THE YOUNG FLORIST. 



MARCH. 



Margaret. O, Henry, pray come to the 

 door and hear this sweet bird, how delight- 

 fully he sings. 



Henry. Yes, dear sister, his notes are 

 cheering indeed ; it is the blue bird, see ! 

 there he flies. 



M. What broad and full wings he has, and 

 how beautifully the rich azure blue of his back 

 is contrasted with the rusty iron color of his 

 breast and the white beneath. He seems to 

 say, how grateful I am for this fine morning. 



H. This beautiful morning, and the tones 

 of the blue bird, tell us that winter is nearly 



