4o8 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



She was dead and cold. I did not wonder any longer why the male 

 was so anxious. I took the four tiny eggs which she had laid, to re- 

 member poor Jenny Wren by. 



Frank Smith, Grand Rapids, Mich. 



THE COMING OF PHOEBE. 



There's a grand old river that I well know, rolling, ever rolling, 

 from its source in northern New England hills, rolling on by meadow 

 and hill, rolling on to the sea. 



From that river can be seen, rising skyward, a towering hill covered 

 with grand old trees. 



Deep in the heart of that hill men labor daily rending from it pieces 

 of its strong heart oi stone. For near a hundred years agone have 

 they wrought and the old strong heart yielded of its store, and boats 

 have carried of it down the flowing river for the various uses of .men. 



With their strong arms wrought, they, three sturdy generations of 

 laborers, shaping and lifting the blocks wherever the Master Mind 

 directed. 



"The old order changeth, yielding to the new," and now engines 

 are the motive, however, which move huge wooden arms, with strong 

 iron fingers, that, swinging here, swaying there, left the stone where- 

 ever the Master Mind shall desire, to the waiting levers. 



Two men control engines twain, one grave taciturn, absolute monarch 

 of the little shanty which covers the steel and iron helper under his 

 control. None conversed with him save when he graciously accosted 

 them, while his fellow engineer called gaily to the laborers and held 

 daily counsel with the wild things whose homes were in the forest 

 which surrounded the old stone quarry. 



Lo, on a day in a sweet spring, three seasons agone, we heard a 

 sweet voice calling softly, "Phoebe! Phoebe! Phoebe-oe-oei" from out 

 shanty of the solitary. Who was it? What lady, what lady had dared 

 that which no man was rash enough to do, — univited to invade the 

 domain of the taciturn engineer? But the lady, (and it was a very tiny 

 lady) nothing daunted settled her dress of softest tinted feathers and 

 crooned to herself and to all whom it might concern, that she liked 

 the place and would make it her home. And she did. The monarch 

 of all he surveyed stepped down from his pedastal and became the 

 devoted slave of Mistress Phoebe and the little family which came. 



Only the softest tones were permitted lest the little mother be dis- 

 turbed. On the days when the engine was required to use the long: 

 arm, incessantly swinging here, swaying there, the little mother was 



