WHITE-THROATED SPARROW. ula bs | 
of chippy, but with the sweet temper of the song 
sparrow, these larger cousins have a thoughtful 
bearing that harmonizes with their spring song, 
which is tinged with sadness, like the melodious 
eall of the bluebird. 
One morning in September, not finding the 
white-throats in the raspberry-patch, I went on to 
a circular opening near the edge of the woods just 
south of it. The sunlight streaming down through 
the half Indian summer haze and melting into the 
soft lights and shadows of the surrounding green 
woods, gave a mystic loveliness to the spot. A 
delicate white birch stretched up, sunning itself ; 
a maple trunk stood in shadow with one spray of 
a drooping branch dipped in the emerald sun dye ; 
the red autumn leaves lodged here and there 
seemed to be shaken out of sight by the green 
bushes, but a breath of fresh wind murmured that 
summer was past and —was it a footstep? No! 
It was an army of little autumn pedestrians! A 
happy host of white-throated sparrows, hopping 
about on the ground under the bushes. Busy and 
fearless, their footsteps pattered on the leaves, and 
they sometimes came within two or three feet of 
me without taking fright. A chipmunk scudded 
through the bushes after his playfellow without 
startling them. rom every side came the happy 
chee-ree ; a cobweb shimmered in the sunlight. 
What if fall were coming? It brought these little 
friends of ours! 
