The prolonged frost of the past winter is fresh in all our memories. On January 6th, when I specially noted the assemblage of my bird friends, we had had intermitting frost and snow for about five weeks, almost continuous snow (with occasional yieldings of the frost) for a fortnight, and a complete snowy covering up of the garden ground for a week, with sharp frosts, and often low temperatures at night. There had been no sun, and, therefore, no melting of the snow by the wall, or by the hedge edges, and, consequently, doubtless the natural animal food of the birds was very scarce and difficult to obtain. Some food had been thrown to them daily during the greater portion of this severe weather; but for the preceding week they had been fed pretty regularly twice daily. My usual _times for feeding_ had been about 9.30 (after my breakfast), and about 2 p.m. (after luncheon). When first fed, the birds—beginning with the Sparrows—seem only to find the food thrown out by accident, and would drop down by ones and twos, as their instinct or sense of far-sight appeared to show them that there was food to be had. But very soon they seemed to remember these fixed hours, and many of them, especially Starlings, would then be seen collected on neighbouring trees, or elsewhere, before these times, evidently ready and waiting for what they were expecting. The Sparrows would be chirping in the ivy. The Starlings would be seen sitting on the watch on a neighbouring tree or trees, and as soon as the food was thrown down they would immediately begin to descend upon it. Yet not all at once, or without due and proper precaution and inspection. First, the Sparrows—as the boldest—would drop down singly, but in rapid succession. Then the Starlings would draw nearer one by one, and carefully look down and inspect the ground. And when one had summoned courage to descend, the rest would quickly follow. But, of course, the slightest noise would make the whole flock suddenly flutter up again into the trees, or into the next garden, as quickly to return when the alarm was found to be groundless. After a little further time, a Thrush or a Blackbird or two would join the group. Later still, always late, a little Robin—quiet, silent, and pathetic—with its half timid and half confiding manner, would come into view. Again, after a further interval, occasionally one of the Jackdaws would appear upon the scene. And now and then, last of all, a huge Rook would suddenly descend and carry off some large crust which the smaller birds had left uneaten—reserved for more deliberate pecking at when the crumbs and smaller portions of food were disposed of. The manners of these various birds differed strikingly. The Sparrows, of course, would be first and boldest, and everywhere. The Starlings would often form a compact group around the outspread food, one of them occasionally darting off with a big morsel or savoury bone.