TRAGEDY IN BIRD LIFE. 



For the friends of birds there are, in 

 cold days of wind and storm, opportuni- 

 ties of loving service. 



In the drama of bird-life the scenes 

 are ever shifting, and struggle for exist- 

 ence is not always under sun-lighted, 

 genial skies. 



It is true that creative love has en- 

 dowed the birds with facilities for resist- 

 ing the havoc of storms. The feathered 

 tribes, nested in chosen coverts, . defy 

 the elements and shake out their plumage 

 in fearless defiance of tempests before 

 which man stands in dismay. 



A little bit of feathered anatomy will 

 sway cheerily on unprotected twigs, dis- 

 daining the shelter close at hand, while 

 the storm beats on wayside. 



The endurance of these creatures of 

 the air may well astonish men, who, with 

 all their vitality and size, succumb, of 

 necessity, to the warring elements. 



But, in spite of their powers of endur- 

 ance, the storm-periods are for the birds 

 bitter intervals of life, when hunger and 

 thirst and cold combine to sweep them 

 into the vortex of the lost. 



It is not the cold, unaccompanied by 

 other influences, which devastates the 

 ranks of the birds during extreme winter 

 storm-periods, however; it is, chiefly, the 

 dearth of food. 



While the harvest of seeds over the 

 meadows is available the bleak blast 

 moans about our birds innoxiously ; but 

 it is when the feathery snowflakes cover 

 this well-stocked granary, clinging about 

 the seed-vessels of weed and flower, and 

 closing it in a frozen locker, or the ice- 

 storm wraps it in glittering ice, that the 

 iDirds are beaten before the winds, and 

 perish of cold and starvation. 



There are few, if any, bird lovers who 

 have not some scene of tragedy to re- 

 count; some memory of storm-periods 

 when the birds flew to the habitations of 

 men for help, finding no hope but in the 

 fragments cast away by some human 

 liand. 



That more thought is not given to the 

 needs of the birds about our doors, at such 

 periods, is due more to the prevailing im- 

 pression that the birds have the means of 



providing, even in times of emergency, 

 for their own needs, than to a disregard 

 of the interests of these little friends of 

 the air. 



Unless we have awakened to pathetic 

 struggle of bird life under some condi- 

 tions we are not apt to be aroused to any 

 obligation in the matter of aiding in pro- 

 viding for birds in seasons of peril. 



But it is true, nevertheless, that the lit- 

 tle visitor upon our doorsill who stays 

 with us during the long winter suffers 

 the anguish of cold and hunger, frequent- 

 ly of starvation, during the periods of 

 intense cold and storm — anguish which 

 might be prevented by a little thoughtful- 

 ness on man's part, in casting a trifle of 

 food in sheltered nooks — crumbs from the 

 table ; cracked corn or coarse meal ; 

 cracked nuts ; a bit of suet, the latter be- 

 ing best served by being nailed upon 

 some neighboring tree, high enough to be 

 beyond the reach of any but the intended 

 guests. 



By such provision one phase of the 

 tragedy of bird-Hfe would be abated, and 

 the friendliness of the little strangers de- 

 veloped, to the pleasure of many bird 

 lovers, who would receive in return for 

 their kindness the gladness sure to be 

 theirs in watching the feast of the joyous 

 birds. 



The day when earth and sky meet in 

 one maze of blinding snow, or in the 

 mist of rain which freezes where it falls, 

 is hard enough for the birds ; but while 

 there is light there is also a hope of a 

 scanty meal to be caught somewhere 

 through the swirl of the storm. But, 

 when this hope fails and darkness lowers 

 into deepening night; when bleak winds 

 rage on every side ; the forests creak and 

 moan ; the tormented air sobs and wails 

 like a tortured soul ; when every sound is 

 swept into the cadence of despair and the 

 outposts of hills are lost in ^he labyrinth 

 of tumultuous night, then how bitter is 

 life's tragedy for the hunger-racked 

 birds ; how marvelous it is that so many 

 little storm-beaten breasts survive to 

 meet the struggle for existence at the 

 dawn of a new storm-beaten day. 



George Klingle. 



161 



