Xill. 
“For, half our May ’s so awfully like May n't, 
*Twould rile a Shaker or an evrige saint; 
Though I own up I like our back’ard springs 
Thet kind o’ haggle with their greens an’ things, 
An’ when you ’most give up, ’ithout more words 
Toss the fields full 0’ blossoms, leaves an’ birds.” 
— Lowell’s Bigelow Papers. 
HE first signs of returning spring have long 
since passed, and still we wait the advent 
of warmer, happier days than we are having. 
We long for the ideal fullness of May and songs 
of the birds that are here waiting the inspiration 
for song and work that comes with 
“The fair pledges of blithesome May 
When birds and flowers are happy peers.” 
At about the same time in early spring, year 
after year, certain groups of birds come to Pine 
Hills for a summer home, sing their songs, build 
their nests, rear their young, live again their 
happy, joyous life, then go back to the gypsy 
camps of a southern winter. This has been their 
life with us for many years, and how slight the 
knowledge we have of it, and how lacking in 
responsive sentiment is our attitude toward them! 
At the dawn of summer days these birds greet 
us with showers of song. What should he the 
greeting we return? 
“Wise it were to welcome and make ours 
whate’er of good they bring.” 
Love the birds! They are the cheerful notes 
of earth and air. 
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