THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 119 



they were deserted. " Poor, poor little things/' said our 

 youngest, with wet eyes. And so the human birdlings 

 sat round, and keenly felt for the sufferings of the nest 

 that was intended to please them. Hereupon the man 

 came with a smaJl worm, off which he severed a piece. 

 Then tapping their beaks, by some magic manipulation 

 he made them open them, and then he popped the 

 worm in. In an instant the first fed took flight a few 

 yards, to the delight of our French youngster, who 

 clapped his hands and cheered. Then it was caught 

 again, and the rest fed. " Oh, they'll do now ! Take 

 them to your pantry, and feed them soon again." Per- 

 haps we may save what remain ! But alas ! on our 

 return from church, we found them all dead corpses. 

 Good cook, in a fit of misjudging benevolence, had 

 crammed them with crumbs to death. And so the 

 next day they were buried, and their gi*ave planted : 

 apd now the very fact of their brief existence is lost in 

 that facile forgetfulness which is a characteristic of 

 children, and which is a blessing, nevertheless, to be 

 coveted. 



I heartily wish those runaway icebergs in lat. 45 

 degrees, would move on, that are credited with causing 

 this inclement weather. My clipped sheep are all shiver- 

 ing under the fence — small blame to them for it. In 

 fact, I'm shivering myself, and must be off to get a warm. 



August, 1867. 



Well, the proof has come ! The excellence of the 

 pudding is found in the eating. Although, some weeks 

 back I was apprehensive that I had erred in diverging 

 from the regular local practice of feeding down the 

 young clover in the autumn and spring, with a view 



