A LABRADOR SPRING 
green, and had remained from the previous 
summer. 
A redstart, the ‘‘ little torch ”’ of the Cubans, 
and a magnolia warbler, gems of beauty which 
to the uninitiated would appear to be birds of 
the tropics only, were flitting about among the 
treetops, constantly expressing their love and 
joy of life in songs. That of the redstart was 
“sibilant and insistent,” that of the magnolia 
warbler recalled the famous words vent, vidi, 
vict. A lonely loon was swimming in the 
surges below and then rose and flew into the 
dark forest beyond. 
The snowbank, the soft, tender birches and 
larches, the mysterious, mighty river, the 
dark, trackless forest, the distant mountains, 
the shadowy high land of the north, the land of 
the ptarmigan, the caribou and the Indian, 
all made a picture I shall never forget. The 
spirit and the charm of wild beauty and mys- 
tery pervaded it all. 
It was possible to enjoy all this ethereal 
beauty and mystery, and yet to be of the earth, 
earthy, and I hold that there is no shame in the 
latter, for we enjoyed a dinner of the best on this 
glorious day. After some erbsewurst soup, 
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