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BY THE WAYSIDE 
BY THE WAYSIDE 
Published on the tenth ot' each month except 
July and August. 
The official organ of the Wisconsin, Illinois and 
.Michigan Audubon Societies. 
Twenty-five cents per year Single copies 5 cents 
All communications should be sent to Roland K. 
Kremers, 1720 Vilas St., Madison, Wis. ’ 
To Our Subscribers:—• 
It pains me to have to call to your 
attention a matter of considerable im¬ 
portance to the welfare of “By the 
Wayside.” Examination of the cata¬ 
logue shows that a large number of 
subsciibers have fallen behind in pay¬ 
ing their subscriptions. Please attend 
to this matter promptly if you desire 
to receive “By the Wayside,” as all 
who are in arrears will be dropped from 
the mailing list next month. 
Respectfully, 
Roland E. Kremers, 
Treasurer. 
Memories 
Bird’s songs have around them thrown 
An atmosphere not all their own, 
But like the favorite scented flower 
Recall anew the by-gone hour, 
Awakening memories, O God! 
The lonely paths that I have trod. 
There is to he made a very deter¬ 
mined effort to pass a “spring shoot¬ 
ing” bill through our legislature this 
winter. It will be necessary that every- 
bcdv help prevent this most abominable 
sten from being a success. I T se every 
honorable means to convince your As¬ 
semblyman and Senator that the inter¬ 
ests of this commonwealth require the 
continuation of the present laws, not a 
reversion to the murderous butchery of 
former days. 
Winter Friends 
0 winter is a dreary time, 
■/ 
When all is ice and snow; 
The robins and the orioles 
To summer regions go, 
The bluebirds and the bobolinks 
Their way to Southland wing, 
And all the feather minstrels say, 
“Good-bye, good-bye till spring!” 
But there remain three faithful friends, 
Less musical, I know, 
Yet staunch and true—the staring owl, 
The bluejay and the crow. 
The bluejay is a saucy bird, 
But oh, I love to hear. 
When skies are bleak with snow and 
sleet, 
His strident voice so queer; 
And when I see him darting down 
To snatch the crumbs I throw, 
It seems as though a bit of sky 
Had dropped upon the snow— 
A bit of bright blue summer sky, 
A sight that brings good cheer, 
When Boreas whistles on the moor, 
And frozen is the mere. 
The crow is quite unprincipled— 
Or so the farmers say— 
But he is such a merry chap, 
Blithe, debonair, and gay. 
In winter’s gloom he is, I trow, 
The very life of things,— 
The soul of mirth set free to roam 
On jet-black shining wings; 
And when I grieve to hear no more 
The robin’s roundelay. 
In clear staccato comes “Caw, caw!” 
From out the woodland way. 
Among the pines the staring owl, 
In meditation wise 
Sits moodily the whole day long 
With winking, blinking eyes, 
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