June 
I pay for my transplanting to these New England 
fields. 
If that were all, it were price enough. But think 
of June in New Jersey, with buzzards soaring, car- 
dinals whistling, and turtle doves cooing ; with swamps 
magnolia-scented, and woods astir with box-turtles, 
pine snakes, pine-tree lizards, and ’possums! Then 
think of June in Massachusetts with none of these, — 
at least in my neighborhood ! 
What then? I could scarcely strain the magnolia’s 
breath from the mingling odors if it were here, for 
the common air I breathe is the breath of blossom- 
ing clover, wild grape, elder, blackberry, rose, and 
azalea. I must almost smell them by families. For 
here are six wild roses perfuming my air, five vibur- 
nums, six dogwoods (these last quite lacking in per- 
fume, be it said), and wild blackberries that I have 
never dared to number. Who wants to number them? 
to spend his June with a “ plant analysis,” dissecting 
and keeping tally? It is enough now to be alive and 
out of doors among the flowers. Nor is it all of June 
to find thirty-six species of birds nesting within a 
radius of five hundred and fifty-five and one half feet 
from your front door. I do not cite these figures in 
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