Hints to Audubon Workers. 



275 



WHITE-THROATED SPARROW. 



Though the white-throats nest in the 

 Adirondacks and other dense northern for- 

 est regions, hke the kinglet, they come to 

 us for only about a month in spring and fall. 

 In Northampton, Massachusetts, I have 

 heard their clear spring whistles — 





1^ 



I 1^ ? U U !? U U IJ U 



I - I - pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy 



m m m m m m 



U ? '1^ U i^ U 



/ - I - I - pea-bod-dy, pea-bod-dy 



coming from the wooded bank of Mill River, 

 from the low bushes of the fields, and the 

 undergrowth of the woods on the outskirts 

 of the city; and in the fall have seen them 

 scratching among the leaves under the ever- 

 greens of Round Hill. 



In the spring they get here — on the west- 

 ern border of the Adirondacks — about the 

 last of April, when they keep pretty close 

 to the sheltering evergreens, although their 

 spirits are not chilled, and they whistle quite 

 cheerfully to themselves among the boughs. 

 When they come in September, they have 

 lost their song, but are more talkative than 

 ever. The first I knew of their return this 

 fall, I came out into the clearing one day, 

 and found two of them sitting atilt of a 

 blackberry bush in front of me. As they 

 were sitting opposite each other and seemed 

 rather interested in me than otherwise, I 

 had a good look at their white chins and 

 ash gray breasts as well as their black-strip- 

 ed chestnut backs, and their pretty crowns. 

 The crown consists of five lines; a central 

 grayish line is inclosed by two black lines, 

 which are bounded in turn by the whitish 

 line over the eyes. While I was watching 

 the sparrows, their attention was diverted 

 by the barking of a gray squirrel in the 

 woods, but they seemed to listen to him as 

 they did to me, with quiet interest, little 

 more. 



A large flock of them stayed here for 



about a month, keeping always near the 

 same spots — a brush heap, an old dead tree 

 top, by which water and grain were kept for 

 them, and a raspberry patch a few rods 

 away. From the raspberry patch would 

 come their quarrying note that Mr. Bick- 

 nell speaks of, that peculiar chllnk that gives 

 the sound of a chisel slipping on stone, and 

 which, when coming from a flock at a little 

 distance, gives the effect of a quarry full of 

 stone cutters. As I went through the patch 

 they would fly up from among the bushes, 

 some uttering a little surprised chree, some 

 calling cJieep as they flew noisily by, while 

 others clung, crouching close, to the side of 

 a stem, looking back to see who I was. 



The small slate-colored snowbirds, the 

 juncos, were with the sparrows more than 

 any other birds; but the ovenbird, whose 

 premises they had invaded, looked down 

 on them with mild curiosity until it was 

 time for her to go south; and later, a fam- 

 ily of chewinks chased them off from the 

 fence by way of turnabout justice. Still, 

 you are tempted to feel that the white- 

 throats need little punishment. They have 

 none of the petulance or arbitrariness of 

 chippy, but with the sweet temper of the 

 song sparrow, these larger cousins have a 

 thoughtful bearing that harmonizes with 

 their spring song, which, like the melodi- 

 ous call of the bluebird, is tinged with sad- 

 ness. 



One morning in September I did not 

 find the white-throats in the raspberry 

 patch, and so went on to an opening in the 

 edge of the woods just south of it. The 

 sun was fairly streaming down, and the 

 half Indian summer haze, melting into the 

 soft lights and shadows of the surrounding 

 green woods, gave a mystic loveliness to 

 the spot. A delicate young birch stretched 

 up, sunning itself; a maple trunk stood in 

 shadow with one spray of a drooping branch 

 dipped in emerald sun dye; the red leaves 

 lodged here and there seemed to be shaken 

 out of sight by the green bushes, but a 



