18 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



mown grass lies in windrows. Grass or 

 stubble, he can still be happy, it appears. 

 The grasshopper sparrow to give him his 

 better name is one of the quaintest of 

 songsters, his musical effort being more like 

 an insect's than a bird's ; yet he is as fully 

 inspired, as completely absorbed in his work, 

 to look at him, as any mockingbird or thrush. 

 I watched one a few days ago as he sat at 

 the top of a dwarf pear tree. How seriously 

 he took himself ! No " minor poet " of a 

 human sort ever surpassed him in that re- 

 spect; head thrown back, and bill most 

 amazingly wide open, all for that ragged 

 thread of a tune, which nevertheless was de- 

 cidedly emphatic and could be heard a sur- 

 prisingly long distance. I smiled at him, 

 but he did not mind. When minor poets 

 cease writing, then, we may guess, the grass- 

 hopper sparrow will quit singing. Far be 

 the day. To be a poet is to be a poet, and 

 distinctions of major and minor are of tri- 

 fling consequence. The yellow-wing counts 

 with the savanna, but is smaller and has even 

 less of a voice. Impoverished grass fields 

 are his favorite breeding-places, and he is 

 generally a colonist. 



