200 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 



too sick or too badly exhausted to fly. I 

 stroked her feathers gently while she perched 

 on my finger, and then resumed my walk ; first 

 putting her into a little more sheltered position 

 on the sill of a cellar window, and promising to 

 call on my way back, when, if she were no bet- 

 ter, I would take her home with me, and give 

 her a warm room and good nursing. When I 

 returned, however, she was nowhere to be 

 found. Her mate, I regret to say, both on his 

 own account and for the sake of the story, had 

 taken wing and disappeared the moment I en- 

 tered the yard. Possibly he came back and en- 

 couraged her to fly off with him ; or perhaps 

 some cat made a Sunday breakfast of her. The 

 truth will never be known ; our vigilant city 

 police take no cognizance of tragedies so hum- 

 ble. 



For several years a few song sparrows — a 

 pair or two, at least — have wintered in a piece 

 of ground just beyond the junction of Beacon 

 street and Brookline Avenue. I have grown ac- 

 customed to listen for their tseep as I go by the 

 spot, and occasionally I catch sight of one of them 

 perched upon a weed, or diving under the plank 

 sidewalk. It would be a pleasure to know the 

 history of the colony : how it started ; whether 

 the birds are the same year after j^ear, as I sup- 

 pose to be the case ; and why this particular 



