While stress is laid upon the importance of regaining the presence in town of these birds, it must not be supposed that they are all that are available. There are scores of wild birds, known only to the ornithologist, that can be “cultivated” as readily as the wild shrubbery that under startling names figures in many a florist’s catalogue. Give them a foothold, and they will come to stay. Orioles, thrushes, vireos, fly-catchers, are not unreasonably afraid of man, and would quickly acquire confidence if they were warranted in so doing. How long would a scarlet tanager or a cardinal grosbeak remain unmolested if it appeared in any city street? Here is the whole matter in a nutshell: the birds are not averse to coming, but the people will not let them. This is the more strange, when we remember that hundreds of dollars were spent to accommodate the pestiferous imported sparrow, that is and always must be a positive curse. Hundreds for sparrows, and not one cent for a bluebird! While the mischief can never be undone, it can be held in check, if we will but take the trouble, and this is a mere matter of town-garden rearrangement; and why, indeed, not treat our ears to music as well as our eyes to color and our palates to sweetness? Plant here and there a bush that will yield you a crop of birds. That this may not be thought merely a whim of my own, let me quote from the weather record of Dr. John Conrad, who for forty years was the apothecary of the Pennsylvania Hospital, in Philadelphia. This institution, bear in mind, is in the heart of the city, not in its outskirts. Under date of March 23, 1862, he records, “Crocus and snow-drop came into bloom last week and are now fully out.” Again, he says, “Orioles arrived on April 8, after the fruit-trees burst into bloom.” Here we have a migratory bird in the city three weeks earlier than its usual appearance in the country, but I do not think the doctor was mistaken. I have positive knowledge of the fact that he was a good local ornithologist. Under date of June, 1866, Conrad writes, “A very pleasant June. Fine bright weather, and only one week too warm for comfort. The roses bloomed well (except the moss-rose) and for the most part opened better than usual. The garden full of birds, and insects less abundant than usual. Many blackbirds reared their young in our trees, and as many as sixteen or twenty have been counted on the lawn at one time. Cat-birds, orioles, thrushes, wrens, vireos, robins, etc., abound and make our old hospital joyous with their sweet songs.” During the summer of 1892 I was twice in the hospital grounds, with which I was very familiar during my uncle’s—Dr. Conrad’s—lifetime, and I heard only English sparrows, although I saw two or three native birds. It was a sad change. Think of being able to speak of your garden as “full of birds,”—as “joyous with their sweet songs.” This, not long ago, could truthfully be done. Will it ever be possible to do so again?