THE SNOW BUNTING. -0 



swept over my head, and dropped down into a field a few 

 rods beyond. But this cloud of Snow-flakes — for so the 

 Snoyv Buntings are sometimes called — was musical, filling 

 the air with a soft warbling chipper as they flew, and keep- 

 ing up the same notes after they had alighted. How their 

 predominance of white harmonizes with the snow on which 

 they hop and skip and flutter ! while the patches and mot- 

 tlings of yellowish ocher and black, so varied in size and 

 form in different individuals, remind one of the autumnal 

 earth-colors just beneath the whitened landscape. They 

 seem to take delight in the snow and in the cold. Indeed, 

 this hardy, happy little bird is the true herald of snow, 

 seeming to keep ever on the line, or a little in advance, of 

 the snow-storm, and generally in large flocks. As the winter 

 is setting in, one may stand on the south of our great Lake 

 Ontario and see them coming across by the thousand, their 

 rear outline being skirted by the various smaller Hawks, 

 moving southward at the same time, and foraging as 

 they go. 



Their sprightly movement when on the ground, the zest 

 with which they feed on the seeds of weeds and grasses, 

 cannot but give one the impression of good cheer and 

 plenty on the most inclement winter's day. Impressed with 

 the utility of even the weeds, in the nice adjustment of the 

 economy of nature, and with the confident air of these birds 

 seeking their daily food, one cannot but recall the words of 

 the Great Te'ach'er: "Behold the fowls of the air; for they 

 sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet 

 your Heavenly Father feedeth them." 



The birds are not idle, indeed. They accomplish a great 

 mission. A single year without their labors would be fol- 

 lowed by a degree of disaster inconceivable, perhaps by a 

 famine. We learn " that in the early times of the American 



