THE DRAWBRIDGE. 289 



essay, not a paragraph. Much as I hate him, I have 

 one word in his favor. His presence proves that other 

 birds abound. The shrike hates an uncertainty, and 

 keeps a well -stocked larder ever before him. Is he 

 crouching in some tall tree ? The sparrows throng the 

 tangled smilax at its base. 



Although surly his countenance as an angry hawk, 

 yet at times it lightens up ; he sits up well upon his 

 perch, spreads his tail, and gives his pretty wings a 

 shake ; looks almost as gentle as a nesting thrush, and 

 attempts a song. I doubt if his mate, even, ever toler- 

 ates its repetition. A lamer effort at vocal music I have 

 never heard, even among mankind. 



And now we come to a long list of winter finches. 

 All the world knows that in winter we have snow-birds. 

 Some one has sung, 



"Better far, ah yes! than no bird 

 Is the ever-present snow-bird ; 

 Gayly tripping, dainty creature, 

 Where the snow hides every feature; 

 Covers fences, field, and tree, 

 Clothes in white all things but thee; 

 Restless, twittering, trusty snow-bird. 

 Lighter heart than thine has no bird." 



But does all the world know as much of our other finch- 

 es, the many sparrows of our " much be-sparrowed coun- 

 try ?" If one dare brave the north wind, there is a pine- 

 finch in store for him somewhere among the gloomy 

 evergreens ; and pine-finches are birds worth seeing, even 

 with the temperature at zero. Purple finches, too, in 

 flocks of several dozens, come trooping southward as our 

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