A LABRADOR SPRING 



where toads abound, it is rarely noticed ex- 

 cept by the initiated, and to those who have 

 not consciously heard it, it is rather difficult 

 to describe. Gadow speaks of this love-song 

 of the toad, for love-song it certainly is, as 

 " a peculiar little noise, something like the 

 whining bleat of a lamb." As most people 

 appear to be deaf to the bird notes and even 

 bird songs that may actually fill the air about 

 them, so are they also, but to an even greater 

 degree, deaf to this humble music of the toad ; 

 a song which, from its association with the 

 season at least, has its charms. The louder 

 and better known notes of the hylas were 

 absent on these shores. 



In these northern regions spring advances 

 by bounds, and the saying that " nature 

 never makes leaps " was certainly contra- 

 dicted by an experience on the eleventh day of 

 June. On this day, while we were eating our 

 dinner on the banks of the Romaine River, 

 enjoying the wonderful beauty of the scene, lis- 

 tening to the undertone of the rapids and the 

 incisive song of the redstart, and breathing 

 in the aromatic, incense-like perfume of the 

 alder catkins, a birch, released by the melting 



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