It was a cold, rainy day toward the last of May. The apple trees were a mass of pink and white, but the fast gathering petals on the green carpet told the story; not for long would be wafted in through each window a whiff of such perfume as only Dame Nature, May and Company can distill. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to appreciate the beauties of a spring rain, for it was a very evident fact that the bad weather would prevent our anticipated bird walk. This fact I was bewailing, looking forlornly from the window out into the dripping world, when lo, I found that, contrary to expectations, the mountain does on occasion appear unto Mahomet! On the lawn north of our house are nearly a dozen apple trees, two of which have branches overhanging the roof. I noticed that the foliage was in livelier motion than is usually caused by an easy shower, and on closer examination discovered that the trees were fairly alive with flitting forms, birds—warblers in all their glory. This was long before noon, and it was but the beginning of a state bordering on ecstasy for me which ended only when darkness fell, as it gave me the opportunity for making the acquaintance of a family, straggling members of which, only, I had met since my interest in feathered friends awakened. To my delight I immediately brought within range of my glass the little fellow which I had seen the year before in the same tree, and had described in my note-book as “wearing a sun burst of black on a yellow vest.” On this occasion he was much in evidence, and the details of his handsome coat could be plainly detected. He is mostly black, and you may distinguish him by the broad white patch on his wings and the yellow breast which is decorated by a black pendant necklace. He is the magnolia warbler. The chestnut-sided was well represented in the flock, and was an old friend. With us here in New Hampshire, he stays through the summer, but it is only at this season that we are apt to meet him. One recognizes him by his clear greenish-yellow crown and by the clearly defined chestnut streak on either side of his white vest. Of course the Lord of the Manor is the Blackburnian warbler. To my great delight, he brought his wonderful flaming breast within four feet of me as I sat in one of the upper windows, watching him explore the branches. Mark him well. His upper parts are black, while his crown, throat and breast are flaming orange. He, too, wears a white vest, marked at the sides with black. So beautiful is he that words fail to describe him, while to see him flitting about among the apple blossoms was indeed “a picture no artist could paint.”