EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
77 
hear the well-known note and see a flock of 
Fringilla hiemalis, flitting in a lively manner 
about trees, weeds, walls, and ground by the 
roadside, showing their two white tail feathers. 
They are more fearless than the song-sparrow. 
They attract notice by their numbers and in¬ 
cessant twittering in a social manner. The lin- 
arias have been the most numerous birds here 
the past winter. I can scarcely see a heel of 
a snow drift from my window. Jonas Melvin 
says he saw hundreds of “ speckled ” turtles 
out on the banks to-day in a voyage to Bil¬ 
lerica for musquash. Also saw gulls. Shel¬ 
drakes and black ducks are the only ones he 
has seen this year. A still and mild moonlight 
night, and people walking about the streets. 
March 7, 1838. We should not endeavor 
coolly to analyze our thoughts, but, keeping the 
pen even and parallel with the current, make an 
accurate transcript of them. Impulse is, after 
all, the best linguist; its logic, if not conforma¬ 
ble to Aristotle, cannot fail to be most con¬ 
vincing. The nearer we can approach to a 
complete but simple transcript of our thought, 
the more tolerable will be the piece, for we can 
endure to consider ourselves in a state of pass¬ 
ivity or in involuntary action, but rarely can 
we endure to consider our efforts, and least of 
all, our rare efforts. 
