A Bouquet of Song Birds 
and found it not so populous with birds, nor so 
beautiful with flowers, but, in the general tem- 
per of the scene, not less attractive than the 
smaller and less diversified region in West 
Englewood. 
The pleasure and success of this visit were not 
altogether derived from what I saw and heard, 
but were partly due to the fact that my own 
spirit was attuned to the prevailing mood of this 
exultant month—I was ex rapport with dame 
Nature, and could sing with the poet, 
** The fields, the floods, the heavens, with one consent, 
Did seem to laugh on me, and favor mine intent,” 
and all things tipped the ‘‘ merry wink of in- 
vitation.’’ 
I had hardly left the train when my ear 
caught an augury of good fortune—the clear, 
full whistle of the meadow lark, concealed 
within the grass of an adjoining field. This 
cannot truthfully be called a song; but, when 
uttered with all the animation that is crowded 
into May, it is one of the most encouraging 
and inspiriting calls of Nature. Entering the 
woods beyond, I found the trees alive with 
various species of warblers, the Blackburnian 
being the brightest of the train. This can 
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