ON BOSTON COMMON. 11 



Even as things are, however, the cold season 

 is sure to bring us a few butcher-birds. These 

 come on business, and are now welcomed as 

 public benefactors, though formerly our spar- 

 row-loving municipal authorities thought it 

 their duty to shoot them. They travel singly, 

 as a rule, and sometimes the same bird will be 

 here for several weeks together. Then you will 

 have no trouble about finding here and there 

 in the hawthorn trees pleasing evidences of his 

 activity and address. Collurio is brought up 

 to be in love with his work. In his Mother 

 Goose it is written, — 



Fe, fi, fo, farrow! 



I smell the blood of an English sparrow ; 



and however long he may live, he never for- 

 gets his early training. His days, as the poet 

 says, are " bound each to each by natural 

 piety." Happy lot ! wherein duty and con- 

 science go ever hand in hand ; for whose pos- 

 sessor 



" Love is an unerring light, 

 And joy its own security." 



In appearance the shrike resembles the mock- 

 ing-bird. Indeed, a policeman whom I found 

 staring at one would have it that he was a 

 mocking-bird. " Don't you see he is ? And 

 he 's been singing, too." I had nothing to say 

 against the singing, since the shrike will often 



