WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 207 



near Boston for a part of every year; yet I 

 found half a dozen five or six years ago in the 

 marsh beside a Back Bay street, and have seen 

 none since. One of these stood upon a pile of 

 earth, singing to himself in an undertone, while 

 the rest were feeding in the grass. Whether 

 the singer was playing sentinel, and sounded an 

 alarm, I was not sure, but all at once the flock 

 started off, as if on a single pair of wings. 



Birds which elude the observer in this man- 

 ner year after year only render themselves all 

 the more interesting. They are like other spe- 

 cies with which we deem ourselves well ac- 

 quainted, but which suddenly appear in some 

 quite unlooked-for time or place. The long- 

 expected and the unexpected have both an es- 

 pecial charm. I have elsewhere avowed my 

 favoritism for the white-throated sparrow ; but 

 I was never more delighted to see him than on 

 one Christmas afternoon. I was walking in a 

 back road, not far from the city, when I de- 

 scried a sparrow ahead of me, feeding in the 

 path, and, coming nearer, recognized my friend 

 the white-throat. He held his ground till the 

 last moment (time was precious to him that 

 short day), and then flew into a bush to let me 

 pass, which I had no sooner done than he was 

 back again ; and on my return the same thing 

 was repeated. Far and near the ground was 



