Don’t Worry the Birds, Boys!
DON'T worry the birds, boys! It's mean. “There he goes!” shouted a crowd of youth running past us on election day, and we caught sight of our first robin. High up in an elm we thought him safe, but not to rest; for from a half-dozen slings, pebbles and shot were hurled at him. Away he went, and we were sad. He was out house hunting. We think he might have engaged a “sky parlor” in that very tree if he hadn't discovered the character of those rude neighbors, the boys. His bride would just love to have set up house keeping there, and while she was attending to her maternal duties he would have waked you up every morning with his golden notes of joy and gladness. The dear fellow! He would have sung away for dear life every evening to that pretty wife of his, and you could have had the benefit of it all free, with no one to pass around the hat. Sweetest of all street concerts. Boys, don't frighten the birds.—Work at Home.