When the long, grey mornings of spring renew their 

 invitation they cannot be denied. Snow hngers in 

 secluded corners and frost is still in the ground, 

 but spring is awaiting a welcome. Robins are house- 

 hunting among the naked trees. Red-winged Black- 

 birds are perching on the dead reeds, displaying their 

 glossy uniforms and scarlet epaulets, or trying their 

 shrill voices from the higher perches in the willows. 

 The Song Sparrow is here, his familiar call an earnest 

 of the new life awakening on every hand. The Blue- 

 bird is displaying his finest colours, and seems 

 tempted by his vanity to choose the open fields 

 and solitary, leafless trees, where he can compel the 

 admiration of all observers. The Fox Sparrow is shy 

 and retiring, but his spring song brings a world of 

 delight, although he is hidden in the thicket. The 

 pussies on the Willow twigs are pushing their little 

 grey noses from under their reddish brown hoods. 

 The long catkins on the Alders are showing signs of 



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