MARCH SWALLOWS 



THE birds are having their innings. They 

 have been away and have come back, and 

 even the most stolid citizen is for the moment 

 aware of their presence. I rejoice to see 

 them so popular. 



Two or three mornings ago I met a friend 

 in the road, a farmer, one of the happy men, 

 good to talk with, who glory in their work. 

 A phoebe was calling from the top of an 

 elm, and as we were near the farmer's house 

 I asked, "How long has the phoebe been 

 here ? " He looked up, saw the bird, and 

 answered with a smile, " He must have just 

 come. I have n't heard him before." I 

 made some remark about its being pleasant 

 to have such creatures with us again, and he 

 responded, as I knew he would, in the hearti- 

 est manner. " Oh, I do love to see them ! " 

 he said. 



I was reminded of a lady of whom I had 



