SONG SPARROW. 



infelicity"; so when the little fellow wiped his bill on 

 the twig, and sang again the doleful strain, I fitted, in 

 imagination, these words to it: 



, wail, fickle wife is she, Flown dwdj/ dnd left me! 



then, taking my cue from another singer, I whistled 

 a reply as follows, 



sad, what ate IP Jhe may return tomorrow. 

 Of sorrow! 





52 



inr 



and went back to my neglected paint-brush; and sure 

 enough on the following day, which dawned bright and 

 rlcnr, up from the meadow came the happier strain in 

 the major key, with the welcome news, 



True, true, very true you see, She's comxpm To he with me. 



M 



