The snow-birds are also resident in our hills through the year, but unlike the chicadees, they show themselves at all seasons. You can hardly go into the woods without meeting them; many are seen running in and out about the fences, and they may almost be called village birds with us; at all seasons you may find them about the gardens and lawns, and I have no doubt some of them have nests in the village. The greater number, however, retire to the fields and hill-sides. At one moment this afternoon there was a meeting in our own trees of two large flocks, chicadees and snow-birds; they were all in fine spirits at the approach of winter, restless and chirping, flitting hither and thither with rapid, eager movements. Among the throng were two little birds of another kind, much smaller in size, and of a plain plumage; they were evidently strangers, possibly on their way southward; they perched on a high twig apart from the flock, and sat there quietly together, side by side, as if weary; they remained on the same branch more than a quarter of an hour, just turning their little heads occasionally to look with amazement at the flirting, frolicksome chicadees. They were about the size of wrens, but were perched too high for us to discover of what species they were.
Wednesday, 25th.—Pleasant. Long drive. Calm, sweet day. Here and there dashes of warm coloring still in the woods, although in other places they are dull, and nearly bare. The evergreens of all kinds are in triumph; their verdure is brilliantly fresh, and vivid, in their untarnished summer growth, while all other foliage is fading, and falling from the naked branches. The larches look prettily; a few days since they were entirely green, but now they are wholly yellow, though in full leaf, which, from
