enough to the bone. No man is rich enough to keep a poet in his pay.
March 20, 1859. p. m. I see under the east side of the house, amid the evergreens, where they are sheltered from the cold northwest wind, a company of sparrows, chiefly Fringilla hiemalis, two or three tree-sparrows, and one song-sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch them through a window within six or eight feet. They evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at least are not averse to each other's society. .One perches on a bush to sing, while others are feeding on the ground; but he is very restless on his perch, hopping about and stooping, as if dodging those that fly over. He must perch on some bit of stubble or some twig to sing. The tree-sparrows sing a little. They are evidently picking up the seeds of weeds which lie on the surface of the ground, invisible to our eyes. They suffer their wings to hang rather loose. The Fringilla hiemalis is the largest of the three. It has a remarkably distinct light-colored bill, and when it stretches shows very distinct clear white lateral tail feathers. This stretching seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with us. The tree-sparrows are much brighter brown and white than the song-sparrow. The latter alone scratches once or twice, and is more inclined
