of a tremulous
vibrating tongue of silver. You may know it is the song of a wren, from
its gushing lyrical character; but you must needs look sharp to see the
little minstrel, especially while in the act of singing. He is nearly
the color of the ground and the leaves; he never ascends the tall trees,
but keeps low, flitting from stump to stump and from root to root,
dodging in and out of his hiding-places, and watching all intruders with
a suspicious eye. He has a very perk, almost comical look. His tail
stands more than perpendicular: it points straight toward his h