Jays and Crows 179 



weep alone but want every one to go into the lawn 

 sprinkler business with them and along comes Mr. 

 Jay and flaunts his sky blue in their faces and 

 says, as clearly as a bird can: "Oh! Patience 

 don't mention it; people have enough of that with- 

 out making a community service of it so just pack 

 your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, 

 smile." 



My friend Yorick should be especially dear 

 to the heart of Ella Wheeler Wilcox for he laughs 

 whether the world laughs with him or not and 

 however much you persecute him with your guns, 

 traps, poison, he is now and always: "O'er all 

 the ills of life victorious." I do not claim that 

 he is to be compared to a "Yellow prim-rose on 

 the river's brink" so far as a poetic uplift goes, 

 but I do aver that in my heart he has stirred: 

 "Thoughts that do lie too deep for words." Oh! 

 you don't like his shrill unmusical ear-splitting 

 squawk. I do not blame you very much, but I 

 question if I ever heard it just as you have. It's 

 the noise of the children of that neighbor whom 

 you do not like that is especially offensive; the 

 noise of your own children may sound like music. 

 There is a difference. Then we must reckon with 

 individual taste. Don't misunderstand me; I'm 

 not putting my friend Yorick up as a musical 

 prodigy, far from it. As a singer he is in the class 



