motes ot tbe 



mained in sight, and the clear call of the smaller 

 birds, when again plunged in darkness they wan- 

 dered they knew not where, sounded as strangely, 

 as un-birdlike and despairing as the whispering 

 of the hollow wind. As it neared midnight, the 

 aurora lost its brilliancy, and the chilly air, for it 

 was March and the sting of winter not yet 

 drawn, suggested shelter. Mere repetition would 

 not have proved more suggestive. It is possible 

 to look too long at one object. We can cloy the 

 brain as readily as the palate. 



Much might be said of night-flying birds. We 

 know that migration occurs largely between sun- 

 set and sunrise ; but I refer to the effect of such 

 an occurrence as this aurora and, to a much more 

 limited extent, the effect of local fires. No barn 

 or haystack ever burned at night but it brought 

 the roosting birds about it ; and hundreds, be- 

 wildered by the flames and heat, plunged head- 

 long to destruction. I recall one instance where 

 a flock of redwinged blackbirds rose as one body 

 from a neighboring meadow and, after approach- 

 ing the fire, endeavored to pass over it. They 

 did not rise far enough, and, when directly over 

 the burning building, rained down upon it. It 

 was the most complete work of destruction that 

 I ever saw. It is well known how fatal to migra- 

 ting birds are the lighthouses along our coast, but 

 not even here is as much life destroyed as during 

 the great forest fires that sweep over hundreds of 



