xll 



BIRDS AND SEASONS 



friends and more eagerly still for possible new ones. 

 But enjoyment of this yearly miracle should not be left 

 only to the initiated. We need not be ornithologists to be 

 thrilled when the Robin's song in March awakes long silent 

 echoes, or the Thrasher's solo rings loud and clear on an 

 April morning. The Catbird singing from near his last 

 year's home in the thickening shrubbery, the House Wren 



RED-WINGS WITH SCARLET EPAULETS GO TROOPING BY" 



whose music bubbles over between bustling visits to an 

 oft-used bird-box, the Chimney Swift twittering cheerily 

 from an evening sky, may be heard without even the 

 effort of listening and each one, with a hundred others, 

 brings us a message if we will but accept it. And I make 

 no fanciful statement when I say that it is a message we 

 can ill afford to lose. 



