Our Comrade the Robin 



By Joseph Grinnell 



On account of its generous distribution, and the affection for the bird in the 

 heart of Young America and England ahke. the robin shall be given first place 

 among the singing birds. He is the "Little Wanderer" — as the name signifies — the 

 "Robin-son Crusoe" of almost every clime and race. 



True, he may be a warbler instead of a thrush in the Old World ; but what 

 does that signify? To whatever class or family he may belong by right of birth 

 and legend, the bird of the red breast is the bird of the human breast. 



It is impossible to study the early history of birds in any language and not 

 stumble upon legend and superstition. And the more we read of these the more 

 we come to delight in them. There may not be a bit of truth in the matter, but 

 there is fascination. It is like delving among the dust and cobwebs of an old attic. 

 The more dust and cobwebs, the more fun in coming upon things one never went 

 in cj[uest of. 



Of course superstition has its objections; but when the robin is the point at 

 issue, we may waive objections and go on our merry ways satisfied that the oldest 

 and clearest head in the family will concur. 



Legends concerning our comrade the robin are full of tender thought of him. 

 They have kept his memory green through the rain and shine of centuries, even 

 going so far as to embalm him after death, as will be seen. 



It is well-nigh impossible to give the earliest date in which the robin is men- 

 tioned as a "sacred bird." Certain it is that he ranks with characters of "ye olden 

 time," for myth and superstition enshrined him. The literature of many tongues 

 has preserved him. Poetry and sculpture have embodied him and given him place 

 among the gods and winged beings that inhabit the "neighbor world." Did he 

 not scorch his original gray breast by taking his daily drop of water to lost souls? 

 Did he not stain it by pressing his faithful heart against the crown of thorns? 

 Or. did he not burn it in the Far North when he fanned back into flame the dying 

 embers which the polar bear thought to have trampled out in his wrath that white 

 men invaded his shores? Was he not always the "pious bird?" — though it must 

 be confessed that his beak alone seemed to be possessed of religious tendencies. 

 Was he not the original church sexton who covered the dead, with impartial beak, 

 from eye of sun and man, piling high and dry the woodland leaves about them? 

 The wandering minstrel, the orphan child, or the knight of kingly robe, each shared 

 his sweet charity. 



This superstition of the robin's art in caring for the dead runs through many 

 of the old poets, Drayton, Grahame. Hood. Herrick, and others. .Strict justice in 

 the matter would have divided the praise of him with the charitable night winds, 

 for it was they more than he who "covered friendless bodies." The sylvan shades 

 of the Old World being then more comprehensive than now. unl)uricd men, from 

 any cause, found their last resting-place in the lap of the forest, sleeping wherever 



794 



