ever, they do not seem to fear horses and 

 cattle and are often hunted from the 

 backs of horses or in wagons. "Delicious 

 as a broiled plover is, there is no true 

 sportsman who will hesitate to admit that 

 the graceful, slender, beautifully marked, 

 sweet voiced bird is not vastly more en- 

 joyable in life." 



The nest of the Bartramian Sandpiper 

 is a depression in the ground which is 



nearly always slightly lined with dried 

 grass. While it is said that these birds 

 are quite difficult to approach when they 

 first arrive in the spring, that during the 

 breeding season they become much more 

 bold and will hover over an intruder or 

 follow him through the grass, at a dis- 

 tance of a few yards, until he has been 

 escorted from their domain. 



THE COMING OF" SPRING 



A few more days, and lo, 

 The southern winds will blow, 

 And from the southlands bring, 

 Swift messengers of spring. 



The sun-god, smiling down, 

 On wilderness and town, 

 With golden arrows drawn, 

 To eventide from dawn, 



Quickens the sleeping earth ; 

 And see, a slow rebirtb, 

 Thrilleth the heart of things — 

 The miracle of springs ! 



Who first with watchful eyes, 

 Will see and recognize, 

 On yonder elm tree's crest. 

 The robin's ruddy breast? 



Whose glances first discern, 

 New life in tree and fern? 

 The willow-buds, athirst 

 For falling rain-drops, burst? 



Where now the white snow drifts 

 Along the mountain rifts, 

 The sleeping flowers will don 

 Their summer plumes anon. 



Who finds the first rare prize 

 That on the hillslope lies, 

 Sweet spirit of the shower. 

 The shy arbutus flower? 



Who bringeth from the woods, 

 Where Flora's dainty broods 

 Run wild from tree to tree, 

 The first anemone? 



A few days more, and then 

 Hillside, and field and fen, 

 Touched by the magic wand, 

 In wizard Sylva's hand, 



From winter's snowy tomb. 

 Will break in life and bloom. 

 Breathing a fragrant prayer 

 Of incense on the air. 



Once more will come the call, 

 From bird and waterfall. 

 The songs that, rich and wild. 

 Gladden the man and child. 



Once more upon the breeze, 

 With flower, and grass, and trees, 

 Will hang the faint perfume, 

 Of violets in bloom. 



— Charles F. Fudge. 



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