man in the hot and noisy town, and, amid strife and the war of passions,
passes ever before him a living emblem of peace. "It is no light chance,"
says Willis, in his exquisite lines "To a City Pigeon,"

[Illustration: THE CITY PIGEON.]

"It is no light chance. Thou art set apart
Wisely by Him who has tamed the heart,
To stir the love for the bright and fair,
That else were sealed in this crowded air;
I sometimes dream
Angelic rays from thy pinions gleam."

In these same lines, how truly and how sweetly has he said:

"A holy gift is thine, sweet bird!
Thou'rt named with childhood's earliest word!
Thou'rt linked with all that's fresh and wild,
In the prison'd thoughts of a city child;
And thy glossy wings
Are its brightest image of moving things."

In the language of the same poet, how often have we said, as we looked
forth upon the gentle bird:

"Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove;
Thy daily visits have touched my love.
I watch thy coming, and list the note
That stirs so low in thy mellow throat;
And my joy is high