recovered themselves with
violent efforts and returned hastily to the perch, complaining loudly.
Then the parents brought food, and this went on for some time, while all
the time the air was full of gentle twitters and calls, much baby-talk,
and a little parental instruction no doubt.

A delightful field of work awaits the young naturalist of to-day. Our
predecessors have devoted their energies to classifying and arranging.
They have dissected and weighed and measured every part of the little
bodies; they know to a fraction the length of wings and tails; they have
pulled to pieces the nests, "clutched" the eggs, and blown and mounted
and labeled and set up in cases the whole external of the little
creatures. All that can be learned by violence, all the characteristics
evolved by fear and distress are duly set down in the books. You shall
find a catalogue of the robin's possessions in the shape of feathers and
bones, pictures of his internal anatomy, illustrations of his work in
nest building, and specimens in all stages, but in the whole world of
these books you shall not find the robin. The soul of the robin has
escaped them, it is not to be taken by force.

I do not find fault; it needed to be done, but happily--let us hope--it
is done, and a more enticing field is now open, namely: to make personal
acquaintance with the birds, find out how they live, their manners and
customs, and their individual characters. This is one of the most
charming studies in the world, but much more is required than a gun and
a little or much scientific knowledge. There is infinite patience,
perseverance, untiring devotion, and more,--a quick eye and ear, and a
sympathetic heart. If you do not love the birds you cannot understand
them.

This is the pleasant path opening now, and in some ways it is
particularly suited to woman with her great patience and quiet manners.
Once interested in the lives in the "upper stories," you will find them
most absorbing; novels will pall upon you, fancy work seem frivolous,
society duties a bore, and talk--loud enough to interfere with
listening--an impertinence.

BIRD-STUDY IN A SOUTHERN STATE.

He loved the ever deepening brown
Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills;
Where he might listen to the starts and thrills
Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees,
Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze,
And the bird's shadows as they fluttered by,