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The field sparrow sounds like a bouncing table tennis ball.

I’ve gone whole winters without seeing a field sparrow in the New Orleans vicinity.

Scarcely any two field sparrows sing precisely alike.

In the meadows the bobolink is in all his glory; in the high pastures the field sparrow sings his breezy vesper hymn; and the woods are unfolding to the music of the thrushes.

In the song sparrow, field sparrow, chipping sparrow, and the fox sparrow the male and female are very nearly alike in color.