At the Centenial celebration held in
Philadelphia, in 1876, ``Old Abe'' occupied a prominent
place on his perch on the west side of the nave
in the Agricultural Building. He was evidently
growing old, and was the observed of all
observers. Thousands of visitors, from all sections
of the country, paid their respects to the grand
old bird, who, apparently conscious of the honors
conferred upon him, overlooked the sale of his
biography and photographs going on beneath his
perch with entire satisfaction.
As was but just and right, the soldier who had
carried him during the war continued to have
charge of him after the war was over, until the
day of his death, which occurred at the capital of
Wisconsin, in 1881.
THE MOTHER MURRE
BY DALLAS LORE SHARP
One of the most striking cases of mother-love
which has ever come under my observation, I saw
in the summer of 1912 on the bird rookeries of
the Three-Arch Rocks Reservation off the coast
of Oregon.
We were making our slow way toward the top
of the outer rock. Through rookery after rookery
of birds, we climbed until we reached the edge of
the summit. Scrambling over this edge, we found
ourselves in the midst of a great colony of nesting
murres--hundreds of them--covering this steep
rocky part of the top.
As our heads appeared above the rim, many of
the colony took wing and whirred over us out to
sea, but most of them sat close, each bird upon its
egg or over its chick, loath to leave, and so expose
to us the hidden treasure.
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