Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1855-11-06
EVENING STAR.
DON'T SHOOT THE BIRDS


Oh, it is not the deed of noble heart which
can ruthlessly slaughter the little feathered
songsters of our foTest-those brightest psalu-
It's Oi nature, who are ever reiteratng their
Jubllant songs Of praise, and Thanksgiving,
and love-wbose sweet, melodious voices come
waited like incense to US upon the summer
zephyrs, and floating onward and upward
through the grand old woods, are caught, and
re-echoed with new power, and new beauty
and varying tones, by q myriad of tUeeful
chorists, and the embowered branches oi the
er-spreadinS trees are converted into a
grand orchestral temple
We love little birds. We delight when suf-
fering, and care, and sorrow, have left their
impression on our mind, or some dark shadow
OF evil, or spirit Of gloom, or genii of despair
have crossed the brighter path of life, dim
ming our faculties, destroying our perception
Of enjoyment, and filling our very soul with
the impress of melancholy, TO stroll into the
woods, leaving the artificial world behind US
forsaking the hum, and din, and turmoil of
| the city, turning our back, as ii were, upon
our fellow men, and shutting ourselves up in
a close communion with the mysteries, and
wonders, and beauties Of nature. We love 10
| cast ourselves upon the velyety emerald car
petibg with which the bounteous hand of
Providence has so lavishly o'erspread the
bosom of our common mother Earth. beneath
the shadow Of some giant oak, whose branches
mantle, and struggle, and entwine about each
other, covered with bright Leaflets, tn at wave
and autter to and fro, like some enchained
spirits Of light, and forming a mystic tracery
against the clear blue vault of heaven
through which the beams of the king of day
struggle and reflect with mellow softness upon
all beneath-yilding the trunk of the giant
forest monarch, until it seems no vagary of
fancy to think 1t some weird warrior of by
gone age standing erect in all the pride Of
armor, and shield, and vizer, and helmet who
In the lone woods, like a true knight-errant, is
awaiting the approach of the fair lady-love,
falling upon yon violet which hangs its head
IN modest confusion in being thus honored,
and looks so much like pearl Just sprung nm
from amid the grand bright sea of emaId
Look up into that branch, whose beauteous
curtain sweeps to and fro, responsive to every
breathing of the wind. See YOU that marry
little robin, hopping about its airy CO stle in all
the ecstacy Of joyous freedom now peckiug
pertiy at the dun-coIored cuticle of the tree
now seiZing cOyly in its beak soms hutteripg
leai and pulling and tugging, in sheer des-
pe'aticn, until it is severed from the parent
twiS; and then, like a busy, frugal house
wife, flying down to that niche where the two
giant arms of the oak separate This is the
home of the robin. There is slight chirrup-
ing IN the fair castle, a faint, melodious scream
Of the young robins, who are vainly endsav-
W pass tuo LdEhODlc notes OF Their
parent, and the dame flies forth again from
her nest She has covered the floor oS her
mansion with tapestry with whose bri!!ancy
of color and elasticity Of material no hand OF
man can vie. Ii was designed By nature, and
penclled and corrugated by the zephyrs of
spring.
HaEiz. There is a sweet bird-song Of won
drous melody swelling from some distant nook
OF the wood, like the iar-cf pealirg OF the YES
of St pafprS N.ft 4hriIIi-,
sympathetic are the tones, as they fall unon
the easr. Now they are feeble and wavering
ike the distant War-soDS Of the Celtic knisnt
upon the brink Of Donnybrock lake, Anon
they become Inore full, deep, ard powerful.
There Is rustic amid the leaves Of the oak
busting, greeting Of welcome from the lame
robin, and her beautiful mate stands beside
her upon the branch ard the twain, together
pour forth such joyous strains of heartfelt
melody, that we pause to wonder whether
they can ever be less IuerTy-Haetber sorrow
can ever find HON c-.cst in their little feath-
cred breasts.
There Is music in the very nature Of the
dark old woods The rustling Of the tiny leaves;
the surging TO and fro OF the cloud -capped
bows, as they seem each bogiIg to his neigh
boz, the dull heavy creaking of The trunk, as
ii Is strained TO more than its wOnted tension
by the wind the shrill whistling of the breeze
over the spear-like tufts of grass-all combine
IN grand anthem of harmony, which art nav
initiate, but never even remotely rival. And
when to these we have superadded the ten
thousand choral songs of the festnered war
bierS, IN every varying tone of harmony and
power, from the shrill treble chirp Of the lit
tie wren, to the deep alto Of the hOb-a link, or
the SonOrous basso Of the hecker, il seems as
II all about, above, arOuud--the very atmos-
piere itself-Were alive with music In its
sweetest form.
And We are thankful for the birds We
feel that the woods without them would be
like
Some bang Jet hail deserted,
Whose lamps are fed, whose glorious dead
And all but Hope departed"
We should miss them in our morning walk
Me should miss their main songs at eventide.
We should meet their main consolation for
sorrow and despair In our rambles through the
woods. We should miss them everywhere.
Then let Us feel thankful for the
Ten thousand Ghoral birds
Some blue and some sun-dyed-
Some white as the farm wife : curds-
Some tipped with the moonlight hue
Some red as the tame of war;
And on the crest OF some,
Se.Ieth fallen star
Don't kill the birds Let them live 10 con-
tinue their songs Of goodness Let them live to
brighten our world Of materiality and care
with their ideal poetry. Let them live to peal
their morning, noon, and evening anthems TO
the Giver of all Good. Lat them live to i'm
plant in the minds Of innocent children the
first happy lessons of the true and beautiful in
Nature. Let them live TO keep company with
their copartners of poetic beauty, the flowers
As you would manifest the refinement Of your
mind, the uprightness of your heart, the sen.
sibility Of your nature--don't kill the Birds
Troy DAILY Times.
A CoWHIDING AFPAIR.-Not little excite
ment was created in the Lexington market
yesterday morning by the appearance Of q