thirty rods, a pair of nuthatches were found; the next ten
minutes were spent listening and looking for the other birds that
should have been about. None were seen or heard. I was about to make a
note of the fact; but, it being a cold, windy morning, I deferred this
part, and moved on in order to get warm. I paralleled my first walk by
keeping in the woods along the fence, waiting for the troop to come. I
had not gone many rods until a note was heard, then a titmouse came in
sight, and in a few minutes I was surrounded by titmice, downy
woodpeckers, chickadees, and a number of golden-crowned kinglets.
Altogether there were twenty-five or more of the little fellows, and
they moved so fast that I did not get to see them all, so I followed
them to the place where I first saw the nuthatches. Here was where
white-breasted was christened "Captain Nuthatch."

FARMER JOHN.

Home from his journey Farmer John
Arrived this morning safe and sound;
His black coat off and his old clothes on,
"Now I'm myself," said Farmer John,
And he thinks, "I'll look around."
Up leaps the dog: "Get down, you pup!
Are you so glad you would eat me up?"
And the old cow lows at the gate to greet him,
The horses prick up their ears to meet him.
"Well, well, old Bay,
Ha, ha, old Gray,
Do you get good food when I'm away?"

"You haven't a rib," says Farmer John;
"The cattle are looking round and sleek;
The colt is going to be a roan,
And a beauty, too; how he has grown!
We'll ween the calf in a week."
Says Farmer John, "When I've been off--
To call you again about the trough,
And watch you and pat you while you drink,
Is a greater comfort than you can think;"
And he pats old Bay,
And he slaps old Gray,
"Ah, this is the comfort of going away!"

"For, after all," says Farmer John,
"The best of a journey is getting home;
I've seen great sights but I would not give
This spot and the peaceful life I live
For all their Paris and Rome;
These hills for the city's stifled air
And big hotels and bustle and glare;
Lands all houses, and roads all stone
That deafen your ears and batter your bones!
Would you, old Bay?
Would you, old Gray?
That's what one gets by going away."

"There Money is king," says Farmer John,
"And Fashion is quee