MAY NOTES 



May is the month of the oriole. In and oul Birdof 

 among- the apple-blossoms and lilacs and other Zulearden 

 gay-flowered garden shrubs, rivalling, if not sur- 

 passing their brilliant colors, it flashes in its search 



for food and for material with which to build its 

 swinging home in the elm-tree. Its penetrating 



whistle possesses much the same quality for the 

 ear as its flame-like color does for the eye. 



If the oriole is the bird of the orchard and gar- 

 den, the upland meadows belong to the bobolink. 

 All the joy of life these spring days is in its tink- 

 ling song. A rapture of abandonment, a veritable Bird of tU 

 tintinabulation of glee, comes up to us from those ^./^^ 

 deep floods of grass and flowers. When in his 

 wedding-coat of black and white, I know no such 

 interpreter of pure lightheadedness as the bobo- 

 link. Once this is laid aside, he seems to feel " the 

 heavy and the weary weight," like the rest of us. 



The wood-thrush is the bird of the May woods. Bird 

 Early in the month I hear for the first time his 

 serene, hymn-like notes. However commonplace 

 my actual surroundings may be, instantly I am 

 transported to 



" some melodious plot 

 Of beeches green and shadows numberless," 



and my whole being is permeated with the spirit 

 of perfect serenity, of which this song is the 

 apotheosis. 



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