These birds, which possess such These are a few of the facts in the 



dainty elegance in all their motions, do life history of this bird, which starts in 



not exhibit a corresponding degree of its career as a little ball of buff and 



taste in home building. Their nests, at brown and later in life "glides hither 



best, consist of only a few blades of and thither on the water, apparently 



grass and fragments of moss laid loose- drifted by its fancy, and skims about the 



ly together. Often the eggs are laid pool like an autumn leaf wafted before 



in some convenient hollow, with no bed- the playful zephyrs on some embosomed 



ding whatever except that which hap- lakelet in the forest." 

 pened to lodge there. 



OUR LITTLE MARTYRS. 



Do we care, you and I, 

 F'or the songbirds winging by ? 

 Ruffled throat and bosom's sheen. 

 Thrill of wing, of gold or green, 

 Sapphire, crimson — gorgeous dye 

 Lost or found across the sky, 

 'Midst the glory of the air. 

 Birds who tenderer colors wear? 

 What to us the free bird's song. 

 Breath of passion, breath of wrong. 

 Wood-heart's orchestra, her life, 

 Breath of love and breath of strife, 

 Joy's fantasias, anguish breath. 

 Cries of doubt and cries of death? 



Shall we care when nesting-time 

 Brings no birds from any clime. 

 Not a voice or ruby wing, 

 Not a single nest to swing 

 'Midst' the reeds or higher up, 

 Like a dainty fairy-cup ; 

 Not a single little friend. 

 All the way as footsteps wend 

 Here and there through every clime, 

 Not a bird at any time? 



Does it matter, do we care 

 What the feathers women wear 

 Cost the world? For birds must die; 

 Not a clime where they may fly 

 Safely through their native air; 

 Slaughter meets them everywhere. 



Scorned be hands that touch such spoil ! 

 Let women pity, and recoil 

 From traffic, barbarous and grave, 

 And quickly strive the birds to save. 



— George Klingle. 



113 



