THE MOURNING DOVE. 



DEAR YOUNG BIRD LOVERS : 



Most every person thinks that, 

 while my actions are very pretty 

 and attractive, and speak much 

 in my favor, I can only really 

 say, Coo-o, Coo-o, which they also 

 think does not mean anything at 

 all. Well, I just thought I 

 would undeceive them by writ- 

 ing you a letter. Many grown 

 up people fancy that we birds 

 cannot express ourselves be- 

 cause we don't know very much. 

 Of course, there is a good reason 

 why they have this poor opinion 

 of us. They are so busy with 

 their own private concerns that 

 they forget that there are little 

 creatures like ourselves in the 

 world who, if they would take a 

 little time to become acquainted 

 with them, would fill their few 

 hours of leisure with a sweeter 

 recreation than they find in 

 many of their chosen outings. 

 A great English, poet, whose 

 writings you will read when you 

 get older, said you should look 

 through Nature up to Nature's 

 God. What did he mean? I 

 think he had us birds in his 

 mind, for it is through a study 

 of our habits, more perhaps than 

 that of the voiceless trees or the 

 dumb four-footed creatures that 

 roam the fields, that your hearts 

 are opened to see and admire 

 real beauty. We birds are the 

 true teachers of faith, hope, and 



charity, faith, because we trust 

 one another; hope, because, 

 even when our mother Nature 

 seems unkind, sending the drift- 

 ing snow and the bitter blasts 

 of winter, we sing a song of 

 summer time; and charity, be- 

 cause we are never fault finders. 



I believe, without knowing it, 

 I have been telling you about 

 myself and my mate. We 

 Doves are very sincere, and 

 every one says we are constant. 



If you live in the country, 

 children, you must often hear 

 our voices. We are so tender 

 and fond of each other that we 

 are looked upon as models for 

 children, and even grown-up 

 folks. My mate does not build 

 a very nice nest only uses a 

 few sticks to keep the eggs from 

 falling out but she is a good 

 mother and nurses the little 

 ones very tenderly. Some peo- 

 ple are so kind that they build 

 for us a dove cote, supply us 

 with wheat and corn, and make 

 our lives as free from care and 

 danger as they can. Come and 

 see us some day, and then you 

 can tell whether my picture is a 

 good one. The artist thinks it 

 is and he certainly took lots of 

 pains with it. 



Now, if you will be kind to 

 all birds, you will find me, in 

 name only, 



MOURNING DOVE. 



