78 OUR WINTER BIRDS 



never sing as well in the fall as they do in the spring. 

 Most birds, indeed, sing little, if at all, at this sea- 

 son. Probably many of the songs we hear in the 

 fall are those of young birds trying their voices. 



We all know that a young rooster's first attempts 

 at crowing are ridiculously unlike his father's re- 

 sounding "cock-a-doodle-doo." The song of no 

 young bird is so laughable as a cockerel's half- 

 formed crow, but it may be quite different from that 

 of his parent. 



White-throat's notes, however^ are unmistakably 

 those of his kind. He seems to improve rapidly and 

 while his song is not so loud, clear, and ringing as 

 it will be the following spring, it is nevertheless a 

 welcome addition to nature's small autumnal chorus. 



White-throat's call-note, "chink," has been well- 

 likened to the sound produced by a marble-cutter's 

 chisel. When you are near the bushes to which 

 White-throat and his companions are coming for the 

 night, you will hear the birds calling to one anpther, 

 and can easily imagine that a dozen or more work- 

 men are busily plying the chisel to finish the day's 

 task. 



We shall have no difficulty in recognizing the 

 older White-throats by the throat-patch which gives 

 them their name, together with a faint yellow spot 

 at the front end of the whitish line that passes over 



