New England States, but often enough to be an acquaintance of the generality of observers. This bird, like the Robin, has gained the enmity of that conscientious class of people who cut down their fruit-trees that the boys may not have the temptation set before them to break the Eighth Commandment. The Red-headed Woodpecker seems to be in this respect more mischievous even than the Robin, for he not only takes cherries, but carries off the finest apples and feeds upon the Indiancorn when in the milk. The question is often raised, therefore, with regard to the usefulness of this bird; and it will be answered according as the person interrogated takes a view of its general utility in the economy of nature, or of its mischievousness as a consumer of fruit. Mr. George W. Rice, of West Newton, preserves his cherry-trees for the exclusive benefit of the Robins. If they do not take all the cherries, he has what they leave; but he considers the fruit more valuable for the benefit of the Robins than for any other purpose. Perhaps, however, since all men are not so wise, we should say, "Cut down all your fruit-trees and imitate the generosity of those men whom we occasionally hear of, who choose to perform this sacrifice of their own property rather than to shoot the boys."

THE BROWN CREEPER.

Another of the companions of the Chickadee is the Brown Creeper, a bird of similar habits, often seen moving in a spiral direction around the trunks and branches of trees, and when conscious of being observed, keeping on the farther side of a branch. He is more frequently seen in winter than in summer, when he is concealed by the foliage. The different birds I have named as companions of the Chickadee often assemble by seeming

accident in considerable numbers upon one tree, and, meeting perhaps more company than is agreeable to them, they make the wood resound with their noisy disputes. They may have been assembled by some note of alarm, and on finding no particular cause for it, they raise a shout that reminds us of the extraordinary vociferation with which young men and boys in the country conclude a false alarm of fire in the early part of the night. These birds are not gregarious, and, though fond of the presence of a few of their own kind, are vexed when they find themselves in a crowd.

THE NUTHATCH.

The Nuthatch is often found in these assemblages, and may be recognized by his piercing, trumpet-like note. This bird resembles the Woodpecker in the shape of the bill, but has only one hinder toe instead of two. He is a permanent inhabitant of the cold parts of the American continent, resembling the Titmouse in his diligence and activity, and in his manners while in quest of his insect food.

There are times when even the birds I have described in this essay, that collect their food from the bark and wood of trees, are driven to great extremities. When the trees are incased in ice, which, though not impenetrable by their strong bills, prevents their discovery of their food, they are in danger of starving. At such times the gardens and barnyards are frequented by large numbers of Woodpeckers, Creepers, and Nuthatches. Driven by this necessity from their usual haunts, a piece of suet fastened firmly to the branch of a tree, at any time of the winter, would soon be discovered by them and afford them a grateful repast. I have frequently assembled them under my windows by this allurement.

THE BLUE-JAY.

If we visit any part of the forest or live near it in the winter, we are sure to be greeted by the voice of the lively Blue Jay, another of our well-known winter birds. He has a beautiful outward appearance, under which he conceals an unamiable temper and a propensity to mischief. There is no bird in our forest that is arrayed in equal splendor. His neck of fine purple, his pale, azure crest and head with silky plumes, his black crescentshaped collar, his wings and tail-feathers of bright blue with stripes of white and black, and his elegant form and vivacious manners render him attractive to every visitor of the woods.

But with all his beauty, he has, like the Peacock, a harsh voice. He is a thief and a disturber of the peace. He is a sort of Ishmael among the feathered tribes, who are startled at the sound of his voice and fear him as a bandit. The farmer, who is well acquainted with his habits, is no friend to him; for he takes not only what is required for his immediate wants, but hoards a variety of articles in large quantities for future use. It would seem as if he were aware when engaged in an honest and when in a dishonest expedition. While searching for food in the field or the open plain, he is extremely noisy; but when he ventures into a barn to take what does not belong to him, he is silent and stealthy and exhibits all the peculiar manners of a thief.

It would be no mean task to enumerate all the acts of mischief perpetrated by this bird, and I cannot but look upon him as one of the most guilty of the winged inhabitants of the wood. He plunders the cornfield both at seed-time and harvest; he steals every edible substance he can find and conceals it in his hiding-places; he destroys the eggs of smaller birds and devours their young.

He quarrels with all other species, and his life is a constant round of contentions. He is restless, irascible, and pugnacious, and he always appears like one who is out on some expedition. Yet, though a pest to other birds, he is a watchful parent and a faithful guardian of his offspring. It is dangerous to venture near the nest of a pair of Jays, who immediately attack the adventurer, aiming their blows at his face and eyes with savage determination.

Like the Magpie, the Jay has considerable talent for mimicry, and when tamed has been taught to articulate words like a parrot. But this talent he never exercises in a wild state. At certain times I have heard this bird utter a few notes, like the tinkling of a bell, and which, if syllabled, might form such a word as dilly-lily; but it is not a musical strain. Indeed, there is no music in his nature; he is fit only for "stratagems and spoils."

The Blue-Jay is a true American. He is known throughout the continent, and never visits any other country. At no season is he absent from our woods, though his voice always reminds me of winter. He is also an industrious consumer of the larger insects and grubs, atoning in this way for some of his evil deeds. I cannot say, therefore, that I would consent to his banishment, for he is one of the most cheering tenants of the groves at a season when they have but few inhabitants; and I never listen to his voice without a crowd of charming reminiscences of pleasant winter excursions and adventures at an early period of life. The very harshness of his voice has caused it to be impressed more forcibly upon my memory in connection with these scenes.

THE CROW.

The common Crow is the representative in America of the European Rook, resembling it in many of its habits. In Europe, where land is more valuable than in this country, and where agriculture is carried on with an amount of skill that would astonish an American, the people are not so jealous of the birds. In Great Britain, rookeries are permanent establishments; and the Rooks, notwithstanding the mischief they do, are protected on account of their services to agriculture. The farmers of Europe, having learned by experience that without the aid of mischievous birds their crops would be sacrificed to the more destructive insect race, forgive them their trespasses as we forgive the trespasses of cats and dogs, who in the aggregate are vastly more destructive than birds. The respect shown to birds by any people seems to bear a certain ratio to the antiquity of the nation. Hence the sacredness with which they are regarded in Japan, where the population is so dense that the inhabitants would not consent to divide the products of their fields with the feathered race unless their usefulness had been demonstrated.

The Crow is one of the most unfortunate of birds in all his relations to man; for by the public he is regarded with hatred, and every man's hand is against him. He is protected neither by custom nor by superstition; the sentimentalist cares nothing for him as a subject of romance, and the utilitarian is blind to his services as a scavenger. The farmer considers him as the very ringleader of mischief, and uses all the means he can invent for his destruction; the friend of the singing-birds bears him a grudge as the destroyer of their eggs and their young; and even the moralist is disposed to condemn him for his cunning and dissimulation.