194 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 
Last winter, for a a flock took up their 
quarters in a certain neglected piece of ground 
on the side of Beacon Street, close upon the | 
boundary between Boston and Brookline, and 
remained there nearly or quite the whole sea- 
son. Week after week I saw them in the same 
place, accompanied always by half a dozen tree 
sparrows. They had found a spot to their 
mind, with plenty of succory and evening prim- 
rose, and were wise enough not to forsake it for 
any uncertainty. 
The goldfinch loses his bright feathers and 
canary-like song as the cold season approaches, 
but not even a New England winter can rob 
him of his sweet call and his cheerful spirits ; 
and for one, I think him never more winsome 
than when he hangs in graceful attitudes above 
a snowbank, on a bleak January morning. 
Glad as we are of the society of the goldfinches 
and the red-polls at this time of the year, we 
cannot easily rid ourselves of a degree of solici- 
tude for their comfort; especially if we chance 
to come upon them after sunset on some bit- 
terly cold day, and mark with what a nervous 
haste they snatch here and there a seed, making 
the utmost of the few remaining minutes of twi- 
light. They will go to bed hungry and cold, 
we think, and were surely better off in a milder 
clime. But, if Iam to judge from my own ex- 
