134 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



yet it will be hard to kill the little wretches, the 

 only Old World bird we have. When I take down 

 my gun to shoot them I shall probably remember 

 that the Psalmist said, "I watch, and am as a 

 sparrow alone upon the housetop," and maybe the 

 recollection will cause me to stay my hand. The 

 sparrows have the Old World hardiness and prolific- 

 ness; they are wise and tenacious of life, and we 

 shall find it by and by no small matter to keep them 

 in check. Our native birds are much different, less 

 prolific, less shrewd, less aggressive and persistent, 

 less quick-witted and able to read the note of danger 

 or hostility, — in short, less sophisticated. Most of 

 our birds are yet essentially wild, that is, little 

 changed by civilization. In winter, especially, they 

 sweep by me and around me in flocks, — the Can- 

 ada sparrow, the snow bunting, the shore lark, the 

 pine grosbeak, the redpoll, the cedar- bird, — feed- 

 ing upon frozen apples in the orchard, upon cedar- 

 berries, upon maple- buds, and the berries of the 

 mountain-ash, and the celtis, and upon the seeds of 

 the weeds that rise above the snow in the field, or 

 upon the hayseed dropped where the cattle have 

 been foddered in the barnyard or about the distant 

 stack; but yet taking no heed of man, in no way 

 changing their habits so as to take advantage of his 

 presence in nature. The pine grosbeaks will come 

 in numbers upon your porch to get the black drupes 

 of the honeysuckle or the woodbine, or within reach 

 of your windows to get the berries of the mountain- 

 ash, but they know you not; they look at you aa 



