WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 189 



are quite as useful as my excellent lady's apple- 

 trees and pear-trees are to her. I watch them 

 as tliey circle about in musical undulations, and 

 then drop down again to finish their repast ; 

 and I perceive that, in spite of its unsightli- 

 ness, the chicory is not a weed, — its use has 

 been discovered. 



In truth, the lover of birds soon ceases to 

 feel the uncomeliness of plants of this sort ; he 

 even begins to have a peculiar and kindly in- 

 terest in them. A piece of '' waste ground," as 

 it is called, an untidy garden, a wayside thicket 

 of golden-rods and asters, pig-weed and even- 

 ing primrose, — these come to be almost as 

 attractive a sight to him as a thrifty field of 

 wheat is to an agriculturalist. Taking his cue 

 from the finches, he separates plants into two 

 grand divisions, — those that shed their seeds 

 in the fall, and those that hold them through 

 the winter. The latter, especially if they are 

 of a height to overtop a heavy snow-fall, are 

 friends in need to his clients ; and he is certain 

 to have marked a few places within the range 

 of his every-day walks where, thanks to some- 

 body's shiftlessness, perhaps, they have been 

 allowed to flourish. 



It is not many years since there were several 

 such winter gardens of the birds in Common- 

 wealth Avenue, — vacant house-lots overgrown 



