200 WINTER ss 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. Ihave grown ac- 
customed to listen for their ¢seep 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 year, as I sup- 
pose to be the case; and why this particular 
