343 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



truded upon bj mere lovers of bird music. They are 

 content with the song-sparrow in the garden, and so 

 never learn of its cousin in the dismal swamp. 



The marsh-sparrow, with us, remains closely to the 

 wet meadows, passing a quiet, secluded life ; wasting its 

 sweetness on the desert air, if it sings for the pleasure 

 of others — which it does not do. 



When the little commotion caused by my impatient 

 throwing of a stick in the grass had died away, not a 

 bird was to be seen. I waited for half an hour, but nei- 

 ther heard nor saw one. Gathering a few sticks, I threw 

 them into the marsh, and with like result. Here, there, 

 everywhere, like marsh-wrens, up to the tops of the taller 

 reeds they came, fluttered, sang, and disappeared. 



These sparrows afford an instance of how a most in- 

 teresting creature may be very near us, yet his presence 

 be quite unsuspected. By a mere chance, they became 

 the notable feature of my morning's walk. 



It is stated in every ornithological work to which I 

 have access that these birds are migratory, and in more 

 northern localities this is true; but it is only partly true 

 in Central New Jersey. Many come and go, I doubt 

 not, but a goodly number remain, and add a charm to 

 the winter scenes on the meadows. I have even heard 

 these sparrows, during bright moonlit nights, sing while 

 perched upon the tops of leafless twigs, projecting above 

 the ice and snow. 



Coues, in his " Birds of the Northwest," says, accord- 

 ing to his own observations, " it is only a bird of passage 

 in the Middle States," a most remarkable statement, 

 considering that scores of them are in my meadows all 



