THE PROSPERITY OF A WALK 



A BIRD lover's daily rations during a New 

 England winter are somewhat like Robinson 

 Crusoe's on his island in the wet season. 

 " I eat a bunch of raisins for my breakfast," 

 he says, " a piece of goat's flesh or of the 

 turtle for my dinner, and two or three of the 

 turtle's eggs for my supper." Such a fare 

 was ample for health, perhaps ; and probably 

 every item of it was sufficiently appetizing, 

 in itself considered ; but after the first week 

 or two it must have begun to smack of mo- 

 notony. The castaway might have com- 

 plained with some of old, " My soul loatheth 

 this light bread." He might have com- 

 plained, I say; I do not remember that 

 he did. What I do remember is that when, 

 moved by pious feeling, he was on the point 

 of thanking God for having brought him to 

 that place, he suddenly restrained himself, or 

 an influence from without restrained him. 



