in blossom, the most enchanting sight 

 one could hope for and rarely attained. 

 This was the last warbler — the climax. 



"How pleasant the life of a bird must be, 

 Flitting about in each leafy tree; 

 In the leafy trees so broad and tall, 

 Like a green and beautiful palace hall. 

 With its airy chambers light and boon, 

 That open to sun, and stars, and moon, 

 That open unto the bright blue sky. 

 And the frolicksome winds, as they wander by . " 



In the last days of March the flocks 

 of fox sparrows were a novel sight, fly- 

 ing one after another along the brook 

 and the ridge above. I did not learn 

 their song, even hardly heard it but 

 Thoreau said it would be memorable if 

 we hear it long enough. He says, '*Is 

 not the coming of the fox sparrow some- 

 thing more significant than I have 

 dreamed of?. Have I heard what this 

 tiny passenger has to say while it flits 

 from tree to tree ? Can I forgive myself 

 if I let it go to Rupert's Land before I 

 have appreciated it?" Another migra- 

 tory sparrow is the white-throated or 

 Peabody bird. We were favored only 

 two days with their company and though 

 I failed to distinguish the Peabody, I 

 heard them advise us to ''sozv zvheat, sow 

 ivheat." 



Thoreau said also, ''We cannot well 

 afford not to see the geese go over a sin- 

 gle spring and so commence the year 

 regularly." We failed to do this for we 

 saw or heard none imtil November. 

 Among the sixty birds identified this 



year, beginning with the winter birds fed 

 during the snowy days have been the 

 warblers already described, and a grebe 

 which was picked up disabled in the 

 snow far from any water and which lived 

 awhile but could never fly again and 

 finally died in captivity ; another rare 

 bird was the rose-breasted grosbeak 

 which delighted us one Sunday morning 

 in May and was seen by all the family. 

 His song attracted me first as a robin's 

 but I soon discovered that it was a 

 stranger and he obligingly gave us a 

 good view of his fine points. 



Then there was the great host of the 

 more common birds which give us joy 

 and pleasure without a long walk or 

 weary search — the chewinks, singing 

 cheerfully at the top of a pine or scratch- 

 ing under the lilacs or junipers with con- 

 siderable bustle, the red-winged black- 

 birds seen on the daily drive to the post 

 oflice, and the friendly chickadees and 

 phoebes. 



"From the orchard calls the robin, 

 Leader of the feathered throng, 



Chirps the hair-bird from the hedge-row. 

 Trills the sparrow's matin song. 



"Overhead the swallows twitter. 



And the purple martins, too. 

 Sailing swiftly, this way, that way, 



Underneath the vaulted blue. 



"Orioles, in the elm-top swaying, 

 Pipe their brilliant bugle-call. 



And the blue-bird's mellow warble 

 Sweetly sounds from maple tall." 



Lucie A. Peabody. 



TO A BIRD 



If Life were an eternal spring, 



I wonder if the soul would pine ! 

 Or, well contented, would it sing 



That Life away, as thou dost thine? 

 The days to thee can not seem long, ' 



Rocked on the rose-tree's swaying bough : 

 Sing on, sweet bird! and may thy song 



Forever be as glad as now ! 



— George William Phillips, Jr. 



