188 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 
with real epicurean west, mushrooms, the white 
and tender flesh of which we have ourselves 
looked at longingly, but have never dared to 
taste. How amused he would be (I fear he 
would even be rude enough to snicker) were 
you to caution him against poison! As if Sei- 
urus Hudsonius didn’t know what he were 
about! Why should men be so provincial as 
to pronounce anything worthless merely because 
they can do nothing with it? The clover is not 
without value, although the robin and the ori- 
ole may agree to think so. We know better; 
and so do the rabbits and the humblebees. The 
wise respect their own quality wherever they 
see it, and are thankful for a good hint from no 
matter what quarter. Here is a worthy neigh- 
bor of mine whom I hear every summer com- 
plaining of the chicory plants which disfigure 
the roadside in front of her windows. She 
wishes they were exterminated, every one of 
them. And they are homely, there is no deny- 
ing it, for all the beauty of their individual 
sky-blue flowers. No wonder a neat housewife 
finds them an eyesore. But I never pass the 
spot in August (I do not pass it at all after 
that) without seeing that hers is only one side 
of the story. My approach is sure to startle ~ 
a few goldfinches (and they too are most esti- 
mable neighbors), to whom these scraggy herbs 
