THE PROBLEM OF SUFFERING. 345 



fully, and I climbed the tree to see what was the mat- 

 ter. The poor robin had a string, a piece of stout 

 cord, entangled all around its feet, having evidently 

 been caught while trying to use the string for its little 

 home; and the string was all wound around and in 

 among the twigs of the tree. It had indeed been en- 

 snared by the fowler. I broke the string, and released 

 it, and it flew away with its mate, who had been flutter- 

 ing piteously by its side while I was there. If I had 

 not freed it, it would have died, because the cord was 

 quite strong, and was doubled and twined about its 

 little leg again and again, so that it would have been 

 impossible for it to escape, and it would have starved 

 and perished miserably. As it was, it had become very 

 thin from lack of food, and was almost exhausted from 

 its exertions. It was not able to fly far when I let it 

 go, but kept getting gradually closer to the earth until, 

 a couple of rods away, it lit on a pile of brush, steadied 

 itself a little rockingly, looked at the mark of white 

 string on its leg, and settled itself for a thankful rest — 

 in freedom again, with its mate by its side ! Many 

 birds have not been so fortunate as this one was, but 

 have died a slow, lingering death in the woods. Mr. 

 Burroughs, I recollect especially, relates how a blue- 

 bird was similiarly entangled with a horsehair of an 

 oriole's nest, which it had visited; and it was found 

 dead later, the hair having in some way become inex- 

 tricably looped about it, and "was yet hanging in Sep- 

 tember, the outspread wings and plumage showing 

 nearly as bright as in life" — a pitiful tragedy. 



Perhaps the saddest thing, though, that I have yet 

 seen in Nature was one of these beautiful, soaring 



