We feel quite confident that in exceptionally mild winters many more migratory birds winter in Southern New Jersey than ornithologists suspect; and we can see, in the lingering remnant of the great flight of warblers that annually pass through the State, that gradual adaptation to surrounding conditions, on the part of birds, that as centuries roll by, evolve, by that mystery of mysteries, the "survival of the fittest," new species from the old.
Again, long after the true insect-eaters, such as the fly-catchers (Tyrannidæ), the vireos (Vireonidæ) and the swallows (Hirundinidæ), with the chimney-swallow, humming-bird (Trochilus colubris), whippoorwill (Antrostomus vociferus), night-hawk (Chordeiles popetue), and the two cuckoos (Coccygus Americanus and erythrophthalmus), have passed southward, beyond the limits of the State, and scarcely a leaf is left upon the forest-trees, when not one straggling fly-catcher, in a day's walk, can be found hovering about the many spots so lately tenanted by myriads of their kind, we have yet the pleasure of seeing, in our rambles, many a blithe sparrow, either in the fields or about leafless hedges, or haunting the still green but nearly deserted swampy meadows, and even, late as it is, an occasional grosbeak, as it half conceals its gorgeous ruby and black plumage in some dark cedar, while it utters in broken cadences a fragment of its glorious song.
Of our many sparrows, of which several are resident species, we have noted down for several years, when the severity of the winter was yet to come, even as late as December 14th, the presence of the pretty bay-winged bunting (Poocætes gramineus), and in less scanty numbers the quiet little field-sparrow (Spizella pusilla). In the wet, reedy meadows, it is not until winter has encased in ice the tangled grasses, that the swamp-sparrow quits its home. For two years past, we have noticed that in the dry upland fields, all through November's hazy Indian summer, the sprightly black-throated bunting (Euspiza Americana) still remains, in little companies; and in the quiet woodlands, ever and anon, a retiring grosbeak (Hedymeles melanocephalus) lingers, until biting north winds drive him from his summer haunts. Last year, the indigo-bird (Cyanospiza cyanea) until the 20th of November remained with us, singing as merrily from the bare branches of the maples as when, during the summer, they cheered their brooding mates with almost ceaseless song. The bobolink, in spite of the persecution they suffer from sportsmen, hold to their reedy haunts, in scattering pairs, often until the first fall of snow, and this same bird—"reed-bird" in autumn (Dolichonyx oryzivorus)—being seen so early in the spring, occasionally, may possibly remain, but if so, very rarely. A few red-winged blackbirds (Agelaeus phœniceus), we know, withstand our winters, and seem to find food somewhere and how, even when the thermometer is at zero.
This difference between the insect-eating and the granivorous
