Nelson on Door- Yard Birds of the Far North. 
3 
woodpile from its smaller relative, proceeds to favor us with its 
sweetly modulated song. A little earlier than this the familiar 
form of the Barn Swallow has taken its place in the scene, and, 
as it circles about, utters its chuckling notes as though fairly 
bubbling over with delight at reaching home once more after 
spending the winter in a distant southern clime. Pleasant sun- 
shiny days follow, and we human animals sit and bask in the 
grateful rays upon the veranda, watching, with careless eye, the 
passage overhead of various water-fowl ; while the occasional 
appearance of a Gyrfalcon, a Goshawk, of other bird of prey 
lends further interest to the view. 
On fine evenings our ear is greeted by the clear Thrush-like 
whistle of the Fox-colored Sparrow, generally from the top of 
the cross surmounting the roof of the Russian church just back 
of the houses. 
As June, arrives we obtain a glimpse of one or two Black- 
capped and Yellow Warblers as they investigate the insect pre- 
serve in the garden, after which we must seek amusement in 
the struggles of the Swallows to master unwieldy feathers, or to 
carry off straws, one end of which is embedded in the ground, 
varied by numerous hand-to-hand conflicts between the pug- 
nacious little males as they roll about on the ground and pummel 
each other heartily, sometimes for half an hour together ; the 
object of all this battling, in the form of some charming female, 
stands close by, looking on as complacently as a lady of olden 
time upon the tournament, and it need not be said that the victor 
receives the homage, now, as then. All obstacles are finally 
overcome and in various snug nooks under the eaves the birds 
hover with pride over their treasure-filled nests. At the same 
time a pair of Savanna Sparrows keep watch and ward over 
their egg-laden nest, neatly hidden on the sloping bank close 
under the ice-house. 
Spring passes into summer and from the middle of July until 
well into August the smaller birds make the Redoubt a general 
rendezvous. The Redpolls return in family parties, the roseate 
flush of youth worn from the parental breast by the cares of 
family life, all being now clad in dull brown. Like neglected 
children, who, if they have no costly garments, are determined 
to enjoy themselves and make merry, so these little plebians stuff 
themselves to repletion with the good things of the garden and 
