THE OOLOGIST 



117 



\ 'HAT CHANGE WILL DO FOR A 

 NATURALIST 



In Colorado when the peaks looked 



blue, 

 And leaves were floating crisp and 



sere — 

 Thin curving coins, fast slipping 



through 

 The clutches of the miser year — 

 Oh, tlien, I felt so awfully bright, 

 A million things I planned to write. 



In Portland when the nights were set 

 With blazing Northern lights on high. 

 The air was bracing keen, and wet, 

 And chattering crowds went hurrying 



by; 

 Oh, then, each play's most brilliant 



line 

 Made me think, "Wait till they see 



mine!" 



In Seattle, we anchored in the bay, 

 Pacific waves and scenery sublime 

 Filled me with lots of things to say. 

 If I could only find the time. 

 And then I said when I return. 

 No midniglit oil I'll ever burn. 



In St. Paul where our train waited, 

 I traveled up and down the hilly walks, 

 And still my mind worked unabated, 

 Altho I participated in frequent talks. 

 One arctic visitor's romantic chat 

 I tucked away beneath my hat. 



In thirty-six hours it came to pass, 

 Brilliant, sparking, hidden still. 

 Thru winding trails of blueish grass 

 And buzzards soaied o'er the hill. 

 Such a diamond air, such radiant day, 

 I haven't one darned thing to say. 



Gerard Alan Abbott. 

 From "The Central Record," Lan- 

 cr-sler, Ky. May 25, 1922. 



TRAGEDY: FROM DRIFT WEEK, 

 1879 



"You queer little wonderful owlet! you 



stand so fluffy and small! 

 Half a handful of feathers and two 



great eyes — 

 How came you to live at all? 

 And why do you sit there blinking as 



blind as a bat in the light, 

 With your pale eyes bigger than 



saucers? Now 

 Whoever saw such a sight! 



What ails Chickadee, tell me! What 



makes him flutter and scream 

 Round and over you where you sit. 



Like a tiny ghost in a dream? 

 I thought him a sensible fellow, quite 



•steady and calm and wise, 

 But only see how he hops and flits, and 



hear, how wildly he cries! 

 "What is the matter, you owlet? You 



will not be friglitened away! 

 Don't you mean on that twig of a lilac 

 bush, the whole night long to stay ? 

 Are you bewitching my Chickadee- 

 dee? 

 1 really believe that you are! 

 I wish you'd go off, you strange brown 

 bird — 

 Oh, ever and ever so far! 



"I fear you are weaving and winding 



some kind of a dreadful charm; 



If I leave poor Chickadee-dee with you, 



I am sure he will come to laarm. 

 But what can I do? We can't stay 

 here forever together, we three — 

 One anxious child, and an owlet weird. 

 And a frightened Chickadee-dee! 



"I could not frighten the owl away, and 



Chickadee would not come. 

 So I just ran off with a heavy heart. 



And told my mother at home; 

 But when my brothers and sisters went 



the curious sight to see. 

 The owl was gone, and there lay on 

 tlie ground 

 Two feathers of Chickadee-dee!" 

 Thaxter. 

 George W. H. vos Burgh. 



