292 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 



some F. hyernalis on the ground and trees on the Island 

 Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jin- 

 gling. The former — some of them — say somewhat like 

 this: a che che, ter twee twee, tweer tweer twa. It 

 sounded like a new bird. 



April 19, 1854. Hear the tree sparrows at willow 

 hedgerow this morning, — ah ha ha yip yip yip yip, 

 or twitter twitter twe twe twe, or ah ha ha twitter twit- 

 ter twe, — very canary-like, yet clear, as if aspirated 

 vowels alone, — no t or r. 



Dec. 4, 1856. Saw and heard cheep faintly one little 

 tree sparrow, the neat chestnut crowned and winged and 

 white-barred bird, perched on a large and solitary white 

 birch. So clean and tough, made to withstand the win- 

 ter. This color reminds me of the upper side of the 

 shrub oak leaf. I love the few homely colors of Nature 

 at this season, — her strong wholesome browns, her 

 sober and primeval grays, her celestial blue, her viva- 

 cious green, her pure, cold, snowy white. 



Dec. 17, 1856. A flock of a dozen or more tree spar- 

 rows flitting through the edge of the birches, etc., by 

 the meadow front of Puffer's. They make excursions 

 into the open meadow and, as I approach, take refuge 

 in the brush. I hear their faint cheep, a very feeble evi- 

 dence of their existence, and also a pretty little sup- 

 pressed warbling from them. 



That feeble cheep of the tree sparrow, like the tin- 

 kling of an icicle, or the chafing of two hard shrub oak 

 twigs, is probably a call to their mates, by which they 

 keep together. These birds, when perched, look larger 



