THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 17 



O Lincoln, a wounded, dying bird, and waked up Tim Bun 

 ker, who happened to be in the adjoining field planting 

 corn. The genteel merchant, in pursuit of country pleas 

 ures, was just bagging his game when Esq. Bunker came 

 up. Sparrowgrass had only got as far as &quot; My dear sir, 

 will you have the kindness,&quot; in his stereotyped speech of 

 enquiry, when he was interrupted. 



&quot; Why, Jerry, is this you, out here in Hookertown agin, 

 killing our birds. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 

 shooting a poor skunk blackbird. What harm has he 

 ever done you ? His song is a little crooked, I allow, but 

 cold lead is not the stuff to straighten it with. It is the 

 same song the Almighty gin him to sing, and he has as 

 good a right to sing it as you have to measure tape. It 

 is a most inhuman thing to kill birds when they are laying 

 their eggs and hatching their young. Besides, Jerry, 

 we ve got a law agin it, and all good citizens ought to 

 obey it. The birds are the best friends the farmers have, 

 and we have learned better than to kill the crows, as we 

 used to when they pulled the corn. Now, Jerry, put up 

 your shooting iron and go straight home to widow Spar- 

 rowgrass s, and if you shoot another bird in these parts 

 I ll have you fined before night.&quot; 



Mr. Jeremiah Sparrowgrass withdrew immediately, be 

 ing particularly disgusted that an old farmer should call a 

 Broadway merchant &quot;Jerry,&quot; and very much out of 

 humor with the Connecticut bird law. 



The statute, however, is likely to stand for some years 

 to come. ED. 



