THE WESTERN ROBIN. 



243 



Authorities. — [Lewis and Clark. Hist. Ex. 1814 Ed. Biddle: Coues. Vol. H. 

 p. 185.] Tiirdus (plaiicsticnsj iiiigratorius, Linn, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. 

 IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 219. (T.) C&S. L'. Rh. D'. Sr. Kb. Ra. D-'. Ss'. Ss-'. Kk. 

 J. B. E. 



Specimens. — L'. of W. P'. Prov. BN. B. E. 



THERE are, it may be, a thousand fruits, sweet, acid or spic}-, which 

 delig'.it the palate of man, yet if we were forced to choose among them, not 

 many of us would fail to reser\e the apple. In like manner, we Cduld [jerhaps 

 least afford to spare our tried and trusted, old, familiar friend, the Robin. 

 He is a staple. 



Everybod}- knows Robin. He is part and jjarcel of springtime, chief 

 herald, chief poet, and lord high re\eller of that joyful season. It is a merry 

 day when the first flock of Robins 

 turns itself loose on the home land- 

 scape. There is great bustle and stir 

 of activity. Some scurry about to 

 note the changes wrought by winter, 

 some wrestle with the early and un- 

 sophisticated worm, wdiile others 

 voice their gladness from the fence- 

 post, the gable, the tree-top, any- 

 where. Everywhere are heard in- 

 terjections of delight, squeechings 

 and pipings of ardent souls, and no 

 end of congratulations over the 

 home-coming. 



Robin has cast in his lot with 

 ours, for better or for worse. Our 

 lawns are his lawns, our shade-trees 

 were set on purpose to hold his 

 homely mud-cup, and he has under- 

 taken with hearty good will the 

 musical instruction of our children. 

 He serves without pay — Oh, a 

 cherry now and then, but what of that i 

 useful hired man ; and it is written : 



Taken in Oregon. Pjtoto by IV. L. Finhy. 

 BACK FROM M.\RKET. 



The fruit-grower ne\er had a more 

 "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that 



treadeth out the corn." I wonder if we realize luiw much of life's good cheer 

 and fond enspiriting we owe to this familiar bird. 



Near the close of a l^urning day in the desert, we drew near to a little 

 ranch where a bravery of green, supported by a windmill and a tiny trickle of 

 water, defied the engulfing waste of sand and sage. It seemed to me that I 



