THE BLUEBIRD 



fmn 



GENTLE south wind has been blowing 



at intervals for a week, the snow banks 



are diminishing in size, and here and 



there the brown earth seems to be pushing itself up 



from beneath the drifts. The sun has loosed the 



ice-fetters, and again the murmur of the brook is 



heard; while over the water the pussy willows 



are hanging their swollen buds, and out in the grove 



the sap is beginning to drop from the maple trees. 



These are indeed signs of spring! Now it is time to 



listen for the note of the bluebird. A plaintive note 



it is at first, but it will soon give place to a pleasing 



song, never loud, but always sweet and altogether 



suggestive of the warblers. 



How welcome it is, — that bit of blue and brown, 



flitting among the yet naked boughs of the old apple 



trees! We look for the bluebird in spring with a 



feeling different from that for any other bird during 



the whole year. His note awakens within us the 



67 



