A CREDITABLE BLUE JAY. 



I wish to recount an incident that re- 

 dounds to the credit of a bird whose gen- 

 eral reputation is a sad contrast to his 

 bright plumage. 



I was called from my work one day 

 to be told that a Jay was breaking up the 

 wren's nest in the cherry tree. My in- 

 formant, whose indignation was very 

 great, seized the gun with the intention 

 of putting an end to the murderer. The 

 Jay appeared to be trying to enter the 

 hole that contained the nest against the 

 frantic protestations of the wrens. We 

 drove him away but he returned at once 

 and renewed his efforts to enter repeat- 

 edly. This evidence might seem suffi- 

 cient to condemn a bird with so dark a 

 reputation. But I knew the Jay to be 

 a very sly fellow, not in the habit of com- 

 mitting his depredations in the presence 

 of the birds he wishes to despoil, to say 



nothing of his wariness in regard to the 

 human race, so I was confident that his 

 bold actions in this instance should be at- 

 tributed to some other cause than a desire 

 for pillage. Therefore, wishing to inves- 

 tigate further before passing sentence on 

 the Jay I mounted a ladder the cherry 

 pickers left standing against the tree and 

 found the wrens' home occupied by a 

 snake. YVe punched the snake out and 

 dispatched him. He was about eighteen 

 inches long and his stomach contained 

 one young wren. The other nestlings 

 were uninjured and reached maturity 

 without further casualties. So the Jay 

 was not only guiltless but a benefactor ; 

 instead of having evil designs upon the 

 wrens he had answered to their call of 

 distress in defense against the common 

 enemy. 



Addie L. Booker. 



HYMN OF THE DAISY. 



A little longer let me see thee, 



O my Father-Sun ! 

 Ere droop my blanching petals, 



And my day be done. 

 One more deep draught, O give 



Of thy surpassing light, 

 Ere fails the life I live, 



Quenched by dark night ! 

 I love thy face, great Father, 



Nor content can fold 

 My bannerets of white 



That all day float, 

 Bearing thy name in gold, 



As long as in the western sky 

 Thy face — a glory-beam — is yet in sight. 



When sets the Sun, then only is my eye 



Shorn of its love, and without thee must die ! 



— Mrs. Merrill E. Gates. 



