WOODLAND PATHS 



morose morass; and though it may not 

 outwardly prance, it puts on the white of 

 new buds as if it at least were coming out 

 of mourning. 



By sunrise the riot of the robin sym- 

 phony had become a fugue, and there was 

 some chance to hear the other birds. I 

 had hoped for a soloist who should cer- 

 tainly be here. The coming of the earlier 

 bird migrants from the South is sometimes 

 delayed by storms or forwarded by pleas- 

 ant weather, but those which come now 

 are almost sure to appear at a definite date. 

 There are always Baltimore orioles in the 

 elms about my house on the morning of 

 the eighth day of May. No one has yet 

 seen one on the seventh, though the neigh- 

 borhood takes an interest in the matter 

 and keeps careful watch. It is a matter 

 of twenty-five years since the observations 



began, and not yet has the date failed. If 

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