“N’er a leaf was dumb; Around us all the thickets rung To many a flute of Arcady.” The fresh, glad songs of the western meadow larks! Everywhere, everywhere, the air was vibrant with the poignant sweetness of their silvery voices; everywhere you might see the shining yellow of their breasts as they rose with strong wing; everywhere you might perhaps chance to stumble upon some nest of woven grasses. Often with arched covering, on the very ground, with the dear little brownish mother bending over four or six white eggs, freckled with cinnamon spots. It is the season of the larks, and earth and sky are more lovely for the magic of their singing. One hardly knows how to describe it in words. Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year! it seems to say to the listener, both in the east and west, but the song of the western meadow lark has a richer melody, a more piercing delight. It seems to talk of forgotten things; of youth and first hopes; first love; it has all the glamour of the far-away, and yet a sweetness of the near. It rises from the thick grass at your feet, yet it mounts towards the blue sky! It is a veritable Flute of Arcady blown with a breath of joy. Ella F. Mosby. The dogwood blossoms white as snow Their favors now to rambler show, And where the Winter’s latest drift Through the dark moss did silent sift, All blossomed-starred, above the ground The shy arbutus now is found. The cloud-capped mountains all appear With verdant slopes and summits clear; The sun has lost its soulless glare— Earth, sea and sky are wondrous fair. —George Bancroft Griffith. [Illustration: RED-BACKED SANDPIPER. (Tringa alpina pacifica.) ¾ Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.] THE RED-BACKED SANDPIPER. (_Tringa alpina pacifica._) The sandpipers trip on the glassy beach, Ready to mount and fly; Whenever a ripple reaches their feet They rise with a timorous cry. —Duncan Campbell Scott, “Sandpipers.”