THE SONG SPARROW. 



DEAR YOUNG READERS : 



I fancy many of the little 

 folks who are readers of BIRDS 

 are among my acquaintances. 

 Though I have never spoken to 

 you, I have seen your eyes 

 brighten when my limpid little 

 song has been borne to you by a 

 passing breeze which made 

 known my presence. Once I 

 saw a pale, worn face turn to 

 look at me from a window, a 

 smile of pleasure lighting it up. 

 And I too was pleased to think 

 that I had given some one a 

 moment's happiness. I have 

 seen bird lovers (for we have 

 lovers, and many of them ) pause 

 on the highway and listen to 

 my pretty notes, which I know 

 as well as any one have a cheer- 

 ful and patient sound, and 

 which all the world likes, for to 

 be cheered and encouraged 

 along the pathway of life is like 

 a pleasant medicine to my weary 

 and discouraged fellow citizens. 

 For you must know I am a citi- 

 zen, as my friend Dr. Coues 

 calls me, and all my relatives. 

 He and Mrs. Mabel Osgood 

 Wright have written a book 

 about us called u Citizen Bird," 

 and in it they have supported us 

 in all our rights, which even 

 you children are beginning to 

 admit we have. You are kinder 

 to us than you used to.be. Some 

 of you come quickly to our 

 rescue from untaught and 



thoughtless boys who, we think,, 

 if they were made to know how 

 sensitive we are to suffering and 

 wrong, would turn to be our 

 friends and protectors instead. 

 One dear boy I remember well 

 (and he is considered a hero by 

 the Song Sparrows) saved a nest 

 of our birdies from a cruel 

 school boy robber. Why should 

 not all strong boys become our 

 champions ? Many of them 

 have great, honest, sympathetic 

 hearts in their bosoms, and, if 

 we can only enlist them in our 

 favor, they can give us a peace 

 and protection for which for 

 years we have been sighing. 

 Yes, sighing, because our hearts, 

 though little, are none the less 

 susceptible to all the asperities 

 the terrible asperities of 

 human nature. Papa will tell 

 you what I mean: you would 

 not understand bird language. 

 Did you ever see my nest? I 

 build it near the ground, and 

 sometimes, when kind friends 

 prepare a little box for me, I 

 occupy it. My song is quite 

 varied, but you will always 

 recognize me by my call note, 

 Chek! Chek! Chek! Some people 

 say they hear me repeat u Maids, 

 maids, maids, hang on your 

 teakettle," but I think this is 

 only fancy, for I can sing a real 

 song, admired, I am sure, by all 

 who love 



SONG SPARROW. 



93 



