Saw a small flock of tree sparrows in the sprout-lands under Bartlett’s Cliff . . .

  Was overtaken by an Irishman seeking work. I asked him if he could chop wood. He said he was not long in this country; that he could cut one side of a tree well enough, but he had not learned to change hands and cut the other without going around it,—what we call crossing the carf; They get very small wages at this season of the year, almost give up the ghost in the effort to keep soul and body together. He left me on the run to find a new master.