The Song Sparrow, like air and sunshine, is a part of our daily lives after we have once become acquainted with him. In some localities he takes up his abode permanently; in others, he arrives in late February or early March and remains until November. Joy in life and deep contentment abide with him. He is the most incurable optimist of my acquaintance. I have heard him sing beside a brook that has just broken its icy fetters, while patches of snow still remained on the ground; during days of rain which silenced most songsters; through hot summer noons and during the almost songless molting-season,—nothing seems to daunt him, from early morning until sunset. Occasionally during the night is heard his simple strain, as though he needs must sing in his sleep.

His song is pleasing, but in no way remarkable. It is in a major key and lacks the ecstasy and piercing sweetness of the fox sparrow’s, and the exquisite tenderness of the field and the vesper sparrow’s, but it possesses a charm all its own. It breathes a joy in simple things—a steadfast and cheerful courage that makes us say, “He, too, is no mean preacher.”

Song sparrows, like other members of the Finch family, are of great service in their destruction of insects and weed seeds, of which they consume enormous quantities. They eat wild berries and fruits only when their favorite food is not obtainable. They possess no bad habits and are desirable “bird-neighbors” to cultivate. Water always attracts them; one is most likely to find them near streams, in which they love to bathe.

Their nests are made largely of grasses, dead leaves, and root-fibres, and are lined with soft grasses. They are placed in bushes or on the ground. The eggs, pale in color and flecked with brown, are well concealed by their markings. Song sparrows, usually serene, grow intensely nervous when the nest is approached, and betray its whereabouts by their incessant Chip, chip.

THE SONG SPARROW