tguns which throw insecticides. Think of the aesthetic loss in
substituting these agencies for the "sweet spirits" of the wood and
field! Besides not being musical or charming in action, they would
not prove efficient. Birds are therefore essential to the life of man.

Their preservation is not merely a matter of sentiment, or of
education in that high and fine feeling, kindness to all living
things. It has a utilitarian side of vast extent, as broad as our
boundless fields and our orchards' sweep. The birds are nature's
guarantee that the reign of the crawlers and spinners shall not become
universal. The "plague of locusts" shall be upon those who sin against
them.

III

THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS

From almost all sections of the country comes the plaint that the song
birds are fast disappearing. Less and less numerous are the yearly
visitations of the thrushes, warblers, song sparrows, orioles, and the
others whose habits have been so delightful and whose music has been
so cheering to their open-eyed and open-hearted friends. Many, who
when listening to the hymn-like cadences of the wood thrush have felt
that the place was holy ground, are now keenly regretting that this
vesper song is so rare; the honest sweetness of the song sparrow
mingles with the coarser sounds less often in the accustomed places.
Not many now find "the meadows spattered all over with music" by the
bobolink, as Thoreau did.

John Burroughs says that the bluebird is almost extinct in his section
of country. The writer, though a frequent visitor to the fields and
woods, has succeeded in seeing only one pair of these beautiful birds
in two seasons, where they were abundant a few years ago, when almost
every orchard bore a good crop of them. A friend who is a good
observer has had the same experience. A careful exploration of the
country within a radius of five miles resulted in the discovery of
only two pairs of bobolinks, having their nests luckily in the same
field. The males sang together in friendly rivalry. The sparkling,
tinkling notes seemed to come in a rippling tumble, two or three at a
time, from each throat. Each started his song with his feet barely
touching his perch, his body quivering, his wings half extended, as if
he were almost supported by the upward flow of his melody. After
circular flights he alighted first upon one frail, swinging perch,
then upon another, the wonderful sounds not ceasing, as if he were
tracing ma