THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 147 



tions. Have you ever really heard the Chipping 

 Sparrow sing? I do not refer to his ordinary 

 "chippy, chippy," which is dull and tiresome. 

 But yesterday morning at dawn I lay half 

 awake and in the branches of a cherry tree 

 that comes close to our window, I heard that 

 soft insect-chirp so melodious and baby-like, as 

 if he must breathe it out and yet would not 

 waken me. Oh! it was just a luxury of spirit 

 to lie and listen and feel the whole summer in 

 that song. I could hardly believe it was 

 "Chippy," but it was his morning song to 

 awaken his mate, and I overheard it. Here is 

 that Wood Pewee, the expert fly-catcher, a 

 perfect marvel on the wing, whose nest, for all 

 the world looking like an old dead knot, is a 

 prize for the sharpest eyes. Ruby Throat, the 

 smallest of feathery things, and loneliest, a 

 bright image of airy motion, and yet has the 

 right-of-way to the trumpet vines; while the 

 fussy housewives so confiding and yet hiding, 

 appearing and disappearing, a sort of genial, 

 hide-and-seek game, and they play it to perfec- 

 tion, trusting you and glad to have you so near. 

 That Cedar Bird is a beauty, with his neat- 

 fitting Quakerish dress of drab and brown — 

 how prim he looks, now nicely behaved, he is 

 no singer, but with his blackish wings and 



