A Bouquet of Song Birds 



her work seemed really to be only play, for 

 she could not lay a single stick of timber in the 

 house without stopping and having a long song 

 about it, and was in a perpetual bubble of de- 

 light. A gentleman, passing by at the time, 

 had an evil word for the universally detested 

 English sparrows, as making life a burden to 

 these merriest of warblers in that neighbor- 

 hood ; which is a very great pity, for an ounce 

 of wren is worth a ton of sparrow. 



And, by the way, that pair of wrens were 

 particularly happy in their choice, for a home, 

 of that grassy field studded with apple-trees — 

 surroundings so cheerful, rustic, and congenial 

 with their nature. I say, pair of wrens, al- 

 though I saw only one during all my stay ; for 

 there is something monstrous in the thought of 

 an old bachelor or an old maid wren building 

 a house for solitary use. 



It seems strange that poets have so infrequent- 

 ly alluded to the apple-tree. All who are so 

 fortunate as to have been born in the country 

 — where everybody ought to be born — will cer- 

 tainly acknowledge that, of all trees, this is the 

 most typical of spring and fall. Anyone is to 

 be pitied, in whose memory of early years there 

 are no kindly thoughts connected with this 



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