Heard on the Hill-Side. 73 



of the hill-side? An abundance of bird-song 

 largely compensates for lack of leaves, and the 

 trees did not appear bare. The birds sang so 

 much of summer coming that I fancied sum- 

 mer was here ; but, in fact, the trees were not 

 bare. The maples are in full bloom ; so, too, 

 the elms. Spicewood fairly glitters with its 

 wealth of golden flowers, and tiny tips of green 

 show on many a sheltered shrub. Even the 

 oaks have lost their wintry nakedness. The 

 leaf-buds have swollen, and, as the tree-top 

 shows against the sky, there is a promise of 

 vigorous growth that our imagination helps 

 upon its way. Listening to the birds, we enter 

 into their hopeful, prophetic spirit, and, forget- 

 ting the past, we magnify the present, and, 

 looking down the long stretch of forest on the 

 hill-side, gaze, as we fancy, far into the future. 

 What a museum would that be which could 

 give the dweller in town the songs of our 

 birds by merely opening a glass case ! The in- 

 ventor's cunning has come near, but not quite 

 accomplished this. A song may be bottled up, 

 but the sweetness is lacking when you draw 

 the cork, or is it that the songs and the sur- 



