Letters of Lydia Maria Child, with a biographical introduction by John G. Whittier and an appendix by Wendell Phillips.

36 LETTERS.
things. In summer I place flowers before it; and
now I have laid a garland of acorns and amaranths
at its feet. I do dearly love every little bit of real
sculpture.
TO A CHILD.
NORTHAMPTON, August 16, 1840.
DEAREST NONY, - Now I will write to you. I
have no kitten to purr aloud; and my great black
cat is not sufficiently well-behaved to deserve a written description. But my swallows still keep about
the house. Almost every evening one or two of
them come in at dark in search of flies; and they go
circling round my head, so that I sometimes feel
their wings fall my face. Once in a great while
they come in now to look at the old nest, and squat
down in it for a minute or two; just as children love
to go back to the old homestead, to see the place
where they were born. But the pleasantest sight
of all was when the little ones were learning to fly.
ASuch a twittering and bustling' And when the
baby birds, in spite of the mother's unwearied efforts, still continued too timid to drop down from
the edge of the nest, she brought in eight or ten of
her neighbor swallows to instruct and encourage
them. She did this three times in succession. The
wood-shed seemed full of birds, for a few minutes at
a time, flying and perching, and clinging to the
beams, in all manner of pretty attitudes. I don't
know but you grow tired hearing about my birds;
but it seems as if I could watch them forever. Every
day I fear it is the last time I shall see them; for
they will soon go away to the South, to find a warmer
homle for winter.