Iparabiee Circle 



was a torch for memory, a flash from 

 home— that other home in the far North, 

 where soon the maples would be in leaf, 

 the apple-trees abloom, and where all the 

 woods and fields, fragrant as a thyme-bed, 

 would be ringing with bird-song. The car- 

 dinal grosbeak lives there the year round; 

 but there are migrants who swing back 

 and forth with the sun. Why do some 

 remain in the frozen North while their 

 companions flit away into the lands of 

 perpetual summer? But then, why does 

 the same problem of migration constantly 

 arise in human history? Many of my 

 friends laugh at me for shrinking down the 

 southern slope of the world while they go 

 blithely about to furbish up their sleighs 

 and skates. 



Seeing the cardinal grosbeak gave me a 

 nostalgia; indeed, it transported me, so to 

 say, back to the sleety thickets of Indiana, 

 where I last saw this fine fellow. And 

 what a splendid bird he is! From crest 

 to toe-tip he shines, nay, he dazzles one's 

 eyes; and he feels quite largely the impor- 

 tance of his color. I cannot think of him 

 52 



