A BIRD-PARADISE. 1 43 



from their ignorance of the harm men could do. No 

 men had ever hunted them. The guns which they 

 saw and the noise of the firing meant nothing to 

 them ; to our birds it means broken wings and blood- 

 stained feathers. 



It seems a pity, does it not, that it is only where 

 man is not known that he is not feared. If we all 

 had treated birds kindly, man would be loved best 

 where he is best known. 



Little birds sit on the telegraph wires 



And chitter, and flitter, and fold their wings ; 



Maybe they think that for them and their sires, 



Stretched always, on purpose, those wonderful strings, 



And perhaps the Thought that the world inspires 

 Did plan for the birds, among other things. 



Little things light on the lines of our lives, — 



Hopes and joys and acts of to-day, 

 And we think that for these the Lord contrives. 



Nor catch what the hidden lightnings say; 

 Yet, from end to end, His meaning arrives. 



And His word runs, underneath, all the way. 



Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



