PHCEBES AND THEIR COUSINS 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illumined being o’errun 
With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, but she to her nest, — 
In the nice ear of nature which song is the best ? 
Lowell. 
N ice-house is a curious place for a 
1 . X home even in summer weather, but 
this particular ice-house stood on the side 
of a bluff overhanging a pretty inland lake, 
and a site on the big hoisting-beam just 
under the eaves offered advantages of safety, 
coolness, and fine view not often found. 
Moreover, there were tall trees all about it, 
to give it a more rural air and insure plenty 
of bird neighbors. Here early one April 
morning a handsome little Phoebe brought 
his mate, and persuaded her in sweetest 
tones to go to housekeeping. She was 
90 
