The birds are having their innings. They have been away and have come back, and even the most stolid citizen is for the moment aware of their presence. I rejoice to see them so popular.

Two or three mornings ago I met a friend in the road, a farmer, one of the happy men, good to talk with, who glory in their work. A phœbe was calling from the top of an elm, and as we were near the farmer's house I asked, "How long has the phœbe been here?" He looked up, saw the bird, and answered with a smile, "He must have just come. I haven't heard him before." I made some remark about its being pleasant to have such creatures with us again, and he responded, as I knew he would, in the heartiest manner. "Oh, I do love to see them!" he said.

I was reminded of a lady of whom I had