A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 
—e— 
It began on the 29th of March ; in the after- 
noon of which day, despite the authority of the 
almanac and the banter of my acquaintances 
(March was March to them, and it was nothing 
more), I shook off the city’s dust from my feet, 
and went into summer quarters. The roads 
were comparatively dry; the snow was entirely 
gone, except a patch or two in the shadow of 
thick pines under the northerly side of a hill; 
and all tokens seemed to promise an early 
spring. So much I learned before the hasten- 
ing twilight cut short my first brief turn out-of- 
doors. In the morning would be time enough 
to discover what birds had already reported 
themselves at my station. 
Unknown to me, however, our national 
weather bureau had announced a snow-storm, 
and in the morning I drew aside the curtains 
to look out upon a world all in white, with a 
cold, high wind blowing and snow falling fast. 
‘¢ The worst Sunday of the winter,” the natives 
