Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1874-04-22
The Bluebird,
From the N. Y. Christian Union.

: this latitude to catch the worm, or. if II
I does, it must be woefully disappointed
in it's calculations of full meal, unless
the embryonic larva clinging to some
! bit of rough bark is all it's dainty appe-
tite Graves. .aaA H
i, The early bird appears to be nothing
more than a tuneful voice, carrying
about with it downy bunch of feath-
ers. How it received the invitation to
come, and why it came while the fields
are still desolate, is a profound mystery.
We wonder what could have induced it
to quit the live oak forests and orange
groves of Florida, and the sprouting
8 cotton and rice of the Carolinas, for
the inhospitable bleakness of a northern
March
| But the thing is done without fuss,
IT not without feathers. The newspa-
pers Go not mention the bluebird among
their arrivals but you get up some
fine, clear, sparkling morning, with the
thermometer still pretty low down,
and crust of ice perhaps glazing the
pools, and there he is in the maple op-
posite your window, tuning his pipe,
and dressing his feathers with the easy
nonchalance which distinguishes bird
manners. He seems to have no solicit
tude as to the ways and means of liv-
ing, nor is he the least downcast about
the mistake which it appears to you he
has made in his reckoning. His new
apartments evidently suit him quite as
well as the cane-brake and the magnolia
grove.
This little handful of song and feath-
ers Is sermon, q poem, and an Orches-
ira tucked into the smallest possible
compass. March nights are often bit
ter, with spiteful, rasping cold, that
| delights in irritating the skin and rails
ing buster on the temper Where
does the early bird lodge on such nights
at tho beginning of the season. It seems
as though he must make his nest in
Gods own hand.
1t is inexpressibly pleasant to hear
the first chirpings, peepings and twit-
terings of these wide-awake songsters,
about stone walls and stubble fields and
the sunniest spots in the orchard.
Watch them as they light on the rails of
the fence and hop along, their pink toes
spread wide, stopping to nip little bit
OF hchen or to dress and cleanse the
under part of the wings. What indie
pendent, undauntedli little creatures they
arel ...,-
The first song bird, [ hold is as
miraculous as Jonah's gourd. It's in
stincts, mode of existence, it's very be-
ing, are a mystery There it sits at home
on the limb of your gnarled apple-tree
chock full of adventures and experience
of travel you would give your eyes to
know, and pouring all out in tangled,
careless strain of music, from a heart
trimming over with JOY. There he sits,
the John Baptist of spring, and prophe-
sizes to the woods and fields, saying.
''Prepare We the way of the anemone
and the violet, the clover top and the
daisy"
The little fellow must shiver and
moan we fancy, in that sour weather of
which SO much that we can call the
spring is composed, when even the first
grass blades look as if they longed to
creep back into the earthf for protection.
But never comes cry or groan from
our hero. You will hear him singing
on the skirts of snow-squall, when
his toes must ache with cold, as if he
had found rift in the cloud where the
peace of heaven was smiling down into
his heart. With no visible means of
support, with no abiding place, who
can tell but he drinks of the river of
life, and picks the berries of the tree
that grows on its borders?
The more his step-dame. March,
scolds the little fellow, the more he
quirks his head and dresses his feath-
ers, and gives quick, defiant glances
with his bright eyes. See him on a
plum-tree Dough, picking gum from
the smooth purple limbs, while the
wind ruffles his feathers with an un-
gentle hand. Still he elings with his
tenacious pink claws, and then takes a
short flight, warbling and twittering on
the wing, as if the song would not
allow itself to be depressed.
One bird cannot make a summer, but
he becomes hostage for flowers, and
grass, and leaves. A fountain of hope
bubbles up in the withered field when
the first bird song is heard. Winter
sears the imagination, and we forget
invariably how beautiful the spring
time is. 1t comes to us each year as a
fresh surprise. When the first sings
about your caves, we have the evi-
dence of things unseen. Somewhere
enough wonder, working power remains
to fashion bird and fill it's heart with
music, and all things become possible
to God
The little songster puts in an early
appearance, perhaps because he can
see farther and learn the lay of the
land better before the countryside is
clustered with foliage and shade. Then
when he has got his bearings, he is
content tie let the grass grow 11nder his
feet.
remember child's account of the
creation OF the bluebird, which, though
1t does not agree with the received
opinions of naturalists, has a certain
significance. She said: CATER God
had got him most made, He cut off a
little piece of sky for his jacket" Their
is poetic touch in this any one will
appreciate who has observed the rapid,
impulslve fight of the bluebird as he
dips and circles round, throwing
spray of light from his graceful wing.
Then InHooH bo Iooo ooo,,, 11l1o a hit of