File:Bird-lore (1919) (14752215631).jpg

Identifier: birdlore21nati (find matches)
Title: Bird-lore
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: National Association of Audubon Societies for the Protection of Wild Birds and Animals
Subjects: Birds -- Periodicals Birds -- Conservation Periodicals
Publisher: New York, National Association of Audubon Societies
Contributing Library: American Museum of Natural History Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Biodiversity Heritage Library

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he English Sparrows, and, onlooking out, would see Nip on some chimney or coping and hear his hunger-cry. After a time, sometimes soon, an old bird would dash into view, quicklygive Nip the quarry, and then from some chimney or the steeple, keep guardwhile he regaled himself. Usually he was fed again about 5 in the afternoon,but sometimes, either for the sake of discipline or from ill-luck in hunting, hewent to bed supperless. We could not often see what the prey was, but oncewe distinctly saw that it was a full-grown Sparrow. The last lime we saw him fed was on August i,^, when, from the screamingof the poor victim, we knew he had been entrusted with a live bird. Next dayNip sat and called a long time but no parent appeared, and we concluded thaihe had been thrown on his own resources. We never saw him perch on a chim-ney again, but until well into December, we occasionally got a glimpse of aSparrow Hawk flying over the roofs and we n()ti(-od a decrease in ihe numberof Sparrow pests.
Text Appearing After Image:
The Night Warbler By H. E. TUTTLE. Lake Forest. 111. V \ ARELY, rarely comest thou, spirit of delight, so may we excuse thel^ Oven-bird his oft-repeated daylight roundelay, for his songs of thenoon hour are but jingling alliterations beside the floods of ecstasy thathe pours forth above the tree-tops in the dark of night. How should he consentto vain repetitions, like the Pharisee, that had sent his song athwart the heavensin wild lyrics of unearthly joy? For he was taught in Paradise to ease hisbreast of melodies, and needs but some dream-sent quickening power toyield increase. When the starlit nights are warm with the promise of June, then may youhear the first glad upward rush of that far-flung torrent of poetry. Mountingwith hurried gladness, as if he feared some surcease of delight, he gains theopen sky, spilling the gay notes earthward in his wake, like the tumbling dropsof a mountain waterfall. While the last burst of warbled rapture haunts thestill air of night, he has sheered

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