PASSING OF THE BLUEBIRD 



IT is said that the old-time bluebird is be- 

 coming extinft ; that the blessed blue- 

 birds of our door-yards and rustic arbors are 

 passing away ; that the rude box nailed to 

 the wall is forsaken or the home of alien 

 sparrows ; the hollow in the old apple-tree 

 is unoccupied, and so with the May-day 

 blossoms there will no more be heard that 

 cheery warbling, comparable only, in its 

 suggestiveness, to the tuneful song sparrow 

 and lively chatter of the nervous wren. 

 Until recently these made the jolly trio that 

 have gladdened our gardens since Colonial 

 days. No more bluebirds ! Why not say 

 there shall be no more spring, for is it really 

 spring without them ? 



For many years, perhaps for all this cen- 

 tury, there has stood a huge dead sycamore 

 on the river bank, and in the hollow of its 

 cavernous trunk bluebirds are wont to con- 

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