A NEW ENGLAND MAY-DAY 1 3 



striding along in the full splendour of 

 his plumage, dark brown above, with 

 speckled sides, wings barred trans- 

 versely, with brown, yellow breast, 

 black throat-crescent, and yellow legs; 

 while his mate is hardly less brilliant. 



We must turn homeward now, for 

 the birds are hurrying to shelter, the 

 wind is rising, and the sound of the 

 waves on the bar, two miles distant, is 

 growing distinct and rhythmic. Big 

 drops of rain are rustling in the dry 

 beech leaves, the smoke of burning 

 brush has enveloped the spring and 

 shut off the meadow. The logs blaz- 

 ing on the hearth will give us a cheery 

 welcome, for the mercury in the porch 

 registers only ten degrees above freez- 

 ing. Is it November? No, surely, 

 but one of the twelve months has slept, 

 and so wrought all this strange contra- 

 diction. This is the first of the Moon 



