The Black-cap Titmouse, or Chickadee, as it is generally named in our Eastern States, though exceedingly shy in summer or during the breeding season, becomes quite familiar in winter, although it never ventures to enter the habitations of man; but in the most boisterous weather, requiring neither food nor shelter there, it may be seen amidst the snow in the rugged paths of the cheerless woods, where it welcomes the traveller or the woodcutter with a confidence and cheerfulness far surpassing the well-known familiarity of the Robin Redbreast of Europe. Often, on such occasions, should you offer it, no matter how small a portion of your fare, it alights without hesitation, and devours it without manifesting any apprehension. The sound of an axe in the woods is sufficient to bring forth several of these busy creatures, and having discovered the woodman, they seem to find pleasure in his company. If, as is usually the case, he is provided with a dinner, the Chickadee at once evinces its anxiety to partake of it, and loses no opportunity of accomplishing its object, although it sets about it with much circumspection, as if it were afraid of being detected, and brought to punishment, A woodcutter in Maine assured me, that one day he happened to be at work, and had scarcely hung up his basket of provisions, when it was observed by a flock of these birds, which, having gathered into it at once, attacked a piece of cold beef; but after each peck, he saw their heads raised above the edge, as if to guard against the least appearance of danger. After picking until they were tired or satisfied, they left the basket and perched directly over his fire, but out of the direction of the smoke. There they sat enjoying themselves and ruffling their feathers to allow the warmth more easy access to their skin, until he began his dinner, when they immediately alighted near him, and in the most plaintive tones seemed to solicit a portion.