HOUSE-HUNTING IN ORCHARD TOWN.

’Tis up and down In Orchard town, When airs with bloom are scented, You’ll hardly find To suit your mind A nook that is not rented.

The old sweet-bough, They all allow, The robin first selected. “Our home is here, Good cheer, good cheer, All other claims rejected.”

“Chick-a-dee-dee, Don’t come to me!” The titmouse is refusing, “We’ve leased this tree, We’ll friendly be, But say you’re late in choosing.”

“Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,” Across the street The yellow-birds are moving. “Chip-chip-a-chee; So dear is she!” He scarce can work for loving.

On lower floor, Beside her door, The wren is surely scolding. If one but glance She cries, “No chance To rent the flat I’m holding.”

To hear her scold, The sparrow bold And jay, beside her dwelling, Cry, “Tschip, tschip, chee!” “Tease! tease! say we!” The noise and chatter swelling.

On orchard wall, To quip and call, A stranger gay is listening; His mate can hear In meadow near, Where daisy-birds are glistening.

Oh, Lady-link! Ho, ho! just think! To nest in trees what folly, When they might be, Like you and me, In Daisy-land so jolly!

Down Pipin-way Where branches sway, An oriole hammock swings. Mistress starling And kingbird’s darling. Rest near with brooding wings.

If you should go Down Blossom-row, Which runs right through the center, At each day, In morning gray, You’d hear from every renter.

For handed down In Orchard town, ’Tis quite an ancient notion, To wake the earth With song and mirth, Such joy is their devotion. —Isabel Goodhue.