SPARROWS AND SPARROWS
What is it, then, to be a queen, if it is not like the silver
linden-tree to cast a protecting shadow over the world's sweetest
song-birds?
Carmen Sylva.
Grudge not the wheat
Which hunger forces birds to eat;
Your blinded eyes, worst foes to you,
Can't see the good which sparrows do.
Did not poor birds with watching rounds
Pick up the insects from your grounds?
Did they not tend your rising grain,
You then might sow to reap in vain?
John Clare.
No bird, unless it be the crow, is so nicknamed as the sparrow. None
is so evil spoken of, none so loved. Accepted enemy of the farmer, it
is the farmer's dearest friend.
It is a good, large family, that of the sparrows, ninety or more
varieties occurring in the United States. Always, of whatever tint or
markings, it is recognized by its stout, stalky shape, short legs,
and strong feet; but more surely by its bulging, cone-like bill,
pointed toward the end. This beak is the bird's best characteristic,
just as a certain nose is the leading feature of some human families.
And there is character in a sparrow's nose. It is used for original
research and investigation, on account of which the sparrow, of all
the birds, deserves the degree of doctor of philosophy conferred
upon him; omitting, of course, one single member of the family, the
English sparrow. And why the English sparrow should come in for
any notice among the song-birds we cannot tell, unless it be the
fact that it really does haunt them, and they have to put up with it
almost everywhere they go. Surely it needs no picture to introduce
this little vagrant, save in a few regions sacred as yet from its
presence. Even this little foreign rogue has lovable traits, were it
not for the prejudice against him. What persistence he has in the
face of persecution and death! What philosophy in the production of
large families to compensate for loss! What domestic habits! What
accommodation to circumstances! What cheerful acceptance of his lot!
Surely the English sparrow presents an example worthy of imitation.
To those whose preferences are for cooked little birds, what
suggestions are stirred by the hosts of these sparrows invitingly
arrayed on roof and porch and fences. They make as good pot-pie
as the bobolink or robin, and it would seem less sacrilege to so
appropriate them. The rich and poor alike might indulge in the
delicacy. Especially might the weak little starvelings in the cities,
whose dipper of fresh, new milk is long in coming, or never to come
at all, find in sparrow broth a nourishing substitute. Who knows but
for this very purpose the birds are sent to the large cities. We read
of a story of "quails" in a certain Old Book, and more than half
believe the wonderful tale. Why not make a modern story of sparrows
sent "on purpose," and cultivate a taste for the little sinner? And
its eggs! Why, a sparrow hen will lay on, indefinitely, like a real
biddy. Only be sure to respect the "nest-egg," so the old bird may
have one always by her "to measure by."
[Illustration: ENGLISH SPARROW.]
Think of the "little mothers" of the big cities, raising baby
weaklings on sparrow broth and poached sparrow's eggs. It is a
pity to waste such fat, little scraps of meat as are thrown about.
Besides, making good use of the birds, if they must be killed, is
good for the soul of boys. It would teach them thrift and a good
purpose. Our best ornithologists declare the English sparrow "a
nuisance without a redeeming quality." Pity they hadn't thought about
the pie.
But there are sparrows and sparrows. Some of the family are our
sweetest singers. Take the song-sparrow, the bird of the silver
tongue. It is known throughout the Eastern United States and Canada;
and on the Pacific coast and elsewhere it is still the song-sparrow,
though it varies slightly in color in different regions. In many
states it remains all winter, singing when the snow is falling, and
keeping comradeship with the chickadee.
Everybody knows the little fellow by his voice if not by his coat.
Nothing fine about the coat or gown save its modest tints. But, as
with many another bird of gray or brown plumage, its song is the
sweetest. Hearty, limpid, cheerful in the saddest weather, always
ending in the melody of an upward inflection, as if he invited answer.
The song-sparrow is the only one we have noticed to gargle the song
in its throat, swallowing a few drops with each mouthful; or it may
be that he stops to take a breath between notes. We have seen him
sing, sprawled flat on a log in a hot day, with wings outspread, and
taking a sun bath. The song is always very brief, as if he would not
tire his listeners, though he gives them an encore with hearty grace.
Individual birds differ in song, no two singing their dozen notes
exactly alike.
While his mate is patiently waiting to get the best results from her
four or five party-colored eggs, the song-sparrow sings constantly,
never far from the nest in the bush or the low tree, or even on the
ground, where cats are debarred from the vicinity. One never can
depend on the exact color of the eggs, for they vary in tint from
greenish white to browns and lavender, speckled or clouded, "just as
it happens."
And the feathers of the birds have all these colors mingled and
dotted and striped, and dashed off, as you may see for yourself, by
looking out of the window or taking a still stroll down along the
creek.
The song-sparrow has a pert little way of sticking its tail straight
up like a wren when it runs--and it is always running about. In our
grounds they follow us like kittens, keeping up their happy chirp as
if glad they ever lived and were blessed with feet and a beak.
The nest of the song-sparrow is compact and snug, with little loose
material about the base of it. We have had a long hunt many a time
to find it. If we are in the vicinity of it the two birds follow
us, chirping, never going straight to the nest, but wandering as we
wander, picking up food in the way, and appearing to hold a chatty
conversation. It is not evident that they are trying to conceal the
fact that they have a nest and that we are near it; for if we sit
down and wait, the mother goes straight to it without a sign of fear.
But we must wait a long while sometimes, until dinner is over, for
these birds seem to remain away from the nest longer at a time than
most birds do. They feed their young on larvæ, pecked out of the
loose earth, and tiny seeds from under the bushes, or soft buds that
have fallen. They pick up a whole beakful, never being satisfied with
the amount collected. So it drips from the corners of their mouths in
an odd fashion, and some of it escapes, especially if it have feet
of its own.
We have not seen a nest of any other than a dark color. Horsehairs
make almost half of it, and the outside is of grass closely woven
around. The young birds are not "scared out of their wits," as are
some birdlings, if a stranger appears, but will snuggle down and
look one in the face. Once off and out they are always hungry,
following the parent birds with a merry chirp, with the usual upward
inflection. They come early to our garden table, where crumbs of cake
and other things tempt them to eat too much. After they are filled
they hop a few feet away, and sit ruffled all up, and blinking with
satisfaction.
Once we played a pretty trick on the sparrows. Knowing their
preference for sweets, we placed a saucer of black New Orleans
molasses on the table, with a few crumbs sprinkled on the top. Of
course the birds took the crumbs, and of course, again, they took a
taste of the molasses. It wasn't a day before they dipped their beaks
into the molasses that had now no sprinkling of crumbs, and seemed
surprised at its lack of shape. It tasted good, and yet they couldn't
pick it up like crumbs. Then they took to leaving the tip of the bill
in the edge of it and swallowing like any person of sense. When they
were done they flew away with the molasses dripping from their faces
and beaks in a laughable style, returning almost immediately with
more birds.
The fact is, a sparrow is a boy when it comes to eating. Were it
not for its good appetite, it couldn't put up with "just anything."
Sparrows love the towns and cities because they find crumbs there.
Our friend the baker knows them, and many a meal do they find ready
spread at his back door. So does Bridget the cook, and even Lung Wo,
if their hearts happen to have a soft place for the birds. As for
the boy around the corner, who walks about on crutches, he knows all
about the sparrows' preferences. In fact, sparrows seem to have a
special liking for boys on crutches. One little fellow we knew used
to lay his crutch down flat on the ground and place food up and down
on it when the sparrows were hungry in the morning. And the crutch
came to be the "family board," around which the birds gathered, be
the crutch laid flat or tilted aslant on the doorstep. In this way
Johnny of the crippled foot came to have a good understanding with
the birds, and many a quiet hour was spent in their company. Johnny
may turn out to be a great ornithologist some day, all on account of
his crutch. What will it matter that he may never shoulder a gun and
wander off to the woods to shoot "specimens"? His knowledge of bird
ways will serve a better purpose than a possible gun. It was Johnny
who first told us to notice how a sparrow straddles his little stick
legs far apart when he walks, spreading his toes in a comical way.
Eastern and Western song-sparrows differ, and so do individual birds
everywhere--not only in their songs, but in the distribution of
specks and stripes on their clothes. What we have said about our
song-sparrows may not wholly apply to the family elsewhere. These
differences lead bird-lovers to study each of the birds about his own
door and forests without placing too much credit upon what others say.
There is much of the year when sparrows live almost solely on seeds,
and this is the time when they join hands with the farmer, so to
speak, and help him with the thistles and other weeds, by work at the
seed tufts and pods. Sparrows love to run in and out of holes and
cracks and between cornstalks and dry woodpiles. It was this habit
of peeping into everything, on the part of the birds, that led the
olden poet to write:
"I love the sparrows' ways to watch
Upon the cotter's sheds.
So here and there pull out the thatch
That they may hide their heads."
It was a pretty idea and a charitable one, that of the poet's. In
a country where roofs are shingled with thatch, or dry sticks and
leaves overlapping, the sparrows are familiar residents; and where
somebody remembers to "pull out the thatch" or make a loose little
corner on purpose, they sleep all night. We have ourselves made many
a pile of brush on purpose for the sparrows.
The white-crowned sparrows winter with us, going far up the Alaskan
coast to nest in the spring, as do also the tree-sparrow, the
golden-crowned, savanna, and some others, including the beautiful
fox-sparrow. These birds arrive in the Far North as soon as the
rivers are open, and to the gold-seekers, who get to their dreary
work with pick and spade, are like friends from home. Many a homesick
miner stops a moment to listen to their clear, ringing songs, almost
always in the rising inflection, as if a question were asked. And for
answer, the man who sometimes would "give all the gold he ever saw"
for one glimpse of home, draws his sleeve across his eyes.
Some of the sparrows which nest in Alaska use pure white ptarmigan
feathers for nest-lining; while their cousins in the east, on the
opposite side, breeding in Labrador, use eider-down. In these far
northern latitudes these birds scratch in the moss and dead leaves
of summer-time, often coming to ice at the depth of three or four
inches. The summers are so short that insect life is very scarce,
excepting the mosquitoes. But there are berries! And an occasional
hunter's or gold-seeker's cabin always furnishes meals at short
notice. Men may pass the birds at home in civilization with scarcely
a thought; but when away and alone, the presence of a bird they have
known in other climes brings them to their senses. It is then they
recognize the fact that birds are their comrades and friends, to be
cherished and fed, not always hunted and eaten.
On account of the distribution of sparrows the world over, many
legends have been written of them. The very earliest we have read is
the one that assures us the sparrow was seen by Mother Eve in the
Garden of Eden, on the day she ate of the forbidden fruit. In fact,
the "tree" was full of sparrows warning the woman not to eat, though
the birds themselves were making for the fruit with might and main.
In the story of Joseph it is recorded that the "chief baker" had
a dream. In his dream he bore three baskets on his head. In the
uppermost basket were all kinds of "bake-meats for the king." While
the baker was walking to the palace with the baskets on his head the
sparrows came and ate all the meat there was in the upper basket.
In the narrative the name of the birds is not given, but the fact
that they "ate up the meat," going in at the little wickerwork
spaces, leads us to believe they were sparrows. It was only a dream;
but people dream their waking thoughts and habits. It is supposed
that this chief baker was fond of birds, and it was customary for him
to feed them on the king's victuals.
Well, the king is no poorer off now that the birds had their fill.
And we wish peace to the soul of the baker for his kindness.
In the ballad of the "Babes in the Wood" it was the sparrow who made
the fatal mistake which took off Cock Robin before the wedding feast
was over. Poor sparrow! He has never been known to carry a bow and
arrow under his coat from that day to this. Thinking of that old
ballad, we have often watched the robins and the sparrows together,
and are never able to make out that the robin holds any grudge
against his ancient friend and guest who made the blunder.
In nearly all the markets of the Old World sparrows have been sold as
food, bringing the very smallest price imaginable. In Palestine two
of them were sold for the least piece of money in use, though what
anybody wants of two sparrows, unless to make a baby's meal, we do
not know.
The tree-sparrow of England is common in the Holy Land, and it was
probably this bird to which the New Testament alludes.
Of our American sparrows, the fox-sparrow is probably the most
beautiful in markings. By its name one might imagine it had something
to do with foxes, and so it has, but in color only, being a rich
foxy brown in its darker tints. This bird is seen all winter in
Washington on the Capitol grounds, scratching in the leaves for food
and singing its loyal melody. The fox-sparrow has been sometimes
detained in captivity, but as a rule grows too fat for a good singer.
It seems to be the same with them as with our domestic fowls--if too
fat they give poor returns. The hen and the sparrow and most people
must scratch for a living, would they make a success in life. But who
would want to cage a sparrow unless it be an invalid who can never
go out of the room? Even here, if the invalid have a window-sill it
were better; for the window-sill is sparrow's own delight, if it be
furnished with crumbs. Or, if one would see some fun, let the crumbs
be in a good round loaf tightly fastened. This, let the sparrow
understand, is for him alone, and he will burrow to the heart of it.
Caged birds make sorry companions.
The farmer sometimes wishes he had all the sparrows he ever saw in
a cage. Well, farmer, were it not for the sparrows, there would
be more abandoned farms than you can imagine. Therefore, let them
live and have their freedom. And let the farmer's daughter make
bread on purpose for them. They will make no complaints about her
first attempts, nor call it sour or heavy. Let the children play at
camp-fire and throw their biscuits to the birds. It will give them
happy hearts, each of them, the birds and the children. The sparrows
will respond with a single word of thanks, but it will be hearty.
"One syllable, clear and soft
As a raindrop's silvery patter,
Or a tinkling fairy bell heard aloft.
In the midst of the merry chatter
Of robin, and linnet, and wren, and jay,
One syllable oft repeated:
He has but a single word to say,
And of that he will not be cheated."