Til 
A BIRD MEDLEY 
EOPLE who have not made friends with the 
birds do not know how much they miss. Es- 
pecially to one living in the country, of strong local 
attachments and an observing turn of mind, does 
an acquaintance with the birds form a close and 
invaluable tie. The only time I saw Thomas Car- 
lyle, I remember his relating, apropos of this sub- 
ject, that in his earlier days he was sent on a jour- 
ney to a distant town on some business that gave 
him much bother and vexation, and that on his way 
back home, forlorn and dejected, he suddenly heard 
the larks singing all about him,— soaring and sing- 
ing, just as they did about his father’s fields, and 
it had the effect to comfort him and cheer him up 
amazingly. 
Most lovers of the birds can doubtless recall simi- 
lar experiences from their own lives. Nothing wonts 
me to a new place more than the birds. I go, for 
instance, to take up my abode in the country, — to 
plant myself upon unfamiliar ground. I know no- 
body, and nobody knows me. ‘The roads, the fields, 
the hills, the streams, the woods, are all strange. 
I look wistfully upon them, but they know me not, 
