SOME JANUARY BIRDS 



as this year. I find them twittering hap- 

 pily along through the wood, hanging in 

 quite unsparrow-like attitudes from slen- 

 der birch twigs, busy robbing the pen- 

 dant cones of their tiny seeds. In the 

 summer you know the song sparrow as a 

 very erect bird. He sits on some top- 

 most twig of cedar or berry bush and 

 pours forth quite the cheeriest and sweet- 

 est home song of the pasture land. Or 

 perchance he flies, and the usual short 

 and oft-repeated refrain seems to be 

 broken up by flutter of his wings into a 

 longer, softer, and more varied song that 

 has less of challenge and more of sweet 

 content in it. In his winter notes, which 

 are really nothing but a cheery twitter- 

 ing, I always think I hear something of 

 the mellow singing quality of this song 

 of the wing. 



To-day I saw a sharp-shinned hawk, 

 113 



