The Birmingham age-herald., 1917-02-16
MEN, WOMEN
 AND THINGS
"Who killed Cock Robin?" T." said the sparrow, With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin"

 tended the killing of a robin. If one died in the hand, it was believed that the hand would always tremble In Derby shire, the catching. killing or robbing of its nest brought misfortune, such as the death of cattle, blight of corn etc.; while in Yorkshire if one is killed, it is be- lieved that the family COW will give bloody milk.
 In 177o, carrying out the death idea, an English poet wrote
 T found a robins nest within our shed And in the barn wren has young ones
 bred;
 I never take away their nest, nor try To catch the old ones, lest a friend should
 die
 Dick took robins nest from the cottage And ere a twelvemonth pass'd his mother
 died"
 If you do not wish your boy to kill the robin redbreasts who give us the look over on their way further south, you might tell him the folklore above IL may make more impression upon him than the fear of being fined under the game law.
 I awoke the other morning and into my room floated the cheerful notes of robin. Perched high on the boughs of a great oak in my front yard he was pouring forth his joy.
 My, what a flood of memories he awalz ened in my heart! His hearty chirp car know the Audubon society and all bird lovers will be down on me for admitting it, but murder will out.
 Between my home and our next-door neighbors, was hedge of trees with berries loved by the red breasts. I've often picked up the gorged or drunken birds as they fell from the limbs
 q want to be as honest as the spar row).
 But for the confession. I was about s years old. Picking up a rock, l threw it at a robin eand by some chance struck him in the head and he came tumbling down. I had never before known such joy. Seldom since have I ever been SC elated I had killed bird with stone.
 In those days air guns were not so much in evidence. We boys used sling shots. The fun it used to be to make handles, buy rubbers, and cut leather, mold bullets, and start out to get enough robins for a pie. I've seen a boy kill score before breakfast.
 
 I know this all sounds dreadfully wicked. There is a law against it now. and a sentiment which frowns on killing a song bird. I'm just telling it as it was. There isn't going to be any evasion on my part in order to play to the gall leries.
 Where have all the robins gone to? In those days it seemed to me they came by the million. I have seen evergreen trees laden with them. I have watched them clean out the fruit of chinaberry trees until it looked as if a swarm of locusts had attacked them.
 Several times I have gone out into the swamps to robin roosts and gun in hand killed them by the dozen. Nobody said it was wrong. Every one was doing it. It wasn't protected bird. A robin pie was the thing in every southern house. hold.
 When I went up north to live it was a novel sight to me to see the robins in the parks during the summer. I had always associated the red breast with cold and sleet and snow and wind. couldn't get used to it.
 It seems funny to admit but the first ever heard that it was wrong or against the law to kill a robin was the arrest of Thomas Dixon, who was then Baptist preacher in New York, whose chief de- light was to fire pulpit broadsides at Tammany Hall.
 What was my surprise one morning in picking up the morning papers to find that the Rev. Thomas Dixon was fined several hundred dollars for having killed a game bag full of robins. It was Tam many's revenge.
 Tom, being a southerner, had gone hunt ing and finding robins without number had made a good days killing, little dreaming that he was doing an unheard of and disreputable thing. He not only had to pay in money dearly for his sport, but had to endure a world of newspaper abuse.
 Before I was big enough to have gun father used to let me go hunting with Eugene Doughtie, an older boy, in whom he had confidence. Gene furnished the gun, muzzle loader, and the skill and furnished the powder and shot and at the end of the day the bag was divided.
  | Do you remember the first bird you ever killed q mean in those prehistoric days before camera hunting became the rage)? I do; one day Gene and I walked five miles down to the old Martin planta. | tion near Eufaula. The trees were red with robins. He let me try my hand, and I brought down my game. The homeward {, trip was to me triumphal march. l If the goldenrod is the most popular flower in America without doubt tho most popular bird with the people of oul country is the robin. |