Sitting by the open ..easement on a summer’s morning, 
looking out upon a beautiful lawn, bordered wdth shade trees, 
in the town of Sheldon, Iowa, I overheard a coterie of boys-— 
each armed with a sriiall gun—discussing the merits of their 
murderous weapons, and the number of birds they had already 
shot since the opening of the season of bloom and song. I was 
at once interested, as I had been guarding a robin’s nest, in a 
tree near by my chamber window and knew the predilection of 
the “small boy” for these song birds. As they drew nearer, I 
recognized two of the lads as sons of a prominent citizen, and 
was greatly shocked to hear one of them say, “I have killed 
fifty robins since our currants were ripe.” 
While pondering over this awful confession, and deter¬ 
mined to lend my influence to stop this wickedness, the sequel 
to the morning’s episode occurred. I was invited to a five 
o’clock tea, where eighteen Robin-red-breasts were served up in 
a pie! I refused my piece, saying, that I would as soon think 
of eating my grandmother! 
Returned home full to the throat, sat down and dashed off 
the following: — 
