When the leaves redden and fall, the birds that greeted us so joyously six months before begin to disappear. Silently they depart, dreading the rigor of the winter, seeking a warmer and a sunnier clime. No longer is the dawn betokened by their chorus; yet we are far from being entirely deserted, as there are over fifty species that brave the cold weather with us. These winter birds are generally from the north, spending their summers in Labrador or the Hudson Bay region, and finding a warmer and more congenial resort in the pine and hemlock vales of New England. On the other hand, there is a very respectable minority who make this their permanent home. A sunny day suffices to bring several kinds of them into the village, and then only are they observed by the multitude, though a few, more interested and zealous, know where to find them at other times. [Illustration: Bird in tree] Between January and March I am never unable to find flocks of the pine grosbeak; they are generally found in the college park, but if not there, they will be in Webster glen, or surely on Balch hill. None of the birds that spend the winter with us receive so much notice as these, on account of the frequency with which they visit the village in search of the seeds of frozen fruit, or the buds on evergreen trees. A low mellow whistle apprises the pedestrian of the proximity of the grosbeak, and the bird is quickly discovered, probably with from six or eight to thirty companions, that gradually show themselves to the admiring observer. About the size of a robin, the females are distinguished by a soft yellow coloring, which becomes a brilliant scarlet in the male. It is at once noticed that there are about five females to one male, which is natural, when we consider that the male is the hardier bird, and for that reason often remains behind in the northland. It is sometimes called the “Canadian robin” about here. I did not appreciate the fitness of the name until last February, when I found a half dozen of them apparently leading three half-frozen and half-starved robins to a place where they might find food. They are of about the same size, and fly in a manner very like the robin, so that a careless observer might very naturally consider them a kind of robin. Last winter they arrived on the 14th of November, and stayed until the 21st of March. It was perhaps a trifle strange, that on the 22d of March, the very day after the last grosbeak was seen, the spring migration began with the arrival of robins and bluebirds. Though I have never heard the grosbeak sing, yet, at the setting of the sun on some of the warmer March days, I have listened to some of their low, liquid warblings that were marvels of sweetness, and proved to my mind their right to be considered among the finest of our singing birds. [Illustration: Birdhouse]