OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 
“He is a great favorite with us in 
the north,” said Miss Sweet, “and the 
poets have written many pretty things 
about him. I will recite Lorenzo D. 
Gillespie’s verses on the 
BOBOLINK. 
When the summer leaves were green 
And the shrubbery cast a shade, 
Where the richest flowers were seen 
And the gayest birds that played: 
As I walked along and mused, 
Oft I paused to catch this note 
Pouring from his tiny throat— 
Sping, spang, spink, 
Bobolink, Bobolink. 
Those were balmy days of youth 
When no trouble crossed my mind; 
Then my garnished shield was truth, 
And my thoughts were all sublime; 
But like youth those days are past, 
And no voice has ever sung 
As that did when Bobbie sang— 
Sping, spang, spink, 
Bobolink, Bobolink. 
The pupils were so delighted with this 
that they again forgot they were in school 
and applauded her heartily. When 
quiet was restored, they recited in con- 
cert the following lines by Thomas Hill: 
115 
