The recent "cold wave," which with its severity and length has sorely
tried the patience of Denver's citizens, has had its pleasant features.
Perhaps chief of these has been the presence in our midst of scores of
feathered visitors driven in, doubtless, by pangs of hunger, from the
surrounding country.
Flocks of chickadees have flown cheerily about our streets, chirping
and pecking industriously, as if to shame those of us who lagged at
home because of zero temperature. They were calling to one another as
we stood at the window watching them last Saturday morning.
Suddenly, down the street with the swiftness and fury of an Apache
band, tore a group of small savages, each armed with a weapon in the
shape of a stick about two feet long.
"What can those boys be playing?" inquired someone, and the answer to
the question was found immediately as in horror she saw the sticks fly
with deadly exactness into a group of the brave little snowbirds, and
several of them drop lifeless or flutter piteously in the frozen street.
"How can boys be so heartless!" said the lady, rising in righteous
wrath to reason with them.
"Thoughtless is nearer the truth," remarked a friend who had witnessed
the scene. "Their hearts haven't been awakened on the bird question and
it would be better to try and stir up their mothers and teachers than
to fuss at the boys themselves."
But the Denver birds have plenty of friends and this has been proved
many times during the past week.
At the surveyor-general's office Saturday morning there was held a
large reception at which refreshments were served and the guests were
largely house finches--small, brown birds with red about their throats.
For a number of seasons the ladies and gentlemen employed there have
spread a liberal repast several times each day upon the broad window
ledges for these denizens of the air. The day being very cold, someone
suggested that perhaps if the window were opened and seed scattered
inside also, the birds would come in and get warm.
The feast was arranged with bits of apple, small cups of water,
and a liberal supply of seed. And the invitation was accepted with
alacrity. A swarm of busy little brown bodies jostled and twittered
and ate ravenously of the viands provided, while thankful heads were
raised over the water cups to let that cool liquid trickle down
thirsty throats. It was a lovely sight and everyone in the room kept
breathlessly still, but at last some noise outside alarmed the timid
visitors and they whirred away in a small cloud, leaving but a remnant
of the plenteous repast behind.
Several of the tiny creatures becoming puzzled flew about the room in
distress, trying to get away, and one little fellow bumped his head
violently against a glass and fell ignominiously into a spittoon.
He was rescued and laid tenderly on the window sill to dry, a very
bedraggled and exhausted bit of creation. It was interesting to watch
the effect of this disaster upon every one in the office, including Mr.
Finch himself.
Gentlemen and ladies vied with each other in showing attentive
hospitality to the injured guest. He had his head rubbed and his wings
lovingly stroked, and being too ill to resent these familiarities, he
soon became accustomed to them. He was finally domiciled in a small
basket and grew very chipper and tame indeed before his departure,
which was after several days of such luxury and petting as would quite
turn the head of anything less sensible than a finch.
It is said the gentleman who makes these birds his grateful pensioners
buys ten pounds of seed at a time, and another gentleman and his wife,
who reside at the Metropole, deal out their rations with so lavish a
hand that their windows are fairly besieged with feathered beggars
clamoring for food.
In a neighbor's yard I noticed always a small bare spot of ground. No
matter how high the snow might drift around it, this small brown patch
of earth lay dark and bare.
"Why do you keep that little corner swept?" I inquired.
"Oh, that is the birds' dining-room," was the answer, and then I
noticed scraps of bread and meat and scattered crumbs and seeds. And as
many times as I may look from my windows I always see from one to five
fluffy bunches at work there stuffing vigorously.
Many of our teachers have made the lot of our common birds their daily
study and delight. In the oldest kindergarten in the city the window
sills are raised and the birds' food scattered upon a level with the
glass, so that every action of the little creatures can be watched with
ease by the children within.
In numbers of homes and in many of our business offices the daily needs
of our little feathered brothers are thoughtfully cared for.
Let this feeling grow and this interest deepen in the hearts of
Denverites, especially in the children's hearts. It will make this
city a veritable paradise as the summer approaches, "full of the song
of birds." It will make of it a heaven in the course of time, for not
only the humble finch and snowbird, but for nature's most beautiful and
aristocratic choristers.
"To-day is the day of salvation." To-day is the very best day of the
best month in which to consider the needs of these poor which, thank
God, "we have always with us."--_Anne C. Steele, in Denver Evening
Post, Feb. 3, 1899._
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
HOODED MERGANSER.
3/7 Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]