Because My Father Was Often Absent On

I Never For A Day Gave Up Listening To The Songs Of Our Birds, Or Watching Their Peculiar Habits, Or Delineating Them In The Best Way I Could.

Never Give Up Listening To The Sounds Of Birds.

I Wish I Had Eight Pairs Of Hands, And Another Body To Shoot The Specimens.

Poor France, Thy Fine Climate, Rich Vineyards, And The Wishes Of The Learned Avail Nothing; Thou Art A Destitute Beggar, And Not The Powerful Friend Thou Wert Represented To Me.

There Is The Morass, Wherein You Plunge Up To Your Knees, Or The Walking Over The Stubborn, Dwarfish Shrubbery, Whereby One Treads Down The Forests Of Labrador; And The Unexpected Bunting Or Sylvia Which Perchance, And Indeed As If By Chance Alone, You Now And Then See Flying Before You, Or Hear Singing From The Ground Creeping Plant.