JUNE DAYS. 53 
We no longer personify light and darkness, or think of 
the contest between summer and winter as worthy of our 
attention. But to our ancestors, more directly in con- 
tact with the daily and yearly phenomena of Nature, 
and more dependent on them for food and warmth and 
life, these were the great facts of existence, and this 
struggle of the powers of light with those of darkness 
was the foundation of their mythology and their creeds, 
and powerfully affected their lives. 
The tide of Life which has been advancing all 
through the spring reaches its highest point in June. 
April and May are months of anticipation; their faces 
are turned toward the future glories. June is a month 
of realization; summer is here. The little modest 
spring flowers have departed; the half-opened leaves 
have expanded; the many-colored hues of the spring 
foliage have ripened into a nearly uniform darker verd- 
ure. 
This is the most tuneful month of the year. The 
summer songsters have joined their music to the war- 
bling of the earlier comers. Every morning opens with 
a pean of praise; every evening closes with an anthem 
of peace. One of the most common of these song- 
sters is the robin (Merula migratoria, Sw. and Rich.). 
Wilson Flagg in his charming ‘‘The Birds and Seasons 
of New England” pays this deserved tribute to the 
robin’s musical ability: ‘I shall not ask pardon of 
