he
billings and cooings of the little birds that separate from the
flocks to fly together in pairs, or in the uninstructive but mutually
satisfactory converse which Strephon holds with Chloe while they dally
along the primrose path.

I am glad that even the stony and tumultuous city affords some
opportunities for these amiable observations. In the month of April
there is hardly a clump of shrubbery in the Central Park which will not
serve as a trysting-place for yellow warblers and catbirds just home
from their southern tours. At the same time, you shall see many a bench,
designed for the accommodation of six persons, occupied at the sunset
hour by only two, and apparently so much too small for them that they
cannot avoid a little crowding.

These are infallible signs. Taken in conjunction with the eruption
of tops and marbles among the small boys, and the purchase of
fishing-tackle and golf-clubs by the old boys, they certify us that the
vernal equinox has arrived, not only in the celestial regions, but also
in the heart of man.

I have been reflecting of late upon the relation of lovers to the
landscape, and questioning whether art has given it quite the same place
as that which belongs to it in nature. In fiction, for example, and in
the drama, and in music, I have some vague misgivings that romantic love
has come to hold a more prominent and a more permanent position than it
fills in real life.

This is dangerous ground to venture upon, even in the most modest and
deprecatory way. The man who expresses an opinion, or even a doubt, on
this subject, contrary to the ruling traditions, will have a swarm of
angry critics buzzing about him. He will be called a heretic, a heathen,
a cold-blooded freak of nature. As for the woman who hesitates to
subscribe all the thirty-nine articles of romantic love, if such a one
dares to put her reluctance into words, she is certain to be accused
either of unwomanly ambition or of feminine disappointment.

Let us make haste, then, to get back for safety to the ornithological
aspect of the subject. Here there can be no penalties for heresy. And
here I make bold to avow my conviction that the pairing season is not
the only point of interest in the life of the birds; nor is the instinct
by which they mate altogether and beyond comparison the noblest passion
that stirs their feathered breasts.

'T is true, the time of mating is their prettiest season; but it is very
short. How lit