THE OOLOGIST. 



255 



Near the end of a limb, fifty feet from the 



ground. 

 The girth of the oak was something enor- 

 mous,— 

 Nor was the distance to climb so exceedingly 



small. 

 And I came to the conclusion, as soon as I 



found it. 

 That all my previous big climbs were just, — 

 nothing at all. 



My big climbs, my 

 tall climbs, my climbs made with climbers,— in 

 short, all my previous climbs, were just noth- 

 ing at all. 



IV 

 There are few things accomplished without 



difficulty.— 

 You'll find this the case in love as elsewhere, 

 (For we all of us Itnow of that romantic fable 

 0/ Pyramus and Thisbe,— that buxom young 



pair; 

 And you'll distinctly remember, — for so runs 



the fable,— 

 That they did all their kissing through a hole 



in the wall),— 

 But I wish to remark that their great difficulty 

 As compared with this climbing, was nothing 



at all. 



The digging the hole, 

 and the kissing done through it, nay. both 

 hese combined, were but nothing at all. 



V 

 But With mxich difficult climbing, I succeeded 



in reaching 

 The limb wliere the nest was,— at tlie risk of 



my life. 

 And straightway proceeded to haggle the limb 



off, 

 With the sharpest-known blade of my dull- 



bladed liuife. 

 Then I drew tlie nest towards me with the 



gi'eatest of caution, 

 And just had my hands on the precious, round 



ball. 

 When, hang if,—confodiul it, — (excuse the ex- 

 pressions), — D ceruleci's nest contained 

 nothing at all. 



Contained simpl.v 

 nothing, not a single thing in it, not even an 

 egg-shell, —no, nothing at all. 



VI 



I tell you in candor, my brother collectors. 



That this business we're up to, depends largely 

 on chance; 



For the collector's experience is dreadfixl un- 

 certain, 



And much of his experience is not all 

 romance, — 



His looked-for achievements turn out to be 

 nothing,— 



When he expects something great, he finds 

 something small.— 



And how oft is it true when he thinks he's 

 found something, 



Disappointed, he finds that it's nothing at r-U 

 Just nuerely nothing, 



expressed by a cipher, in something this fash- 

 ion, — 0— just nothing at all. 



■ VII 

 Disappointment and sorrow is what we are 



doomed to. 

 In this cold, cruel world where we take our 



abode ; 

 And we must not expect to find everything 



sunshine 

 Nor travel without finding stones in the road. 

 And now. my kind readers, I'll finish my 



ditty,— 

 But first, if you'll allow me, j^our attention I'll 



call 



To the fact that most fables end up with a 



moral,— 

 If you ask me what mine is.— It's just nothing 

 at all. 



Not even a moral, 

 and no point to my story, and the whole tale 

 has amounted to nothing at all. 



— Homo poeticus. 



Answers to Queries in Nov. Oologist. 



First; as to whether;: crow can talk 

 if its tongue is not split. 



There seems to be an idea, prevalent 

 over niiu^h of the United States, that if 

 a crow's tongue is split the bird will l)e 

 enabled to talk. Common sense, how- 

 ever, ought to tell us that if a crow 

 cannot talk without its tongue being 

 split there is no use in splitting it. I 

 believe no crow could ever l)e taught to 

 speak as well as a parrot, l)ut that they 

 are able to speak many word.s is beyond 

 question. I have been the owner of 

 one talking crow, and have s(!en and 

 heard another that could swear "like a 

 pirate." And all this without any cut- 

 ting of the tongue. This latt(;r crow's, 

 taste ran to the mimicry of animal 

 Sounds, such as the cackling of hens, 

 the barking of dogs, etc;. 1 think it 

 will be found that certain crows poss- 

 ess more talent for speaking words than 

 others. 



The bird whose notes are described 

 as sounding like "Sow, sow your wheat, 

 sib.ey, siljfey sibley," is doul)tless the 

 White-throated Sparrow. In Bradford 

 Torrey's charming book, "Birds in a 

 Bush," a story is told of a farmer nam- 

 ed Peveriy who received an injunction 

 to sow wheat from this same bird. The 

 White-throat has acquired other names 

 from its song. In the White Moun- 

 tains, Torey says it is called nightingale 

 from its habit of singing late at night, 

 and in other parts of New England it is 

 called Peabodyltird from a fancy that 

 the bird says "pe-a-body" instead of 

 "sibley" or "peveriy." Wilson Flagg 

 has al«o worded the song as: "All day- 

 whittling, whittling, whitlling." 



WiixakdN. Ulute, 

 Binghamton, N. Y. 



D. A. Young, Washington Heights, 

 Ills., reports unusually large tlocks of 

 blackbirds this fall. 



C. B. Vandycook, Odin, Ills., writes i-. 

 "In i-eply to tiie article in Nov. Oolo- 

 gist headed 'An Ornithological Leech,' 

 would say I vary in my opinion, as. 



