BIRDS IN AN ALPINE GARDEN. 
5 
them for purity of attire. Snow-finches (Montifringiila nivalis) 
come down to us in January from the high snow pastures. 
Larger than chaffinches, and with very long tail feathers, and a 
flight most rapid, they shine like burnished silver in the sun- 
light. Snow-finches do not often visit the garden, preferring 
coachroads and the vulgar comradeship of yellowhammers and 
other wayside tramps. 
One remarkable winter visitor is the mountain finch (Frin- 
gilla montifringiila). For beauty of colouring and for brilliancy 
of plumage, this bird might hold a candle to his cousin the 
chaffinch, whom he closely resembles. 
Tomtits stay with us the whole year round. Fat adorns the 
garden for their delectation till it looks like a butcher’s shop. 
Tomtits, with all the vivacity and none of the noisiness of mice, 
with merry chirp and lively habits, clinging with marvellous 
certainty to the frozen fat, head downwards, or turning somer- 
saults in the air. 
“ And me, and me,” says a grating voice, louder than all 
other voices in the alpine garden, a harsh and penetrating 
voice, an annoying, jarring, rasping voice — that of one who 
is always to the fore, who, unbeloved, will ever be the first to 
■seek the prize. Can we forget the sparrow ? Three years ago 
the Davos valley was comparatively free from the bird. Then, in 
an unlucky fit of generosity towards the feathered race at large, a 
bird lover introduced this graceless species of the finch tribe to 
■our most select bird society. In the course of three years, how 
will not the sparrow tribe increase ? He flocks to our garden 
and despoils us of our seed. In the early morning we wake to 
the knowledge of his presence, through the hectoring tones with 
which he upraids his numerous progeny. All seasons are ren- 
dered livel}' by his officious habits. He is indifferent to heat 
and cold alike, thriving as the wicked alone will thrive. One 
word in favour of this most persistent chatterbox. Bores are 
oftenest harmless, and the sparrow is the very impersonification 
of all bores. His chirp is worse than his peck. There is little, 
if any, malice in him, and he vastly enjoys life. Provided, then, 
that he will leave the other birds in peace, we will throw no 
more stones at him ; we will submit to the noise and jabber of 
his morning awakening, and will allow him as much hemp and 
.as many sun-flower seeds as he can swallow. 
C. M. Symonds. 
Davos Platz, November, 1892. 
