198 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 
sons have done, although I have seen them 
when their tameness promised success to any 
such loving experiment. Indeed, it was sev- 
eral years before my lookout for them was re- 
warded. Then, one day, I saw a flock of about 
ten fly across Beacon Street, —on the edge of 
Brookline, — and alight in an apple-tree; at 
which I forthwith clambered over the picket- 
fence after them, heedless alike of the deep 
snow and the surprise of any steady-going cit- 
izen who might chance to witness my high- 
handed proceeding. Some of the birds were 
feeding upon the rotten apples; picking them 
off the tree, and taking them to one of the large 
main branches or to the ground, and there tear- 
ing them to pieces, — for the sake of the seeds, 
I suppose. The rest sat still, doing nothing. 
I was most impressed with the exceeding mild- 
ness and placidity of their demeanor; as if 
they had time enough, plenty to eat, and noth- 
ing to fear. ‘Their only notes were in quality 
much like the goldfinch’s, and hardly louder, 
but without his characteristic inflection. I left 
_the whole company seated idly in a maple-tree, 
where, to all appearance, they proposed to ob- 
serve the remainder of the day as a Sabbath. 
Last winter the grosbeaks were uncommonly 
abundant. I found a number of them within a 
few rods of the place just mentioned; this time 
