MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



modest little white flowers begin to peep from 

 curving spirea arms. Dandelions dot the grassy 

 stretches, and violets lift their heads in woodland 

 places. The delicate fragrance of early blossom- 

 ing fruit-trees mingles with the rich odor of mag- 

 nolias, and the soft young grass in the neighbor- 

 hood of these voluptuous beauties is strewn with 

 petals scattered lavishly at the wind's call for lar- 

 gesse. 



What tender things one hears among the birds 

 during these beautiful wooing days. But not only 

 in eager chirp and musical twitter, low warble 

 and tender trill, may the sweet old story be told ; 

 for hoarse croak and plaintive squeak, discordant 

 as they may sound to the ear of the uninitiated, 

 may voice the sublimest sentiments of some little 

 feathered lover's soul. 



Up in yonder lofty pine is a purple grackle's 

 nest. I watched the beautiful couple as they co- 

 quetted and wooed, and surveyed the premises; 

 spluttering, squeaking, and screeching out their 

 sentiments. Now and then, by way of extra em- 

 phasis, hunching their shoulders and swelling out 

 their feathers until neck, wings, body, and tail 

 seemed hopelessly out of joint. But with what 

 amazing ease do they subside after one of these 



