82 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



coloured, those of the latter black. The sharp 

 chip I chip! is characteristic of the "chippy," but 

 the sweet, dripping song of the field sparrow is 

 charming. No elaborate performance this, but a 

 succession of sweet, high notes, accelerating to- 

 ward the end, like a coin of silver settling to rest 

 on a marble table — a simple, chaste vespers which 

 rises to the setting sun and endears the little 

 brown singer to us. 



We may learn much by studying these homely 

 little frequenters of our orchards and pastures; 

 each has a hundred secrets which await patient 

 and careful watching by their human lovers. In 

 the chipping sparrow we may notice a hint of the 

 spring change of dress which ;warblers and tan- 

 agers carry to such an extreme. When he left us 

 in the fall he wore a dull-streaked cap, but now 

 he comes from the South attired in a smart head- 

 covering of bright chestnut. Poor little fellow, 

 this is the very best he can do in the way of espe- 

 cial ornament to bewitch his lady love, but it 

 suffices. Can the peacock's train do more? 



This is the time to watch for the lines of ducks 

 crossing the sky, and be ready to find black ducks 

 in the oddest places — even in insignificant rain 

 pools deep in the woods. In the early spring the 

 great flocks of grackles and redwings return, 

 among the first to arrive as they were the last to 

 leave for the South. 



Before the last fox sparrow goes, the hermit 



