THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY. 



"And sni ale foules retaken melodie 

 That slepen al the night with open eye." 



Chaucer. 



Every bright morning at this season I feel like 

 quoting the line from Cymbeline, "This is a good day 

 not to keep house !" I grudge every minute that I 

 must spend indoors. What a pity that our manner of 

 living decrees that spring cleaning and spring sewing 

 should come at this time! We do these disagreeable 

 duties now, thereby losing all "the boyhood of the 

 year, ' ' in order that later, when the country is hot and 

 dusty, we may disport ourselves on the piazza of a 

 summer hotel and sit down after breakfast and play 

 whist. Happy is the woman who knows how to seize 

 the day ere it flies, and who times her leisure by the 

 coming of the birds. 



This spring has not been a notable one in bird an- 

 nals. I had hoped that the cold weather, which was 

 supposed to account for the host of warblers in 1900, 

 might have a similar effect this year, but it has not, 

 so far as I can learn. Still there is always enough to 

 see. Why is it that some birds are comparatively 



