133 THE SONG SPARROW. 



The eggs, some eight in number, are about 2.38 x 1-37, very 

 nearly the size and shape of a common hen's egg, the 

 surface being of an opaque smoothness, and of a uniform 

 brownish tint, sometimes, indeed, of an elegant greenish, or 

 even reddish shade, the fresh egg seeming fairly translucent. 

 Generally, however, the eggs, like those of the Ducks in 

 general, are much soiled and disfigured from the bird's 

 entering the nest directly from the riled water and the mud. 



THE SONG SPARROW. 



The sun is now well up, and the thin sheet of snow is 

 melting rapidly. There is such a mingling of spring 

 warmth and winter sunshine as makes the day particularly 

 bright and suggestive. The reflection of every ray of the 

 clearest sun by the clean sheet of new snow so intensifies 

 the light that it seems as if a diffused lightning had become 

 fixed — as if the very atmosphere were transfigured. Every 

 breath takes in a reeking moisture, the air vibrates on the 

 hills as in summer heat, and the rippling and purling of the 

 stream is hurried and full. The earth will come out of this 

 snow as from a warm bath, everything freshened and 

 quickened as by a summer rain. All along the flats about 

 the creek, from the clumps of bushes, from the thickets, 

 and from the edges of the forests, come the loud and ring- 

 ing notes of the Song Sparrow {Melospiza melodid). Except 

 the creaking melody of the Horned Lark, heard fully a 

 month earlier, or possibly the simultaneous warbling note 

 of the Bluebird, this is our first noticeable bird-song of the 

 year. On the most disagreeable days of late February or 

 early March, when the air has that peculiar chill caused 

 by the slow melting of snow and ice, or a rain is falling 

 barely above the freezing point, the clear, strong vibrations 

 of this melody are as cheerful as in the most genial days of 



