152 American Birds 



ers throughout our land. Wherever birds live, there we 

 may find him, whether in the mountains or along the riv- 

 ers, whether along the sea-shore or on the dry, chaparral- 

 covered deserts. He is a bird with a name that fits, and 

 he lives in every state of the Union. But he has many 

 different variations in name, owing to some little differ- 

 ence in the color of his coat, due perhaps to the place where 

 he lives. 



Early in the season I watched a pair of song sparrows 

 at work. They dug out a hollow in the centre of a thick 

 tussock of grass. They lined it with a bed of dry leaves 

 and twined the grass stems around and around, the mother 

 weaving them in and shaping the cup with her breast. 



The male sparrow wore a plain brown-colored coat, 

 and had a black spot hung right in the centre of his breast 

 as a mark of identity. But clothes do not make the bird. 

 He had a repertoire of song rolled up in his tiny brain 

 that would win the affection of any audience. 



The song sparrow is an artist, and he loves his art. 

 He sings for the sake of the music. The hillside is his 

 permanent home, for I have seen him there winter as 

 well as summer. He stays and sings when the snows cover 

 the hills. After a night of drenching March rain he 

 hops out from under a brush heap and sets the woods 

 atune for the coming of spring. Then a little later he 

 breaks into an ecstasy, and almost loses himself in the end- 

 less changes of his song. While house building, and after 

 the mother has cradled her four spotted eggs, the male 

 always shows the quality of his music. After the family 

 cares of the summer and when the sun makes him moult, 

 he chirps more than he sings, but when the October frosts 



