MAY 



17 



I know of nothing in vegetable nature that 

 seems so really to be born as the ferns. They 

 emerge from the ground rolled up, with a rudi- 

 mentary and " touch-me-not " look, and appear to 

 need a maternal tongue to lick them into shape. 

 The sun plays the wet nurse to them, and very soon 

 they are out of that uncanny covering in which 

 they come swathed, and take their places with 

 other green things. 



BURROUGHS: Signs and Seasons. 

 And, hark, the cuckoo weatherwise, 

 Still hiding farther onward, wooes you. 



LOWELL: The Nightingale in the Study. 



18 



Twice have the crow blackbirds attempted a set- 

 tlement in my pines, and twice have the robins, 

 who claim a right of preemption, so successfully 

 played the part of border-ruffians as to drive them 

 away, to my great regret, for they are the best 

 substitute we have for rooks. At Shady Hill (now, 

 alas ! empty of its so long loved household) they 

 build by hundreds, and nothing can be more cheery 

 than their creaking clatter (like a convention of 

 old-fashioned tavern-signs) as they gather at even- 

 ing to debate in mass meeting their windy politics, 

 or to gossip at their tent-doors over the events of 



the day. 



LOWELL: My Garden Acquaintance. 



