ORNITHOLOGY 



19 



A June Daybreak. 



The Eastern sky was flushed with rose, 



The air serenely still; 

 The early light, a halo, lay 



Upon a distant hill. 



The little clouds, like buoyant hopes, 



That floated in the blue, 

 Caught all the glory of the dawn, 



And passed it on to you. 



The birds at matins, filled the air 



With jubilant outpour; 

 The oak beside me flashed its green, 



And all its fringes wore. 



The sleeping valley opened wide 



Its eyes of limpid blue: 

 Twin lakes that mirror all the sky, 



The changing season through. 



The smoke from neighboring rooftrees 

 caught 

 The first glint of the sun; — 

 The night was over, the new day 

 Auspiciously begun. 



— Emma Peirce. 



try lane and hear the swallow's sweet 

 refrain. I like to see them swell their 

 throats and send forth charming, sooth- 

 ing notes. I like to seem them upon 

 high a-fluttering against the sky. What 

 if they eat a few stale seeds — they 

 must supply their inner needs. Re- 

 member that they also eat the bugs 

 that spoil the beets and wheat. They're 

 living ornaments and they should be 

 protected ev'ry day. We ought to put 

 up houses for the birds and say "Come 

 by the score — just come in flocks and 

 hang around — I'll scatter crumbs upon 

 the ground." The bird's a most en- 

 dearing thing when on the ground or 

 on the wing. Gee whiz! I just can't 

 find the words to say how much I'm fond 

 of birds. 



Ray I. Hoppman. 



Birds. 



I just can't find the words to say how 

 much I'm fond of birds. I'd just as 

 soon ride in a hearse if birdless was 

 this universe. They seem to right our 

 hapless wrongs whene'er they chant 

 their happy songs. I'm fond of ev'ry- 

 thing with wings — I just adore the 

 feathered things. I love to hear the lit- 

 tle lark sing notes at dusk before it's 

 dark. The sparrow I could watch all 

 day — I like his happy, saucy way. The 

 black domed little chickadee sure has 

 an awful drag with me. The robin with 

 its flaming breast is always welcome as 

 my guest. Whene'er I hear the whip- 

 poor-will. I say "I hope you'll ne'er 

 keep still — I like to hear the tuneful 

 song that you so gaily pass along." 

 The bluebird, grosbeak, jay and wren 

 are lifelong pals of mine — Amen. I 

 fail to see where there is fun in shoot- 

 ing birdlets with a gun. I think it is a 

 doggone shame to shoot 'em dead or 

 make 'em lame. The marten and the 

 bobolink are two fine specimens, I 

 think. The thrasher and the oriole 

 are pals of mine — upon my soul. Oh, 

 I could go along the line and tell 

 how every bird doth shine. I haven't 

 time to name each one — I've got to 

 work, I need the "mon." But I just 

 want to up and say that birdlings 

 brighten up the day. They beautify this 

 war-mad globe and make it one glad, 

 sweet abode. I love to walk the coun- 



A Kingfisher that Eats Snakes. 

 The giant kingfisher, or laughing 

 jackass," which is found throughout 

 Australia, nests in holes in dead trees, 

 it is called "kookaburra" by the natives, 

 a name suggested by the bird's call. 



THE LAUGHING TACKASS. 



Unlike most kingfishers this bird is 

 often found nesting far from water, 

 where it lives on insects, lizards, 

 snakes, rats and small birds. The ac- 

 companying illustration is of a young 

 kookaburra at its nest hole in a large 

 dry eucalypt in East Gippsland, Vic- 

 toria, Australia. It was taken by J. 

 H. Mac, and was sent to us by our 

 Australian correspondent, Mr. H. Stu- 

 art Dove. 



