furnaces going. And, as they get their food entirely from the limbs and
trunks of trees, like the woodpeckers, their supply is seldom interfered
with by the snow. The worst annoyance must be the enameling of ice our
winter woods sometimes get.

Indeed, the food question seems to be the only serious one with the
birds. Give them plenty to eat, and no doubt the majority of them would
face our winters. I believe all the woodpeckers are winter birds, except
the high-hole or yellow-hammer, and he obtains the greater part of
his subsistence from the ground, and is not a woodpecker at all in his
habits of feeding. Were it not that it has recourse to budding, the
ruffed grouse would be obliged to migrate. The quail--a bird, no doubt,
equally hardy, but whose food is at the mercy of the snow--is frequently
cut off by our severe winters when it ventures to brave them, which is
not often. Where plenty of the berries of the red cedar can be had, the
cedar-bird will pass the winter in New York. The old ornithologists say
the bluebird migrates to Bermuda; but in the winter of 1874-75, severe
as it was, a pair of them wintered with me eighty miles north of
New York city. They seem to have been decided in their choice by the
attractions of my rustic porch and the fruit of a sugar-berry tree
(celtis--a kind of tree-lotus) that stood in front of it. They lodged in
the porch and took their meals in the tree. Indeed, they became regular
lotus-eaters. Punctually at dusk they were in their places on a
large laurel root in the top of the porch, whence, however, they were
frequently routed by an indignant broom that was jealous of the neatness
of the porch floor. But the pair would not take any hints of this kind,
and did not give up their quarters in the porch or their lotus berries
till spring.

Many times during the winter the sugar-berry tree was visited by a flock
of cedar-birds that also wintered in the vicinity. At such times it
was amusing to witness the pretty wrath of the bluebirds, scolding and
threatening the intruders, and begrudging them every berry they ate. The
bluebird cannot utter a harsh or unpleasing note. Indeed, he seems
to have but one language, one speech, for both love and war, and the
expression of his indignation is nearly as musical as his song. The male
frequently made hostile demonstrations toward the cedar-birds, but did
not openly attack them, and, with his mate, appeared to experience great
relief when the p