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Rh all that the bonhomme does with the creatures which people his world of fancy, is so exquisite in its way, that we are entirely satisfied with his bird in the homely, motherly character. It is her husband who is the poet; it is he who sings those noble sunrise odes; she herself is the clever, notable—mère de famille—who knows the world, though Lafontaine did not. When the farmer talks of collecting first his neighbors, and then his relations, to cut the grain, she gives herself no concern whatever—why should she? But when the good-man comes with his son, and they decide to begin the work themselves, the point is settled, the lark family must take flight—

In this part of the world, Lafontaine would have been compelled to choose some other more humble bird, to teach us so cleverly the useful lesson of self-dependence; but if he had chanced to make acquaintance with the meadow-lark, the grass-bird, the bobolink, or even the modest little song-sparrow, he would have taught either of them, in a trice, to sing with more than all “l'esprit des Mortemars.”

There is in this country a lark common to both continents—the horned-lark or shore-lark—a very pretty arctic bird, which in winter goes as far south as Georgia, but we have never heard of it in these highlands. On the coast of Long Island it is quite common. It is said also to breed on the Western prairies.

Tuesday, 31st.—Refreshing shower in the morning; gentle rain, no thunder or lightning; it is remarkable how little