The Sacred Bird is the work of the French writer, publicist Octave Mirbeau (Fr. Octave Mirbeau, 1848-1917). The sacred bird is the story of O. Mirbo about how the life of the common man in the society of social inequality is poorly valued. This story tells of a terrible injustice. In one rich estate, pheasants are treated as deities. For sacred birds, all: and selected grain, and green meadows, fenced with hedges, and the army of watchmen. And quite near is a ramshackle shack with hungry children and desperate parents. But these are just people, where are they to pheasants ...
The Thunder Bird is a sequel of Johnny Jewels story and it looks like our heroes didnt learn their lessons, as Johnny seems more stubborn and Mary V more spoiled. Johnny is determined to pay his debt before going back to the ranch and to Mary V, but this time his affairs take a foray into an international intrigue. The Thunder Bird is written in the year 1919 by B. M. Bower and contains all of the elements that made B. M. Bowers books a mainstay of the genre of classic Westerns. This book is one of the most popular novels of B.M. Bower, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.
This book is called Bird Portraits because Mr. Seton-Thompsons pictures are always faithful and charming portraits of the birds which he draws. But since a birds portrait, no matter how accurate, can show its subject in only one position, singing, feeding, flying, or sitting, a short account of some of the main events of the birds life has been added to each picture. Any one who learns from such books as Mr. Seton-Thompsons how beset with perils is the life of every wild creature will take the greatest pains at all times, and especially in the nesting season, not only not to injure or persecute such defenseless little creatures as our song birds, but also to protect them in every way. Whoever seeks their acquaintance, in the spirit of friendship, will always be grateful for the interest and pleasure to be gained from such friends. Of the twenty birds whose portraits are here presented, a majority are only summer residents in the Northern States; some visit us only in winter; a few spend the whole year near the same spot. The birds which are first described are those that are most closely associated with the return of spring; then follow those whose gay colors and bright songs give much of its charm to early summer; last come those that brave, even in the North, the tempests of winter. R. H.
BIRDS are only another expression of Gods love, and we are told that not even a sparrow shall fall to the ground without the notice of the Father. Birds are poetry come to life and set to music. If you should stand at the edge of a forest at sundown and hear the birds singing their good-night songs, hear the sleepy little notes grow fainter and fainter until the silence came,-then when the dusk had deepened, you should hear the night birds begin their plaintive songs, you would realize what a different place our beautiful world would be without birds. Even in great cities we have always some birds. The saucy little sparrow, who comes so boldly begging crumbs at your window, likes the cities best. Only very thoughtless people, or those who do not understand, would harm or frighten a bird. They are real little people, and I am sure that when you have come to know them you will love them as much as you have learned to love the Flower Children..
The Thunder Bird was written in the year 1919 by B.M. Bower. This book is one of the most popular novels of B.M. Bower, and has been translated into several other languages around the world. This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.
AS birds are to be considered throughout these pages from any standpoint but that of sport, much that is of interest in connection with a bird essentially the sportsmans must necessarily be omitted. At the same time, although this gorgeous creature, the chief attraction of social gatherings throughout the winter months, appeals chiefly to the men who shoot and eat it, it is not uninteresting to the naturalist with opportunities for studying its habits under conditions more favourable than those encountered when in pursuit of it with a gun. In the first place, with the probable exception of the swan, of which something is said on a later page, the pheasant stands alone among the birds of our woodlands in its personal interest for the historian. It is not, in fact, a British bird, save by acclimatisation, at all, and is generally regarded as a legacy of the Romans. The time and manner of its introduction into Britain are, it is true, veiled in obscurity. What we know, on authentic evidence, is that the bird was officially recognised in the reign of Harold, and that it had already come under the ægis of the game laws in that of Henry I, during the first year of which the Abbot of Amesbury held a licence to kill it, though how he contrived this without a gun is not set forth in detail. Probably it was first treed with the aid of dogs and then shot with bow and arrow. The original pheasant brought over by the Romans, or by whomsoever may have been responsible for its naturalisation on English soil, was a dark-coloured bird and not the type more familiar nowadays since its frequent crosses with other species from the Far East, as well as with several ornamental types of yet more recent introduction. In tabooing the standpoint of sport, wherever possible, from these chapters, occasional reference, where it overlaps the interests of the field-naturalist, is inevitable. Thus there are two matters in which both classes are equally concerned when considering the pheasant. The first is the real or alleged incompatibility of pheasants and foxes in the same wood. The question of rivalry between pheasant and fox, or (as I rather suspect) between those who shoot the one and hunt the other, admits of only one answer. The fox eats the pheasant; the pheasant is eaten by the fox. This not very complex proposition may read like an excerpt from a French grammar, but it is the epitome of the whole argument. It is just possible-we have no actual evidence to go on-that under such wholly natural conditions as survive nowhere in rural England the two might flourish side by side, the fox taking occasional toll of its agreeably flavoured neighbours, and the latter, we may suppose, their wits sharpened by adversity, gradually devising means of keeping out of the robbers reach. In the artificial environment of a hunting or shooting country, however, the fox will always prove too much for a bird dulled by much protection, and the only possible modus vivendi between those concerned must rest on a policy of give and take that deliberately ignores the facts of the case. More interesting, on academic grounds at any rate, is the process of education noticeable in pheasants in parts of the country where they are regularly shot. Sport is a great educator. Foxes certainly, and hares probably, run the faster for being hunted. Indeed the fox appears to have acquired its pace solely as the result of the chase, since it does not figure in the Bible as a swift creature. The genuine wild pheasant in its native region, a little beyond the Caucasus, is in all probability a very different bird from its half-domesticated kinsman in Britain. I have been close to its birthplace, but never even saw a pheasant there. We are told, on what ground I have been unable to trace, that the polygamous habit in these birds is a product of artificial environment; but what is even more likely is that the true wild pheasant of Western Asia (and not the acclimatised bird so-called in this country) trusts much less to its legs than our birds, which have long since learnt that there is safety in running. Moreover, though it probably takes wing more readily, it is doubtful whether it flies as fast as the pace, something a little short of forty miles an hour, that has been estimated as a common performance in driven birds at home.
1 STRAY birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. 2 O TROUPE of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words. 3 THE world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal. 4 IT is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom. 5 THE mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away. 6 IF you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars. 7 THE sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness? 8 HER wistful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.
Baghdad Bird - one of the most fascinating stories of the genius of the American novel O. Henry (English O. Henry, 1862-1910). *** According to the theory of the restaurateur August Quigga, a person endowed with wealth should endow the needy like a Baghdad prince. Other well-known works of the author are novels Scarlet Dress, Caliph and Ham, The Moment of Victory, In the Attic, So Live People, Thousand Dollars, Pharaoh and Chorale and The Last Troubadour. O. Henry, whose real name is William Sidney Porter, is considered the founder of the fairy tale of a big city genre, where flashing humor combines with profound philosophical meaning.
IN THE SNOW It was a bright, wintry day. The frost jewels sparkled on the snow. The winds blew cutting cold from the north. Phyllis, in her scarlet coat and cap, and long, warm leggings, waded in the deepest drifts she could find. Out by the garden fence was the greatest drift. After floundering through it, Phyllis climbed up and perched on the top rail of the fence. She sat quite still, for she was almost breathless after her struggle in the snow. Suddenly, just over her head, Phyllis heard a whistle. She started so that she almost fell from the fence. Again came the whistle, clear, sweet, and long drawn out. Phyllis looked up, and there on the branch of the elm-tree sat a cheery little bird. With a third whistle he flew down to the fence and perched beside Phyllis. He came quite close and stared at the little girl in a gay, curious manner, as though he might be looking for a playfellow. Who are you? asked Phyllis, looking like a great red bird as she perched on the fence. Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee! twittered the little fellow. It seemed to Phyllis that he laughed because she did not know him. Oh, to be sure, said she. How stupid of me not to remember. I have met you a hundred times. I should have remembered your black head and throat. The sides of your head and neck are white. Your breasts and sides are light yellow. Your tail and wings are of a much darker shade, and how daintily they are edged with white! The chickadee fluttered about for a moment, and noticing the friendliness in Phylliss tones he perched a little closer to her side. I do not believe you noticed the large white feathers in my shoulders, he said. You may always know a chickadee by the white markings there.
A Bird in a Cage ist ein zweisprachiges Werk, das in den langen Jahren in Tokio in der Justizvollzugsanstalt von Georg Max Hüffner alias Dutch geschrieben wurde. Neben Gedichten und Lyrik sind darin Briefe an seine nächsten Angehörigen und Freunde enthalten, die einen Blick werfen auf die vielschichtige Gedankenwelt, die sich in Dutch entwickelte in seinem Käfig. Wenn man ihm zwar die körperliche Freiheit nehmen konnte, so hat seine gedankliche Freiheit ihn nie verlassen und in Träumen und Erinnerungen war er oftmals freier, als mancher Mensch, der in einer vermeindlichen Freiheit sich nicht in der Lage befindet, Zuflucht zu solch einer Weite des Geistes zu nehmen. Als bunter Vogel hat er einiges zu berichten, was das Leben und tiefe Einsichten über den Wert von Freundschaft und Liebe betreffen und er amüsiert den Leser mit seinem einfaltsreichen und feingeistigen Witz und einer frischen persönlichen Note, die diesem Werk seinen unnachahmlichen Charakter gibt... Alexander Rehe Georg Max Hüffner alias Dutch ist ein Mensch, den jeder kennt und lieben gelernt hat. Und das nicht nur im deutschsprachigen Raum. Seine Freunde verteilen sich überall auf der Welt, denn Dutch ist ein Globetrotter, wie man ihn sich vorstellt, ein Freak und Hippie der noch in Zeiten der Blumenkinder in Goa und dem Rest Indiens und Lateinamerikas unterwegs war und der seine Wurzeln somit weit über die Welt verankert hat, in fremde Kulturen und Gebräuche eintauchte und sich überall schnell integrierte. Dazu waren ihm sein Witz, seine darstellenden Fähigkeiten als Musiker, Sänger und Tänzer ebenso nützlich wie sein sonniges und allen wohlgesonnenes Gemüt. So ist Dutch zu einer lebenden Legende geworden und bereichert die Welt mit seinem unnachahmlichen Charme und Esprit... Alexander Rehe