THE OOLOGIST. 



255 



Near the end of a limb, fifty feet from the 



ground. 

 The girth of the oak was something enor- 

 mous. — 

 Nor was the distance to climh so exceedingly 



small. 

 And I came to the conclusion, as soon as I 



fouud it. 

 That all my previous big climbs were just, — 

 noLhiug at all. 



My big climbs, my 

 tall climbs, my climbs made with climbers,— in 

 short, all my " previous climbs, were just noth- 

 ing at all. 



IV 

 There are few ' things accomplished without 



difficulty.— 

 You'll find this the case in love as elsewhere, 

 (For we all of us know of that romantic fable 

 Of Pyramus and Thisbe,— that buxom young 



pair: 

 And you'll distinctly remember,— for so iims 



the fable,— 

 That they did all their kissing through a hole 



in the wall), — 

 But I wish to remark that their great difficulty 

 As compared with this climbing, was nothing 



at all. 



The digging the hole, 

 and the k;ssing done through it. nay. both 

 hese combined, were but nothing at all. 



V 



But with much difficult climbing, I succeeded 



in reaching 

 The limb where the nest was,— at the I'isk of 



my life. 

 And straightway proceeded to haggle the limb 



off. 

 With the sharpest-kno%\Ti blade of my duU- 



bladed kuife. 

 Then I drew the nest towards me with the 



greatest of caution. 

 And .lust had my hands on the precious, round 



ball. 

 When, hang if, — confoaiid it, — (excuse the ex- 



pre.ssions). — D cer idea's nest contained 

 nothing at all. 



Contained simply 

 nothing, not a single thing in it, not even an 

 egg-shell,— no, nothing at all. 



VI 



1 tell you in candor, my brother collectors. 



That this business we're up to, depends largely 

 on chance; 



For the collector's experience is dreadful un- 

 certain, 



And much of his experience is not all 

 romance,— 



His looked-for achievements turn out to be 

 nothing, — 



When he expects something great, he finds 

 somethijig small.— 



And how oft is it true when he thinks he's 

 found something. 



Disappointed, he finds that it's nothing at rll 

 Jiist merely nothing, 



expressed by a cipher, in something" this fash- 

 ion,— 0— just nothing at all. 



VII 

 Disappointment and sorrow is what we are 



doomed to, 

 In this cold, cruel world where we take our 



abode ; 

 And we must not expect to find everything 



sunshine 

 Nor travel without finding stones in the road. 

 And noM'. my kmd readers. I'll finish my 



ditty,— 

 But first, if you'll allow me, your attention I'll 



call 



To the fact that most fables end up with a 



moral,— 

 If you ask me what mine is,— it's just nothmg 

 at all. 



Not even a moral, 

 and no point to my story, and the whole tale 

 has amounted to nothing at all. 



—Homo poeticus. 



Answers to Queries in Nov. Oologist- 



First; as to whether a crow can talk 

 if its tongue i.s not split. 



There seems to l>e an idea, prevalent 

 over much of the United States, that if 

 a cro\v"s tongue is .split the bird will be 

 enabled to talk. Common sense, how- 

 ever, ought to tell us thfit if a crow 

 cannot talk without its tongue l)eing- 

 split there is no use in splitting it. 1 

 Ijelieve no crow could ever be taught to 

 speak as well as a parrot, but that they 

 are al)le to speak manj' words is beyond 

 question. I have l)een the owner of 

 one talking crow, and have seen and 

 heard another that could swear "like a, 

 pirate." And all this without any cut- 

 ting of the tongue. This latter crow's 

 tiiste ran to the miniici-y of animal 

 sounds, such as the cackling of hens, 

 the barking of dogs, etc. 1 think it 

 will be found that certain crows poss- 

 ess more talent for speaking words than 

 otliers. 



The bird whose notes are described 

 as sounding like "Sow, sow your wheat, 

 sibicy, sibley sililey," is doubtless the 

 White-throated Sparrow. In Bradford 

 Torrey's charming book, "Birds in a 

 Bush," a story is told of a farmer nam- 

 ed Beverly who received an injunction 

 to sow wheat from this same bird. The- 

 White-throat has ai-quired other names 

 from its song. In the White Moun- 

 tains, Torey says it is called nightingale 

 from its habit of singing late at ni^ht, 

 and in other parts of New England it is. 

 called Peabodyljii'd from a fancy that 

 the bird says "pe-a-body" inste;id of 

 "sibley" or "peverly." Wilson Flagg 

 has also worded the song as: "All day 

 whittling, whittling, whililing." 



WillakdN. Clute, 

 Binghamton, N. Y. 



D. A. Young. Washington Heights, 

 Ills., reports unusually large Hocks of 

 blackl)irds this fall. 



C. B. Vandycook, Odin, Ills., writesr 

 "In reply to the article in Nov. Oolo- 

 gist headed 'An Ornithological Leech,' 

 j v,ould say I vary in my opinion, as 



