THE SECRET OF APPRECIATION. 223 
away. During a visit to Boston and vicinity, a 
year prior, I spent a never-to-be-forgotten afternoon 
with Bradford Torrey, who needs no introduction 
to intelligent readers. We walked out to some of 
his favorite haunts. It was an ideal October day, 
and the charming New England landscape threw a 
spell over me that gave me a kind of other-worldly 
feeling. My companion was all I had expected him to 
be, and more, — a good talker and an appreciative 
listener, — and even now, when I recall my saunter 
with this quiet, gentle bird-lover, it seems more like 
a dream than a reality. 
The afternoon had slipped well by when we came 
to a bush-fringed brook and Mr. Torrey told me that 
there were swamp-sparrows in the thickets. ‘“ How 
much J should like-to: see one!’’ +I cried. “The 
swamp-sparrow is a stranger to me.” “ You shall 
have your wish gratified,” he replied ; and forthwith 
he climbed the fence, stalked to the other side of 
the stream, and slowly, gently drove the chirping 
sparrows toward me, so that I could see their mark- 
ings plainly with my glass. How lovingly I ogled 
them! Icould not get my fill of the birds shown 
me by one whom I had loved so long at a distance. 
It was an epoch in my poor life, — an epoch in a 
double sense. Who will censure my feeling of grati- 
fied pride? In the evening, after our stroll, as we 
walked to and fro on the platform at the railway- 
station waiting for the train to start, | remarked: 
«‘ Mr. Torrey, I shall never forget my first meeting 
with the swamp-sparrow.” 
