Sir, – On the eve of the vernal equinox, I prepared a seed bed, being serenaded, seduced, enchanted by the singing of a blackbird in a nearby bush.
But I know that when I drop the seeds and turn my back on the vegetable garden, the sweet-throated, little turncoat will be down for a scratch. – Yours, etc,
ANNE MARIE KENNEDY,
Craughwell,
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