Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-07-21
ONLY A THRUSH

Written for The Star.
The silent little village lies nesting IN
| the fresh verdure of the soft green mea-
dows and golden cornfields. The sun Is
slowly declining in the western horizon.
hating little while upon the mountain
peaks. On the steep hill. where the plain
suddenly terminates, Is forest with
dense mass of foliage and stately columns
which rear their heads to heaven Far
above I stretch myself at full length on a
bed of soft moss. surrounded by a cluster
of giant oak trees. little cut in the
woods affords me an excellent view OF the
plain below. where the gently undulating
little stream winds its silvery hakes
through narrow strip for many a mile 10
the distant sea. The valley beneath pre-
sents one broad sheet of green-brown vege-
tation, whence vapory mists rise slowly
higher and higher. Thick twilight enveiops
the village in veil OF fragrance. but the
crimson glow of the evening sky Is yet
dazzlingly bright up above where 1 lay.
Deep silence reigns everywhere.
All at once thrush leaps to nearby
tree and begins twitterfng and singing an
accompaniment to my reflections. He Is
perched far above in the fresh luxuriance
Of blossoming summer. looking down on
me with his wise little eyes and greeting
me with his tuneful melodies We are OLD
acquaintances. 1 and this little bird, and
have complete confidence in each other.
For several years past the thrush made
this forest his home, and during the win
ter he often came to my garden to ask me
Familiarity for something to eat. But today
there was Jubilant and triumphant tone
in his song, in which he sought to impress
me with his deep and pure happiness.
Last autumn my little feathered friend
had sustained a shocking and most grtev-
GUS afflction. While out berry hunting his
pretty and faithful little wife met q tragic
and painful death in q trap set for her by
some heartiess boys All winter long he
ny~rSIa tynA ~ ION OIL
and detected with his dear little head
buried in the feathers of his wings.
But the first messengers OF spring ap-
peared, and Nature donned her bridal gar
ments. there came to him an awakening
of the tender feelings of former days, and
a consuming desire for faithful mato
once more took possession OF his little
heart. He adorned himself In new raiment
stretched forth his wings. and away he
flew into the budding, poisoning forest.
He remained away some time. One morn
ing, when the sun threw its first simmer
ing rays on the coverlet OF my bed, 1
once mere heard the sweet song of my lit
tie friend I went to the window and
opened 1t quickly. The young day, accom-
panied by the perfume of violets and
honeysuckle. thronged my room.
There upon his favorite apple tree sat my
dear little thrush, happy and proud, tune
fully conveying to me the message of his
great happiness. He was no longer alone
A loving wife sat alongside of him and
bashfulfy bowed her little head I under
stood my melodious friend perfectly; he
came to Introduce his bride to me and to
tell me of his good fortune
l spread some food to my little guests
which was cheerfully accepted They then
resumed their stations in the apple tree,
where they rested while. Then once again
the thrush burst forth in merry thanks
giving lay: they took wing and sailed away
into the distant forest. Since that morning
I visit them frequently in their forest
home.
Family cares are now completely engag-
ing the attention of my little friend during
the day to provide the comforts OF life for
his growing household. Yonder In the tan
snusly in soft and warm bed. chirpng
Justify to their mother who keeps constant
vigil over her precious babes, while rather
Is roaming the woods in quest OF some
tender worm or fresh morSel OF 1ood Tor MS
beloved family.
But when evening sets in. and the last
rays of the sinking sun are kissing the
mountain tops and lie dreaming under
the green trees in the proximity OF the
home of my happy friends, the thrush leaps
to the nearest tree and In raPtured sweet
and merry tones he tells me OF his meas
ureless Joy. My heart warns within me-
Long DO l tarry listening TO the swee.
music until the gold OF the evening sun
disappears and the melting notes OF the
bird cease.
Then / emerge into the smoking. misty
valley. The woods rustic softly behind me,
rocking the little birds TO sleep. Lights are
blinking from many windows In the village.
The brilliant summer flowers are nodding
their bright eyes at the outer world Katy
dds cover the boundless plain, humming
their monotonous melody Lightning bugs
are buzzing In the air. On the sands green
and golden beetles are rushing to and fro
and In the distant horizon few rosy
clouds are Vet visible. like disappearing
enchanted fairy land.