APRIL 287 



Last summer (1898) a little book appeared called 

 'Where Wild Birds Sing,* by James E. Whiting, pub- 

 lished by Sydney C. Mayle, 70 High street, Hampstead. 

 The writer is a real nature -lover. The motto of the 

 book is from a speech by Gladstone, who said : ' I think 

 the neglect of natural history was the grossest defect of 

 our old system of training for the young ; and, further, 

 that little or nothing has been done by way of remedy 

 for that defect in the attempts made to alter or reform 

 that system.' It is as a slight help in that direction 

 that I name these charming modern natural history 

 books, full of observation and love of nature, told in the 

 most simple way. This pretty little 'Invitation,' at the 

 beginning of the book, seems to be written by a relative 

 of the author, as it is signed ' S. Whiting*: 



Come, leave the city's toil and din, 



The weary strife, 

 The cankering cares and sordid aims, 



That deaden life. 



Come, leave behind this restless rush. 



This anxious strain; 

 Dame Nature tenders healing oalm 



For tired brain. 



Come, by yon grassy, shady lane 



Rest tired eyes 

 On yonder meadows vernal green, 



On cloudless skies. 



Come to the woods, where Oak and Beech 



Their shadows fling. 

 Come, weary toiler, rest awhile 



Where wild birds sing. 



I cannot understand anybody living in the country 

 and not taking a special interest in birds— from the sky- 

 lark, the smallest bird that soars, to the wat-er wag -tail, 



