Berkeley in May. 



honjeward, cheered by the exhilaration 

 of the oriole's song. Chuck^ chuck-a- 

 choo, chuck^ chuck, chuck, chuck, he sings 

 in a rapid, vivacious strain as the wind 

 rocks him to and fro on his perch at the 

 top of a madrono tree. We betake 

 ourselves to the dusty road, where a 

 snake has left its track as it journeyed 

 over the land, and where the dainty 

 print of the quail's foot tells of the 

 band that but late hurried into the 

 bushes. 



Thus passes the month of May 

 among the birds. Their lives are not, 

 as many suppose, utterly irresponsible 

 and free from care, but, on the con- 

 trary, ever varied and ever altering — 

 influenced by every change of season, 

 hurried on by every new impulse of their 

 being, guided by that destiny in which 

 their own wills play but a minor part. 

 May is the time when the species is to 

 be perpetuated, if at all, so the whole 

 energy of the bird nature is directed to 

 that end. It is a wearisome ordeal for 



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