With the 
Blackbird. 
(25) THE BIRD WORLD. 
With the Blackbird. 
By EVELYN H. POLLARD, 
The glimmer of the stars which had 
twinkled with cheerful persistence 
through the darkness of a summer’s 
night was slowly growing fainter and 
fainter; the western sky was turning 
from gloomy blackness to a tender grey; 
not a breath stirred the tree tops or 
rustled among the leaves; all Nature lay 
in shadow, quiet and awe-struck, waiting 
for the birth of a new day. The tawny 
Owl had silently withdrawn to his hole, 
having at last satisfied the craving of his 
young; the frogs down among the gaudy 
marsh-mallows by the pond had stopped 
their harsh croaking; the mysterious 
Nightjar was taking forty winks after 
many hours’ tireless pursuit of his prey; 
the patient cows in the fields stood with 
lowered heads, looming phantom-like 
through the all-spreading greyness; the 
midges were reflecting sadly on the short¬ 
ness of life, and forbore to disturb by 
their fractious buzzing the solemn still¬ 
ness. Every bird was sleeping the sleep 
of the just, with his head tucked under 
his wing; old Tom, the Blackbird, was 
peacefully dreaming. Over all lay the 
hush of expectancy—the dawn was at 
hand. 
And at last a soft wind began to move 
among the trees and to gently sway them 
to and fro, the sky overhead grew lighter, 
and warned the bat that he must with 
all speed 
“ Hang himself out of the way.” 
The breeze began to play among the 
branches of the elm tree on which Tom 
was perched, but as he was dreaming 
that twenty beautiful cockchafers were 
lying in one tempting heap close to his 
beak he took no notice. The wind grew 
bolder, ruffled up his feathers, then 
whispered in his ear, until at last Tom 
stirred. Slowly he opened his bright 
black eyes, yawned, stretched with de¬ 
liberate care one pretty wing and then 
the other, and finally gave his fluffy 
plumage a hearty shake. 
“ What a cold wind ! ” murmured he. 
“ It might be winter instead of the end 
of June. Wish I was still dreaming 
about cockchafers ! Ah, well! I sup¬ 
pose it’s time for me to be up and about, 
and, as I was sharp enough to notice 
last night where the finest worms were 
congregating, I shall now have first look- 
in. Yesterday I overslept myself, and 
that confounded Starling with the whole 
hungry brood was before me and spoilt 
sport very much.” 
So he quietly flew towards the strip of 
grassy common-land which he had 
marked the night before as a very para¬ 
dise for worms, thinking gleefully that, 
as no one met him, every other bird 
must be more sleepy than he, or less 
greedy. But alas ! alas! his eyes must 
have deceived him, or else the worms 
had been warned of his coming, for, to 
his great disappointment, he saw no more 
than a single individual, who was just 
wide awake enough to flee, with a defiant 
wave of the tail, into his earthy bed. 
“ Upon my word, this is too madden¬ 
ing ! ” said he, as soon as he could speak, 
“ I’ve always heard that it is the early 
bird who catches the worm, and I am 
surely early enough; but my faith in 
proverbs seems to have been misplaced, 
though, of course, this may be a late- 
rising variety of worm of which the pro¬ 
verb takes no account. Confound the 
wind ! What did he mean by rousing 
me at this hour ? It hardly seems worth 
while to go back to bed, so 111 amuse 
myself by waking up all those lazy birds 
who are wasting the precious hours in 
slothful slumber. Upon my word! it’s 
disgraceful; it’s scandalous! They 
ought to be ashamed of themselves! 
Yes, Til let them know the time; why, 
the sun will be up in an hour or so.’ 
Acts the Tart of “ Knocker Up 
So, with the incomprehensible pride 
of the early riser whose temper is some¬ 
what easily ruffled, the Blackbird pro- 
