12 
BIRD LIFE IN WASHINGTON 
NUTTALL SPARROW 
In this busy part of the world, many 
a sweet strain of music is scarcely heard. 
At least it is true that few pause to trace 
a song to the singer. A chorus of music 
may fill the air. The ivorld seems bright¬ 
er but most of us get no farther than the 
thought: “The birds are singing!” Be 
they wrens, finches, or thrushes, we are 
too bushy to determine. Little Nuttall is 
an exception. He is heard and heeded. 
From early morn until eleven at night we 
o 
may hear his “We-e, a-nch-y, liitcliv, 
hitchy, liitcha.” After the day’s work is 
done, his sweet strains catch the ear, and 
NUTTALL SPARROW 
we wonder, “Who is our serenader!” He 
has earned for himself the title, “The 
Nightingale of the West,” 
He is a summer bird, arriving by the 
last of March or the first of April. He 
announces his presence at once from the 
