114 Bird -Lore 



All Nature is pictured as rousing from the lethargy of cold December and colder 

 January and February, under the influence of the sun, now early with its 

 morning greeting, and of soft breezes which begin to take the place of chilling 

 gales. But what part has man in all of this glad festival of activity and growth ! 

 Does he awaken too, and take his part in the general re-creation of Nature? 



No, man is glad when spring comes, he welcomes birds and flowers and bud- 

 ding trees, but he has learned to build shelters for himself against storms, to 

 fight the uneven cold with steady fire, and to raise and store food to nourish 

 his body throughout the season when the ground is frozen and vegetation dead. 

 He does not come to life and activity again with the changing seasons, and, 

 much as he may enjoy spring with its multiform beauties, he seldom rouses 

 out of the routine of his ordinary life, except now and then, perhaps, for a 

 fitful instant. Well-fed, well-clothed and well-housed, he still fears the elements 

 and dreads exposure and hunger. He is not a part of nature, but the ambitious 

 master of nature. Only now and then does a man partly awaken from his 

 civilized life and turn to Nature as to a mother. But when he does, when his 

 eyes are fairly open, when his hand can write or his lips speak the truth, what a 

 revelation comes not only to him but to those who understand his message! 



It is of man's awakening that I wish to tell you this lovely Bird and Arbor 

 Day season, an awakening which you must try to feel if you are not so choked 

 and stifled in towns and cities by ideas of things to wear and eat and amuse 

 yourself with that you cannot understand the truth. 



In all ages, a few men have awakened to the touch of Nature. It would be 

 worth our while to know even their names, but, better yet, to know their mes- 

 sage. Some have lived as you and I live, others have lived only in books, 

 through the imagination of other men. There was once a lad who was afraid, 

 afraid of the dark, afraid of horses, afraid of many things. As he grew older, 

 he began to feel that there was much he did not enjoy because of fear, and he 

 resolved to conquer fear. He ran through a pasture where a bull was loose, 

 and outwitted the charging creature, escaping to a place of safety. This was 

 rash. He attempted to drive a horse of some spirit through crowded city 

 streets, with no knowledge of driving or sympathy with horses. This was rash, 

 too. He left his companions and guides asleep at night on the edge of the 

 jungle, and wandered alone into the forest, unarmed and almost breathless 

 with fear. It was a rash thing to do, but as he wandered or stood rooted to the 

 ground, while deer, monkeys, frogs, owls, flying squirrels, and at last a tiger, 

 crossed his path, he began to feel a new sense of security and serenity. He found 

 it very wonderful and beautiful. "A warm, faintly-scented breeze just stirred 

 the dead grass and leaves. The trees and bushes stood in pools of darkness, 

 and beyond were pale stretches of misty moonshine and big rocks shining 

 with an unearthly luster. Ahead was darkness, but not so dense, when he 

 came to it, that the track was invisible . . . the moon was like a great 

 shield of light spread out above him. All the world seemed swimming in its 



