220 FORESTRY AND IRRIGATION April 



was very much mortified at the old- til he got the parrot dizzy, and then 



fashioned South Carolina cussing that he dashed him into a tub of water, 



this parrot would do, and the parson When he took him out the bird sat 



did not know what to do to remedy there wobbling from side to side, 



the evil. He finally went to the man When he came to himself he shook his 



from whom he got the bird and said feathers, turned around, looked at the 



to him, "Your parrot is a fine bird, but parson and said, "Will you tell me 



he has a habit of cussing, and this ern- where the devil you were when the 



barrasses me very much. What can I cyclone struck me?" 

 do to cure him?" "That's easy," was And I feel, my friends, that when 



the reply ; "next time he begins cuss- the powers in Congress know we have 



ing you take his cage and whirl it a strong public sentiment in favor of 



around and around until you make this proposition, when Congress knows 



him dizzy, and then dash him into that we are attempting to protect the 



water, and you will have no further future and to protect the present, by 



trouble." The next Sunday the par- preserving our natural resources — I 



son's friends dropped in. They began am satisfied when Congress finds that 



teasing the parrot, and the parrot out, they will ask the question that the 



started his cussing. The parson picked parrot asked the parson, 

 up the cage and whirled it around un- 



THE KNELL OF THE FORESTS 



By George Klingle, Summit, N. J. 



Have you heard the throb of the forest heart? 

 The crash as the shivering timbers part, 

 And a life goes out — a forest king 

 Reels to his fate where the a.x strokes ring? 



Have you seen the monarch of centuries past 

 Throw down his crown and give over at last. 

 From the struggle of years to bring to its height 

 The shaft reaching up to the blue and the light? 

 The struggle to gather from earth and from air 

 The elements wrought into food by his care; 

 To gather the waters and hold them for you 

 To be fed to the springs, and fed to the dew? 

 The struggle with drought and tempest and blast? 

 Oh, the doomed, passing forests! The die is cast! 

 Each moment that spins from the wheel of Time, 

 Marks a veteran's fall in his native clime. 



There are deserts to-day, where a while ago, 



The rain-spirit brooded, and wild buds could blow; 



Where the arms of the forests were held to the sky 



As a pledge that the water-springs never should dry. 



But the ax of invasion swung in with its threat; 



The forest-heart reeked where the ax-blade was set; 



And the Earth, in revolt, gave the shafts of her dead. 



But her waters withdrew! The sun burneth red. 



Where Verdure once wrought at her looms, and the rain 



Through the forests sung Nature's sweet, joyous^ refrain; 



But to-day, where scorched Nature lies burned with its brand. 



The death-angel broods on the wings of the sand. 



Shall America, garden of earth, cast away, 

 The gifts of the centuries, felled in a day; 

 Till she stands in her poverty, branded, servile, 

 A target for cycles of time to revile? 



