Where Town and Country Meet 



cence on the brow of the highest point of 

 land in sight. 



What an extent of wild land is this, on 

 the borders of Boston, stretching away for 

 miles to the south and southwest, as remote 

 and uncultivated as New Hampshire pas- 

 tures (save for an occasional roadway or 

 placard), and as free to all of the ram- 

 bling tribe! It affords a deep and grate- 

 ful refuge for the birds, and in a few months 

 now will be thickly peopled by all our native 

 songsters. 



I saw there, on that day in mid- January, 

 representatives of nearly all our wintering 

 birds the chickadees, nuthatches, downy 

 and hairy woodpeckers, flickers, jays, bunt- 

 ings, winter wrens and pine finches, and, 

 along the turnpike, some English sparrows. 

 Indian spring had brought them all out 

 from the deeper coverts, and set them to 

 foraging hopefully for food. Their feeble, 

 tinkling chirps and rustling flight attracted 

 my attention everywhere, and it was easy to 

 imagine what a bird garden the Reservation 

 would be when May came north with her 

 retinue of songsters. 



The only disagreeable feature of ram- 

 14 



