“In the fall, however, the Jay’s voice is certainly harsh, and not only lacks anything like musical quality, but is so harsh that when there are many about the noise is really annoying. The poet Lathrop describes the change so well that I will read it to you. O JAY! O Jay! Blue Jay! What are you trying to say? I remember, in the spring You pretended you could sing; But your voice is now still queerer, And as yet you’ve come no nearer To a song. In fact, to sum the matter, I never heard a flatter Failure than your doleful clatter. Don’t you think it’s wrong? It was sweet to hear your note, I’ll not deny, When April set pale clouds afloat O’er the blue tides of sky. And ’mid the wind’s triumphant drums You in your white and azure coat, A herald proud, came forth to cry, “The royal summer comes!” * * * * * * Sometimes your piping is delicious, And then again it’s simply vicious; Though on the whole the varying jangle Weaves round me an entrancing tangle Of memories grave or joyous: Things to weep or laugh at; Love that lived at a hint, or Days so sweet they’d cloy us. Nights I have spent with friends:— Glistening groves of winter, And the sound of vanished feet That walked by the ripening wheat: * * * * * * Such mixed-up things your voice recalls, With its peculiar quirks and falls. Well, I’ll admit There’s merit in a voice that’s truthful; Yours is not honey sweet nor youthful, But querulously fit. And if we cannot sing, we’ll say Something to the purpose, Jay! —George Parsons Lathrop. “The Blue Jay makes as good a forest watchman as the Crow. Steal along ever so quietly, and if he chances to spy you, good-by to seclusion; his cry of alarm rouses every bird within ear-shot. But it is in their family life the Jays show to the best advantage, for they will stay by the nest and fight to the death, if necessary, while big cousin Crow, though he makes a precious racket, takes good care to keep himself well out of harm’s way. “One trait belongs to this bird that I have never seen recorded of any other, though, of course, it may be common to all, and that is the care of the aged. “To care for the young, even among people, is an instinct as strong as self-protection. To care for the aged implies a good heart and a certain amount of unselfishness. This story is written down by Major Bendire, in his book on the _Life Histories of American Birds_. He lived much with the birds, and saw so truly that the Wise Men believe what he records. _Mr. Firth to Major Bendire_,—