scried a sparrow ahead of me,
feeding in the path, and, coming nearer, recognized my friend the
white-throat. He held his ground till the last moment (time was precious
to him that short day), and then flew into a bush to let me pass, which
I had no sooner done than he was back again; and on my return the same
thing was repeated. Far and near the ground was white, but just at this
place the snow-plough had scraped bare a few square feet of earth, and
by great good fortune this solitary and hungry straggler had hit upon
it. I wondered what he would do when the resources of this garden patch
were exhausted, but consoled myself with thinking that by this time he
must be well used to living by his wits, and would probably find a way
to do so even in his present untoward circumstances.

The snow-birds (not to be confounded with the snow buntings) should have
at least a mention in such a paper as this. They are among the most
familiar and constant of our winter guests, although very much less
numerous at that time than in spring and autumn, when the fields and
lanes are fairly alive with them.

A kind word must be said for the shrike, also, who during the three
coldest months is to be seen on the Common oftener than any other of our
native birds. _There_, at all events, he is doing a good work. May he
live to finish it!

The blue jay stands by us, of course. You will not go far without
hearing his scream, and catching at least a distant view of his splendid
coat, which he is too consistent a dandy to put off for one of a duller
shade, let the season shift as it will. He is not always good-natured;
but none the less he is generally in good spirits (he seems to enjoy
his bad temper), and, all in all, is not to be lightly esteemed in a
time when bright feathers are scarce.

As for the jay's sable relatives, they are the most conspicuous birds in
the winter landscape. You may possibly walk to Brookline and back
without hearing a chickadee, or a blue jay, or even a goldfinch; but you
will never miss sight and sound of the crows. Black against white is a
contrast hard to be concealed. Sometimes they are feeding in the street,
sometimes stalking about the marshes; but oftenest they are on the ice
in the river, near the water's edge. For they know the use of friends,
although they have never heard of Lord Bacon's "last fruit of
friendship," and would hardly understand what that provident philosopher
meant by saying that "the best