AM E RIO AN ORNITHOLOGY. 115 



A BIRD TRAGEDY. 



Spring time in the country! Why those poets of the old vSmoky-city 

 class-room were not so flightily unreal after all. Spring is a wondr- 

 ous, glorious panorama; and we who — many years ago — more than 

 half believed in the wonderful Genius of Aladdin's Lamp; stand to-day 

 in awe before the wondrous transformations wrought by an unseen 

 hand. Yon trees but yesterday bleak, black, leafless — laugh now in 

 leaves of tenderest green or in blossoms pink or white: the air is 

 redolent of blossom and vocal with the song of birds. 



Previous to this my first experience of Spring time in the country, 

 bird-life was quite unknown to me. I admit, too, a feeling somewhat 

 of irritation at the frequent allusions to birds made by poets, prose- 

 writers, spring-enthusiasts etc. But, as so frequently happens that 

 which one condemns in another comes sooner or later to dominate 

 over him — and I found myself to-day fairly fascinated by the birds. 

 Bird Magazines, Ornithological treatises, Audubon and even bird-poets 

 are eagerly sought and now, for the first time, understood. 



Shelley's "Sky Lark" unfolded a whole world of meaning as I read 

 it whilst listening to the vesper strain of the little Song Sparrow. I 

 too echoed: 



"Teach me half the gladness 



That thy heart must know, 

 Such harmonious madness 



From my lips would flow 



That the world would listen then as I am listening now." 

 O the birds! — they fill my field vision now — happy, amorous, all- 

 natural little life-merchanisms, yet, containing in themselves and 

 enacting before the eyes of the patient observer, all the passionate 

 loves and hates of the old human drama. 



The other day I watched a duel unto death between two Chipping 

 Sparrows. For some time the issue seemed doubtful and either might 

 have sought safety in flight; but the Spartan-mother war cry — Return 

 with your shield or upon it — was evidently the spirit actuating the 

 combatants. 



A dexterous peck at the eye gave advantage to the stronger; the 

 injured bird fell to the ground: the ensuing scene was simply murder. 

 O the joy of triumph — satiated revenge! Why — the spirit of Marius 

 seemed palpitating in that little hate-embodiment as he pecked and 

 pecked and chirped and pecked and dragged his victim and shook him 

 and even chirped and pecked and pecked long after life had, appar- 

 ently, departed from the poor tortured little form. 



