GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 



I. 



BOB WHITE. 



CRIMSON stars the gum-tree's glossy green, 

 the speckled breast of the young robin is turn- 

 ing reddish brown, chips of nutshells begin to 

 carpet the ground beneath the lofty hickory, and 

 a vague yearning steals over the sportsman. 

 Strange yet tender feeling, unlike anything 

 else in the human breast, and how early it 

 comes ! The massive green of the timbered hill 

 is yet untinged with gold, and the blue gentian 

 has scarcely unfolded its fringed petals, while 

 down by the brook the chelone is just opening 

 its hood of pinkish white. From the slender 

 spikes of the linaria still hang racemes of softest 



