70 



ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



each street of the old town and every bit 

 of woodland on its outskirts has its note- 

 book in my memory. At the station I 

 am greeted by familiar faces and enjoy 

 talking over the past severe winter (every 



winter is severer than the last) with the 

 proprietors of the different stores or farms. 

 I know every one and every one knows 

 me, and when there I dwell in a spirit of 

 friendliness toward mankind in general. 



My last visit was for three days, the 

 nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first of 

 April, 1 895. I arrived in the eight-o'clock 



