126 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 
ee 
bird is always so unsympathetic as most of the 
descriptions thus far given would appear to in- 
dicate. In my memory are several scenes, any 
one of which, if I could put it on paper as I saw 
it, would suffice to correct such an erroneous 
impression. In one of these the parties were a 
pair of chipping sparrows. Never was man so 
cburlish that his heart would not have been 
touched with the vision of their gentle but rap- 
turous delight. As they chased each other 
gayly from branch to branch and from tree to 
tree, they flew with that delicate, affected move- 
ment of the wings which birds are accustomed 
to use at such times, and which, perhaps, bears 
the same relation to their ordinary flight that 
dancing does to the every-day walk of men and 
women. The two seemed equally enchanted, 
and both sang. Little they knew of the “ strug- 
gle for existence” and the “survival of the 
fittest.””> Adam and Eve, in Paradise, were never 
more happy. 
A few weeks later, taking an evening walk, 
I was stopped by the sight of a pair of cedar- 
birds on a stone wall. ‘They had chosen a con- 
venient flat stone, and were hopping about upon 
it, pausing every moment or two to put their 
little bills together. What a loving ecstasy pos- 
sessed them! Sometimes one, sometimes the 
other, sounded a faint lisping note, and motioned 
