FIELD AND STUDY 



about eight o'clock, while a slow rain was falling, a 

 song sparrow was singing from the top of a dead 

 plum-tree across the road in front of me. He was 

 repeating his song at the rate of five times a minute, 

 and had been doing so with but very short breaks 

 since about four o'clock. It is the middle of July, 

 and this bird has been in song since some time in 

 April. The season is a very late one (1917), and I 

 think his mate is yet incubating. As is usual with 

 the song sparrow, he has five different songs, and 

 he shifts from one to the other at irregular intervals. 

 The change is as marked as that of the organ- 

 grinder when he goes through his repertoire in front 

 of your window. He repeats each one from eight to 

 ten times. We call him "Mrs. Durkee," because in 

 the last phrase of one of his songs he says, "Mrs* 

 Durkee," very distinctly. 



The main business of his life seems to be singing. 

 Four fifths of his time from sunrise to sunset he is 

 perched on the top of the old plum-tree going through 

 his musical repertoire. Getting his living appears 

 to occupy very little of his time, and if he visits his 

 mate or in any way contributes to her well-being, he 

 does it on the sly. Each song consists of not more 

 than six or seven notes, and its delivery takes two 

 or three seconds. At intervals he shakes off the rain- 

 drops. In the distance I faintly hear another song 

 sparrow going through a similar performance, but 

 with songs of his own. Indeed, I am convinced that 

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