/IDi? Mtntet Garden 



of jay and woodpecker take on a soft and 

 tender shade of meaning, the delicate in- 

 nuendo of resurgent love suiting absolutely 

 the mood apparent in sky, sea, boscage, and 

 air. To-morrow we may hear the drop- 

 ping-song, that wonderful ecstasy of the 

 mocking-bird's love. 



In this land of leisure there is no hurry- 

 ing through the season of nest-building 

 and melody. The birds devote two or 

 three weeks to sketching in the careless 

 foundation of twigs upon which will some 

 time rest the cleverly woven cup of avian 

 domestic bliss; meantime they wander, 

 the cock singing passionately, the demure 

 little hen coquetting with every ball of 

 animated feathers in sight. It all comes 

 to a brisk and harmless fight between 

 jealous males here and there. The war- 

 cries ring fiercely at intervals, and out of 

 prickly thickets rush the combatants, 

 clashing their wings together, and mayhap 

 losing a bright feather or two. One would 

 think they had just returned from a peace 

 congress, were their battles a trifle more 

 viciously stubborn. 



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