O impudent jay,
With your plumage so gay,
And your manners so jaunty and free—heigh-ho!
How little you guessed
When you robbed the wren's nest,
That any stray fellow would see—heigh-ho!
CHARLES KEELER,
in Elfin Songs of Sunland.
SEPTEMBER 14.
It is to prevent the wholesale slaughter of songbirds that I appeal to you. The farmer or the fruit-raiser has not yet learned enough to distinguish friend from foe, and goes gunning in season and out of season, so that the cherry orchard, when the cherries are ripe, looks like a battle-field in miniature, the life-blood of the little slain birds rivaling in color the brightness of their wings and breast. And all this destruction of song, of gladness, of helpfulness, because the poor birds have pecked at a few early cherries, worthless, almost, in the market, as compared to the later, better kinds, which they do not interfere with.