Summer Meeting. 41 



birds will return, till millions of birds will fill our trees and lawns, 

 and the ugly, harmful worms Vvill give place to the plumaged bird, 

 and his sweet, hopeful carol will carry joy, gladness and life to 

 every heart. 



Missouri has good laws for the protection of birds. There is 

 a game warden for the whole State, and every sheriff in the State, 

 and all his deputies, every constable in the State, with his deputies, 

 are all clothed with the same power and authority as the game 

 warden, and if the law is not enforced, it is the fault of these 

 officers. Some of these officers, the most ignorant of them, may 

 think they make a vote or two by not prosecuting a man or boy 

 who kills a bird or breaks an e^g or robs a nest. 



The fruit tree is already rendered uncertain by the wanton 

 destruction of birds. More and more, men are learning the use- 

 fulness of birds ; more and more, boys are being taught that when 

 they wound a bird or rob a nest, they injure themselves. Where 

 is the man or boy that would like to see the beautiful trees of 

 Moberly rendered bare and still like poles, and the lawns on which 

 he loves to play, the streets on which he loves to run or the side- 

 walk made alive with filthy, ugly, nauseous worms; the home in 

 which he lives, the bed on which he sleeps, the food he eats, all 

 covered with hairy, sickening worms. Yet all this will come, if 

 the birds are not nurtured, protected, taken care of and loved. 



Years ago the mocking bird gladdened the hearts of all of us 

 by his lively, varied, beautiful song. Perched on the loftiest branch 

 of the latest tree he poured out his song of beauty and filled the 

 air with music. And all day long his wonderful warbling would 

 go with us to cheer, to help and bless. We scarcely hear a mocking 

 bird now. He seeks a more secluded place, a safer home. Porte 

 Cragon says a lady owned a bird that surpassed all the world in 

 song. Every day she hung it outside in its cage. It seemed to 

 draw inspiration from its surroundings, the grass and flowers be- 

 low, the tall and majestic trees around, the gentle wind with its 

 silver song, the blue sky above, and it made the air quiver with 

 its wild melody. A mocking bird heard it and perched on a bough 

 close to it. Now, a mocking bird can imitate any song or sound in 

 the world. It listened, it turned its head on one side and then on 

 the other. The bird in its cage sang its softest notes, so soft and 

 yet so clear, like the music of the spheres, touching, tender ; gentle 

 and loving, like the requiem of the dead ; then loud and strong and 

 triumphant as the resurrection. At length it ceased its song and 

 all was still. The mocking bird settled itself more strongly on the 



