BIRDS OF MINNESOTA. 337 



' 'During the winter they are dispersed over the southern 

 states, beyond which, however, they do not appear to pass, as 

 I have found no record. In March they again become plenti- 

 ful in the middle states, and, having already taken up their 

 line of migration toward their homes in the north, their com- 

 ing is with songs of gladness and all the busy stir of the 

 opening season. 



"They are not all off until April, and during the sunny days 

 that precede their departure the males are fond of mounting 

 the little bushes or even the trees, to warble a few exquisitely 

 sweet notes, the overture of the joyous music which, later in 

 the year, enlivens the northern solitudes, whither the birds 

 resort to nest. So musical is the Pox Sparrow indeed, that 

 even in autumn, when the transient glow and fervor of the 

 nuptial period has subsided and commonplace occupations 

 alone engage him, he forgets the dull season at times and 

 lisps fugitive strains of sweet memories awakened by the 

 warmth and glamour of the Indian summer. But this is a 

 mere fragment — the shadows of a song stealing across the 

 mind, not the song itself, which is only heard in perfection 

 when the bird's life is quickened in the sunny, showery April, 

 and he leaves us with cheery "good-bye," promising to come 

 again. What one of our fringilline birds is so entirely pleas- 

 ing as this, my favorite? Strong, shapely, vivacious, yet 

 gentle, silver-tongued; clad most tastefully in the richest of 

 warm browns, and that nothing may be wanting to single 

 him out from among his humble relations. A highbred, 

 exclusive, retiring bird. We do not find him mix- 

 ing indiscriminately with the throng of sparrows that 

 accompany him in his journeys and spend the winter with 

 him. With a few select associates of his own kind, perhaps 

 only two or three families that were reared together, he 

 chooses his own retreat and holds it against intrusion. In some 

 little glade, hedged about with almost impenetrable briers, 

 you will come upon him and his friends nestling among the 

 withered leaves on the ground, gently calling to each other in 

 the assurance of safety. On your unwelcome appearance they 

 will hurriedly take flight together, throwing themselves into 

 the thickest shrubbery. You will find such company again in 

 the ravines overgrown with smilax and brambles that lead 

 down to the brook; and as you pass along neglected fences, 

 fringed with tall, rank weeds, you may surprise the birds out 



