“The sparrows are all meek and lowly birds.” They are not clothed in a plumage of gorgeous hues, but are endowed with melodious voices in harmony with their surroundings. “Theirs are the quaint lullaby songs of childhood.” Their plain coats are a means of protection, for they frequent the fields, the hedges and the low shrubs of the woodland borders. Some of their relatives, the grosbeaks, the goldfinch and the finches, are more brilliantly colored and are more arboreal in their habits. The White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis) is one of the handsomest of the sparrows. It is one of the exquisite parts of nature. Migratory in habits, its range covers all of Eastern North America, nesting from Michigan and Massachusetts northward and wintering from the latter state southward to Florida. Its scientific name is descriptive of the marked color characteristics of its crown and throat. Zonotrichia means hair or crown bands, and albicollis is from the Latin meaning white-throated. It is sometimes called Peabody Bird, especially by the New Englanders, with whom Peabody is an important traditional name, and they hear the birds say in its song “I—I Pea-body, Pea-body, Pea-body.” This rendering of its plaintive song is a caricature, yet the name clings to the bird even in other parts of the country. The reserved manner of its movements would hardly lead one to expect that a beautiful song could flow from its white throat. This song is so well defined that the notation may be written on the musical staff. Mr. Chapman says: “In September, when the hedgerows and woodland undergrowths begin to rustle with sparrows, juncos and towhees, I watch eagerly for the arrival of these welcome fall songsters.” We cannot forbear quoting the words of that great student of bird life, Audubon, who says of the White-Throat’s habit in autumn, “How it comes and how it departs are quite unknown to me. I can only say that, all of a sudden, the edges of the fields bordering on creeks or swampy places and overgrown with different species of vines, sumac bushes, briers and the taller kinds of grasses, appear covered with birds. They form groups, sometimes containing from thirty to fifty individuals, and live together in harmony. They are constantly moving up and down among these recesses, with frequent jerkings of the tail, and uttering a note common to the tribe. From the hedges and thickets they issue one by one, in quick succession, and ramble to the distance of eight or ten yards, hopping and scratching, in quest of small seeds, and preserving the utmost silence. When the least noise is heard or alarm given, and frequently, as I thought, without any alarm at all, they all fly back to their covert, pushing directly into the thickest part of it. A moment elapses, when they become reassured, and ascending to the highest branches and twigs open a little concert, which, although of short duration, is extremely sweet. There is much plaintive softness in