198 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 



sons have done, although I have seen them 

 when their tameness promised success to any 

 such loving experiment. Indeed, it was sev- 

 eral years before my lookout for them was re- 

 warded. Then, one day, I saw a flock of about 

 ten fly across Beacon Street, on the edge of 

 Brookline, and alight in an apple-tree ; at 

 which I forthwith clambered over the picket- 

 fence after them, heedless alike of the deep 

 snow and the surprise of any steady-going cit- 

 izen who might chance to witness my high- 

 handed proceeding. Some of the birds were 

 feeding upon the rotten apples ; picking them 

 off the tree, and taking them to one of the large 

 main branches or to the ground, and there tear- 

 ing them to pieces, for the sake of the seeds, 

 I suppose. The rest sat still, doing nothing. 

 I was most impressed with the exceeding mild- 

 ness and placidity of their demeanor; as if 

 they had time enough, plenty to eat, and noth- 

 ing to fear. Their only notes were in quality 

 much like the goldfinch's, and hardly louder, 

 but without his characteristic inflection. I left 

 the whole company seated idly in a maple-tree, 

 where, to all appearance, they proposed, to ob- 

 serve the remainder of the day as a Sabbath. 



Last winter the grosbeaks were uncommonly 

 abundant. I found a number of them within a 

 few rods of the place just mentioned; this time 



