194 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 



Last winter, for example, a flock took up their 

 quarters in a certain neglected piece of ground 

 on the side of Beacon Street, close upon the 

 boundary between Boston and Brookline, and 

 remained there nearly or quite the whole sea- 

 son. Week after week I saw them in the same 

 place, accompanied always by half a dozen tree 

 sparrows. They had found a spot to their 

 mind, with plenty of succory and evening prim- 

 rose, and were wise enough not to forsake it for 

 any uncertainty. 



The goldfinch loses his bright feathers and 

 canary-like song as the cold season approaches, 

 but not even a New England winter can rob 

 him of his sweet call and his cheerful spirits ; 

 and for one, I think him never more winsome 

 than when he hangs in graceful attitudes above 

 a snowbank, on a bleak January morning. 



Glad as we are of the society of the goldfinches 

 and the red-polls at this time of the year, we 

 cannot easily rid ourselves of a degree of solici- 

 tude for their comfort ; especially if we chance 

 to come upon them after sunset on some bit- 

 terly cold day, and mark with what a nervous 

 haste they snatch here and there a seed, making 

 the utmost of the few remaining minutes of twi- 

 light. They will go to bed hungry and cold, 

 we think, and were surely better off in a milder 

 clime. But, if I am to judge from my own ex- 



