Their song is sweet and pleasing. They are not constant songsters, but seem to be moved by some unseen spirit, for a flock will suddenly burst out in a melody of song that is entrancing. He who has been favored with such a concert is indeed fortunate. Their whole being seems to be brought into action in the production of this song, which is “somewhat crude and labored in technique, but the tones are very sweet indeed, not soft and low but quite loud and clear. Quite often the song opens with one or two long syllables and ends with a merry little trill having a delightfully human intonation. There is, indeed, something innocent and child-like about the voices of these sparrows.” The Tree Sparrow is often called the Winter Chippy and is confounded with the chipping sparrow, which it resembles. It is a larger bird and carries a mark of identification by which it may be easily known. There is on the grayish white breast a small black spot. Moreover, the Tree Sparrow arrives in its winter range about the time that the chippy retires to the Gulf States and Mexico. THE SPARROWS’ BEDTIME. “Wee, wee, weet, tweet, tweet, tweet!” What a clatter, what a chatter In the village street. “Chee, chee, cheep, cheep, chee, chee, chee!” What a rustling, what a hustling In the maple tree. “Twit, twit, flit, flit, get away, quit!” How they gabble, how they scrabble As to rest they flit. “Peep, peep, tweet, tweet, wee, wee, wee!” How they hurry, how they scurry, Noisy as can be. “Tr’r, tr’r, sh, sh, do be still, You’re no wood thrush, wish you could hush, You know you can’t trill.” “Tr’r, tr’r, r’r, r’r, yip, peep, peep, You’re another, I’ll tell mother, I was most asleep.” “Tr’r, sh, chee, chee, peep, yip, yip!” See them swinging, gaily clinging To the branch’s tip. “Tr’r, sh, cheep, peep, tee, hee, hee!” Hear them titter, hear them twitter, Full of energy. * * * * * * Sudden silence falls, Not a peep is heard; To its neighbor calls Not one little bird, Silent too the trees Calm their secret keeping; Gently sighs the breeze; Sparrows all are sleeping. —Adene Williams. THE SPARROW FAMILY.