a peer. With head erect and long tail pendant he pours forth such a flood
of melody, so varied and so sweet that we forget the exquisite hymn-like
notes of the wood-thrush and yield ourselves wholly to the spell of his
rich recital. Make the most of it while it lasts. Like all the glories of
the May woods it is evanescent. When the nest down in the brush is
finished, and his mate "feels the eggs beneath her wings," his song will
grow less full and rich and by the time the young birds come he will have
grown silent, as if weighed down with the responsibilities of a family.

We get too near the thrasher for his liking and he slips down into the
brush. And then, by rare good fortune, a blue-bird begins his song. He
has been chided by some because he has a magnificent contralto voice and
scarcely ever uses it. Have we not been taught to chide the man who hides
his talent in a napkin, or his light under a bushel? But how he can sing
when he does sing! This is one of the mornings. The rich contralto
thrush-like melody, with its ever recurring "sol-la," "sol-la," fills the
woodlands with beauty. It is as if the pearly gates had been opened for a
brief interval to let the earth hear the "quiring of the young-eyed
cherubims."

* * * * *

In later May, the season "betwixt May and June," beauty and fragrance and
melody comes in a rich flood. The flaming breast of the oriole and the
wondrous mingling of colors in the multiplied warblers glint like jewels
among the ever enlarging leaves. The light in the woodlands becomes more
subdued and the carpet of ferns and flowers grows richer and more
beautiful. The vireos, the cardinal and the tanager add to the brilliancy
and the ovenbird and veery to the melody. As good old John Milton once
wrote: "In these vernal seasons of the year, when the air is clear and