"What!" I answered, "is that thy only meditation? Are not we, mankind, thy best-loved and most precious children?" The woman slightly bent her brows and replied: "All living creatures are my children; I cherish all equally, and annihilate all without distinction." "But Virtue, Reason, Justice!" I faltered. "Those are human words," replied the brazen voice. "I know neither good nor evil. Reason to me is no law. And what is justice? I gave thee life; I take it from thee and give it unto others; worms and men are all the same to me.... And thou must maintain thyself meanwhile, and leave me in peace." I would have replied, but the earth quaked and trembled, and I awoke. I was returning from hunting, and walking along an avenue of the garden, my dog running in front of me. Suddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal along as though tracking game. I looked along the avenue, and saw a young sparrow, with yellow about its beak and down on its head. It had fallen out of the nest (the wind was violently shaking the birch trees in the avenue) and sat unable to move, helplessly flapping its half-grown wings. My dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting from a tree close by, an old dark-throated sparrow fell like a stone right before his nose, and all ruffled up, terrified, with despairing and pitiful chirps, it flung itself twice towards the open jaws of shining teeth. It sprang to save; it cast itself before its nestling, but all its tiny body was shaking with terror; its note was harsh and strange. Swooning with fear, it offered itself up! What a huge monster must the dog have seemed to it! And yet it could not stay on its high branch out of danger.... A force stronger than its will flung it down. My Tresor stood still, drew back.... Clearly he, too, recognized this force. I hastened to call off the disconcerted dog, and went away full of reverence. Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverence for that tiny heroic bird for its impulse of love. Love, I thought, is stronger than death or the fear of death. Only by it, by love, life holds together and advances. THE BLUEBIRD. Soft warbling note From azure throat, Float on the gentle air of spring; To my quick ear It doth appear The sweetest of the birds that sing. --_C. C. M._ A bit of heaven itself.--_Spofford._ The bluebird carries the sky on his back.--_Thoreau._ Winged lute that we call a bluebird.--_Rexford._ The bluebird is the color-bearer of the spring brigade.--_Wright._ A wise bluebird Puts in his little heavenly word. --_Lanier._ The bluebird, shifting his light load of song From post to post along the cheerless fence. --_Lowell._ It is his gentle, high-bred manner and not his azure coat which makes the bluebird.--_Torrey._