In Bird Land

Looking out of my study window one fair spring morning, I noticed a friend-aprofessional man-walking along the street, evidently taking his"constitutional." Having reached the end of the brick pavement, he paused, glanced around a moment undecidedly, and then, instead of walking out into thebeckoning fields and woods, turned down another street which led into a thicklypopulated part of the city. Surely, I mused, we are not all cast in the same mould. While he carefully avoided going beyond the suburbs and the beaten paths, as ifafraid he might soil his polished shoes, I should have plunged boldly into thecountry, "across lots," to find some sequestered nook or grass-grown by-way,"far from human neighborhood," to hold undisturbed converse with Nature. Myfriend's conduct, however, did not put me in a critical mood, but rather stirredsome grateful reflections on the wise adaptation of all things in the world ofbeing. How fortunate that men are so variously constituted! If some did notnaturally choose the bustle and stir and excitement of the city, where would beour philanthropists, our Howards and Peabodys and Dodges? On the other hand, if others did not voluntarily seek quiet and solitude in Nature's unfrequentedhaunts, the world would never have been blessed with a Wordsworth, anEmerson, or a Lowell; and in that case, for some of us at least, life would havebeen bare and ari