NESTLINGS 
OF 
FOREST avd MARSH 
> 
Ave EOIN 
Ere a leaf is on a bush, 
In the time before the thrush 
Has a thought about its nest, 
Thou wilt come with half a call, 
Spreading out thy glossy breast 
Like a careless prodigal ; 
Telling tales about the sun, 
When we’ve little warmth, or none. 
WORDSWORTH. 
HROUGHOUT the tract lying along 
the lake shore north of Chicago, the 
real herald of Spring is the meadow lark. 
The bluebird lingers among the sugar 
maples south and west of us; the robin 
shuns the chill lake winds as long as pos- 
sible; but in spite of wind and weather, the 
meadow lark seeks his old familiar haunts 
in his appointed time. Not only is he the 
first to come, but the first to sing. Even 
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