THE YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD. 



E. K. M. 



THE little readers of Birds and All 

 Nature will not have much re- 

 spect for me, I am afraid, after 

 reading what Mr. Wood Thrush 

 said of my family in the last number 

 of the magazine. 



Probably you don't recollect it. 

 Well, he said that my cousin, Mr. Red- 

 Winged Blackbird, was often found in 

 the company of Mr. Cowbird, and that 

 Mr. Cowbird was a very disreputable 

 creature, being no better than an out- 

 cast and a tramp. 



Humph! Just as though birds, like 

 boys and girls, are to be judged by the 

 company they keep. Why, /associate 

 with Mr. Cowbird, too; he is a distant 

 relative of mine, and certainly nobody 

 who looks at my picture can call me 

 disreputable. See what a g]r"^c^;. black 

 coat I wear and what a fine yellow col- 

 lar and hat. We are only free in our 

 manners, that is all, helping ourselves 

 liberally to the grain planted by our 

 dear friend, Mr. Farmer. 



I am not lazy, either, like my rela- 

 tive, Mr. Cowbird, for I build a new 

 house every spring, locating it among 

 the tall flags and grasses in a nice 

 damp piece of marshland. 



Though I am a blackbird, I'm not 

 found from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 

 as Mr. Red-Wing is and others of our 

 tribe. For that reason you can't call 

 me common, you know. But, then, 

 our manners and customs are about 

 the same. We do not hop like other 

 birds, but walk very much as you do, 



putting one foot before the other, a 

 bit awkwardly, perhaps, but I am sure 

 with considerable dignity. Indeed, my 

 mate says but for cocking my head on 

 one side when strutting on the ground 

 one might take me for a bishop — in 

 feathers — I have such a solemn, serious 

 air, as though burdened with a sense 

 of my own importance. 



Like the generality of birds, I find a 

 warm climate in winter conducive to 

 my health, so in November I leave the 

 north and hie me to the south, return- 

 ing about the first of May, not so early 

 as my cousin, Mr. Red-VVmg, and the 

 other common members of the black- 

 bird family. They, like some visitors, 

 welcome or unwelcome, usually come 

 early and stay late. 



It strikes me, for that reason, the 

 blackbird family should be considered 

 of some importance, even if they do 

 associate with Mr, Cowbird, tramp that 

 he is, for when the first flocks of black- 

 birds are seen sailing overhead, like 

 leaves blown by the wind against the 

 sky, you know that spring is near, no 

 matter how cold or chill the weather 

 may be. Crowds and crowds of us are 

 then seen circling and wheeling above 

 our last year's nesting-place, talking 

 and laughing like little children and 

 making just as much noise. 



Co7t-cur-ee is the only song we know, 

 but we utter that in different tones, 

 so that our mates consider it very 

 pleasing, and so may you. 



WITH OPEN EYES. 



OLIVE SCHREINER. 



And now we turn to 



nature. All these years we have lived 

 beside her, and we have never seen her; 

 now we open our eyes and look at her. 



The rocks have been to us a blur of 

 brown; we bend over them, and the 

 disorganized masses dissolve into a 

 many-colored, many-shaped, carefully- 



