Heard on the Hill-Side. 69 



are people who never see crows except those in 

 their own cornfields. What, then, is to be 

 heard in April ? Just a round dozen of good 

 musicians and a host of pleasing dilettanti that 

 fill up the unoccupied moments, like gossipy 

 friends between the acts. The dozen are all 

 good, to my mind, but necessarily of varying 

 merit, and more than one, as a soloist, excellent ; 

 while others, in this light, are not, perhaps, to 

 be commended. But let the rambler judge for 

 himself. To-day there were, in varying num- 

 bers, robins, Carolina wrens, crested tits, blue- 

 jays, song-sparrows, red-winged blackbirds, car- 

 dinal red-birds, vesper sparrows, meadow-larks, 

 chickadee, flicker, and purple grakles, and the 

 united voices of at least three or four, and often 

 twice as many, could be heard at once. An 

 orchestral performance that sometimes was 

 bewildering and occasionally mildly irritating, 

 but never exasperating. It was the birds' 

 way of saluting a morning in April, and they 

 asked neither for permission nor approval. Is it 

 strange that, to-day, the violets opened their 

 eyes and looked towards the skies, and the pale, 

 trembling spring beauty was flushed with ex- 



