68 Clear Skies and Cloudy. 



dampness, and an east wind to make the early 

 spring migrants mope. I have sometimes 

 thought that the wood-thrush at no later period 

 sang as sweetly as during a dark, cloudy April 

 day, when the leafless woods were filled with 

 that strange shadowless light, such as we see in 

 a Claude Lorraine glass. It is a light to stir 

 the soul of man, if he has any, and could not 

 fail to affect our incomparable poet, the wood- 

 thrush. 



What is to be heard on a bright April morn- 

 ing? There is a deal of scepticism on this 

 subject, and the common reply is, I fancy, 

 " Nothing much," or, perhaps, "Crows." Well, 

 I pity the person who can find no pleasure in 

 the varied calls and alarm-notes of these wily 

 birds. It suggests a lack of retrospective power, 

 and much is lost when the restless crows of 

 April do not recall these same birds in the past 

 winter, when all their ingenuity was taxed to 

 gain a living ; and what a pretty sight, when the 

 river opened, to see them riding on huge cakes 

 of ice or deftly darting between them for some 

 coveted morsel with all the grace of the gulls 

 with which they fraternized. But, then, there 



