ly, no doubt waiting for
the winter cold of their summer homes to be well past before they
ventured farther toward the arctic lands.

In general, the habits of these birds are much like those of the
white-throated sparrows, which are much more common in the East than in
the West. The Harris sparrows are fond of copses and hedges, and
especially of brush heaps in new grounds. So marked, indeed, is their
penchant for brush heaps that I almost wish one might re-christen them
"brush-heap sparrows." Many a time I have played a little trick on the
unsuspecting birds by stealing up to a brush pile and giving it a
sudden blow with my cane; then a whole covey of them would dash
pellmell from their covert with loud chirps of protest against such
wantonness.

Sometimes they are found in the depths of the woods, providing there is
thick underbrush in which they can conceal themselves. I seldom found
them in open places either in the woods or fields. Yet, shy as they
are, they have a fondness for the dense hedges along the highways,
flitting and chirping as the traveler passes by.

Being wary birds, they do not wander far from their hiding places, into
which they precipitate themselves at the approach of a supposed danger.
It was quite a while before I could get a clear view of their breasts,
for, with provoking persistence, they kept their tails turned toward
me. However, when once you really become acquainted with a bird, it
seems to lose part of its shyness, and so after a time I often had the
Harris sparrows in plain view. One of their characteristic habits was
to stand at full height on the top of a brush heap, with tail lifted,
crest feathers erect, and eyes wide open, the picture of wild
alertness. In such poses they are indeed handsome birds.

It was March 5, 1898, when I heard the first song of this sparrow, and
even then it was only a fragment of a song. But, the weather remaining
pleasant, the sixteenth of the month brought a fine concert. The
bird's song was a surprise to me. It began with a prolonged run so
much like the opening tremolo of the white-throated sparrow that it
might have led the most expert ornithologist astray. The fact is, I
looked around for quite a while in search of a white-throat, thinking
him still a little out of tune, and therefore unable to finish his
chanson; and I was undeceived only by the singing of several Harris
sparrows that with unusual boldness had perched in plain sight.