“How much are those tops?” asked the boy, pointing with his finger. “Ten cents,” was the answer. The boy was silent. He was thinking it over. Then he said: “I’ll take two cents’ worth of peanuts.” Poor fellow! I have seen many a grown man since then who was obliged to content himself with the same kind of philosophy. And who shall say it is not a good one? If you cannot spend the summer in Europe, take a day at the seashore. If you miss of an election to Congress, bid for a place on the school committee. If you cannot write ten-thousand-dollar novels, write--well, write a weekly column in a newspaper. There is always something within a capable man’s reach, though it be only “two cents’ worth of peanuts.” BIRDS AT THE WINDOW The winter has continued birdless, not only in eastern Massachusetts, but, as far as I can learn, throughout New England. Letters from eastern Maine, the White Mountain region, and western Massachusetts all bring the same story: no birds except the commonest--chickadees and the like. Crossbills, redpolls, and pine grosbeaks have left us out in the cold. The only break in the season’s monotony with me has been a flock of six purple finches, seen on the 29th of January. I was nearing home, in a side street, thinking of nothing in particular, when I heard faint conversational notes close at hand, and stopping to look, saw first one and then another of the bright carmine birds; for five of the six were handsome adult males. All were eating savin berries, and conversing in their characteristic soft staccato. It was by all odds the brightest patch of feathers of the new century. The birds must be wintering not far away, I suppose; but though I have been up and down that road a dozen times since February came in, I have seen nothing more of them. Within a month they will be singing, taking the winds of March with music. No more staccato then, but the smoothest of fluency. Much the birdiest spot known to me just now is under our own windows--under them and against them, as shall presently be explained. Indeed, we may be said to be running a birds’ boarding-house, and we are certainly doing an excellent business. “Meals at all hours,” our signboard reads. We “set a good table,” as the trade expression is, and our guests, who, being experienced travelers, know a good thing when they see it, have spread the news. There is no advertisement so effective as a satisfied customer.