AMERIOAN ORNITHOLOGY. 115 



A BIRD TRAGEDY. 



Spring time in the country! Why those poets of the old Smoky-city 

 class-room were not so flightily unreal after all. Spring is a wondr- 

 ous, glorious panorama; and we who— many years ago — more than 

 half believed in the wonderful Genius of Aladdin's Lamp; stand to-day 

 in awe before the wondrous transformations wrought by an unseen 

 hand. Yon trees but yesterday bleak, black, leafless— laugh now in 

 leaves of tenderest green or in blossoms pink or white: the air is 

 redolent of blossom and vocal with the song of birds. 



Previous to this my first experience of Spring time in the country, 

 bird-life was quite unknown to me. I admit, too, a feeling somewhat 

 of irritation at the frequent allusions to birds made by poets, prose- 

 writers, spring-enthusiasts etc. But, as so frequently happens that 

 which one condemns in another comes sooner or later to dominate 

 over him — and I found myself to-day fairly fascinated by the birds. 

 Bird Magazines, Ornithological treatises, Audubon and even bird-poets 

 are eagerly sought and now, for the first time, understood. 



Shelley's "Sky Lark" unfolded a whole world of meaning as I read 

 it whilst listening to the vesper strain of the little Song Sparrow. I 

 too echoed: 



"Teach me half the gladness 



That thy heart must know, 

 Such harmonious madness 



From my lips would flow 



That the world would listen then as I am listening now." 

 O the birds! — they fill my field vision now — happy, amorous, all- 

 natural little life-merchanisms, yet, containing in themselves and 

 enacting before the eyes of the patient observer, all the passionate 

 loves and hates of the old human drama. 



The other day I watched a duel unto death between two Chipping 

 Sparrows. For some time the issue seemed doubtful and either might 

 have sought safety in flight; but the Spartan-mother war cry — Return 

 with your shield or upon it^was evidently the spirit actuating the 

 combatants. 



A dexterous peck at the eye gave advantage to the stronger; the 

 injured bird fell to the ground: the ensuing scene was simply murder. 

 O the joy of triumph — satiated revenge! Why — the spirit of Marius 

 seemed palpitating in that little hate-embodiment as he pecked and 

 pecked and chirped and pecked and dragged his victim and shook him 

 and even chirped and pecked and pecked long after life had, appar- 

 ently, departed from the poor tortured little form. 



