by ones and twos and alight in the trees near me.  Presently they came in greater numbers, but from the same direction, flapping low over the woods, and taking up their position in the middle branches.  On alighting, each one would blow very audibly through his nose, just as a cow does when she lies down; this is the only sound I have ever heard the buzzard make.  They would then stretch themselves, after the manner of turkeys, and walk along the limbs.  Sometimes a decayed branch would break under the weight of two or three, when, with a great flapping, the would take up new positions.  They continued to come till it was quite dark, and all the trees about me were full.  I began to feel a little nervous, but kept my place.  After it was entirely dark and all was still, I gathered a large pile of dry leaves and kindled it with a match, to see what they would think of a fire.  Not a sound was heard till the pile of leaves was in full blaze, when instantaneously every buzzard started.  I thought the treetops were coming down upon me, so great was the uproar.  But the woods were soon cleared, and the loathsome pack disappeared in the night.

About the 1st of June I saw numbers of buzzards sailing around over the great Falls of the Potomac.

A glimpse of the birds usually found here in the latter part of winter may be had in the following extract, which I take from my diary under date of February 4th:—­

“Made a long excursion through the woods and over the hills.  Went directly north from the Capitol for about three miles.  The ground bare and the day cold and sharp.  In the suburbs, among the scattered Irish and negro shanties, came suddenly upon a flock of birds, feeding about like our northern snow buntings.  Every now and then they uttered a piping, disconsolate note, as if they had a very sorry time of it.  They proved to be shore larks, the first I had ever seen.  They had the walk characteristic of all larks; were a little larger than the sparrow; had a black spot on the breast, with much white on the under parts of their bodies.  As I approached them the nearer ones paused, and, half squatting, eyed me suspiciously.  Presently, at a movement of my arm, away they went, flying exactly like the snow bunting, and showing nearly as much white.” (I have since discovered that the shore lark is a regular visitant here in February and March, when large quantities of them are shot or trapped, and exposed for sale in the market.  During a heavy snow I have seen numbers of them feeding upon the seeds of various weedy growths in a large market-garden well into town.) “Pressing on, the walk became exhilarating.  Followed a little brook, the eastern branch of the Tiber, lined with bushes and a rank growth of green-brier.  Sparrows started out here and there, and flew across the little bends and points.  Among some pines just beyond the boundary, saw a number of American goldfinches, in their gray winter dress, pecking the pinecones.  A golden-crowned kinglet