And flutters into sight.
Oh, childhood’s vesper bird,
My heart calls back good night.
—Edith M. Thomas.
The Chipping-sparrow. Our least Sparrow, who wears a little chestnut velvet cap, gray back, and black bill, and has a mild, innocent expression in keeping with his friendly ways. He puts his dainty hair-lined nest (from which he is sometimes called Hair-bird) in a near-by shrub or rose-bush in the garden, and then hops about the door, picking up almost invisible bits of food, calling “chip-chip-chip.” His courting song is a long trill that begins at dawn almost with the Phœbe, and the dear little bird often sings as he sits on the ground.
The Tree Swallow. This we saw last fall in the migration, and we may hope that it will take lodging in some of the new bird-boxes.
“In the second half of the month:—