This little brown bird, which carries its tail pertly cocked on high, is a notable singer. Many have described this song, or perhaps it is better to say have tried to do so. But words are too inadequate to portray this sweetest of woodland sounds. Reverend Mr. Langille says: “I stand entranced and amazed, my very soul vibrating to this gushing melody, which seems at once expressive of the wildest joy and the tenderest sadness. Is it the voice of some woodland elf, breaking forth into an ecstasy of delight, but ending its lyric in melting notes of sorrow?” Of this song Florence A. Merriam says: “Full of trills, runs, and grace notes, it was a tinkling, rippling roundelay. It made me think of the song of the ruby-crowned kinglet, the volume and ringing quality of both being startling from birds of their size. But while the kinglet’s may be less hampered by considerations of tune, the Wren’s song has a more appealing, human character. It is like the bird itself. The dark swamps are made glad by the joyous, wonderful song.” [Illustration: WINTER WREN. (Troglodytes hiemalis.) About Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.] And Audubon beautifully expresses the song as it appealed to him: “The song of the Winter Wren excels that of any other bird of its size with which I am acquainted. It is truly musical, full of cadence, energetic and melodious; its very continuance is surprising, and dull indeed must be the ear that thrills not on hearing it. When emitted, as it often is, from the dark depths of the unwholesome swamps, it operates so powerfully on the mind that it by contrast inspires a feeling of wonder and delight, and on such occasions has impressed me with a sense of the goodness of the Almighty Creator, who has rendered every spot of earth in some way subservient to the welfare of His creatures.” VOICES IN THE GARDEN. As the snows were being guarded on the mountain tops by the gentle herder Spring two small seeds, dropped from the same busy hand, fell so near together in a fresh furrow that they could hear each other shiver as they struck the cold, damp earth and were covered over by the same. “How cold our bed is,” said seed number One, as a cold chill ran down her back. “Yes,” replied seed number Two. “But we will soon get used to this cold, and when Father Sun sends the sunbeams to play on our top cover we will get warmth from their little hot feet.” With this thought seed number Two snuggled down in her new bed of earth and pulled the tiny clods around her and shut her eyes to sleep. But seed number One still shivered and complained and wished that she was back in the paper package so loudly that all her companions in the furrow were disturbed, especially number Two, who was lying so near. “Aren’t you feeling more comfortable?” asked seed number Two.