126 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 



bird is always so unsympathetic as most of the 

 descriptions thus far given would appear to in- 

 dicate. In my memory are several scenes, any 

 one of which, if I could put it on paper as I saw 

 it, would suffice to correct such an erroneous 

 impression. In one of these the parties were a 

 pair of chipping sparrows. Never was man so 

 churlish that his heart would not have been 

 touched with the vision of their gentle but rap- 

 turous delight. As they chased each other 

 gayly from branch to branch and from tree to 

 tree, they flew with that delicate, affected move- 

 ment of the wings which birds are accustomed 

 to use at such times, and which, perhaps, bears 

 the same relation to their ordinary flight that 

 dancing does to the every-day walk of men and 

 women. The two seemed equally enchanted, 

 and both sang. Little they knew of the " strug- 

 gle for existence " and the " survival of the 

 fittest." Adam and Eve, in Paradise, were never 

 more happy. 



A few weeks later, taking an evening walk, 

 I was stopped by the sight of a pair of cedar- 

 birds on a stone wall. They had chosen a con- 

 venient flat stone, and were hopping about upon 

 it, pausing every moment or two to put their 

 little bills together. What a loving ecstasy pos- 

 sessed them ! Sometimes one, sometimes the 

 other, sounded a faint lisping note, and motioned 



