62 



THE OSPKEY. 



Notes. 



BIKDS IX WINTER. 



To-DAV the feathered preachers sing-. 

 Amid the holly. 



xViid claim a tithe ior all they briiit;:; 

 And some are thin and poor and lean. 

 And some, like pluralist or Dean, 

 Are fat and jolly. 



They talk as well as Astjiuth talks. 



Or Clarke, or Carson. 



They walk as King- or Emperor walks. 



They preach their sermons, clear and terse 



And musical — I've heard far worse 



From many a parson. 



That fellow in a suit of black 



(A prime Dissenter), 



With lifted ej-es and rigid back. 



Is telling- (you can hear him tell) 



His friends they're nearing fast to Hell 



They're doomed to enter. 



The other with an air polite 



(A g"enial fellow). 



Is sure to rise: his style is quite 



The ton; he'll never damn too loud 



The voice of the titled crowd. 



He's sleek and mellow. 



One preaches true self-government 



(Like Tell or Guiteau), 



And argues it was never meant 



That one should hold his fellows down. 



He little reeks of priestly frown, 



( )r Bishop's veto. 



They sit. like Doctors, and debate 

 The weightiest questions — 

 Predestination, Will, and Fate — 

 The boundaries of wrong and rig^ht. 

 And, when the3' can't ag^ree, they fight — 

 Like earnest Christians. 



Wn.i.iAM Hoij.owAV. in 77/r Spfcfatoi-. 



New York's Winter Birds. — By mid-Novem- 

 ber the birds hereabouts have settled down to 

 their winter habits. OnU' a little further south, 

 indeed, distant skie.s are still peppered with 

 blackbirds, myriad specks, which seem mere 

 wind-blown clouds, and even in these parts the 

 plaintive cry of the White-throated Sparrow was 

 heard less than three weeks ag^o. Most of the 

 migratory birds have been gone since the early 

 frosts. One may still see, indeed, flurries of 

 distracted robins, faded and hungry creatures 

 which seem to have decided upon staying- the 

 winter. They are oddly unlike their saucy 

 .selves of last June. They fly in silence, light 

 warilj', and soon leave their perch at the ap- 

 proach of a human being-. Much in the same 

 state are the young- Wood Thrushes that still 

 ling-er, some of them because they dare not trust 

 their wing-s in a long- flig-ht southward. 



Of the winter birds the sparrows are the most 

 numerous, for New York is the metropolis of 

 sparrowdom. Any one that has watched the 

 conduct of the sparrows in October may well sus- 

 pect in them the remnants of a migratory in- 



stinct; for they then get together in noisy flocks, 

 as if discussing- some question of moment to the 

 republic of the sparrows. All ends in discus- 

 sion, however, and they finally settle down to 

 the cosy comfort of their ivy-tods and ever- 

 greens, for the3' are an urban folk, loving the 

 life and motion of the town, intimate human 

 companionship, the sunshine of the wintry 

 streets, and the thousand and one other charms 

 that make New York a place of irresistible at- 

 traction for birds and men. 



The meadow lark is at home in the suburbs 

 now as ever, and the salt marshes are daily 

 haunted with the exquisite shrill sweetness of 

 his kissing call. When bright days come in 

 December, and the meadows of the Sound are 

 mellow with golden haze, and russet grass, and 

 great melting mounds of cured hay, then that 

 loud, clear, heartsome call of the lark seems like 

 a harbinger of spring. 



Marshy woodlands, interspersed with ever- 

 greens, are the favorite haunts of the shyer 

 winter birds. Here hide little flocks of belated 

 robins, feeding" on whatever has escaped their 

 migrating brethren. Here, too, flits the Cardinal 

 Grosbeak, a winged live-coiil, sooner or later, 

 when the snows lie deep, to be driven by hunger 

 to the stables and door^-ards. As he flits across 

 the snow he seems like some tropic stranger 

 belated on his homeward journey. In hard 

 winters the Cardinal Grosbeak comes to feed 

 with the aquatic fowl in Central Park, a privi- 

 lege which he shares with pigeons that make 

 daily visits from New Jersey, Long Island, and 

 all parts of the city. 



The great reservoir in Central Park on windy 

 November days seems breaking into white-caps, 

 which, upon closser examination, prove to be 

 flocks of g-ulls. The birds descend upon the 

 surface of the water at the part of the reservoir 

 most distant from the side usually approached 

 by visitors. The g"ulls are at long- intervals 

 joined by a stray wild duck, his e3'e caught, as 

 he flies high in air, by the inviting spread of the 

 water. A record of the birds visiting- Central 

 Park would include a surprisingly large number 

 of those not ordinarilj- seen in these parts. 



Now and then one sees in the northern suburbs 

 the tiny winter wren, like a spry little mouse, 

 hopping- from stone to stone of an old fence, or 

 slipping- almost noislessly over the fallen leaves. 

 Before the English sparrow came the wren sang 

 in everv villag-e dooryard, but he is rarely seen 

 now. The wren made a manful fight for exist- 

 ence, but was everj'where ousted by the sparrow. 

 A close observer of bird wa^-s recommends for 

 the wren a house pierced with an auger hole too 

 small to admit the sparrow. The wren easily 

 makes use of such a door and triumphs over her 

 enemies. — The Sun. 



Rice Birds in South Carolina.— There are 

 now countless millions of Rice Birds in lower 

 Carolina — more than for many years, despite 

 the great destruction of them for market and as 

 a protection to the crops in the last few years * * 



They arrive in South Carolina, August 26, and 

 by October 20, not one can be found in the state. 



