SMALL BIRD TALK 533 



but as he made but one attempt at a song, I did not 

 have an opportunity to make any short-hand notes 

 of his ballad, although I have some made since this 

 was written. 



But what pleased me most of all was to hear a 

 clear voice in a truck garden crying : 



"BOB WHITE, BOB WHITE!" 



Poor little bob-white ! He lives in a city popu- 

 lated with two-legged, blood-thirsty animals as 

 numerous as grasshoppers in Kansas, and there is 

 scarcely one of these fierce creatures called men 

 who would not rejoice over an opportunity, and 

 call it sport, to kill this persecuted little bird who 

 with his modest mate has dared to set up house- 

 keeping within the corporate limits of New York 

 City. 



We once called it sport to set wild beasts upon 

 defenseless people in the arena, later we called it 

 sport to set vicious dogs at bulls, horses, bears, and 

 badgers. 



Man is slowly evolving from the brute, but he 

 has a long road to travel yet before he becomes a 

 real man ! 



While I am a nature lover and have a real af- 

 fection for every live thing on earth, be it a blade 

 of grass or a highly developed animal, I do not 

 wish my boy readers to understand by this that I 

 approve of the degenerate sentimentality which, 

 according to a current paper, was exhibited by a 

 wealthy widow of Chicago. The news item in my 



