The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-07-31

leaned a ladder against the nest tree and
took the baby bird in my hand to replace
him IN the nest from which he mad IaLen
she was again thrown into nervous spasrns
ana repeated her previous actions WITH APP
.parently more intense suffering than before
ence with our scatSIrd. except that in this
case the dog had the little baby bird IN MS
mouth before our attention was calieu 70
1t. To make the dog put 1t down, nix nest
in q berry box, and. after placing the baby
within. secure it in the fork or an apple
tree was the work to which we addressed
ourselves. All the while that this was go
ing on the poor catbird lowered about IN
deep distress, but made no such Irantic
demonsIrations as the mother ropln mao
done. The mate of this same mother cat
bird had a fashion during ali the carrier
summer of singing in the thick covert OF
the box elder tree at our WINDOW during the
earlier hours of the night. On such occa-
sions he would content himself with giving
voice to very few notes at each eHort,
selecting at random from the repertoires
The screech owl is not & pleasant guest
until you get quite familiar with him, but
he is often very intrusive one. He seems
to live in a state of chronic misery Dor
der1ng upon despair, If one may judge by
the shivering melancholy OF his uncanny
voice, which he exercises most upon moon
less nights, when ghosts might walk, If
modern ghosts had not outgroWn that ultra
English method of locomotion. But for all
his melancholy moods we get used to him
and rather like him afterwards, for he is
fearless and trustful, and, like many weak
brother OF our own species, delights In prac-
teal jokes, playing ghost on the housetop
or cunningly hiding in the catalpa leaves
overhead when one is laZily swinging in the
hammock on a hot summer night, and when
you areAeast expecting it breaking forth
upon you with a diabOliSm OF unearthly
noises that makes every hair on your head
stand on end for the instant in which you
are realizing that it is the same old booger
that haunted your childhood.
The rain crow-and who knows what par
ticular bird the rain crow is? He has been
tree toad has persistently called for rain
from almost every tree on the grounds, and
yet although his voice has been familiar TO
me through life, have never been able to
satisfy myself as to his identity. Above US
dart and swing the swallows, the hawks oc;
casionally soar up in contracting spirals till
they fade out in the blue expanse, the
blackbirds come and go, sing, scod and dis
play their shiny plumage; the wary crows
many cav, cav, caws, and the unsavory
buZZard may occasionally be seen lazily
nighthawks pursue the insects after night.
fall and the heron honks across the corn
in the further distance The saw-f1ing
whip-poor- will adds his jargon to the voices
Of the night" and the great horned owl
boots lonesomely it may be two hundred
yards or 1t may be mile away.
All our summer days are made mellow and
dreamy by the note of the turtle dove, that
mourns and moUrns and mourns. The
dove is the nearest of kin to the beautlful
passenger pigeon, which has been so ruth
lessly swept away by the unreasoning de-
Effectiveness and cupidity of man. The clear.
soft, questioning eye Of the dove is almost
the same as that of the passenger pigeon.
remember, when a boy, holding a wounded
pigeon in my hand till it closed its beautiful
eyes in death, and fancying that they were
full of reproach for my cruel deed. The dove
is always welcome and seems to be pro-
tected, even from the average bad boy, by
some favoring divinity that hedges her
about as with an invisible wall of protec-
ton. But why is the feminine gender al
ways applied to the dove? Is sorrow so
peculiarly feminine and is the dove such
faithful representative of sorrow that none
but feminine appellative is suited to its
character?
Another friend OF our summer days that is
worthy of all praise is the ruby-throathed
hummng bird. There is one that visits us
daily and adds a final call between the set
ting of the sun and the lighting of the
lamps, lowering about the flower beds and
diving into the tunnels of the petunias and
nasturtiums for sweets until the twilight
darkens well into the night. With us the
humming bird is almost sacred, and we can
not conceive why anyone should seek to
harm so beautiful and delicate a creature.
Was it Nero who used to regale his corrupt
courtiers with a salad made from the
tongues of humming birds?
And so our summer has glided along and
we have been happy in the company of
friends whose presence blesseS but never
bans BENZ. ,. PARKER.