ust rejoice
in the absence of one,--the English sparrow. When one sees the charming
purple finch and summer yellow-bird, nesting and singing in the streets
of Denver, and the bewitching Arkansas goldfinch and the beautiful
Western bluebird perfectly at home in Colorado Springs, he is reminded
of what might be in the Eastern cities, if only the human race had not
interfered with Nature's distribution of her feathered families. In
Utah, indeed, we meet again the foreigner, for in that unfortunate
Territory the man, wise in his own conceit, was found to introduce him,
and Salt Lake, the city of their pride and glory, is as completely
infested by the feathered tramp as New York itself. Happy is Colorado
that great deserts form her borders, and that chains of mountains
separate her from her neighbors; for, since the sparrow is as fond of
the city as Dr. Johnson, it may be hoped that neither he, nor his
children, nor his grandchildren, will ever cross the barriers.

In Utah, as everywhere, the English sparrows are sharp-witted rogues,
and they have discovered and taken possession of the most comfortable
place for bird quarters to be found, for protection from the terrible
heat of summer, and the wind and snow of winter; it is between the roof
and the stone or adobe walls of the houses. Wherever the inequalities of
the stones or the shrinkage of the wood has left an opening, and made
penetration possible, there an English sparrow has established a
permanent abode.

The first bird I noticed in the quiet Mormon village where I settled
myself to study was a little beauty in blue. I knew him instantly, for I
had met him before in Colorado. He was dining luxuriously on the
feathery seeds of a dandelion when I discovered him, and at no great
distance was his olive-clad mate, similarly engaged. They were
conversing cheerfully in low tones, and in a few minutes I suppose he
called her attention to the superior quality of his dandelion; for she
came to his side, and he at once flew to a neighboring bush and burst
into song. It was a pretty little ditty, or rather a musical rattle on
one note, resembling the song of the indigo bird, his near relative.

The lazuli-painted finch should be called the blue-headed finch, for the
exquisite blueness of his whole head, including throat, breast, and
shoulders, as if he had been dipped so far into blue dye, is his
distinguishing feature. The bluebird wears heaven's color; so does the
jay, and