SUMMER.
Friday, June 1st.—Beautiful day. Pleasant walk. The whole
country is green at this moment, more so than at any other period
of the year. The earth is completely decked in delicate verdure
of varied shades: the fruit-trees have dropped their blossoms,
and the orchards and gardens are green; the forest has just put
on its fresh foliage, the meadows are yet uncolored by the flowers,
and the young grain-fields look grassy still. This fresh green
hue of the country is very charming, and with us it is very
fugitive, soon passing away into the warmer coloring of midsummer.
The cedar-birds have been very troublesome among the fruit blossoms, and they are still haunting the gardens. As they always move in flocks, except for a very short period when busy with their young, they leave their mark on every tree they attack, whether in fruit or flower. We saw them last week scattering the petals in showers, to get at the heart of the blossom, which, of course, destroys the young fruit. They are very much their own enemies in this way, for no birds are greater fruit-eaters than themselves; they are even voracious feeders when they find a berry to their taste, actually destroying themselves, at times, by the numbers they swallow.
There are two closely-allied varieties of this bird, very similar
