The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1880-03-10
The Blue jays Eulogy.

Atlanta Constitution.
Last Friday morning an'incident occurred on
Whitehall street which has not heretofore
been reported in the columns of the Constitu
ton. II was about O'Clock and the atmos-
phere was unusually serene. A passer-by with
tin bucket on his arm, stopped on the side
walk and gazed anxiously at the topmost
boughs of a catalpa tree. A little negro boy,
observing his attitude, stopped whistling raw
ishing strain from Pinafore and stationed him
self where he could get full view of the tree.
A family man, with basket clutched tightly
In his hand, also paused and looked curiously
into the tree. The driver of the streetcar,
seeing this crowd upon the street, invountari-
ly put on his brakes with the air of one moral
ly certain that these people were waiting to be
hauled up the long hill by his inadequate little
mules. AT any rate, the car came to halt
opposite the catalpa tree. and the one passen-
ger-a fat man with stove-pipe hat and spec
tacles and an old-fashioned fob swinging from
under his ample waistcoat, came out upon the
platform, glanced at his watch and looked in
the tree. How much larger this interesting con-
gregation would have grown in the next few
minutes it is impossible to say for Just then the
man withIthe tin bucket smiled at the man with
the market basket and walked away. The car
driver lifted his inadequate mules on the end
OF his whip, the little negro resumed his melo-
dous selection from Pinafore and the crowd
dispersed. The whole affair was full of myste-
ry to all save the man with the tin bucket anu
this fortunate individual went on to his daily
labor considerably refreshed and invigorated.
For, in truth and in fact, a jay-bird had made
the catalpa tree his signal station, and hop
ping about from limb to limb, and bowing Gu
riously to his own reflection in the rain-drops,
challenged the weather and the season in his
shrillest and most defiant tones; and the man
with the tin bucket knew that the bird from
his airy perch could see spring in the distance
The jay is never mistaken in his prognostica-
tions. He may sound his alarum too early, but
he is never too late. The poets who have run
mad in the hot chase after conceits persist in
declaring that the rain-crow is the harbnger
of spring, and they insist, moreover that rain
crow should be called a cuckoo. Nothing
shows the mad folly of poets to better disaG-
vantage than their attitude in this matter We
prosy people know that the blue-jay is the first
OF the birdsto announce the approach OF spring,
and we know, too, that there is more genuine
poetry in one feather OF his defiant top-knot
than in the whole body of incoming rain-crow.
We know, moreover, that he is the only genu-
inc humorist OF the feathered tribe-a little
cynical, to be sure, when he goes so far as TO
rob wren's nest, but always bubbling over
with genuine humor.
AT any rate, 1T came to pass, last Friday,
while the rain-crow was moping about. display
ing his usual imbecility, the jay-bird, perched
upon prominent bough of the cataipa tree,
not only challenged the general flabbiness ofthe
weather. but gave utterance to the voice of
spring There was something cheerful and
bracing in his notes, He was not only defiant,
but confident. His voice had never been trained
even in country singing-school, but if there
was any harshness in its timbre, there were no
critics at hand to call it to our attention. 1t
seemed, indeed, timely invitation to the wide
fields where the season is weaving her delicate
carpet, and to the far woods where the SWELL
ing buds are preparing to show what treasures
of leaf and flower they have held in trust For
presently, as the iay-bird tells us, the spring
will be here, and, armed with an odorous
broom, will proceed to sweep away the moldy
remains of last summer, which, in Difference
to the assertions of our abest almanac makers,
we have courteously alluded to as winter.