bird. He is the soul of this somber season, 

 voicing its sadness and hope. What other bird 

 can take his place and fill his mission in the 

 heavy, hopeful days of March ? We are in no 

 mood for gaiety and show. Not until the 

 morning stars quarrel together will the cat-bird 

 or scarlet tanager herald the spring. The ir- 

 reverent song of a cat-bird in the gray gloom 

 of March would turn the spring back and draw 

 the winter out of his uncovered grave. The 

 bluebird comes and broods over this death and 

 birth, until the old winter sleeps his long sleep, 

 and the young spring wakes to her beautiful life. 



Within my house is another very human little 

 bird the chimney -swallow. Sharing our very 

 firesides as he does, he surely ought to have a 

 warm place in our hearts ; but where have I 

 ever read one word expressing the affection for 

 him that is universally shown the bluebird ? 



I am thinking of our American swallow. We 

 all know how Gilbert White loved his chimney- 

 swallows how he loved every creature that 

 flew or crawled about the rectory. Was it an 

 ancient tortoise in the garden? the sheep upon 

 the downs'? a brood of birds in the chimney ? 

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