e at the discovery of
himself in a long mirror. His experience of feminine humanity being
limited to the variety that rolls its sleeves above its elbows and
comports itself accordingly, he bitterly resented good clothes,
transferred his affections to the housemaids, and only much coaxing and
much sugar could win his heart for his new mistress.

"The little boy" had dubbed him "Penny," which hardly suited his silken
attire and his little haughty, imperious ways; so, though the children
will still call him "Penny-wise" and "Four Farthings," the mistress
finds nothing less than "Pendennis" due to his dignity.--C.B.M.

OUR NEW VISITORS.

I should like to have Mr. Burroughs or some of our naturalists write
one of their pleasant papers and explain the mystery of the
wood-thrush's advent in our gardens and upon our lawns. Until a year
ago the wood-thrush was not one of the birds which ever raised its note
in our pleasure-grounds. We heard them in the woods, and looked at
them, when we intruded upon their privacy, with that sort of shyness
with which we watch strangers. We knew their "wood-notes wild," and
admired their plumage, but they did not inspire the same feeling as
their cousin the robin. But a year ago all at once here was the thrush.
Nobody could tell when he came, how he came or why he came. It seemed
an accident, for there was but one pair: it was as if through innocence
or ignorance, instead of building their nests in their old chosen
haunts, they had wandered away and lost themselves in the spacious
grounds of a gentleman's country-seat. They had no dismay, no doubts,
however: they took possession of the lawn with the utmost boldness.
They were rarely out of sight, hopping from morning until night about
the turf, flying from tree to tree with their impulsive movements, more
graceful than the robins. They were never silent, uttering perpetually
their mellow flute-like cry and singing their simple but ecstatic
melody.

That was last year; and this year, 1880, the thrushes are everywhere in
this Connecticut village by the Sound. Their orange-and-tawny backs
gleam in the sunshine from morning until night. There are numbers of
them. Their manners are very marked. They have quite the air of
conquerors. All the other birds yield them precedence, and they
positively domineer over the pugnacious little English sparrow, who is
content to keep in the background and watch his chance when
feeding-time comes.

An