WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 189 



are quite as useful as my excellent lady's apple- 

 trees and pear-trees are to her. I watch them 

 as they circle about in musical undulations, and 

 then drop down again to finish their repast ; 

 and I perceive that, in spite of its unsightli- 

 ness, the chicory is not a weed, its use has 

 been discovered. 



In truth, the lover of birds soon ceases to 

 feel the uncomeliness of plants of this sort ; he 

 even begins to have a peculiar and kindly in- 

 terest in them. A piece of " waste ground," as 

 it is called, an untidy garden, a wayside thicket 

 of golden-rods and asters, pig-weed and even- 

 ing primrose, these come to be almost as 

 attractive a sight to him as a thrifty field of 

 wheat is to an agriculturalist. Taking his cue 

 from the finches, he separates plants into two 

 grand divisions, those that shed their seeds 

 in the fall, and those that hold them through 

 the winter. The latter, especially if they are 

 of a height to overtop a heavy snow-fall, are 

 friends in need to his clients ; and he is certain 

 to have marked a few places within the range 

 of his every-day walks where, thanks to some- 

 body's shiftlessness, perhaps, they have been 

 allowed to flourish. 



It is not many years since there were several 

 such winter gardens of the birds in Common- 

 wealth Avenue, vacant house-lots overgrown 



