Daily Los Angeles Herald

A hawk once courted a white little dove,
With the softest of wings and a voice of love;
And the hawk—Oh! yes, as other hawks go
Was a well enough hawk for all that I know.

But she was a dove.
And her bright young life
Had been nurtured in love,
Away from all strife.

Well, she married the hawk. The groom was delighted:
A feast was prepared and the friends all invited.
(Does any one think my story not true?
He is certainly wrong—my facts are not new.)

Then he flew to his nest,
With the dove by his side.
And soon all the rest
Took a squint at the bride.

A hawk for his father, a hawk for his mother.
A hawk for his sister, a hawk for his brother.
And uncles and aunts there were by the dozens.
And oh! such a number of hawks for his cousins!

They were greedy enough,
A turbulent crew
Always ready enough
To be quarrelsome, too.

To the dove all was strange, but never a word
In resentment she gave to the wrangle she heard,
If a thought of the peaceful, far-away nest
Ever haunted her dreams or throbbed in her breast,

No bird ever knew;
Each hour of her life,
Kind, gentle and true,
Was the hawk's wife.

But the delicate nature was too sorely tried.
With no visible sickness the dove drooped and died;

Then loud was the grief, and the wish all expressed
To call the learned birds and hold an inquest.

So all the birds came,
But each shook his head;
No disease could he name
Why the dove should be dead,

Till a wise old owl with a knowing look,
Stated this: "The cause is as clear as a book;
No disease do I find, or accident's shock;
The cause of her death was too much hawk!

Hawk for her father, and hawk for her mother.
Hawk for her sister, and hawk for her brother.
Was more than the delicate bird could bear;
She hath winged her way to a place more fair!

She was nurtured a dove;
Too hard a hawk's life—
Void of kindness and love,
Full of hardness and strife."

And when he had told them the other birds knew
That this was the case, and the verdict was true.
—Luna S. Peck.