AS THE YEAR GROWS 
57 
on the still naked limb of a Horse-chestnut* Another 
pair chose the matted Vines around a bay window* 
The Yellow Warbler is already calling from the tree- 
tops, where there is not sufficient yellow-green 
foliage to afford his usual concealment. But out in 
the suburban woods the birds have brought the 
summer with them* Meadow Larks sail over the fields 
with pendent, tremulous wings, or stand erect on 
the rising ground, displaying the black crescents on 
their yellow breasts. Woodpeckers sound their loud 
alarm, each in his own peculiar way* Thrushes flit 
silently among the lower branches* The Sparrows, 
that suffer through the reputation of their English 
cousin, have come back* The Bluebird is already 
familiar. And the Brown Thrasher, the most inspir- 
ing singer of the woods, is here, proclaiming in 
melody the renewal of nature's perpetual youth* 
The boy's description of “ a long-tailed, light brown 
Robin flying low through the bushes " fits him well* 
But when the inspiration of song takes hold of him 
he abandons his lowly habits and mounts the highest 
branch of some convenient tree, pointing his bill to 
the sky, showing in careless abandon the spotted 
markings on his white breast, and offering up the 
joyful spirit of the season n rich, varied, spontaneous 
melody* The ecsta y of his song is irresistible. 
However familiar, it is always new. Sometimes 
he closes his bill, swells his throat, and exhales a 
