stories, you can never find where one leaves off and another begins, they
shut so one into the other. No wonder the children and philosophers are
they who ask, whether the egg comes from the bird, or the bird from the
egg. Yes, it is a _Heimskringla_, a world-circle, a home-circle, this nest.

You remember that little, old, withered man who used to bring us eggs; the
boys, you know, called him Egg Pop. When the thrifty housewife complained
of the small size of his ware, he always said,--

"Yes, Marm, they be small; but they be monstrous full."

Yes, the packing of the nest is close; but closer is the packing of the
egg. "As full as an egg of meat" is a wise proverb.

Let us look at these first-fruits which the bountiful Spring hangs on our
trees.

"To break the eggshell after the meat is out we are taught in our
childhood, and practise it all our lives; which, nevertheless, is but a
superstitious relict, according to the judgment of Pliny, and the intent
hereof was to prevent witch-craft [to keep the fairies out]; for lest
witches should draw or prick their names therein, and veneficiously
mischief their persons, they broke the shell, as Dalecampius hath
observed." This is what Sir Thomas Browne tells us about eggshells. And
Dr. Wren adds, "Least they [the witches] perchance might use them for
boates to sayle in by night." But I, who have no fear of witches, would not
break them,--rather use them, try what an untold variety of forms we may
make out of this delicate oval.

By a little skilful turning and reversing, putting on a handle, a lip here,