ng a supply of seeds in the annual grasses that grow
thriftily with his crops.

Among these flocks of Snow-Birds, a few individuals of the common
Hair-Bird (_Fringilla socialis_) may frequently be seen. The majority of
this species migrate to a more open clime; but sufficient numbers remain
to entitle them to be included with other Snow-Birds of the Finch tribe.
He is one of the smallest of the Sparrows, of a brownish ash color
above, and grayish white beneath. He wears a little cap or turban of
brown velvet on his head, and by this mark he is readily distinguished
from his kindred Sparrows. Relying on his diminutive size for his
security, he comes quite up to our door-step, mindless of the people who
are assembled round it, and, fearless of danger, picks up the crumbs
that are scattered there. He may be seen at all seasons of the year,
though his voice is not heard in the spring so early as that of the
Song-Sparrow or the Blue-Bird. He lives chiefly on seeds, though,
like other granivorous birds, he feeds his young with grubs and small
insects. This is a general practice with the granivorous tribes, in
order to provide their young with soft and digestible food before they
are strong enough to digest the hard, coriaceous seed. Nature has formed
an exception in the Pigeon tribe; but has compensated them by providing
that the parent bird shall soften the food in her own crop before it is
given to the tender young. From the peculiar manner in which the young
are fed comes the epithet, "sucking doves."

It is common to speak disparagingly of the little Hair-Bird, as if he
were good for nothing, without beauty and without song, and, what is of
still more consequence in the eyes of the sordid epicure, too small to
be eaten, his weight of flesh not being worth a charge of powder and
shot. We can never sufficiently rejoice that there are some birds
too small to excite the avaricious feelings of these knights of the
fowling-piece and the rifle. The Hair-Bird is not to be despised,
except by epicures. Though he is contemptuously styled the
"Chipping-Sparrow,"--a name which I will never consent to apply to
him,--his voice is no mean accompaniment to the general chorus which may
be heard every still morning before sunrise, during May and June. His
continued trilling note is to this warbling band what the octave flute
is to a grand concert of artificial instruments. The voices of numbers
of these birds, which are the very first to