x 56 bird and bear food. 
Atlantic waves break off the coast of Cape Cod, 
one can look up and see the air above and around 
them, as far as the eye can reach in every direc- 
tion, filled as with snowflakes, with the myriad 
wings of these terrible pests. The frosty morning 
and evening air of that altitude does not agree 
with them, and they are compelled to camp, by 
thousands, on snow-fields or wherever the cold 
happens to overpower them. Then the birds fill 
their crops, and the bears, with greedy joy, lick 
them from the great drifts. 
Has the cold killed them ? Ah ! by no means ! 
Don’t every Coloradoan wish it had? It has 
only stupefied them. The next day’s warm sun 
restores their vivacity , and they continue their 
flight toward the green plains, which lie in 
inviting defencelessness before them. Once 
there, they will rattle like hail against window- 
panes, settle like-brown, volcanic ashes on lovely 
gardens and growing fields ; before each approach- 
ing footstep they will rise and part, a living 
cloud. 
Safe in their individual insignificance, they are 
overpowering by their infinite number. Their 
coming used to bring consternation, and their 
going leave despair, for they left embedded in 
the earth they had devastated of every growing 
thing, the assurance, that, with the opening of 
another spring, their number would be duplicated 
a thousand times. 
