102 MAY. 



it, has traversed seas and sojourned in places 

 we wot not of. The landscape derives a great 

 portion of its vernal cheerfulness not merely 

 from the songs of birds but from their cries. 

 Each has a variety of cries indicative of its 

 different moods of mind, so to speak, which 

 are heard only in spring and summer, and are 

 both familiar and dear to a lover of Nature. 

 Who ever heard the iveet-iveet and pink-pink of 

 the chaffinch, or the tvinkle-winkle of the black- 

 bird as it flies out of the hedge and skims along 

 before you to a short distance, repeatedly on 

 a summer evening about sunset, — at any other 

 time ? In spring mornings by three or four 

 o'clock the fields are filled with a perfect cla- 

 mour of bird-voices, but at noon the wood is 

 their oratory. There the wood-pecker's laugh 

 still rings from a distance — the solemn coo of 

 the wood-pigeon is still deep and rich as ever 

 — the little chill-chall sounds his two notes 

 blithely on the top of the tallest trees; and the 

 voice of the long-tailed titmouse, ever and 

 anon, sounds like a sweet and clear-toned little 

 bell. Nests are now woven to every bough 

 and into every hollow stump. 



As the month advances, our walks begin to 

 be haunted with the richness of beauty. There 

 are splendid evenings, clear, serene, and balmy, 

 tempting us to continue our stroll till after sun- 



