THE DYING YEAR 



WHEN a radical change of habits occurs, as 

 in the sapsucker, deviating so sharply 

 from the ancient principles of its family, many 

 other forms of life about it are influenced, indi- 

 rectly, but in a most interesting way. In its 

 tippling operations it wastes quantities of sap 

 which exudes from the numerous holes and 

 trickles down the bark of the wounded tree. This 

 proves a veritable feast for the forlorn remnant 

 of wasps and butterflies, — the year's end strag- 

 glers whose flower calyces have fallen and given 

 place to swelling seeds. 



Swiftly up wind they come on the scent, eager 

 as hounds on the trail, and they drink and drink 

 of the sweets until they become almost incapable 

 of flying. But, after all, the new lease of life is a 

 vain semblance of better things. Their eggs have 

 long since been laid and their mission in life ended, 

 and at the best their existence is but a matter of 

 days. 



It is a sad thing this, and sometimes our heart 

 hardens against Nature for the seeming cruelty 

 of it all. Forever and always, year after year, 

 century upon century, the same tale unfolds itself, 

 — the sacrifice of the individual for the good of the 



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