WHITE THROATED SPARROW. 139 



differences no doubt are almost to the same extent noticeable in 

 many of our British birds. The common bunting, for example, 

 in its autumn garb, often looks so lean and faded as to be hardly 

 recognizable when placed alongside a bird of the same species 

 killed in the months of March or April, the whole of the outer 

 layer of feathers, so to speak, being wasted and reduced to little 

 more than half their ordinary breadth. The tail feathers appear 

 to suffer even a greater abrasion, being in some cases much rubbed 

 at the points, and in others, especially with the central feathers, 

 denuded to more than half their length. 



Audubon, in his description of the White-throated Sparrow, 



gives the following pleasing account of its habits : " This pretty 



little bird is a visitor of Louisiana and all the southern districts, 



where it remains only a very short time. Its arrival in Louisiana 



may be stated to take place in the beginning of November, and 



its departure in the first days of March. In all the middle States 



it remains longer. How it comes and how it departs are to me 



quite unknown. I can only say, that all of a sudden the hedges 



of the fields bordering on creeks or swampy places, and overgrown 



with different species of vines, sumach bushes, briars, and the 



taller kinds of grasses, appear covered with these birds. They 



form groups, sometimes containing from thirty to fifty individuals, 



and live together in harmony. They are constantly moving up 



and down among these recesses, with frequent jerkings of the tail, 



and uttering a note common to the tribe. From the hedges and 



thickets they issue one by one in quick succession, and ramble to 



the distance of eight or ten yards, hopping and scratching in quest 



of small seeds, and preserving the utmost silence. When the least 



noise is heard or alarm given, or frequently, as I thought, without 



any alarm at all, they all fly back to their covert, pushing directly 



into the very thickest part of it. A moment elapses when they 



become reassured, and ascending to the highest branches and 



twigs, open a little concert which, although of short duration, is 



extremely sweet. There is much plaintive softness in the note. . . . 



At the approach of night they utter a sharper and shriller note, 



consisting of a single twit, repeated in smart succession by the 



whole group, and continuing until the first hooting of some owl 



frightens them into silence. Yet often during fine nights I have 



heard the little creatures emit here and there a twit as if to answer 



each other that ' all's well.' " 



