THE WHITE-THROATED SPARROW 



By T. GILBERT PEARSON 



Clje /Rational ^dsijiociation of iSlubuljon ^otittiti 



EDUCATIONAL LEAFLET NO. 92 



It is in autumn, when the hills take on their dresses of red and gold and 

 the fields stretch away brown and deserted to the blue haze hanging along the 

 horizon, that I go in quest of the White-throated Sparrows. They are not to 

 be found in the deep woods, nor often on the open meadows, but it is in the 

 hedgerows, among the briars of the old fence-corners, or in the thickets on the 

 edge of the forest that one will discover them. When you find one White- 

 throat you are pretty sure to find several others. Very often they are with 

 Juncos, and sometimes a few Song Sparrows are found feeding in their com- 

 pany. There are usually at least a dozen in a flock, and sometimes fifty or a 

 hundred birds will be found together, at least half of which are Whitethroats. 



This bird was a favorite with Audubon, and his account of its behavior in 

 the autumn days gives one a splendid idea of the Whitethroat's manner of 

 life at this season: 



"How it comes and how it departs are quite unknown to me. I can only 

 say that, all of a sudden, the edges of the fields, bordering on creeks or swampy 

 places, and overgrown with different species of vines, sumac bushes, briers, 

 and the taller kinds of grasses, appear covered with these birds. They form 

 groups, sometimes containing thirty to fifty individuals, and live together in 

 harmony. They are constantly moving up and down among these recesses, 

 with frequent jerkings of the tail, and uttering a note common to the tribe. 

 From the hedges and thickets they issue one by one, in quick succession, and 

 ramble to the distance of eight or ten yards, hopping and scratching, in quest 

 of small seeds, and preserving the utmost silence. When the least noise is 

 heard, or alarm given, and frequently, as I thought, without any alarm at all, 

 they all fly back to their covert, pushing directly into the thickest part of it. 

 A moment elapses, when they become reassured, and, ascending to the highest 

 branches and twigs, open a little concert, which, although of short duration, 

 is extremely sweet. There is much plaintive softness in their note, which I 

 wish, kind reader, I could describe to you; but this is impossible, although it 

 is yet ringing in my ear, as if I were in those very fields where I have so often 

 listened to it with delight. 



"No sooner is their music over than they return to the field, and thus con- 

 tinue alternately sallying forth and retreating during the greater part of the 

 day. At the approach of night they utter a sharper and shriller note, consist- 

 ing of a single twit, repeated in smart succession by the whole group, and con- 

 tinuing until the first hooting of some owl frightens them into silence. Yet, 



(17^) 



