198 A DECEMBER DAY WITH THE BIRDS. 



ous withal, that I feel disposed to join the poet in 

 his lines : — 



" Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine; 

 Ashes .and jet all hues outshine. 

 Why are not diamonds black and gray, 

 To ape thy dare-devil array? " 



Yet I must protest that the adjective " dare-devil " 

 in the last line is not well chosen, even though 

 Emerson be the poet. 



Another winter resident of my woodland is the 

 tree sparrow, which arrives in the autumn and re- 

 mains until the latter part of April, when he 

 departs for his summer resorts in Labrador and 

 the regions about Hudson's Bay. The tree spar- 

 rows go in more or less compact flocks from one 

 part of the woods to another like winged nomads, 

 wherever their quest for food takes them. They 

 feed from the ground and on the weeds in the 

 neighboring fields and the dogwood berries that 

 are so plentiful. Flitting about in the tanglewood, 

 a covey of them often keep up a constant racket 

 like the English sparrows, although their calls are 

 pleasant and cheerful, and not disagreeable like 

 those of the Britishers. These birds sing a sweet 

 ditty in the spring before they leave, as a kind of 



