Our Old-Garden Birds. 133 



never overlooked. In all respects we of the present 

 day have not kept pace with common sense. Of 

 late, the bluebird is fast becoming a bird of the back- 

 woods ; one that we hear when it is passing from 

 forest to forest, high overhead, and ignoring us. So 

 lately a bird of the garden, even to those who lived 

 in town, and now banished ! We deliberately drove 

 them away, and now, like fools, wonder why they 

 went. 



The bluebird is delightful everywhere and at all 

 times, but never was it more charming than when 

 it warbled on a May morning in the reawakened old 

 gardens, rejoicing to return to its nesting-home, and 

 seeming to give thanks to man for his thoughtful- 

 ness. The old world then seemed new again, and 

 may it not have been that old people, hearing the 

 sweet song, felt something like a renewal of their 

 youth ? There would have been nothing strange in 

 this. 



But this is neither the time nor the place to be 

 sadly retrospective. What of the good gifts of the 

 passing moment ? What of the flowers of the pass- 

 ing summer ? What of the birds ? I noticed to-day 

 in Aunt Peggy's old garden that the English prim- 

 rose had had its day and the poppies were past their 

 prime. The flaming phlox was no longer the prin- 

 cipal feature, as it had been, and the spiraeas were 

 only a thrifty growth, in which the song-sparrows still 

 lingered, although their nests were empty. But 

 what a show of dahlias and hollyhocks ! The sight 

 was a dazzling one. Crimson, gold, white, and deli- 



