fresh clover of his sod, quiver the poor pinions that could never again
soar skyward, and burst into the glorious carol with which he had been
wont to salute the sunrise, when, high up among the fleecy clouds, he
had appeared an almost invisible speck of personified melody to the
enchanted listeners below.
As the years sped by, this much-indulged bird craved petting and
attention to an abnormal degree, could be coaxed at any hour into
singing, and formed the strange habit of trilling a low, sweet carol
at ten o'clock every night, which his mistress called his "good-night
song." When he had been caged for twelve or thirteen years he became
as playful as a kitten, and was particularly fond of going through
what his mistress called the "jungle tiger act," which consisted
of crouching down out of sight in the grasses of his sod, and then
springing suddenly forward to bite in a gentle way a finger poked
between the wires of his cage. He never wearied of this game so long
as he could induce a child or grown person to engage in it with him,
and before he died, a year or so later, he developed a degree of
playfulness that almost amounted to imbecility.
=For Teachers and Students=
'On the Ethics of Caging Birds.'
[As stated in our last issue, Mrs. Miller's paper on 'The Ethics
of Caging Birds,' in Bird-Lore for June, brought us numerous
letters, from which we have selected two, representing both sides
of the question, for publication. As a further contribution to this
discussion we publish in this number of Bird-Lore several papers
describing experiences with caged birds.--Ed.]
To the Editor of Bird-Lore,
_Dear Sir_:--I have always been such an admirer of Mrs. Miller's
writings that I confess to a feeling of great disappointment in her
article concerning caged birds, which appeared in your June number of
Bird-Lore. Will you allow me to comment on it briefly?
Mrs. Miller starts out with the position that while she disapproves
with "all her heart" of caging wild birds, yet since "birds are caged
we must deal with circumstances as we find them."
Undoubtedly Mrs. Miller is right in sounding a note of warning for
those who keep birds as pets, by impressing upon them the care that
should be given these utterly helpless little creatures. She says,
"Not one bird in a thousand is properly cared for," and she might add
to that the fact that thousands die every year of hunger, thirst, lack
of care,--forlorn prisoners, utterly unable to help themselves. These
facts being true, the inconsistency of her position is that she gives
the slightest encouragement to the bird traffic which results in so
much cruel suffering. She says that the discomfort they suffer in the
bird stores is so great that she feels it to be "a work of charity to
purchase them," yet she does not seem to see that every purchaser is
in a measure accountable for this suffering. If no one would buy the
birds, the traffic would soon cease.
But Mrs. Miller appears to be utterly hopeless as to the cure of this
evil, for she says: "If a bird-lover should worry and fret himself to
death he could not put an end to their captivity." It is exceedingly
fortunate that there have been, and still are, and probably always will
be, a few men and women in the world who believe with Emerson that
"Nothing is impossible to the man who can will," and who, in spite of
the perplexing outlook, go forward, and bring about the world's great
reforms.
The first step in repressing any wrong is for some individual to take
a firm stand, even in the face of the greatest discouragement. Another
will follow, and then another, and by and by, when we have hardly begun
to believe anything has been done, a wave sweeps over the country, and
the wrong is righted. This, however, can never be brought about unless
by individual action and the abiding faith that every one counts.
Mrs. Miller advances as her "strong argument" the great value of
caged birds as pets in the education of the child, and upsets her own
argument by saying: "Nothing is more important than the training of
our youth in humanity, and respect for the rights of others." "Respect
for the rights of others" means justice to all the dumb or helpless
creation. Even a child can reason out for himself that a bird was
created for freedom in the upper air, not for confinement in a cage,
and that, even if it is bred in a cage, it is no more just or right to
put it to such purposes than it would be to keep a dog chained all day,
or a horse tied in a stable all his life, or a man confined within the
narrow limits of prison walls.
Children have ample opportunity to be taught kindness, and, what is
even better than kindness, justice to the animal creation by having
the care of cats or dogs, yet how few mothers or teachers take pains
to teach the right care of these common animals, which are to be found
everywhere, and are dependent on man for their happiness. A child will
not discriminate between the bird bred in a cage and the bird taken
from the mother's nest for the purpose of being brought up in a cage,
and while birds are given as pets to children, not only the traffic
in canaries is encouraged, but the snaring, or the capturing by other
means, of our own song birds will continue. It seems to me there is but
one lesson to teach children in relation to birds,--that they were made
to be free, and to have space to use the wings that surely cannot have
proper exercise even in the confined space of a house.
Let those who already have birds take good care of them, by all means;
give them the right food and plenty of fresh water, and as much freedom
as possible in the limits of the house; but let those who are true
bird-lovers discourage the traffic in birds in every way possible, no
matter how hopeless it may seem just now to endeavor to put a stop to
it, for the influence of every individual counts.
Anna Harris Smith.
* * * * *
To the Editor of Bird-Lore.
_Dear Sir_:--In the main Mrs. Miller's statement of the case is the one
that I have come to adopt. In fact, my prejudices against the practice
of caging birds were entirely banished and the whole subject revealed
in a new light by reading Mrs. Miller's 'Bird Ways.' Such wonderful
possibilities of bird happiness, child culture and education, and bird
study were opened up by this little book that, from being opposed to
caged birds, I was converted to believe that the cage might be made one
of the most important factors in the great new field of bird study,
and, I hope, actual bird culture, which seems to be dawning before us.
The subject has a number of ethical bearings which Mrs. Miller does not
touch upon, two of which I may point out.
[Illustration: FEEDING A PET CEDAR WAXWING
Which lives out of doors, all over the house, and in his cage
Photographed from nature by C. F. Hodge]
First: We may not only have a "right" to confine a bird, but it may
become a duty which we owe not only to the bird itself, but to the
community as well. The moment before beginning to write this a young
Robin was sitting warmly in my hand gulping down earthworms and
blackberries. He is now sleeping quietly in a cage by my side. I picked
him up this noon on the ground under the nest, unable to fly, and I
love to think of him safe and cosy instead of fluttering in the jaws
of some miscreant cat. Some days ago a boy came and told me that a
neighbor's wife had taken a young Robin away from her cat "and put it
on top of the shed" (to fall down into the cat's mouth again). At my
request he brought the bird, but it was so lacerated that it died that
night. Of two nests of Robins I have known this season, in spite of me,
the cats got seven of the young, and the eighth would have gone the
same way were it not sleeping safely in another of my cages. In all, I
have three young Robins, all picked up from the ground, unable to fly,
all, without the shadow of a doubt, saved from the cats. None have died
in my hands, the one killed by the neighbor's cat not counted, and they
seem to be fairly happy little birds, though it is to be hoped that
they will grow happier as they grow wiser. My point is simply that in
the present exigency of our rapidly decreasing bird life, every child
should learn how to care for fledglings of different species and have
suitable cages where they may be kept until, at least, they are able to
fly. This may often be done by hanging the cage near the nest, where
the parents will feed it. Our children owe this work to the community,
to themselves and to the birds. I am aware some will say that this will
lead to the death of more fledglings than now go to feed the cats. And
under present conditions, I regret to say, there is a good deal of
truth in it. In trying to get children interested in this work, I have
been surprised to find so many who say, "Oh yes, I would like to have
some tame Robins so much; but you can't keep them alive. I have tried
it, and they all died." "What did you feed them?" "Oh, bread crumbs;"
now and then one will say "worms and berries." "Did they eat?" "No, I
never saw them eat anything." "Did you give them any water to drink?"
"No, I didn't think of that." "How often do you feed them? Do you know
that birds are flying appetites? Did you feed them regularly about
every hour?" "No, I put in some stuff generally about once a day."
And so it goes. But shall we be content with this state of things when
any bright child can be given the necessary instruction in an hour by
which he can succeed in keeping alive and taming practically all the
fledglings that fall in his way?
Second: We owe it as a duty to both the birds and ourselves to learn
the facts of bird life. We do not adequately know the life story
of a single one of our most common species. Every fact that can be
discovered as to the good or the harm that birds do _ought_ to be found
out. Every fact so discovered will act as just so much more motive
force to bring about proper relations with our birds. A few birds have
been killed, and the stomach contents analyzed, to obtain facts about
bird foods which have changed our sentiments and even legislation.
Somebody owed this as a duty to both birds and community. But this
method is not well adapted for use in elementary schools, and its
results might be infinitely extended and the subject of bird foods
made a matter of practical public education, by having classes in
nature study throughout our schools make feeding tests with tame birds
of different species. Cages will have to play at least a temporary
role in work of this kind. More than this, a knowledge of bird ways,
habits, methods of feeding and caring for their nests and young, their
songs and calls, "their manners for the heart's delight," are great
æsthetic and educational values. These might all be developed and
enhanced by a proper use of caged birds. Instead of collections of
stuffed birds, the ethics and educational value of which I wish might
be discussed in Bird-Lore, each city might have, possibly maintained
by some ornithological society, a fine collection of pairs of a few of
our most valuable species. These could make the rounds of the schools
each year. This, too, need only be a temporary expedient, useful until
sufficient general interest and knowledge is developed so that we may
have, properly appreciated and protected, an abundance of our native
birds tamed sufficiently to come close about our homes.
The above are but two points among many, and I bring them forward to
bespeak a little intelligent favor for the proper use of the cage. We
owe the birds duties of protection and acquaintance, and the cage may
help us in the performance of both.
C. F. Hodge, _Clark University_.
=For Young Observers=
Oliver Twist, Catbird
BY ISABELLA McC. LEMMON
[Illustration]
On July 9, 1898, we caught a young Catbird. He had left the nest
the day before, and had then eluded all our efforts, but by morning
a pouring rain had removed his objections to captivity, and a very
wet, bedraggled little Catbird was established in the big cage. He
soon stopped trying to get out, and seemed quite contented--except
occasionally when the old birds heard him calling for food and came to
the rescue. But that was carefully guarded against, and as his voice
lost its baby tone they left him in peace.
A name was quickly given, the frequency and great size of his meals
promptly gaining for him the title of 'Oliver Twist.' Worms, currants,
goose-, rasp-, black-, and huckleberries, bits of bread soaked in
milk, all went down, but the fruit seemed somewhat more acceptable. On
July 16, the amount of food was greatest: 43 earthworms and 81 berries
between 7 a. m. and 6.50 p. m.
As the different berries ripened he gave up the early kinds and
accepted the new ones most eagerly, elderberries especially. These last
he ate by the bunch--indeed one need only walk past a patch of the
bushes when the fruit is ripe, to appreciate a Catbird's fondness for
them.
By the 16th Oliver had taken his first bath, and for the first time I
saw him drink. Four days later, when he must have been about four weeks
old, we heard him trying to sing--queer little chirps and gurgles in
the lowest of tones, but evidently intended for a song. He stopped as
soon as he saw me, raising his wings and begging for food, and for some
time we were obliged to enjoy his musical efforts by stealth.
By August 1, he was pretty well feathered; the tail was almost full
length, and even the little feathers over the nostrils had started to
grow. He was also able to feed himself then, but greatly preferred
being fed; often, when I offered him more than he wanted, giving a low
'chuck' very like the old birds' call.
As August progressed worms were refused, and though bread and milk
and all sorts of berries were eaten, the bird evidently missed
something. He was molting a little--if the loss of so few feathers
could be called a molt--but became more and more droopy, refusing or
indifferently eating the various things we tried, till some one gave
him a fly! Then all went well; he ate all the flies we could catch,
sometimes twenty at a meal, and also wasps and bees. When he saw
somebody bringing one of the latter dainties he would jump about in
great excitement; then, snatching the insect, kill it with a few quick
pinches and swallow it, poison and all. He also learned the motion made
in catching a fly, and was on the alert as soon as he saw me snatch for
one.
Towards the end of the month I let him out of doors--though he had
often been out in the house--and after that he had exercise nearly
every day, flying about a little, coming readily to me when I whistled,
and generally returning to the cage quickly enough for a few flies.
He evidently regarded the cage as home, for let any large bird pass
at what he considered too close quarters and in he went like a flash,
there to remain till the danger was past. On one occasion, when he was
hopping among the plants in the house, I saw him carefully watching a
Crow that was fighting his way against a heavy wind. Suddenly the Crow
gave way, making a swoop almost to the window, and in far less time
than it can be told the Catbird was in the cage and up on a perch, so
terrified that it was some minutes before he was himself again.
About the middle of September Oliver Twist caught the migration fever,
and when no one was in sight was very uneasy in his cage, not only
during the day but at night as well. In the evening the bird was always
moved to a dark back hall, where he usually settled down at once; now
he was most restless, chucking and mewing sometimes for nearly an hour,
and not until late in October did he finally become quiet. Cool days,
also, made him more uneasy.
During the fall months Oliver ate every sort of berry I could find,
from dogwood to Boston ivy, with two exceptions: those of the wild
rose and the catbriar. The seeds of the ivy berries he always ejected,
perfectly clean and free from pulp, beginning about half an hour after
swallowing them; he would work the bill a little, as if the seed
were in his mouth, a moment later pushing it out with the tongue. At
first they appeared quite rapidly--two or three or even more in a
minute--then more slowly, and continued for at least three-quarters of
an hour.
As the house flies disappeared, the big blue and green species, that
during the summer were simply scorned, grew quite tempting; but even
these gave out, and it became very difficult to find proper food for
the little fellow. Figs for a time supplied the place of berries, but
he tired of them at last, and bits of meat never passed for flies or
for the worms that even in the greenhouse went down beyond reach of the
trowel.
The cage now stood among the plants in a sunny window of the
dining-room, and the conversation at meal times generally started
Oliver singing; yet it was always a low version of the usual Catbird
song, for he invariably sang with the bill nearly closed. Often in the
dark December mornings he was scarcely awake when breakfast began, but
in a few minutes we would hear his cheerful little song--the first
thing in his day--before he even left his night's perch. Then, as the
sun touched him there came a great arranging of feathers and a good
shake to put each one in place again, and then breakfast.
The bath was almost never omitted from the time the bird was about a
month old, and often he bathed twice a day if the first were given him
early in the morning; and how he enjoyed it! shuffling up the water
with his wings, ducking his head, and spattering in every direction
till he was soaked through, then going to the perch and flicking wings
and tail and ruffling the feathers until dry.
To some extent Oliver showed affection by coming most readily to me,
who generally fed him, and by an odd little greeting he usually gave
when I offered him my finger, gently pinching it or giving a slight
peck, too mild ever to be mistaken for anger. Unfortunately this was
broken up by the teasing of another member of the family, and the pecks
became too severe to be altogether agreeable.
He was growing more wild and more unwilling to return to his cage, and
I intended to let him go when spring came, but long before that time he
got sickly and sluggish, eager for the berries and insects that were
not to be found, and in spite of everything I tried in their stead, he
died late in December.
But though Oliver Twist lived so short a time he taught me many
interesting lessons, one of which, in particular, I shall long
remember: never try to keep a fruit- and insect-eating bird through
the winter, for no amount of willingness and care can supply him with
proper food. Take nature's word for it--she knows quite well what she
is about when she sends them all off to the south.
[Illustration]
=Notes from Field and Study=
Birds and Caterpillars
Last year, at Brandon, Vermont, the tent-caterpillars were so abundant
as to be a serious injury and annoyance. They lay in close rows, making
wide bands on the tree trunks. They spun down from the upper branches
and fell upon the unfortunate passers-by. They crawled through the
grass in such numbers that it seemed to move in a mass as one looked
down upon it. Under these circumstances, birds might be expected to do
strange things,--and they did.
The pair of Downy Woodpeckers which lived near us were frequently seen
on the ground picking up the crawling tent-caterpillars. They seemed
to prefer taking them from the ground to taking them from the trees,
though there were more on the tree-trunks than on the ground even. And
the Woodpeckers seemed to have no difficulty in moving on the ground,
though they moved more slowly than when dodging around a tree.
Two mountain-ash trees on the place were infested by borers, though
only slightly and only near the ground, and at the foot of one of these
trees the Downy Woodpeckers made many a stand, while they probed the
borer-holes with their bills.
The Cuckoos came boldly into the village and fed and fed, flying
about quite openly. The Nuthatches flew to a band of caterpillars on
a tree-trunk, and were so busy and absorbed in devouring the crawlers
that I could put my hand on them before they started to fly, and then
they merely flew to another tree close by, and attacked another mass of
caterpillars.
Blackbirds waddled over the grass by the sides of the streets picking
up the crawlers, and even a Woodcock spent several hours in the garden
and on the lawn, _apparently_ feasting on tent-caterpillars, but I
could not get near enough to be sure.
The Vireos--White-eyed, Red-eyed, and Warbling--the Cat-birds,
Cedar-birds, and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks did good service to the trees
and human beings, but the most evident destruction was done by the
Chipping Sparrows when the moths emerged late in the summer. The moths
were very abundant after four o'clock in the afternoon, flying about
the trees to lay their eggs, and then the Chippies became fly-catchers
for the time, and flew straight, turned, twisted, dodged, and tumbled
'head over heels and heels over head' in the air, just as the course
of the hunted moth made necessary. A quick snap of the beak, and four
brownish wings would float down like snowflakes, and their numbers on
the walks, roads and grass showed how many thousands of moths were
slain. In spite of the unwonted exercise the Chippies waxed fat, but
not as aldermanic as the Robins, which, earlier, gorged themselves on
the caterpillars until, as one observer said, "their little red fronts
actually trailed on the ground."--Caroline G. Soule, _Brookline, Mass._
An Odd Nesting Site
I have never seen an account of a House Wren taking up his abode in
another bird's nest. It seemed, therefore, at first incredible when,
early this summer, we saw a Wren frequenting a deserted Baltimore
Oriole's nest and apparently start housekeeping in it. This nest was
in one of the outermost branches of a large sugar maple about twenty
feet from the ground and the same distance from the farm-house, and was
completely filled with twigs by its tenants. The little Wren's choice
was the more remarkable, in that a number of bird houses had been
placed about the grounds for their special accommodation. I believe
none of these were occupied, and this pair deliberately preferred the
Oriole's nest.--L. H. Schwab, _Sharon, Conn._
=Book News and Reviews=
The First Book of Birds. By Olive Thorne Miller. With 8 colored and
12 plain plates and 20 figures in the text. Boston and New York,
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1899. 12mo, pp. viii + 149.
Text-books based on successful experiences in teaching generally prove
to be of value, and the present volume is no exception to the rule. It
contains what its author has found to be the most adequate definition
of the bird in her talks on this little-known creature to boys and
girls. It is well-named a 'First Book of Birds,' Mrs. Miller's aim
being to arouse an intelligent interest in bird-life before confronting
the inquirer with 'keys' and discouraging identification puzzles.
She, therefore, begins with the nest, and outlines the development of
the bird, following this section by chapters on the bird's language,
food, migration, intelligence, etc., and concluding with sections on
'How He is Made,' and 'His Relations with Us.' The matter is well
chosen, and so admirably arranged that no attentive reader can fail to
receive a clear and logical conception of the chief events in a bird's
life.--F. M. C.
Field Key to the Land Birds. By Edward Knobel. Boston, Bradlee
Whidden. 1899. 16mo, pp. 55, numerous cuts in the text and 10
colored plates.
This is an attempt to make plain the way of the field student, to
whom every aid is welcome. One hundred and fifty-five land birds are
divided into four groups, according to their size, and are arranged
on nine colored plates, in the preparation of which the publishers
have evidently struggled with the evils of cheap lithography, or some
inexpensive color process. Experience in this direction makes us a
lenient critic, and our standard has been reduced from the level
of perfection to that of recognizability; that is, if a plate is
sufficiently good to unmistakably represent a certain species, even
crudely, we view it solely from a practical standpoint, and admit that
it doubtless serves its purpose. Applying this test to the plates under
consideration, we are forced to state that, although fairly familiar
with the species figured, we are in many cases unable to name the
figures.