in tfy 



fact, but personality, personality of a kind and quan- 

 tity, sufficient to make the pig-pen a decent and re- 

 spectable neighborhood. 



Phoebe is altogether more than his surroundings. 

 Every time I go to feed the pig, he lights upon a post 

 near by and says to me : " It 's wnat you are ! Not 

 what you do, but how you do it ! " with a launch 

 into the air, a whirl, an unerring snap at a cabbage 

 butterfly, and an easy drop to the post again, by way 

 of illustration. " Not where you live, but how you 

 live there ; not the feathers you wear, but how you 

 wear them, it is what you are that counts ! " 



There is a difference between being a "character " 

 and having one. "Jim " Crow is a character, largely 

 because he has so little. That is why he is "Jim." 

 My phoebe lives over the pig, but he has no nick- 

 name like the crow. I cannot feel familiar with a 

 bird of his air and carriage, who faces the world so 

 squarely, who settles upon a stake as if he owned it, 

 who lives a prince in my pig-pen. 



Look at him ! How alert, able, free ! Notice the 

 limber drop of his tail, the ready energy it suggests. 

 By that one sign you would know the bird had force. 

 He is afraid of nothing, not even the cold, and he 



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