The herald., 1893-05-08
BIRD LIFE IN PARKS.
THE TUNEFUL HOUR OF THE EARLY
DAWN.
Z 4 Sunday Sermon on Ornitho1ogy by q
Man Who sits Up Late aud Comes
Into the House with the
Mornings MIX.

Did you ever sit up late? Did you
ever follow vocation that compelled
your attendance till the STARS grew pale
and the eastern sky bushes like a
maiden in the glow Of the coming Gun ?
II not, you can not realize what refuge
isfrom the hawks, shrikss and rocks eur
parks afford to the emaller clase OF song
birds. We have the common eolden-
eyed biackbird of the middle states. as
well SO the red-winged blaekbird or
starting, which is not altogether unlike
2. the enough oil England, which Scott inn
mortalized in the gypsies chorus in
Guy Mannering. Then there ls the
meadow lark, common to all the coaes,
8 which is not lark at all, but thrush /;
and the robin redbreast, which Is with
ne only q winter bird. He makes his
neat in the gloomy, old ancestral frs
that fringe the shores OF Puget sound,
and is rarely seen here after the second
week in April. He goes and comes, but
the meadow lark STAYS with us all the
year round. Last but not least
come the red neclCed linnets. The cock
birds throat is wrapped in g scarlet muf-
fer, which is unusually bright red in
the breeding season, while his wife ia q
saber little Kate Caetleton of q bird,
dressed in quiet suit of gray. She can
not sing little bit, or we might expect
from her throat faint and dainty rem
dition Of For Goodness Sake Don't Say
l Told You.
The great, gray-barked Tssmainan
gums in the park, exponents of the
poetry OF the haggard and uncouth,
shed their bark ct the approach OF
winter tide but their glossy pointed
leaves remain as welcome ahelter to
the feathered- songsters that flock in
here from Idaho and Oregon as the snow
begins to fly. Our pretty little parks
are full of them. And the beated proof
reader, who crosses the Sixth.street
park in the hours when the stars grow
pale, hears no end of the music OF
nature. On the chatter OF black bird ON
the carol of meadow lark and as the
trill Of linnets innumerable come the
songs that awaken the opening flower
to welcome the dawn. They sing as they
sang ON the dawn Of the day when the
Nazarene was born and their ting
throats ripple forth the same liquid
music that they carolled on the resurrec-
tion morn, when the prince OF peace led
captivity captive and proclaimed eternal
salvation to the world.
Some people wonder at the presence
OF so much bird life In the heart of q
large city, but it is easily explained.
The natural enemies of the smaller
birds-the hawks and butcher birds
are very wary and never approach the
crowded streets and busy haunts OF
men. The smaller birds have long since
found this out, and have sought the
parks as an asylum from the predatory
visits OF their born foes. Hence it ia
that the wayfarer, sitting down upon a
bench in any of our parks, sees the air
fairly darkened with hocks OF birds COM
ing into the city to rest through the
long watches OF the night.
They used to have all these birds
about San Francisco until the English
sparrow came and drove off what few he
dId not EilI. The sparrow is cf no value
beyond his errsnd as scavenger. While
I'VE have the linnets and the Htarlings to
sing i0r us, Brittalia may keep her
sparrows. The joyous meadow lark,
pouring forth his plaintive song in rip
pling rapture from his throat OF gold I;
and the tiny linnet, with mis- saucyred
collar, are quite good enough for the An
gelefios. Let US be thankful for the
beautiful parks that shelter them; and
may tuO BuuO 11VAOs III Ills luu4ttc
mercy, defer the coming of the British
sparrow as long 90 possible. Our native
songsters are quite good enough for us.
Some Of these days our public-spirited
citizeQs will invest some money on song
birds, and when they get ready to pur-
chase foreign songsters, let them not
overlook Master Robert o. Lincoln. the
gentleman with his glossy black back
and yellow wings, who carols his blithe-
some serenade above the beads OF the
barley, while bis sober little spouse sits
upon the eggs and warns his infant
brood into life. In the grain fields of
far-of New England this merry song
ster rattles off his chanHon today, while
the perfume of the new-mown bay
greets the descendants of the Puritans
as they walk toward the hoary old meet
ing house to sing the same old hymns
they sang before the Giant OF Marsh
field was born, or before Paul Revere
rode at midnight TO warn the nation OF
its peril.
And till the English skylarks and the
YANKEE bobolinks make their appear
ance, let ue be content with our native
eong-birds whose welcome notes greet
the ashes of-roses in the morning.eky as
the tired disciple of Faust wende his
way home and comes to his own front
door, side by side with the milkman.
The man who hears no beauty In the
songs of our native birds has but little
love for the poetry OF nature.