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Her pathway on the open main
May blessings follow free,
And glad hearts welcome back again
Her white sails from the sea!

- JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

LXXVII. THE JAYS AND THE OWL

1. An observer of birds is attracted by any unusual sound or commotion among them. In May or June, when other birds are most vocal, the jay is a silent bird; he goes sneaking about the orchards and the groves as silent as a pickpocket. He is robbing birds' nests, and he is very anxious that nothing should be said about it; but in the fall, none so quick and loud to cry, "Thief, thief!"

as he.

2. One December morning a troop of them discovered a little screech owl secreted in the hollow trunk of an old apple tree, near my house. How they found the owl out is a mystery, since he never ventures forth in the light of day; but they did find him, and proclaimed the fact with great emphasis.

3. I suspect the bluebirds first told them, for these birds are constantly peering into holes and crannies, both spring and fall. Some unsuspecting bird probably entered the cavity prospecting for a

place for next year's nest, or else looking out a likely place to pass a cold night, and, seeing the owl, rushed out with the important news.

4. A boy who should unwittingly venture into a bear's den, when Bruin was at home, could not be more astonished and alarmed than a bluebird would be on finding itself in the cavity of a decayed tree with an owl.

5. At any rate, the bluebirds joined the jays in calling the attention of all whom it might concern to the fact that a culprit of some sort was hiding from the light of day in the old apple tree. I heard the notes of warning and alarm, and approached within eyeshot.

6. The bluebirds were cautious, and hovered about uttering their peculiar twittering calls; but the jays were bolder, and took turns looking in at the cavity, and deriding the poor, shrinking owl. A jay would alight in the entrance of the hole, and flirt, and peer, and attitudinize, and then fly away, crying, "Thief, thief, thief!" at the top of his voice.

7. I climbed up and peered into the opening, and could just descry the owl clinging to the inside of the tree. I reached in and took him out, giving little heed to the threatening snapping of his beak. He was as red as a fox, and as yellow-eyed as a cat. He made no effort to escape, but planted his

claws in my forefinger, and clung there with a grip that soon grew uncomfortable.

8. I placed him in the loft of an outhouse, in hopes of getting better acquainted with him. By day he was a willing prisoner, scarcely moving at all, even when approached and touched with the hand, but looking out upon the world with halfclosed, sleepy eyes. But at night what a change! how alert, how wild, how active! He was like another bird; he darted about with wide, fearful eyes, and regarded me like a cornered cat.

9. I opened the window, and swiftly, but as silent as a shadow, he glided out into the congenial darkness, and perhaps, ere this, has revenged himself upon the sleeping jay or bluebird that first betrayed his hiding place. - JOHN BURROUGHS.

LXXVIII. THE FIRST FLOWERS

1. For ages on our river borders,

These tassels in their tawny bloom,
And willowy studs of downy silver,
Have prophesied of spring to come.

2. For ages have the unbound waters

Smiled on them from their pebbly hem, And the clear carol of the robin

And song of bluebird welcomed them.

3. But never yet from smiling river,

Or

song of early bird, have they

Been greeted with a gladder welcome

Than whispers from my heart to-day.

-JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

LXXIX. THE OLD OAK-TREE'S LAST DREAM

A CHRISTMAS TALE

I. There stood in the wood, high on a bank near the open seashore, such a splendid old Oak-tree! It was just three hundred and sixty-five years old; but all this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than so many days appear to us men and women. A tree's life is not quite the same as a man's; we wake during the day, and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout three seasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. The winter is its sleeping time—its night after the long day which we call spring, summer,

and autumn.

2. Through many a warm summer day had the May-flies danced in light, innocent glee round his crown; and if for a moment one of the little creatures rested from its play on one of the large, fresh

oak leaves, the tree would say, "Poor little insect! only one day long is thy brief life! how sad that is!"

3. "Sad!" would the little May-fly then exclaim in wonder; "what meanest thou by 'sad'? Everything is so bright, so warm and beautiful, and I am so happy!"

4. 'But only for one day, and then all is past for thee."

5. "Past?" repeated the May-fly. "What is 'past'? Art thou 'past,' too?"

6. "No; I shall live thousands, perhaps, of thy days, and my day lasts a whole year.

But that is something so long, thou canst not reckon it."

7. "Well, then, I don't understand thee at all. Thou hast thousands of days, and I have thousands of moments to be happy and joyous. Will the beauty of this world cease when thou diest?"

8. "No," said the tree; "it will last longer, infinitely longer."

9. "Well, then, we are in the same case, only I reckon differently."

10. And the May-fly danced hither and thither, rejoiced over her fine, delicate wings, and reveled in the warm atmosphere, which was so perfumed with the delicious scents from the clover field and the wild roses, elders, and honeysuckles of the hedge,

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