WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 207 
near Boston for a part of every year; yet I 
found half a dozen five or six years ago in the 
marsh beside a Back Bay street, and have seen 
none since. One of these stood upon a pile of 
earth, singing to himself in an undertone, while 
the rest were feeding in the grass. Whether 
the singer was playing sentinel, and sounded an 
alarm, I was not sure, but all at once the flock 
started off, as if on a single pair of wings. 
Birds which elude the observer in this man- 
ner year after year only render themselves all 
the more interesting. ‘They are like other spe- 
cies with which we deem ourselves well ac- 
quainted, but which suddenly appear in some 
quite unlooked-for time or place. The long- 
expected and the unexpected have both an es- 
pecial charm. I have elsewhere avowed my 
favoritism for the white-throated sparrow ; but 
I was never more delighted to see him than on 
one Christmas afternoon. I was walking in a 
back road, not far from the city, when I de- 
scried a sparrow ahead of me, feeding in the 
path, and, coming nearer, recognized my friend 
the white-throat. He held his ground till the 
last moment (time was precious to him that 
short day), and then flew into a bush to let me 
pass, which I had no sooner done than he was 
back again; and on my return the same thing 
was repeated. Far and near the ground was 
