A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 



IT began on the 29th of March ; in the after- 

 noon of which day, despite the authority of the 

 almanac and the banter of my acquaintances 

 (March was March to them, and it was nothing 

 more), I shook off the city's dust from my feet, 

 and went into summer quarters. The roads 

 were comparatively dry ; the snow was entirely 

 gone, except a patch or two in the shadow of 

 thick pines under the northerly side of a hill ; 

 and all tokens seemed to promise an early 

 spring. So much I learned before the hasten- 

 ing twilight cut short my first brief turn out-of- 

 doors. In the morning would be time enough 

 to discover what birds had already reported 

 themselves at my station. 



Unknown to me, however, our national 

 weather bureau had announced a snow-storm, 

 and in the morning I drew aside the curtains 

 to look out upon a world all in white, with a 

 cold, high wind blowing and snow falling fast. 

 " The worst Sunday of the winter," the natives 



