208 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



How different from the farming sparrows are 

 the gulls and terns — children of sky and ocean, 

 bred to the storm. They have no music. Their 

 voices are shrill like the boatswain's. They have 

 no home save a spot of sand or rock where their 

 young are reared near thundering surf and moan- 

 ing tides. Their lives are long-continued buffet- 

 ings with wind and wave, — voyages under white 

 wings across monotonous wastes of water. They 

 are the mariners among birds, and all their wa3^s 

 have the mark of the sea upon them. The sea 

 rules them, charms them, binds them to itself, 

 and robs them as it robs their human counter- 

 parts of much of the sweetness and rest of home. 



Not all of the birds which live among forests 

 and flowers share in the sweetness of home life. 

 There are among them, as elsewhere, discordant 

 creatures who seem to draw no joy from joyous 

 surroundings and whose deeds are full of selfish- 

 ness and misappropriation of others' hopes and 

 rights. Some of these birds carry their true char- 

 acter clearly written upon their faces. The cow- 

 bird is a sneak. Her glances are furtive. When 

 seeking the home of a vireo or warbler, with the 

 intent to thrust her ^gg upon the mercies of a 

 stranger, she tells in every motion of her body 

 the tale of her inherited wretchedness and con- 

 scious o^uilt. The hawks and owls bear in their 

 faces the imprint of evil. There is something 



