His sparrow color of ashen gray and brown is very clear
and bright, and his form graceful. His whole expression, however,
culminates in a singular manner in his crown. The various tints of
the bird are brought to a focus here and intensified, the lighter
ones becoming white, and the deeper ones nearly black. There is the
suggestion of a crest, also, from a habit the bird has of slightly
elevating this part of its plumage, as if to make more conspicuous
its pretty markings. They are great scratchers, and will often
remain several minutes scratching in one place, like a hen. Yet,
unlike the hen and like all hoppers, they scratch with both feet at
once, which is by no means the best way to scratch.
The white-throats often sing during their sojourning both in fall
and spring; but only on one occasion have I ever heard any part of
the song of the white-crowned, and that proceeded from what I took
to be a young male, one October morning, just as the sun was
rising. It was pitched very low, like a half-forgotten air, but it
was very sweet. It was the song of the vesper sparrow and the
white-throat in one. In his breeding haunts he must be a superior
songster, but he is very chary of his music while on his travels.
The sparrows are all meek and lowly birds. They are of the grass,
the fences, the low bushes, the weedy wayside places. Nature has
denied them all brilliant tints, but she has given them sweet and
musical voices. Theirs are the quaint and simple lullaby songs of
childhood.
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