BY THE WAYSIDE 
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE WISCONSIN AND ILLINOIS AUDUBON SOCIETIES 
3ne Year, 25 Cents Price Three Cents One Year, 25 Cents 
Published by the Wisconsin Audubon Society. 
Entered January 27, 1903, at Milwaukee, Wis., as second-class matter, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879, 
/OL. VI. OCTOBER, 1903 No. 6 
The Birds of George Sand. 
George Sand tells in the story of her life 
of her love for birds, and of what a wonderful 
power she had over the little wild creatures. 
Her grand-father was a bird seller in Paris, 
and she thinks he must have chosen this busi¬ 
ness because he had the same power that she 
possessed of attracting and, taming them. Her 
mother too, the daughter of the bird seller, 
was always accompanied when walking in the 
garden, by flights of little birds who lived at 
liberty in the trees, and who would boldly 
alight on the hands that had fed them. So 
George Sand inherited this strong love for the 
feathery race, and here is the story she tells of 
her bird friends: 
“I raised two warblers of different species 
and from different nests; one had a yellow 
breast and the other a gray. The yellow breast, 
named Jonquille, was fifteen days older than 
little grey breast whose name was Agathe. 
Fifteen days for a warbler, the most knowing 
and precocious of our little birds, is equal to 
ten years in a child’s life. Jonquille was a nice 
little creature, still thin and poorly feathered; 
she could not fly from branch to branch and 
■could not even feed herself; for birds raised 
by man develop much more slowly than those 
that are left wild. The mother warblers are 
much severer than we are and Jonquille would 
have eaten alone fifteen days sooner if I had 
been wise enough to leave her to herself, and 
never to yield to her importunity. 
“Aarathe was an insufferable little creature. 
She would only hop about, cry, ruffle her 
growing feathers, and torment Jonquille, who 
was beginning to reflect, to state problems to 
herself, one little foot drawn up under the 
down of her dress, her head drawn in between 
her shoulders and her eyes half closed. How¬ 
ever she was still a very young child, very much 
of a gourmand, exerting herself to fly down 
that she might gorge herself the moment I was 
; imprudent enough to look at her. One day I 
was writing a story in which I was warmly 
interested. I had placed at some distance a 
green branch on which my two pupils sat in 
friendly fashion. It was cool, and Agathe, 
still half naked, huddled close up to Jonquille 
and crouched under her breast. Jonquille 
played mother very generously. They both kept 
quiet for half an hour, by which I profited in 
my writing, for they seldom permitted me so 
much leisure in the day. 
“But at last, appetite awoke, and Jonquille 
jumping on to a chair, and then on to my table, 
blotted the last word at the end of my pen 
while Agathe, not daring to leave the branch, 
beat her wings and stretched out her half open¬ 
ed bill with cries of despair. 
“I had reached the most interesting part 
of my story and for the first time I was cross 
with Jonquille. I pointed out to her that 
she was old enough to eat alone; that close 
to her bill was a good dinner in a pretty saucer, 
and that I would no longer shut my eyes to her 
laziness. Jonquille, vexed and obstinate, con¬ 
cluded to sulk, and returned to her branch. 
But Agathe would not give up in this fashion, 
and turning to her companion she demanded 
something to eat with incredible persistence. 
No doubt she was very eloquent, or if she did 
not yet know how to express herself in words 
the accent of her voice was enough to lacerate 
a tender heart. I, barbarian, looked and listen¬ 
ed without moving, studying the emotion 
plainly visible in Jonquille, who seemed to 
hesitate, and to undergo some extraordinary 
mental struggle. 
“At last, armed with resolution, she flew with 
one sweep to the saucer, cried a minute, hoping 
that the food would rise to her bill. Then 
she decided and began to peck it. 
“But, 0 prodigy of feeling! She does not 
think of her own hunger, she fills her bill, 
returns to the branch and feeds Agathe with 
as much address and skill as if she had already 
been a mother. From that moment Agathe and 
Jonquille troubled me no longer. The little one 
was fed by the elder, who succeeded better than 
