ROBIN LIFE 



SCARCELY has earth's great white death-sheet been 

 transformed into liviag waters that hasten to free the 

 ice-bound streams, when the robin is heard in brief 

 tones calling to-day as he did to his kindred of old — calling 

 to all living things to be brave and come forth from their 

 hiding places; assuring all feathered creatures that a feast 

 is soon to follow. And when we hear the call we know that 

 a rapidly approaching springtime is pushing winter into the 

 northland. 



The little messenger with ruddy breast does not deliver 

 his tidings from some lofty far-away station, but coming 

 near to earth, and perching on a lowly bough, in a voice of 

 soulful sympathy he repeats the words of the ancient chief- 

 tain: "Be brave!" And, while they come to us like an echo 

 out of the past, they are uttered partly, no doubt, for self- 

 encouragement. 



On his arrival, though his voice expresses bravery and 

 cheer, there is not the glad joy in it that we hear later when 

 his mate arrives. Before that the days have not yet cast off 

 the winter's chill, and there is really very little to sing about. 

 Yet the first note of the robin is deemed by all the most certain 

 of vernal promises — that and the bluebird's early warble. 

 This song of his, dispelling the winter's silence and drawing 

 his hearers into the great current of anticipation, makes the 

 winter naught but a lingering memory. 



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