the summer before the
time of which I speak I had spent a vacation at Mount Wachusett; and a
resident of Princeton, noticing my attention to the birds (a taste so
peculiar is not easily concealed), had one day sought an interview with
me to inquire whether the "yellow-bird" did not remain in Massachusetts
through the winter. I explained that we had two birds which commonly
went by that name and asked whether he meant the one with a black
forehead and black wings and tail. Yes, he said, that was the one. I
assured him, of course, that this bird, the goldfinch, did stay with us
all the year round, and that whoever had informed him to the contrary
must have understood him to be speaking about the golden warbler. He
expressed his gratification, but declared that he had really entertained
no doubt of the fact himself; he had often seen the birds on the
mountain when he had been cutting wood there in midwinter. At such
times, he added, they were very tame, and would come about his feet to
pick up crumbs while he was eating his dinner. Then he went on to tell
me that at that season of the year their plumage took on more or less of
a reddish tinge: he had seen in the same flock some with no trace of
red, others that were slightly touched with it, and others still of a
really bright color. At this I had nothing to say, save that his red
birds, whatever else they were, could not have been goldfinches. But
next winter, when I saw the "yellow-birds" and the red-poll linnets
feeding together in Commonwealth Avenue, I thought at once of my
Wachusett friend. Here was the very scene he had so faithfully
described,--some of the flock with no red at all, some with red crowns,
and a few with bright carmine crowns and breasts. They remained all
winter, and no doubt thought the farmers of Boston a very good and wise
set, to cultivate the evening primrose so extensively. This plant, like
the succory, is of an ungraceful aspect; yet it has sweet and beautiful
blossoms, and as an herb bearing seed is in the front rank. I doubt
whether we have any that surpass it, the birds being judges.

Many stories are told of the red-polls' fearlessness and ready
reconciliation to captivity, as well as of their constancy to each
other. I have myself stood still in the midst of a flock, until they
were feeding round my feet so closely that it looked easy enough to
catch one or two of them with a butterfly net. Strange that creatures so
gentle and seemingly s