A TLEA FOR rROTKCTING OUR NATIVE BIJiDS. 175 



climate, so different from that of England, so confused their 

 minds that they more than once supposed spring had come, only 

 to be disappointed by the return of winter in a more dreadful 

 form, until hunger and exposure had hxid more than half their 

 number beneath the sod. At last, we read that their hearts were 

 made glad, for "The birds sang in the woods, and there was a 

 steady rain," and then they knew that spring had come, and they 

 " thanked God and took courage." Not one of them it is said 

 returned to England, but on the contrary, as spring advanced and 

 the birds increased in number and variety — as the wild trees 

 blossomed in the woods, and hill and vale were fragrant with the 

 breath of flowers, they speedily forgot — and no wonder — their 

 troubles and the sorrows of the winter, and when June came — 

 the New England June, w'hich no country on earth can equal for 

 loveliness and beauty — then was their cup of joy full ; and instead 

 of writing to their friends at home of the terrible winter they had 

 just passed through, their letters were filled with such glowing 

 descriptions of this new w'orld, that many, very many, were in- 

 duced to come over to these rugged shores, the result of w^hich we 

 are all perfectly familiar with. Now this is my first plea for the 

 birds. If this baud of despondent fugitives was so cheered and 

 encouraged by their loving and happy songs, shall not we, their 

 descendants, inherit this same love for the birds which bring 

 us the first tokens of returning spring, and the first assurance of 

 milder and more genial skies? What country child but is thrilled 

 with joy and ecstasy at the first sound of the bluebird, returning 

 from his southern home, or the familiar peep of the dear old robin > 

 as he hops about our yards or flies from tree to tree, telling us in 

 unmistakable language how glad he is to return, and stop with us 

 another season? And later on, what farmer's lad does not stop in 

 the furrow, to watch the shining blackbird, stepping proudly on the 

 upturned soil, or to listen to the song of the thrush as he tells him 

 it is time to "plough, harrow, plant, and pull it up?" A little 

 later, what child of any age is not enraptured and amused at the 

 incomparable song of the bobolink, as he rises in the air perfectly 

 intoxicated with mirth? And last of all, the low, plaintive notes 

 of the cuckoo tells us that the hot days of summer are upon us, 

 and we must be up and doing. It does appear, that if we, as a 

 nation, need the presence of the American Eagle to remind us of 

 our country's greatness and power, and the children in our schools 



