202 WINTER BIRQ ABOUT BOSTON. 
camping grounds so exposed and public as this 
in the rear of the “* Half-way House.” 
Our only cold-weather thrushes are the rob- 
ins. They may be found any time in favorable 
situations ; and even in so bleak a place as Bos- 
ton Common I have seen them in every month 
of the year except February. This exception, 
moreover, is more apparent than real, — at the 
most a matter of but twenty-four hours, since 
I once saw four birds in a tree near the Frog 
Pond on the last day of January. The house 
sparrows were as much surprised as I was at 
the sight, and, with characteristic urbanity, gath- 
ered from far and near to sit in the same tree 
with the visitors, and stare at them. 
We cannot help being grateful to the robins 
and the song sparrows, who give us their soci- 
ety at so great a cost; but their presence can 
scarcely be thought to enliven the season. 
At its best their bearing is only that of patient 
submission to the inevitable. They remind us 
of the summer gone and the summer coming, 
rather than brighten the winter that is now 
upon us; like friends who commiserate us in 
some affliction, but are not able to comfort us. 
How different the chickadee! In the worst 
weather his greeting is never of condolence, but 
of good cheer. He has no theory upon the sub- 
ject, probably ; he is no Shepherd of Salisbury 
