Jan. 28, 1853. Saw three ducks sailing in the river . . . this afternoon, black with white on wings, though these two or three have been the coldest days of the winter, and the river is generally closed.
Jan. 28, 1857. Am again surprised to see a song sparrow sitting for hours on our wood-pile . . . in the midst of snow in the yard. It is unwilling to move. People go to the pump, and the cat and dog walk round the wood-pile with out starting it. I examine it at my leisure through a glass. Remarkable that this coldest of all winters this bird should remain. Perhaps it is no more comfortable this season farther south where they are accustomed to abide. In the afternoon this sparrow joined a flock of tree sparrows on the bare ground west of the house. It was amusing to see the tree sparrows wash themselves, standing in the puddles and tossing the water over themselves. They have had no opportunity to wash for a month perhaps, there having been no thaw. The song sparrow did not go off with them.
Jan. 28, 1858. Minott has a sharp ear for the note of any migratory bird. Though confined to his dooryard by rheumatism, he commonly hears them sooner than the widest rambler. May be he listens all day for them, or they come and sing over his house, report themselves to
