My name is Dewey, and no bird was ever prouder of his name. I know if Admiral Dewey could see me he would feel proud of his namesake, as I am said to be an unusually handsome, intelligent bird. I have been laughing in my wings for many months, hearing people say what kind of a bird I am. Some say I am an oriole; some a male, others a female; another a meadowlark; another not a meadowlark, but some kind of lark. One thing they agree upon, that I go on a lark from early morn till “Dewey eve.” I am said to have a little of the bluejay, and points like dozens of birds. When I was about six weeks old I was quite large and fluffy, but very much of a baby, for I knew nothing about feeding myself. My tail was long, olive on top, yellow underneath; wings black, with cream color on the edges—on the lower feathers just a line, on the upper ones quite a little wider, at the top short yellow feathers, making lovely little scallops; head and back olive-brown; rump more on the yellow; throat and breast light yellow, with a tinge of blue under the wings, and belly only tinted. As I grew older I kept changing, and now at nine months old my breast is light-orange, belly light-yellow, head and back deeper olive, rump deeper yellow. I broke my tail all off in the fall, and when it came in, the upper feathers were black, with yellow a quarter of an inch at the rump; under ones yellow and black. On my head are almost invisible stripes of black, on my neck pretty broken wavy ones. My eyes are large and bright, my bill everyone says is the handsomest they have ever seen, very long and pointed as a needle. Underneath ivory white, on top black, with a white star at the head. The admiration of all are my legs and claws, as I keep them so clean, and they are a beautiful blue, just the shade of malachite. I am seven inches long, and for the last month have been getting black spots over my eyes and on my throat. Now what kind of a bird am I?