The Rambles of an Idler 



sage of April falls upon deaf ears there should 

 our pity go. 



Farther afield I heard the bluebirds warbling 

 the same glad tidings in their inimitable way. 

 For years their song has been to me inexpres- 

 sibly sad, as if yearning for that which is irre- 

 coverable ; but not so to-day. They were bub- 

 bling over with joy. It was the song of years 

 ago, before the days of their persecution set in. 

 Nor was it only a few stragglers that were sing- 

 ing, but a flock. Since the blizzard of 1888 I 

 have not seen half so many altogether. Here 

 were fully a hundred bluebirds, each the em- 

 bodiment of happiness, and, as I presumed, 

 bearing the message of April ; not to me, I ad- 

 mit, but to the trees that towered above me and 

 to the ground beneath my feet. There is no 

 potentiality in a bird's song, but who can rid 

 himself of the idea? It is too pleasing a fancy 

 rudely to be brushed aside. As well accept a 

 stone for bread as deal only in bare facts and 

 ignore fancy. It is said there are people who 

 have no imagination. Thank goodness! they 

 but seldom cross my path. 



Other voices were enlisted in fair April's 

 cause as noon drew nigh, until I found no skulk- 



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