Spring comes with a rush in some parts of our country and remains but a short time, so closely does Summer follow in her footsteps. But in New England, New York, northern Pennsylvania, Ohio, and neighboring states, her approach is more gradual and restrained.

When maple and red-bud have laid aside their corals and fruit-trees have donned their robes of white and shell-pink; when the woods show again a flush of tender green, Spring arrives. She has long been heralded by early choristers; she is now accompanied by a host more wonderful than retinue of kings, so varied is their dress and so sweet their triumphal music. Grove and orchard are alive with happy-hearted birds, who help to make May the loveliest month of the year.

First come the swallows, skimming over pools and circling above meadows—embodiment of grace, gladdening the world with their joyous twitterings. Swifts, nighthawks, and whip-poor-wills make nightfall vocal. Little house wrens, each a fountain of bubbling music, take up their abode near our homes.

Cuckoos slip quietly from tree to tree; thrashers and catbirds seek thickets or perch on treetops, to sing like their celebrated cousins, the mockingbirds. Shy ovenbirds and lustrous-eyed thrushes return to live in the woods, or pass through them as they journey to their northern homes. The advent of the tanager in his flashing scarlet, and the grosbeak with his glowing rose bring to every bird-lover “a most pointed pleasure.” With Stevenson he may say, [They] “stab my spirit broad awake.”

Vireos and wood pewees appear in the groves; warblers flit from treetop to treetop, many of them on their way to northern woods. Orioles in the elms and orchards shout with joy; bobolinks bubble and tinkle in the meadows; indigo buntings and kingbirds greet us from roadsides, and Maryland yellow-throats from thickets. Goldfinches hold their May festival, and choose their mates as they sing with joyous abandon. The earth is fresh and beautiful, with promise of a glad fulfillment near at hand.