A Morning in May. 89 



fishers. For longer than I can remember these 

 birds have made the creek at the ruins of the 

 flood-gates their favorite summer home, and the 

 " rattle" that disturbs the visitor is music to me, 

 because of old associations. Remember, you 

 have gone to Nature, not coaxed her to come 

 to you, and where she is there expect to find 

 her just as she is. There will be no hurried 

 opening of a stuffy parlor as you approach ; no 

 thrusting of this into the background and push- 

 ing that to the fore, nor frantic effort to change 

 a dress in time. There will be no flushed face, 

 due to haste, ill concealed by powder, but an 

 honest countenance, and no shadow of annoy- 

 ance at your appearance. Nature is ever ready 

 to meet the right kind of visitors ; is not taciturn 

 or petulant ; but by not so much as a hair's- 

 breadth will she vary from a predetermined 

 course. The birds are hers, not ours, and if she 

 bids them all sing at the same moment, remem- 

 ber, she is directing her own orchestra for her 

 own entertainment and never even so much as 

 remembers there is such a thing as a man on 

 earth. Like a conscientious student, she has 

 due regard for the law of priority, and being 



