The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 26, 1896, Page 26

26 THE SAN fR_ANCISGO CALL, 'SUNDA?, JULY 26, 1896. Why Does the Educated American Girl Prefer Poverty to Domestic Service? Why do educated American girls object to going out as housemaids, and accept instead more poorly paid employment? ; Being a teacher, I have had leisure in the summer-time to investigate the matter, and I have found so many whys that I thought I would write them dow¥n for ref- erence. i Vaeation had come, and buoyed up by the freshness of a June morning anda high and mighty resolve, I entered, for the first time in my life, an employment office. “What kind of a girl do you wish, madam?” A most entrancing thrill vibrated from the tremendous aigrette in my fetching little capote to the tips of my French kid shoes. For the space of several seconds my soul was translated. The being be- fore me was deference personified. What depth-of discernment, what true apprecia- tion. He spat upon the floor and marked the spot by a sweeping emphasis of his| boot heei over the faded oilcloth. My spirit returned to earth. The being be- fore me was stroking his dingy yellow whiskers and had resumed the mastica- tion of his gunia of tobacco, while his weak eyes were blinking at me in an indifferent expectant fashion. With an effort mightier | than my resolve had anticipated I forced myself to reveal to him the truth. “H'm, nursery-governess or second work, etc.? Teach French and music, and understand sewin’? There ain’t many calls for them' governesses. Got some places for second work; tony families, too. I can send you to one up on the next street now. Five in the family, washin’ mestly put out, take care of the children, wait ‘on table, etc., Chinese cook —" “Would—would they expect me to eat | in the kitchen?” I inquired faintly. “I reckon. Them aristocratic families gen- erly do.’’ *“I—I think I would rather be in a smaller family,” I faltered. I pictured myself vis-a-vis with an al- mond+eyed Celestial manipulating his na- tive chopsticks, and heard the tintinnabn- lations of madame’s bell in the dining- room and I marveled anew at our American “lack of social distinctions.” ““Well, in small families, you know, it’s mostly general housework girls tkmt‘sl wanted —for cookin’, specially. There | was a lady here yesterday wouid take you | right in like one of the family. (Ah] he perceived my weakness!) Several small that don’t go gallivantin’ ’round of an evenin’; to take care o' the voung ones. Husband’s away most always—very quiet place.” 2 And with this covert slap at his own sex and an ignoring of madame’s evident propensity for “gallivanting ’rouna” her- self of an evening, to tbe neglect of her offspring, he opened a large and dirty register to tind her address. ““Never mind.” I said hastily. “I'll call again when there are more to choose from.” But I never did. ‘“No followers allowed” was too insulting an insinuation | to be countenanced by a staid school- | ma’am, | A few days later, when I had recovered somewhat from the shock of this first en- counter, I betook myself to a suburban village, in response to & call for “an in- telligent girl to assist with housework and | make herself one of the family.” Un- fortunately it was the easy-going pater- familias who had undertaken to make the arrangements, and his information was of a very indefinite character. He begniled the brief railway journey with assurances of a pleadant life beneath his roof. His wife was a great worker, a most attractive woman; he knew I would like her. His son was a model boy, carried off all the prizes at school, and ‘‘the others”—well, they made no trouble: " I found madame to be a small wiry per- son with sallow complexion, cold, grey eyes and short locks, which carled up- ward about her collar like a series of fishhooks. She was possessed of fair in- telligence, a penurious disposition and a passion for art, and while her grammar was deplorable she made a point of quot- ing Voltaire and otherwise displaying her cuitute. Among the “light duties” I had to perform were cooking, sweeping, scrub- bing floors and washing. Milady’s artistic sensibilities were ever uppermost, and the way in which I hung the clothes upon the line pained her so much that she changed them all about, placing the sheets so as to occupy all the room possible, pinning the stockings other end up, and arranging the underwear in | esthetic groups, whose inspiring effect wae, I confess, quite lost upon me. Her two old bachelor brothers boarded with her—remarkably stupid fellows both, who ate with their knives and rarely spoke at table. One was deaf and very crusty, while the other was oppressively obliging, children; says she’ll helo about washin’ coming into the kitchen of an evening to and cookin’ herself. Just wants somebody | wipe the dishes and FROM THE EXPERIENGE offer inane remarks for my entertain- ment. The combined mis- eries of 5 o’clock ris- ing, unaccustomed toil and stupid com- pany, to say nothing of the disproportion- ate wagesin prospect, quite overpowered me, and at the end of four days I surren- dered unconditional- ly and fled pack to town, with the mu- nificent sum of one dollar as the reward of my enterorise. In a stylish corner cottage on the out- skirts of the city dwelt a burly Ger- man and his family of three. *If you come to me,” said his puny little wife, who was not yet at ease in her luxurious surround- ings, “you will have & very nice room to yourself; very few girls have such e privilege. And asto the work, it ain’t scarcely anything. I used to get done my- self by—" She stopped and added, “My girls get through early, and haven’t no cause of complaint.” I presented myself the pext day and was shown to the en- chanted room in which I had dreamt of finding a beveled mirror and a writing- desk. The apartment was nine feetsquare, and contained a gayly decorated chamber set ot yellow pine, and whatever other articles could not be stored elsewhere in the house. A discarded pair of mein Herr's bagey pantaloons adorned the wall, the closet was crammed with “1 WAS SHOWN TO THE ENCHANTED ROOM.”- OF A SGHOOL-JEAGHER WHO 'WENT ~AS = HOUSEMAID. 2 —_—, straightened out the j tangle of bedding, and drawing off the pillow-slip substi- tuted a clean towel from my valise. This proceeding greatly angered the little frau, but I was firm., She still did part of the cooking herself, well knowing that her lord’s chiet thought was for his stomach, and that the - mysteries of his taste were'not to be com- prchended by a _stranger. Aftergetting things into shape for dinne and giving me un< grammatical direc- tions for dishing up, she. whisked off her apron and with flushed face tri; away to join her hus- band in the dining- room, where she en- joyed ringing the call bell almost-as much as little August. After sweeping the house, doing a two weeks' washing, cleaning the windows and breaking the globe of .the parlor lamp (for which I promptly forfeited half a week’s wages), 1told meine frau that “light housework” was not my forte and I rose and departed thence. My next mistress was a thorough going New Engiand house- keeper, who kept nursing-bottle and a battered dustpan. | fashionable table boarders and supported a The floor was covered with odd bits of [ sickly and disreputable-looking husband. matting, and the window had no curtain. | His claims to gentility were evidenced by It needed none, however, for the mud of [a lengthy English- pedigree, carefully several winters déposited upon its outer | framed and hung over the dining-room surface by an _ill-directed gutter-spout | mantel, and by a rusty silk hat which he rubbish, and a piece of rusty stovepipe | rendered it almost opaque. The bed had | nonchalantly cocked over one eye when he projected from beneath the bed, where | evidently been used as a throne of state | was sent out to do the marketing. further investigation revealed the purlor | for the baby, while his mother worked in | **Missus’ did all the cooking and a siove, the children’s toys, a broken |the adjoining kitchen. Upon retiring I!thousand other things as well, while I swept, scrubbed floors, prepared vege- tables and washed countless dishes. -In answer to the usual question I informed the hostess that my ‘“front name’’ was “Lenore.” " It wasa whim of mine never to tell the truth in this matter, for the name my mother had given me I held too sacred to be bandied about by strangers. A new installment of hungry youths had justarrived for dinner, and the flustrated landlady bustled into the kitchen with the despairing announcement that the house ‘was being disgraced and that “Abner must get a move on’’ and help herout. ‘‘Abner’’ followed with an-ice-pitcher and his customary sneer. ““Hello, Len!” he said, elbowing his way to the sink beside me to draw some water. 1 hastily made room for him and forced myself to utter a civil ‘‘good evening.” : “Ain’t got time to say such a long name, you know,” he added, with -a leer, as he stroked his raggea mustache, and turn- ing his fishy gray eyes contemptuously upon his impatient wife, he-moved away to do her bidding. I stood within three feet of the broiling hot range for hours at my work. The young heir of the house passed me 2 number of times, howling anathemas upon my defenseless head for presuming to make myself so much at home without having considered his dis- like of strangers, and once even kicked me to enforce h¥s unheeded observations. I'he marked attention which his case then re- ceived, however, caused him to stand, or rather to sit, in profound awe of my dis- ciplinary “powers and he thenceforth left me undisturbed. Boarders came and went; the indefatig- able landlady hastened ceaselessly to and {ro, while her leisurely husband served up icecream and cynical remarks, and I was now and then called from my dishes to assist in waiting. A partially demented widow who lodged i the back bedroom cameinto the kitchen and asked if I would “‘comb her head” | when I got through my work. I declined the honor, and the next day she asked the landlady if she didn’t think it was I who had stolen her breastpin. The trundle-bed allotted to me was ina garret at the head of the kitchen stairs, with no door between, and the uncur- tained skylights added to the intolerable beat. But I found that this was a para- dise when compared with the quarters as- | are ideal. but the door, which led into a dark and narrow side-entry off the main hall. No breath of fresh air could reach it, and the - | foul old kerosene lamp which illumined it rendered thé musty atmosphere absolutely sickening. To add to the horrors'of the night which a pouring rain forced me to pass there I was inflicted with a roommate, the Swed- ish laandress, whose coarse talk and un- cleanly person were repulsive in the ex- treme. The mistress of the establist ment, who_seemed well pleased with my first day’s york, was much disconcerted that I should ““drop off so suddint,” before she had time to secure another girl. For my part I resolved never to accept another engagement, however brief, without first seeing my room. Upon interviewing the proprietress ofa iashionable private boarding-house I re- quested this privilege and was conducted fip devious ‘back stairways to an entry opening upon a covered porch, where were ranged the toilet-rooms. Judging from the foul odors sanitary plumbing was regarded as a superfluous luxuary, and it was in direct connection with these apartments that the servants’ rooms had been built. Not even- plastered walls intervened, only thin board partitions, each room being dimly lighted by an opening as high and * narrow as a prison grating. As I entered one of these cells, a slender girl with dark circles under her eyes and paint on her cheeks hastily rose, and gathering up the hair combings from her dressing-table, resumed the task of packing her few pos sessions in ‘a valise. ‘Where was she going? The commonest beer-hall would afford more healthful ac~ commodations than were offered here, and as she turned to leave so-called respect- ability behind, I felt a strange sympathy for her. If our laws regarding the mat- ter of sanitary inspection were as good as those in some parts of Europe, and the average mistress were a little less con- scienceless, fewer American girls would object to going out to service. I know, of course, thut there is another side to this story. There are mistresses and’ mistresses, as there are maids and, maids. I havein mind a friend who is | servant in a family where the conditions She is treated as one of the signed to many servant girls. In asmail, | family, and the family is cultured. But second-class hotel I was given not a room, but a closet, with actually no openings | not find it. | really, the ideal is not often found. Idid Miss PEDAGOGUE. Jhe New Prophet of San Lorenzo Greek and His Grazy. Craft on the Mud Flats Prophet Herbert Smith sailed into the mouth of the San Lorenzo Creek, south of Alameds, a few days ago and, like Noah and the ark; landed on high ground and was left there by the receding tide. Smith is one of the queer characters of the bay; the queerest, perhaps, that ever sailed its waters, for he navigates a big sloop without 8 rudder and with a tiny rag of canvas for a sail and yet comes to no harm and seems to live a happy life aboard his crazy vessel. He was a follower of the Oakland spiritualistic medium who married Count Fastijerna de Poulson, the erratic Swed- ish nobleman of Peterhoff Castle and as the Countess Poulson claimed his prop- erty. When her circle broke up after she had acquired much of this world’s goods Smith started out to preach her creed—a combination of many isms. He claimed to have received a divine command to purchase a vessel and preach from her deck when the crowds that he expected to congregate at the sound of his voice pressed too closely about kim," With strange incongruity he bought a eraft called the Southern Pacific and per- mits’ her to carry that cognomen on her stern to this day. There are those who think that Smith believes all he says about the divine instigation for his eccentrig life, while others think he is just a plain faxir, but be that as it may Smith {claims to bea prophet of the first water and finds no dif- ficulty in gaining a large audience when- ever he appoints an hour 1o expound his doctrines. Since it has been noised about that Smith has found a resting-place the be- lievers in the teachings of the Countess Poulson have flocked to him as her suc- cessor, and his followers daily increase in numbers. They come from Berkeley, Oak- land, San Leandro, Lorin, Alameds, and even from the City, and congregate about the boat, some sitting on the sand to lis- ten, while others stand about the sides drinking in the words as they flow from the lips of the propher. When a sufficient number has assem- bled on a Sunday morning he begins his discourse, which often lasts for hours, ex- horting his hearers to. believe in him and be saved from the many dangers that beset life, If a sufficient crowd assembles in the af- ternoon, he holds a second service for the edification of the respectful and admiring crowd, which, as a general thing,is com- posed almast entirely of women, a mascu- line face showing here and there. The service over, he requestsan offering, and when the contributions have all been nanded up over the side of the boat, aboard of which none are allowed to pass, he pronounces a benediction and retires with dignified mien to the seclusion of his cabin. The burden of Prophet Smith’s song is that he is delegated to save the lives of thousands through his gift of prophecy and the souls of all through his ability to foretell the dangers that will beset their paths. At the same time he lays more stress on his alleged ability as a life-saver than his soul-saving powers. *If people would only come to me,” he said a few days ago, as he stood on the rail of the Southern Pacific and gazed with reflective eyes at the sand that surrounds her, “I could save them a heap of trouble. I have foretold disasters that have oc- curred on land and water” —with a vague wave of the hand—*"and everything has come out just as I said. How do I get the knowledge? Why, from the angels, of course. “They come right aboard this boat and tell me many things that never reach other human ears. S8ome of them are blackand I know that they mean to tell meof works of the evil one, such as sink- ing ships, train wrecks and the like, and others are white and shining—messengers of good—and they tell me of pleasant things that are to occur. Oh! I shall save many people before I pass on, never to re- turn.” “That’s all right, but time does not | my soul will be there just *" bother me. I shall be back here at the end of 1000 years in this cralt to preach to Just then a new crowd of came down the narrow br. ~ads d« On a suggestion being made that his allotted three score years and ten must be about up he said: \ those who wish to hear me. In 3000 years 1 shall be back again just as you see me | rose to greet now. Of course the body will change, but | PROPHET SMITH ADDRESSING THE MULTITUDE FROM THE'DECK OF HIS QUEER VESSEL from the Bay Farm-Island bridge, and he them, cutting the interview short. » g 74\ 7T ' QG ‘WEDDING GOWN OF PRINGESS MAUD. It was in this gorgeous costume that Princess Maudof Wales was married last Wednesday to ber cousin, Prince George of Denmark. Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain was present at the ceremony. [From the New York Herald.] The Poet Burns as a .M\_;s’cic The centenary of the death of Robert Burns on July 21 last evoked even more enthusiasm than the centenary of his birthday, thirty- seven years ago. Any attempt to reconsider Burns’ character, even in the light of many new facts bearing on his career and influencing his actions, must be left to others, and a mere rechauffee of the vast volume of critical “estimates” would be, even were we equal to the task, a work of supererogation. Our aim is the more humble one of reviewing his works from an almost totally neglected standpoint, and, approxi. mately at least, fixing his position in the hierarchy of that beautiful cult, poetry, in its relationship to the phenomena of animal life, and more particularly the life-habits of fami- liar birds. From that standpoint Burns holds a unique position. He was the very first of our great field-naturalist poets, and he holds that posi- tion by virtue of the simplicity and fidelity of all his ailusions, while his most passionate lines and verses are deeply inspired by that strange and mysteriqus spirit of pure esoteric totemism, for the origin and deeper meéaning of which we have to go very deep down in the history of human evolution. His genius was' wholly uninfluenced by the charms of “‘animal myth’’ end symbolism, embalmed in the writ- ings of nearly all our great poets, and more particularly in the works of the great dramat- ists of the Elizabethan and post-Elizabethan ages. He communed with varying aspects of natural life and inanimate nature, and these reacted on his emotions and found expression in many incomparably touching verses. As a poet of nature Burns, therefore, stands in his solitary glory midway between the refined and cultured embodiment of far-off totemism and mere elemental mysticism and the sublime transcendentalism of the nature cult of Words- worth. There are few of Burns' more passionate and familiar Iyrics devoid ot the spirit of inter- communial sympathy with natural phenom- ena in various aspects and in their relation- ship to various moods. In “To Mary in Heaven” we find: ‘The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar Twin'd am’rous round the raptur'd scene. A very beautiful and appropriate image ex- quisitely expressed, and the idea is heightened and gracefully amplified in the lines that foi- low: : ‘The flowers qprang!wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on ev'ry spray. - By way of contrast what could be more im- pressive than the images that literally crowd - upon each other in every @.no of “The Au- thor’s Farewell to his Native Country,” begin- niug with The gloomy night is gath'ring fast Loud roars the wiid inconstant hlast; Or more beautiful than the interwoven. im- ages and feelings in “My Nanpie's Awa',” or that still more perfect (for illustrative pur- Pposes) ““The Banks o’ Doon:" Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh aad fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu’ o' care? ‘Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn Thou minds me o’ departed joys— Departed never to return. Oft hae I rov'd by bonnle Doon - To see the rose and woodbine twine, And ilka bird sang o its love, And fondly. sae did I o' mine WP’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause lover stole the rose, But ah he left the thorn wi' me. We. must turn, however, from that very pleasing aspect of Burns’ poetry to view it in its more unique relationship to the familiar aspects and even obscure phenomena’ of bird life, and in this respect it makes an absolutely new departure in the evolution of English verse. Burns was thoroughly familiar with the part played by myth and classicism in the “‘rustic poetry” of his predecessors, and 1n the references to particular birds fn the works of our greatest writers. These he did not de. spise, but they had no influence on his mind, 8s expressed in his verse. He did for birds, through his poems, what White of Selborne did by his immortai letters to Daines Barrington and Thomas Pennant, snd in every one of his direct and mere casual refer- ences he was quite as faithfal to the absolute verities of nature as tle firstof English field naturalists. A very few examples must suflice. I have marked fifteen pessages referring to larks in his poems, not one of which but bears the stamp of observant fidelity, and in the verses to the woodlark (Alauds arborea)—which Was more common in Ayrshire in the poet's day and for many years afterward than is gen- erally supposed—there is & very effective blending of the human emotions with the purely physical charms of avien song: Say, was thy little mate unkind And beard thee as the careless wind? Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, Sic notes o wae could waulken. The references to the no less familiar robin- red breastare not many in Burns’ poems, but of the Fields . all of them are instinct with the perfect vraisemblance of pure fleld naturalism, the following trom the ‘“Brigs of Ayr' being abso- lutely perfect: . Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, Except, perhaps, the robin's whisking glee, Proud o' the haight o’ some bit half lang tree; Or this from the closing Mnes of the “‘Epistle of Robert Graham: . . . S0, when the storm the forest rends The robin in the hedge descends And sober chirps securely. The thrush, or “mavis,” as the bird is euphoniously in Scotland, is referred to many times; never in one jarring note of inconsistency with its daily habits. Some- times it is The meliow thrush Halling the setting dun, sweet in the bush; k Or this to the Missel-thfush, now a scarcer green thorn bird in Ayrshire than when Burns penned the | famous sonnet “On Hearing & Thrush Sing in @ morning walk in January 25, 1798,” the birthday of the author; Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough; Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain; See, aged winter, 'mid his surly reign S At thy b'ytne eardl clears his furrow’d brow. Burns is never tempted into the realm of myth and gloomy ominous superstition even in his references to the raven—all his passages are strictly on natural history lines and all are singularly exact and faithful to the verities of raven nature. When John Anderson’s Bonnie brow was brent His locks were like the raven, And the evil reputation of the bird asa sea. shore scourge (er shall we not, in preference, say the libelous character of the bird, for as a matter of fact, it is rather a beneficial scaven- ger of garbage than a scourge) is referred to in one couplet only of the poem “Caledonia”: The feli barpy raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore, The common bittern (Botaurus Stellarls) is, 1 believe, quite extinet in Ayrshire as a breed- ing bird, but it was very different in Burns’ day, and although considerable ignorance pre- vails as to the natural habits of this bird, Burns’ references to it are_again those of an observant naturalist. The whole of the “‘Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson” is in- étinct with the inspiration of poetic sympathy ‘with natural phenomena in their relationship to human feelings. Forty odd years ago, when bitterns were not so uncommon {n the *Mosgiel country” of Ajyrshire, the bird was popularly termed “the The ark on top of Mount Ararat could not bave presented a much stranger sight than does Prophet Smith’s craft as she lies | inlonely state on a spit near the mouth of | Seal Creek, her stem in the mud and her | bow buried deep in the sand. Originally she was a solidly built bay freighter, but was driven out of the trade by the steamers that now ply the inland | waters after she had lost her mastin a collision. Now she presented as battered and forlorn a look as any old hulk in Rot- | ten Row, and the greatest wonder isthat | she floats at ail. ‘When she passed into the possession of her present owner he concluded that without a mast she would hardly pass for a ship, so he had a huge ladder full fifty feet long hoisted amidship and stayed by a single rope from the bow and one from each side. To preventit from falling stern- ward another ladder braces 1f, and from this Prophet Smith tells of the things that are to come. During his travels at the mercy of the wind and tide Smith has accumulated a queer lot of small boats that cumber his deck or cluster about the stern, and on the top of the cabin rests the stern half of a ship’s boat covered with. odd pieces of greasy canvas, while against one bulwark stands a battered skiff that no human inge- nuity could ever repair. - Astern, floating forlornly at the end of a ragged painter, is a boat that looks as though she might once have served as tender to a Chine junk. 7 o Odds and ends of lumber and empty fruitboxes litter the deck and dusty hold in which no cargo has floated for many years. Even his anchors are patchea with scraps of iron bound on with wire and rope and the chain cables are rust- eaten and fragile looking. The Southern Pacific with her strange rig and stranger crew floated into -the creek one bright June morning, no one knew whence, and ‘Prophet Smith called upon the bridge-tender to open the draw bridge that he might sail through to an anchorage. The guardian of the bridge refused to permit the sailing through fear that the structure might be injured, but ordered the Southern Pacific laid along- side the dolphin and warped tnrough, an operation that was performed after much difficalty and many pious exclamations on the part of Smith and much mild pro- fanity.on the part of the bridgze-tender. Once inside, the queer craft veered over to ihe southern shore of the estuary and went on the point in the high spring tide. Smith.made no effort to get her off, being content to lie there for the time being and believing that the big tides of the present month would take him off. In this he was disappointed, for the highest of the July tides failed to budge the South- ern Pacific and she will be compelled tolie quiet in her sanay bed until the June tides, “She is in need of repairs,” he says, *‘and I shall have plenty of time to prepare for my next voyage, which may be to China for all I know. I shall go wherever the Lord steers my bark.” Smith’s personal appearance is not out of keeping with his vessel, for he might easily be mistaken for the Ancient Mari- ner or Mohammed,by whose whiskers the Moslem swears. An ample white beard flows down over his chest, while keen dark eyes 1 cok from nnder eyebrows that have been plentifully touched by the frosta of time. % In stature he is powerful and of about medium height, the sixty-five or seventy - winters that have passed over his head not having bent his form to any noticeable extent. He seldom leaves his old craft except to buy provisions, and early and late can be see working about her, patching here, tinkering there, getting ready. for that coming voyage which from the appear- ance of the vessel might well be predicted to be her last. bull o' the bog,” and sometimes the ‘“mire Burns must have heard. Leyvden, in his «geenes of Infancy,” has a couplet that has quite & Burnsiana ring about it: Nomore the screaming bittern, bellowing harsh, To ity dark bottom shakes the shuddering marsh. There is here, but not in Burns’ lines, con- fusion of adjectives, the effeet of inexact per- | sonal observation, the cry of the bittern being | undoubtedly of the “bellowing” kina—rairing, as Burns correctly phrases it, but it is a con- tradiction in terms to apply to it “screaming’ and “hersh” in the same line. Burns' refer- ence to the eel-angling exploits of the common drum.” owing to its nocturnal cries, which, heron (Ardea Cinerca) is very remarkable, as it is only within the last few years trained ornithologists have come to a right frame of mind as to the exact feeding habits of this bird, and a good many “popular” writers and “literary anglers” are still in a condition of utter darkness, and do not know that herans are beneficial rather than hurtful in the neighborhoo d of trout streams. Burns, of course, has many references to the habits of many other species of common birds; too numerous to record even by the barest refer- ence, but these all go to confirm our original contention tnat he was the first and most gifted of fleld naturalist poets.