A First Glance at the Birds, 



the- sunlight pierces the foliage only in 

 occasional loopholes, forming here and 

 there patches of gold upon the ground. 

 Away off somewhere the sweet, tender 

 note of the mourning-dove is sounding 

 coo' coOy full of melancholy and dreamy 

 love. Suddenly a little band of rufous- 

 backed chickadees comes bobbing about 

 with their merry, wheezy chatter and 

 their restless, dainty ways. The blue- 

 fronted jay, in his handsome blue dress 

 and with his showy crest, shouts explo- 

 sively, and then a russet-backed thrush 

 whistles. I fancy all the other birds are 

 hushed in awe, for only the low murmur 

 of the water and the far-away sighing of 

 the tree tops is heard as an accompani- 

 ment. Rich and pure and joyous is the 

 song. It is a strain of triumph and as- 

 piration, mellow and self-contained. He 

 who listens to it will be uplifted. I fancy 

 it is the disembodied soul of a martyr 

 sounding thanksgiving for his release. 

 Another day and another place ! The 

 pine woods are about us and snow is 

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