PART III

OUR FRIENDS THE BIRDS

THE CANARY'S STORY.

Am I happy? No, not quite happy, though I sing as if I were. Do you

think that a cage would make you happy if you had wings?

I am willing to say that I am grateful. Helen is very good to me. She

never forgets to fill my seed-cup and my glass of water. Every morning I

have my bath and my cage is cleaned. At night I am taken into a cool,

dark room to sleep. If the house is too warm I am very uncomfortable,

and Helen is careful to keep my sleeping-room cool.

Sometimes Helen takes me out of the cage for a while. It is a great

pleasure to fly in and out among the plants in the window. I pretend

that I am in the woods. For a time I am very happy.

I was a wretched little bird when Helen's mother bought me. For days I

had been in a tiny wooden box, with no chance to move about. Every

morning a man took several of these boxes in his hand and walked up and

down the streets crying, "Birds! Singing birds! Only two dollars!" He

swung the boxes back and forth until I was sick and dizzy. It seemed to

me that I could never sing again.

Then Helen saw me and begged her mother to give the man two dollars, so

that she could take me out of the hot sun and the narrow box. How big

and bright this cage seemed then!

I am never cold and hungry, it is true, but sometimes I try to fancy how

it would seem to be free, to fly where I like under the open sky, and to

have other birds near by. I dream of waving branches and distant

mountain-tops. I can almost hear the sea pounding on the sunny beaches

of those warm islands where I first saw the light. Do you think, if you

were I, you could be quite happy?

THE CAGED THRUSH.

Alas for the bird who was born to sing!

They have made him a cage; they have clipped his wing;

They have shut him up in a dingy street,

And they praise his singing and call it sweet;

But his heart and his song are saddened and filled

With the woods and the nest he never will build,

And the wild young dawn coming into the tree,

And the mate that never his mate will be;

And day by day, when his notes are heard,

They freshen the street, but--alas for the bird!

R. F. MURRAY.

In the "Academy."

HOW TO CARE FOR A CANARY.

The original home of the canary was in the Canary Islands. These are

warm, sunny islands not far from the west coast of Africa. Winter is

almost unknown there, and before the bird-catchers came the canaries

must have led happy lives.

The birds were trapped and sent to all the countries of Europe. The

first canaries brought to America came from Germany in 1842. It was a

long voyage in a sailing-vessel, and many of the poor little prisoners

died on the way.

The birds are put into wicker cages so small that there is scarcely room

to stretch their wings. These cages are packed in boxes or crates, and

one hundred and sixty-eight birds are sent in one crate.

The birds are kept in the tiny cages until they are sold. The cups of

food and water are put inside the cages. Sometimes when they are moved

to a larger cage, the birds do not know where to look for their food.

They have been known to die of hunger because they could not find their

seed-cups, which in their new cages are on the outside.

Every day, when the cage is cleaned, fresh water and food should be

placed in it. Birds like a daily bath in a shallow dish of tepid water.

After the bath they should have an hour or two of liberty. It is unkind

to keep them shut up in a cage all the time.

After a bird has had his morning frolic he should not be chased or

frightened into his cage. When the little fellow is hungry he will be

glad to go back, especially if he sees there a bit of food that he

likes. In time he will even learn to fly to the outstretched finger of

his master or mistress, and to answer, as well as he can, the caressing

tones which he loves.

A canary is one of the most sensitive creatures in the world. A harsh or

sudden noise disturbs it, and a severe fright may kill it.

Canaries like the sunshine and dread the cold, but they should not be

left in the sun in warm weather. Do not hang the cage in a draught or

away from the light. It should be about five feet from the floor and not

too near a register or radiator.

Once a month the cage must be thoroughly washed and the perches scalded,

if you wish your bird's home to be healthful. The floor and perches will

also need cleaning every day. Coarse sand should be sprinkled on the

thick, brown paper which covers the bottom of the cage. At night put the

cage in a dark room or spread over it a square of soft, dark material,

in such a way that the air is not shut out.

The ordinary bath-tub provided for a canary is much too small. Mrs.

Olive Thorne Miller says that it should be nearly as wide as the spread

of his wings, so that he can beat the water and toss it over him in a

spray. A common earthen saucer belonging to a flower-pot is very good

for the purpose. As this saucer will be too large to go through the

cage-door, it should be placed on a large folded cloth or paper and the

upper part of the cage placed over it. While the bird is taking his

bath, the floor of the cage may be made clean for the day.

It is a good plan to give a canary bread, crackers, a little of the

hard-boiled yolk of an egg, or a piece of apple. In summer he will enjoy

a bunch of chickweed. In winter he may have a bit of lettuce or cabbage

leaf. He should have something green every day. Of course he must have

also canary and rape seeds, and occasionally a very little hemp seed for

a treat.

If the canary or rape seed is poor the bird will scatter it and refuse

to eat it. Only seed which is large and clean should be used. It is

better to buy each kind by itself and mix them afterwards. The hemp seed

is so rich that not more than half a small teaspoonful should be given

at a time. Do not mix this with the other seeds, but scatter it on the

floor of the cage.

Mosquitoes sometimes annoy a canary very much. A loose bag of netting

drawn over the cage will save him from unnecessary suffering. When these

poor prisoners are in our care we must do what we can to protect them

and make them happy. No true bird-lover would choose to see his pets in

cages, but we cannot turn the defenseless little creatures out into the

cold. If no one would buy a canary, there would be no more caught, and

the cruel business would come to an end. Is it not worth while to think

how much better it is to have no caged pets at all? In this free land of

ours shall we deny freedom to the bird, which, above all other

creatures, needs space and sunshine?

AN INDIAN STORY.

In a little book about Omaha there is this story which is told by Bright

Eyes, the daughter of an Indian chief. "We were out on a buffalo hunt. I

was a little bit of a thing when it happened. Father could neither speak

English nor read and write, and this story shows that the highest moral

worth can exist aside from all civilization and education.

"It was evening. The tents had been pitched for the night, the camp-fire

made, and mother and the other women were cooking supper over it.

"I was playing near my father when an Indian boy, a playmate, came up

and gave me a little bird which he had found.

"I was very much pleased. I tried to feed it and make it drink. After I

had played with it a long time, my father said to me: 'My daughter,

bring your bird to me.'

"When I took it to him he held it in his hand a moment, smoothed its

feathers gently, and then said: 'Daughter, I will tell you what you

might do with your bird. Take it carefully in your hand out yonder where

there are no tents, where the high grass is. Put it softly down on the

ground and say as you put it down, "God, I give you back your little

bird. Have pity on me as I have pity on your bird."'

"I said: 'Does it belong to God?'

"He said: 'Yes, and He will be pleased if you do not hurt it, but give

it back to Him to care for.'

"I was very much impressed and carefully followed out his directions,

saying the little prayer he had told me to say."

HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS.

Then the little Hiawatha

Learned of every bird its language,

Learned their names and all their secrets,

How they built their nests in summer,

Where they hid themselves in winter,

Talked with them whene'er he met them,

Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."

Of all beasts he learned the language,

Learned their names and all their secrets,

How the beavers built their lodges,

Where the squirrels hid their acorns,

How the reindeer ran so swiftly,

Why the rabbit was so timid,

Talked with them whene'er he met them,

Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

TO THE CUCKOO.

Sweet bird! Thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year.

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make on joyful wing

Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spring.

JOHN LOGAN.

OUR FRIENDS THE BIRDS.

We have few better friends than the birds. They spend their lives

working for us. Without them our crops would be destroyed by insects and

mice. Soon no green thing would be left, and the earth would no longer

be habitable.

Birds do all this without being asked. If we treat them kindly and try

to make friends with them, we shall find that in addition to the good

they do in protecting our fields and gardens, they may also bring us a

great deal of pleasure.

Birds are the most beautiful of creatures. Their plumage is often

brilliant and always pleasing. Their motions are so graceful it is a

delight to watch them. Their voices are so sweet that they charm every

one who loves the fields and woods.

It is very interesting to study the habits of birds. They make journeys

thousands of miles in length and return to the same home each year. They

build the most wonderful homes and take the best of care of their young.

If we would have these beautiful and interesting creatures live near us

we must show them that we mean them no harm. Then they will come about

our homes, cheering us with their glad songs, and amusing us with their

intelligence.

It is sad to think that birds have learned to fear man because he has

killed and trapped them, or robbed their nests of eggs or young. This is

not a very good way to treat a friend, is it?

Travelers tell us that when they have visited islands where men did not

live, the birds were so tame that they perched upon their shoulders and

could be easily caught.

Birds soon find out when man is their enemy, and then become wild and

shy; but they are always willing to become our friends again. If we can

make them understand that when near us they are safe, they will show

their faith in our good-will.

The wild eider-duck makes her nest and lays her eggs in the huts of the

Icelanders because she knows that she will not be harmed. In nesting

time the birds may be seen in the village streets. They are so tame that

one might think they were domestic ducks.

In Europe the storks build upon the house-tops. The peasant welcomes

them as friends when each spring they return to their home. He is glad

to have them near him, and he places an old cart-wheel on top of his

house as a foundation for their nest of sticks.

Near some of the steamboat landings in Florida no shouting is allowed.

The wild ducks and coots quickly learn to know where they are safe, and

in these places they are very tame, so that one can walk quite near

them. But when they are outside the spot in which they are protected

they are as shy as the wildest ducks.

Throughout the South it is against the law to kill the buzzards or

vultures. These birds are very useful. They are public scavengers,

devouring many things which would cause disease. The birds know that

they have no one to fear and they hop about the streets as tame as

chickens.

You see, therefore, that the birds will trust us when they learn that we

are their friends. If you would encourage them to make their home near

yours, you might provide little boxes for them to occupy or make holes

in hollow limbs where they can place their nests.

They enjoy, too, a trough of water in which they can bathe. When winter

comes a piece of tallow in the trees will prove a rich treat to the

chickadee, and a few seeds scattered on the snow will make a feast for

the hardy snowbirds.

[Illustration with caption: Bird-house. Made from a bark-covered log, 8

inches long and 8 inches in diameter, a hole 5 inches in diameter "being

bored from end to end, leaving an outer wall 1 1/2 inches thick."--From

"Bird-Lore" by permission of The Macmillan Company.]

FEATHERED TRAVELERS.

Some birds are great travelers. They may pass the summer in the Arctic

regions and in the autumn go to Patagonia to spend the winter. Is it not

wonderful how they can make this long journey without a compass or map

to guide them?

Generally they follow rivers or coast lines; but they may have to cross

large bodies of water where no land can be seen Still they find their

way to and fro, returning each year to the same place Sometimes they

even use the nest they built the year before.

Large birds and those which can fly swiftly, like swallows, are not

afraid to travel by day. But the little birds, like wrens and warblers,

that live in the shelter of trees and bushes, wait for the night.

They are not afraid of the dark. It hides them from their enemies. So

when the sun has gone down and night comes, they fly up into the air and

start on their journey.

If you should look through a telescope at the moon some clear night in

spring or autumn, you could probably see the birds flying by. They look

like bees going across the face of the moon.

Large birds, like ducks, fly very swiftly. It is thought that they may

travel one hundred miles an hour. But the small warblers and flycatchers

go less than half as fast.

Most birds that fly at night are far above the earth. They go as high as

two or three miles. If you have ever been on a mountain top or a very

high building, you will know how much farther you can see than when you

are on the ground.

So the birds, too, can see a great distance as they fly by, high in the

air. At night they can see the water sparkling in the starlight. This

helps them to find their way.

When it is foggy or raining they cannot see which way they are going

This is a sad time for the little feathered travelers. Some fly far out

to sea and are drowned. The feathers of some are so wet that they cannot

fly. Then they must seek shelter in the trees.

In wet and foggy weather the birds sometimes fly to the lighthouses. The

light seems to attract them, just as a light attracts moths. They fly

against the glasses which protect the light, and often are killed.

Sometimes large birds fly through the glass about the light. The light-

keeper therefore puts wire netting outside the glass to protect it from

these large birds.

While the birds are traveling at night they often call and chirp to each

other. This keeps them from being lonely and from getting lost. If you

should listen very carefully some still night in September, you might

hear the birds calling as they fly swiftly by.

When morning comes the birds fly down to earth. Would you not think that

they would be very tired after flying all night? They do not seem to be.

But they are hungry, and as soon as they alight they begin to look for

something to eat.

After breakfast they rest for a few hours. In the afternoon they go out

for supper, for they must have a good meal if they are to fly again all

night.

WHEN THE BIRDS RETURN.

How pleasant it is to hear the song of the robin on a March morning! At

the first sign of spring he comes back to us from his winter home in the

South. His cheerful song tells us that winter will soon be gone. In a

few weeks we can look for wild flowers, and the fields will be green

again.

The blackbirds follow a few days later. With a merry, jingling chorus

they perch in the leafless trees. We know now that soon there will be

leaves and blossoms, and the thought makes us glad.

Now we may look for the bluebird also. His soft, sweet warble is one of

the most welcome of the springtime sounds. See him looking at the box in

which last year he had a nest! Probably he is planning repairs. How

happy he seems!

When we see gnats or small insects in the air we may expect the phoebe.

The phoebe belongs to the family of flycatchers. He spends his life in

man's service, catching the insects which are so troublesome.

When the first insects appear the phoebe comes to prevent them from

growing too numerous. You will know the phoebe by his note. "Pewit-

phoebe!" he calls, with a wag of his tail, as he sits on a fence or

bridge rail.

If the frost has left the ground, you may be sure that the woodcock has

come. The woodcock has a bill nearly three inches long. He sticks it

into the soft earth to hunt for the worms on which he lives. So you see

if the ground were hard the woodcock could not get his usual fare.

For the same reason the kingfisher waits until the ice has left the

ponds and streams. Then we can hear him sound his rattle-like voice and

watch him fishing. What a sure aim he has! See him hovering over the

water, waiting for some small fish to come near the surface! Then he

closes his wings and plunges downward like a dart. There is a splash,

and a second later he flies up with his prize.

Early in April the chippy comes. He has not much of a song, but we are

always glad to see him because he seems glad to see us. He comes to the

piazza steps, plainly asking for crumbs. If we give them to him, he may

build his hair-lined nest in the vine on the trellis.

Some day later in the month the barn swallow may be seen flitting in and

out the barn door or hay window, twittering merrily. He has seen many

countries since he left us last October. Probably he has been to Central

America, or even Brazil. But in all his travels I am sure he has visited

no place he loves as well as the old barn.

The chimney swift loves his chimney, too. Let us hope that when he

returns early in May he will not find smoke curling from his home.

Each day now brings a host of the little feathered travelers. In

February and March we cannot tell just what day to look for our bird

friends. If it is cold and bleak, they must wait for warmer weather. In

May, when the sun shines brightly, and the season of storms has passed,

we know almost exactly when to expect each bird.

About the first of the month we shall again be cheered by the songs of

the catbird and wren. From a tree-top near the roadside a brown thrasher

will sing a song of rejoicing. In the woods the wood thrush will chant a

hymn of praise.

The ground is carpeted with wild flowers, and we may gather the

beautiful anemones, violets, and buttercups. The trees are putting on

their dresses of green. The air rings with the joyful music of birds.

Now we know that the song of the robin was true.

BIRDS' HOMES.

Nearly every bird has a trade. Some are carpenters, others are masons,

weavers, tailors, basket-makers, etc. It is only when building their

homes that birds work at their trades.

Then you may see the woodpecker hammering with his chisel-like bill,

making a home in some dead tree. You can hear his strokes a long way

through the woods. The chips fly from beneath his strong blows.

The robin, the phoebe, and the barn and eave swallows are masons. The

robin moulds an inner layer of mud in his round nest and covers it with

fine grasses. The phoebe uses a mixture of mud and moss in plastering

his large nest on some beam or rafter.

The barn swallow also uses a beam. His nest is nearly all mud, but is

lined with soft feathers. The eave swallows are the most expert masons

of all. They build rows of mud tenements beneath the eaves of the barn.

Each little apartment is rounded over and has a round hole for a door.

The chimney swift or swallow uses wood and glue in making the pretty

little bracket-like basket he fastens to the chimney wall. His feet are

so small that he cannot perch as other birds do, so when he rests he

clings to the side of the chimney and leans on his tail. Each tail

feather is tipped with a stiff, sharp point that keeps it from slipping.

How then do you suppose he gathers the twigs for his nest? Watch him

some day when he is flying rapidly about. You may see that he goes by a

dead tree, and as he passes he hovers for a second near the end of a

limb. Then it is that he snaps off with his bill a small, dry twig for

his home.

But how can he fasten a nest of twigs to the upright chimney wall? Well,

the chimney swift carries a gluepot with him. It is in his mouth, where

certain glands produce a sticky substance like mucilage. With this he

glues the little twigs together and fastens them to the bricks.

Sometimes a heavy rain will moisten this glue. Then the nest is loosened

from the chimney and, with the poor little birds in it, falls to the

fireplace. If you fasten it as high in the chimney above the fireplace

as you can, the parent birds may come down and feed their young.

The humming-bird is an upholsterer and decorator. He and his tiny wife

build the daintiest little nest it is possible to imagine. They use

plant-down or "thistle-down" and cover it all over with grayish or

greenish lichens, those flakes of "moss" we see growing on the bark of

trees. Generally they place it on a limb of a large tree. There it looks

so much like a knot that it takes sharp eyes to find a humming-bird's

nest.

The great crested flycatcher places his nest in a hollow limb and though

he seems to care very little about its appearance he has, nevertheless,

an idea of his own about decoration and evidently thinks no nest is

complete without a bit of cast-off snake skin.

Just why he should want to have such a thing in his home no one can say.

Some naturalists believe that he uses it as a scarecrow to frighten his

enemies away. But I do not think he could give a reason if he were

asked.

Birds build the same kind of nests their parents built, without asking

the reason why.

The chipping sparrow always lines its nest with hairs, the crane uses

cedar bark, the robin mud, the vireos often place a bit of wasps' nest

in their bag-like nests; but no one has ever tried to explain why they

should always employ these particular things.

The oriole is a master weaver. Have you ever seen his cradle swaying

from an elm branch? It is so well made that it often lasts through the

winter.

It is usually made of long grass fibres. If the birds can find strings

or worsted, they are glad to use them, but they sometimes get their

claws caught in the string, and are not able to free themselves, so it

is better for them to use other material. When the birds have left their

nests in the autumn, yon may take them to study and to show to others.

Many thoughtless boys rob birds of their nests and eggs. They do not

intend to be wicked, but they do not know any better. If they could

learn how interesting it is to see the birds building their homes and

rearing their young, they surely would not wish to destroy them.

THE ROBIN.

Some birds are shy and retiring, and if we would meet them we must go to

their haunts in the forests. Others are comparatively tame and domestic,

living about our dwellings and meeting us more than halfway when we

attempt to make friends with them.

Among these familiar birds of the garden and orchard, none is better

known than the cheery robin. Robins are very numerous, and are found in

all parts of North America, from New England to Alaska, and south to the

city of Mexico.

It is due to his tameness and also to his brick-red breast that he bears

the name of "Robin."

When the first English settlers came to this country, of course

everything was new and strange to them. The birds had only Indian names

which the newcomers could not understand, even when they heard them. So

they had to make up names for those birds that were common enough to

attract their attention.

The robin was probably one of the first to be named. When the settlers

saw this friendly bird, with a breast colored somewhat like the robin

redbreast of England, they called him "Robin," after the favorite of

their far-away homes.

The two birds are really quite unlike. The robin redbreast is less than

six inches in length, and is slighter than our bluebird, while our robin

is ten inches long, and is, as every one knows, a stout, heavy bird.

There is only a general resemblance in color, both birds having a

brownish-red breast; probably our bird's name is due as much to his

friendly ways as to his appearance.

The robin is a migratory bird, and in winter is not usually found north

of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. This is his playtime in the sunny South.

He lives in flocks containing hundreds and even thousands of birds. They

feed on the berries of the dogwood, china tree and mistletoe, and are

the jolliest lot of birds it is possible to imagine.

Some are singing; not so long a song as they sing in the summer, but

just a kind of gay humming; while others are dashing about, chasing one

another through the woods in sport.

But the robin is a great home-lover. At the very first sign of spring he

begins to think about returning to us, and some warm day, late in

February, we may generally find him hunting for food about the grassy

banks of a spring, or on the sheltered side of a wood.

Soon, if the weather continues pleasant, we shall hear him sing. What a

welcome sound it is! How it recalls memories of cherries and

strawberries, and of all the good things of summer!

In the latter hall of April he and his mate go to housekeeping. Who

hasn't seen a robin's nest?--that strong, large house of grasses,

plastered inside with mud, and furnished with a lining of rootlets.

He places it almost anywhere in the trees, but generally in a broad

crotch. If you are fortunate, and the robin has learned that you are his

friend, he may build his mud and grass cabin in a tree near your window.

Then you can learn all about his household affairs. You will see the

four blue eggs. You will know how many days it takes them to hatch, and

you will see what faithful parents birds are.

Not only will they give every minute of their time to securing food for

their hungry family, but they will bravely fight any enemy who appears.

If it rains, you may see the mother bird standing on the nest with wings

spread over her young, to shelter them from the falling drops.

Generally the robin rears two families each season. When the first brood

is ready to leave the nest, Father Robin takes charge of them. Every

night he leads them to a great roost or nursery where other young robins

are brought by their fathers to sleep. In the daytime he returns to help

Mother Robin care for family number two.

At last all the young are old enough to care for themselves. Then they

gather in large flocks and go for a holiday in the wild cherry trees.

When the cherries are gone, they visit the sassafras and pepperidge

trees, and the woodbine tangles. Then comes a course of dogwood, with a

dessert of nanny-berries.

Cedar berries are added by way of a bit of cracker and cheese. Then the

robin's great feast is over, and he leaves us for the repast which is

awaiting him in the South.

The robin is very useful to the farmer. He eats ants, bugs,

caterpillars, army worms, and many other worms and insects which would

harm the grass and fruit trees.

In return, what does he ask? Only to dine on a few ripe cherries and

strawberries.

ROBIN REJOICE.

Among the first of the spring,

The notes of the Robin ring;

With flute-like voice,

He calls, "Rejoice,

For I am coming to sing!"

To any one gloomy or sad,

He says, "Be glad! be glad!

Look on the bright side,

'Tis aye the right side;

The world is good, not bad."

At daybreak in June we hear

His melody, strong and clear:

"Cheer up, be merry,

I've found a cherry;

'Tis a glorious time of the year!"

GARRETT NEWKIRK.

From "Bird-Lore," by permission of The Macmillan Company.

TO A SKYLARK.

(EXTRACT.)

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest,

Like a cloud of fire,

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow

The world should listen then, as I am listening now!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

FRIGHTENED BIRDS.

"Hush, hush!" said a little brown thrush

To his mate on the nest in the elder-bush.

"Keep still! Don't open your bill!

There's a boy coming bird-nesting over the hill!

Let your wings out, so

That not an egg or the nest shall show.

Chee! Chee! It seems to me

I'm as frightened as ever a bird can be!"

Then, still, with a quivering bill,

He watched the boy out of sight o'er the hill.

Ah, then in the branches again,

His glad song ran over vale and glen.

Oh, oh! if that boy could know

How glad they were when they saw him go,

Say, say, do you think next day

He could possibly steal those eggs away?

ANON.

DON'T ROB THE BIRDS, BOYS.

Don't rob the birds of their eggs, boys,

'Tis cruel and heartless and wrong;

And remember, by breaking an egg, boys,

We may lose a bird with a song.

When careworn, weary, and lonely,

Some day as you're passing along,

You'll rejoice that the egg wasn't broken

That gave you the bird with its song.

ANON.

A GOOD SHOT

There was once a boy whose eye was so true, and whose hand was so

steady, that he became a very good marksman. If he threw a stone, or

fired at anything with his air-gun, he usually hit what he aimed at. He

took such pride and pleasure in his skill that he was always looking for

good shots.

Near his house lived a bird. Five young ones were in her nest. So many

mouths, always wide open for food, kept the little mother busy. From

morning till night she flew over fields and woods, getting worms and

bugs and seeds for her babies to eat. Every day she flew off chirping

gayly, and came back as soon as she could with a bit of food. The

smallest bird had been hurt in some way and could not cry so loudly as

the others. The mother always gave him his breakfast first.

One day when she had picked up a worm and was resting a moment, the good

marksman saw her.

"What a fine shot!" he said, and fired his air-gun. The bird felt a

sharp, stinging pain in her side, and when she tried to fly she found

that she could not lift herself from the ground.

Fluttering and limping, she dragged herself along to the foot of the

tree where her nest was. Her broken wing hurt her very much, but she

chirped a little, in as cheerful a way as she could, so that her babies

should not be frightened. They chirped back loudly, because they were

hungry, and they could not understand why she did not come to them. She

knew all their voices, and when she heard the plaintive note of the

smallest, she tried again and again to fly. At last she fell in such a

way that she could not move her wings again.

All day she lay there, and when her children called, she answered with

her old, brave chirp. But as the hours went by, her voice grew fainter

and fainter, until at last it was still.

In the morning she was dead. The little ones called now in vain. They

cried until they were so tired that they fell asleep; but soon their

hunger waked them and they cried again.

The next night was cold, and they crowded together, hoping to get warm.

How they missed their mother's warm, soft feathers! It grew colder and

colder. Before dawn they all died, one after the other. Would the boy

have been so proud of his good shot if he had known the whole story?

Adapted

"Be kind to animals," as a motto for every schoolroom in the United

States conspicuously and constantly displayed by teachers upon wall or

blackboard, will go far and help greatly towards inculcating a spirit of

kindness to animals and educating humanely the boys and girls who are to

be future citizens of this great country.

THE GOLDFINCH

Have you ever noticed the downy white seeds of the thistle? A puff of

wind will carry away hundreds of these soft, woolly tufts, which sail

like tiny balloons. When they drop to the ground they take root and soon

become young thistles.

There is no weed more troublesome to the farmer than the thistle. It

will soon crowd out the young wheat, and if let alone would cover the

whole farm. If the farmer had no help, it would be difficult for him to

raise anything but thistles.

He has, however, one of the best helpers in the world. The goldfinch is

ready to look for thistle seeds, and asks no wages at all. The farmer

ought to be grateful to such a busy little worker.

The mother goldfinch builds a beautiful nest for her little ones. For

food they have seeds which she has carefully softened in her own crop.

As soon as the young birds can fly, she takes them to the fields where

the thistles grow.

In winter birds are thankful for food and shelter. The story is told of

a man who has part of his house-wall covered with cages. The finches

which live near his home find snug lodgings in these cages during the

cold weather. In the spring his feathered guests build their nests in

the cages and pay their rent by working in his garden. They are not

confined to the cages, but come and go as they please.

Their wild sweet notes seem to come from a happy heart, and nothing can

be prettier than to see a number of these goldfinches swinging on the

brown sunflower and daintily feasting on the seeds.

Mr. Frank M. Chapman in "Bird-Life" says: "I wish that every one knew

the Goldfinch. His gentle ways and sweet disposition are never-failing

antidotes for discontent. One cannot be long near a flock of these birds

without being impressed by the refinement which seems to mark their

every note and action. They show, too, a spirit of contentment from

which we may draw more than a passing lesson. 'HEAR ME, HEAR ME,

DEARIE,' they call as they feed among the weeds or on the birch buds,

and, no matter how poor the fare, they seem thankful for it. The seeds

of the dandelion, thistle, and sunflower are among their favorites; and

if you would attract goldfinches as well as some other birds, devote a

corner of your garden to sunflowers."

BIRDS' TRADES.

The swallow is a mason,

And underneath the eaves

He builds a nest, and plasters it

With mud and hay and leaves.

Of all the weavers that I know

The oriole is the best;

High on the branches of the tree

She hangs her cozy nest.

The woodpecker is hard at work--

A carpenter is he--

And you can hear him hammering

His nest high up the tree.

Some little birds are miners,

Some build upon the ground;

And busy little tailors, too,

Among the birds are found.

THE SPARROW.

One of the most common of our American birds is the sparrow, of which

there are as many as sixteen varieties. Those that we know the best are

the field sparrow, the song sparrow, and the chipping sparrow, often

called the chippy.

The sparrows are among the earliest comers in the spring, and some of

them stay with us through the winter. Their nests may be found in

hedges, under bushes, in thick grass tufts, and in low shrubs.

These nests are usually made of dried grasses and fine roots, but the

chipping sparrow weaves horsehair with the grass and makes his nest very

delicate and dainty. He is often called the hair-bird. He is known also

as the social sparrow because he likes best to live near houses, and

seems ready to be friendly with mankind. The tree sparrow, though

larger, closely resembles him, and is often called the winter chip-bird.

The chipping sparrow's eggs are greenish-blue, speckled with dark brown.

They are four in number. The nest is built in a bush or a low tree.

The song sparrow is a very sweet singer. Early in the spring we hear his

song, and he stays late in the autumn. Sometimes he is with us all

winter. His nest is usually on the ground or in some low bush. The eggs

are grayish-white, clouded and spotted with brown and lavender. When the

nest is not disturbed, there are often three broods of little ones

during the summer.

We cannot have too many of these sweet songsters. They make our hearts

glad with their delightful melody, and they help us to keep our gardens

beautiful.

The field sparrow is found in pastures and woodlands. If he is

disturbed, he flies up suddenly from the grass and alights again farther

on. He has a sweet song that ends in a little trill.

While we find our own sparrows lovable we are not so fond of the English

sparrows, which have become more numerous than the native birds. The

English sparrow, or finch, as he is more properly called, may be a

troublesome visitor, but we invited him to come, and he is not to blame

for some of his disagreeable ways. He is by no means useless, for he

clears the gutters of quantities of unsavory and unsightly fragments

which would decay and become a nuisance if not removed. The English

sparrow eats also a great many of the army worms which have done so much

harm in some parts of the country, and he has in many places entirely

destroyed the cankerworms.

He has good traits, and he may certainly be admired for his courage and

perseverance. He bears our hard winters very cheerfully, and when no

other birds are to be seen he flies about, chirping as bravely as in the

summer sunshine.

SPARROWS

Let skies be sunny or clouds hang low

Little brown sparrow away you go

Ever in search of food or fun

Come summer or winter rain or sun

Boughs of lilac whereon to rest

April spreads when you build your nest,

Autumn feeds you with golden corn

And berries ripe on the wayside thorn

Winter comes with its frost and snow

Waters may freeze and winds may blow

Yet little you care and nought you rue,

For every hand has a crumb for you

Through sunshine tomorrow and storm today

You go like a friar of orders gray,

Finding wherever your fancy leads,

A table spread for the wanderer's needs

CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY.

In the far-off land of Norway,

Where the winter lingers late,

And long for the singing birds and flowers

The little children wait;

When at last the summer ripens

And the harvest is gathered in,

And food for the bleak, drear days to come

The toiling people win,--

Through all the land the children

In the golden fields remain

Till their busy little hands have gleaned

A generous sheaf of grain.

All the stalks by the reapers forgotten

They glean to the very least,

To save till the cold December,

For the sparrows' Christmas feast.

And then through the frost-locked country

There happens a wonderful thing:

The sparrows flock north, south, east, west,

For the children's offering.

Of a sudden, the day before Christmas,

The twittering crowds arrive,

And the bitter, wintry air at once

With their chirping is all alive.

They perch upon roof and gable,

On porch and fence and tree,

They flutter about the windows

And peer in curiously.

And meet the eyes of the children,

Who eagerly look out

With cheeks that bloom like roses red,

And greet them with welcoming shout.

On the joyous Christmas morning,

In front of every door

A tall pole, crowned with clustering grain,

Is set the birds before.

And which are the happiest, truly,

It would be hard to tell;

The sparrows who share in the Christmas cheer,

Or the children who love them well!

How sweet that they should remember,

With faith so full and sure,

That the children's bounty awaited them

The whole wide country o'er!

When this pretty story was told me

By one who had helped to rear

The rustling grain for the merry birds

In Norway, many a year,

I thought that our little children

Would like to know it too,

It seems to me so beautiful,

So blessed a thing to do--

To make God's innocent creatures see

In every child a friend,

And on our faithful kindness

So fearlessly depend.

CELIA THAXTER

THE CROW.

The poor crow has had very few friends. Like many mischievous people, he

has been more severely blamed than he really deserves. He has been

called an egg-stealer, a bird-eater, and a corn-thief. I am afraid that

this is all true, and yet it is not fair to forget the good that he

does.

In the spring, before there are many insects for him to eat, the hungry

crow will sometimes do a great deal of mischief.

He troubles the farmer by pulling up the tender young corn, but a way to

prevent this has been found. If the corn is dipped in soft tar, and

afterwards in powdered lime to give it a white coating, the crow will

not touch it. He does not like the taste of tar, and he will look

elsewhere for his dinner.

Some farmers feed the crows by scattering loose grain over the surface

of the cornfield, and in many cases the birds have been satisfied with

what they received in this way.

Now let us see why it is for the farmer's interest to make friends with

the crow. In the early days of New England, crows were thought to be so

harmful that many of them were killed. The next year the grass and the

crops were greatly injured by worms which the crows would have

destroyed. It has often been proved that when a large number of crows

and blackbirds have been killed, there has been an increase of harmful

insects.

Crows eat the cutworm, the white grub, and the weevil. They like no food

so well as mice. In the spring they like to follow the plough and pick

up hundreds of insects that would do more harm than the most mischievous

crow.

A tame crow should never be kept in a cage. If the bird is well fed and

kindly treated, it will not fly far from its home, but it is a noisy and

sometimes a troublesome pet, and it is better to leave it in the woods.

Crows are social and intelligent creatures. They choose a thick wood for

their winter home and gather in flocks which sometimes number thousands

of birds. In the summer they build their nests in neighboring trees, and

are ready to lend each other aid if danger arises.

The United States Department of Agriculture says that the crow does more

good than harm, and that he is a friend to the farmer instead of the

enemy that he is commonly supposed to be.

THE BLUEBIRD.

I know the song that the bluebird is singing,

Out in the apple tree where he is swinging;

Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary,

Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat!

Hark! was there ever so merry a note?

Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying,

Up in the apple tree, swinging and swaying.

"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,

You must be weary of winter, I know;

Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer!

Summer is coming! and Springtime is here!

"Little white snowdrop! I pray you, arise;

Bright yellow crocus! come open your eyes;

Sweet little violets, hid from the cold,

Put on your mantles of purple and gold

Daffodils! daffodils! say, do yon hear?

Summer is coming! and Springtime is here!"

EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.

By permission of the author.

THE FARMER'S FRIEND.

We all know from pictures what owls look like, though we do not often

see them. Their wise faces, with large, solemn eyes, are familiar to

every one of us. Why do we see these birds so seldom?

The owl flies at night, and at all times he is a shy bird. He likes a

quiet home and does not wish to be disturbed.

As for himself, he makes no noise. He is like a cat, not only in his

face and in his taste for mice, but in his quiet ways. His broad wings

are fringed with the softest down, so that they move with as little

sound as a feather fan. The owl is a large bird, but his wings never

make the sharp whirr of a pigeon's flight.

The barn owl builds his nest not far from the farmyard. He catches the

mice arid rats in the barn and feeds on many harmful beetles and moths.

The number of mice he catches for his little ones in a single night is

sometimes very large. He is said to bring to his nest four or five of

his hapless victims every hour.

Pennsylvania once offered a premium for killing hawks and owls, not

knowing how much good they do. Before long the state was overrun with

little rodents, and many valuable crops were destroyed.

No bird is more devoted to her little ones than the mother owl. She will

take up her tiny owlet in her claws and carry him away, if she fancies

that any danger is near; and she will not leave him, even to save her

own life.

It has been supposed that an owl is unable to see in the daytime, but

probably this is not true. He can see better at dusk than we can, but

when it is really dark he cannot see at all. He hunts at night, because

rats and mice do not often venture out in the daytime.

Unless he is free, an owl is miserable. It is cruel to keep him caged,

because it makes him ill and unhappy. When he is at liberty he is a good

friend to the farmer.

THE WOUNDED CURLEW.

By yonder sandy cove where, every day,

The tide flows in and out,

A lonely bird in sober brown and gray

Limps patiently about;

And round the basin's edge, o'er stones and sand,

And many a fringing weed,

He steals, or on the rocky ledge doth stand,

Crying, with none to heed.

But sometimes from the distance he can hear

His comrades' swift reply;

Sometimes the air rings with their music clear,

Sounding from sea and sky.

And then, oh, then his tender voice, so sweet,

Is shaken with his pain,

For broken are his pinions strong and fleet,

Never to soar again.

Wounded and lame and languishing he lives,

Once glad and blithe and free,

And in his prison limits frets and strives

His ancient self to be.

The little sandpipers about him play,

The shining waves they skim,

Or round his feet they seek their food, and stay

As if to comfort him.

My pity cannot help him, though his plaint

Brings tears of wistfulness;

Still must he grieve and mourn, forlorn and faint,

None may his wrong redress.

O bright-eyed boy! was there no better way

A moment's joy to gain

Than to make sorrow that must mar the day

With such despairing pain?

O children, drop the gun, the cruel stone!

Oh, listen to my words,

And hear with me the wounded curlew moan--

Have mercy on the birds!

CELIA THAXTER.

THE SANDPIPER.

Across the narrow beach, we flit,

One little sandpiper and I;

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it,

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we flit,--

One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,

Uttering his faint and mournful cry;

He starts not at my fitful song,

Or flash of fluttering drapery;

He has no thought of any wrong,

He scans me with a fearless eye,--

Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,

The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night

When the loosed storm breaks furiously?

My driftwood fire will burn so bright!

To what warm shelter canst thou fly?

I do not fear for thee, though wroth

The tempest rushes through the sky:

For are we not God's children both,

Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

CELIA THAXTER.

[Illustration of two birds.]

THE COST OF A HAT.

"What does it cost, this garniture of death?

It costs the life which God alone can give;

It costs dull silence where was music's breath,

It costs dead joy, that foolish pride may live.

Ah, life, and joy, and song, depend upon it,

Are costly trimmmgs for a woman's bonnet!"

MAY RILEY SMITH

Among the cruel things that are done thoughtlessly there is none more

common than the wearing of birds' feathers as ornaments in hats. The

coloring is often exquisitely soft and delicate, and we do not think, at

first, what these beautiful feathers mean.

In the morning some mother bird sings her sweetest songs under your

window as she flies forth to look for food for her nestlings. At night

she lies wounded or dead and her little ones must starve alone in the

nest. Is the pleasure of wearing a dead bird enough to pay for this

suffering?

Perhaps you will say that since the bird is already killed when you buy

it, it may as well be in your hat as in the shop window. Now think a

moment. You may be sure that when you buy such a bird, another will be

shot to take its place in the milliner's show-case. If no woman would

buy these feathers, do you suppose that milliners would keep them for

sale?

THE HALO.

Think what a price to pay,

Faces so bright and gay,

Just for a hat!

Flowers unvisited, mornings unsung,

Sea-ranges bare of the wings that o'erswung,--

Bared just for that!

Oh, but the shame of it,

Oh, but the blame of it,

Price of a hat!

Just for a jauntiness brightening the street!

This is your halo, O faces so sweet,

DEATH: and for that!

REV. W. C GANNETT.

In "Voices for the Speechless"

[Illustration with caption: THE SNOWY HERON.]

THE SNOWY HERON.

One of the greatest sufferers among the bird mothers is the egret, or

snowy heron. The pretty, airy plumes which we see on many hats grow on

the egret's back, and fall over the sides and tail of the bird. They are

most beautiful at the time when the mother bird is raising her brood of

little ones. This is the time for the hunter to shoot her, and he finds

it easy, because the egret will not readily fly away from her babies.

The little birds starve to death, and in many places there are no egrets

left. Every feathery plume in the dainty bonnet means that at least one

happy, innocent life has been taken. Do the feathers look quite so

pretty to you when you think of all this? Is it comfortable to feel that

for the sake of being in the fashion you have been the cause of such

distress? If you can, for one moment, put yourself in the place of the

mother bird as she lies dying on the grass and thinking of the little

ones that will never see her again, I am sure nothing will induce you to

be seen with her beautiful feathers in your hat. No ornament, bought at

such a price, is worth the cost.

WINGED FISHERS.

The seagull loves the salt sea and the wild wind. The waves are his

cradle. When he wishes to fly, he spreads his long, narrow wings, and

the breeze carries him along as if he were a white boat with sails.

Now and then he pounces down upon the water. That is when he catches

sight of some shining fish which he thinks will make him a good dinner.

He is a hungry bird, and, fortunately for us, he is not very particular

as to what he eats. He swallows the floating scraps which would soon

become unsightly and dangerous if they were left along the shore.

The common gull has a pure white breast, a slate-colored back, and

black-tipped wings. Its nest is built of seaweed on some rocky cliff or

ledge. As soon as it can scramble out of its nest, the young gull likes

to sit on a ledge of rocks, where it looks like a ball of soft, gray

down. When hundreds of them are seen sitting on the same cliff, it seems

wonderful that the mother birds can find their own children, but they

make no mistake. They are devoted and faithful mothers. Often their

lives are in danger, and they might easily seek safety for themselves,

but they will not leave their helpless birdlings.

The gulls have the same sad story to tell that belongs to all beautiful,

soft-hued birds. They are much less numerous than formerly, because

sportsmen take advantage of the mother's devotion to kill her and steal

her wings. When girls and women consent to wear these feathers in their

hats, they forget the pain and terror of the dying birds. Few girls

would go so far as to kill a bird. Perhaps not one would harm a mother

bird defending her little ones. Yet to wear the soft, pretty wings is to

doom another victim to this piteous death.

WHAT THE LITTLE SEAL THINKS.

I am very lonely and hungry. Here I have been, for days, hidden in a

cave in the rocks, and I do not dare to come out. Only a little while

ago my mother and I were so happy! To lie on the sunny beach, to splash

and swim in the salt sea, to nestle close to her soft, warm fur when I

was cold and tired,--this was my life.

Then men came in boats and drove away my playmates in a flock to be

clubbed and killed. When I ran back to my mother I could not find her,

but her beautiful coat had been torn off and thrown upon a pile of

skins. My mother had been killed while she was trying to find me. I

wonder if any woman would wear my mother's coat if she knew this.

WHAT THE YOUNG SEABIRD THINKS.

There comes that man with a gun! The winter wren has just told me what

it means. It seems that women like to wear the feathers of dead birds,

and that man is trying to shoot my mother as she comes back to her nest.

I am afraid I shall never see her again.

The wren tells me that people like to adorn themselves with the skins of

fur-coated animals. It does seem strange that men and women think that

they cannot be well dressed without killing us and wearing our clothes.

WHAT THE BIRDS DO FOR US.

Have you ever thought what the world would be without the birds? A

learned Frenchman, named Michelet, said that if it were not for the

birds there would be no plant life, no animal life, no life at all upon

this earth. Hosts of insects would destroy all plant life, and if there

were no plants, no animals could live. The common chickadee destroys in

twenty-five days more than a hundred thousand eggs of the cankerworm

moth, and the chickadee is one of our smallest birds.

In winter, if you have an apple tree near your home, you can watch the

hungry woodpecker getting his dinner. He runs up the trunk, digging into

the bark for insects and insects' eggs. Almost seventy-five per cent of

his food is made up of insects.

Perhaps you have read of the army worm and of the harm it does to grass

and grain. In a single night a green field attacked by this pest is made

brown and bare. In 1896 the damage done in Massachusetts by this worm

was estimated at $200,000. As soon as the birds discover that the army

worm is at work, they come flocking from long distances. No farmer could

summon helpers so promptly. Kingbirds, phoebe birds, cowbirds, Baltimore

orioles, chipping sparrows, robins, English sparrows, meadow larks,

crows, golden-winged woodpeckers, and quail eat the army worm, but of

all these helpers, none is so valuable for this work as the red-winged

blackbird and the crow blackbird.

About fifty years ago, caterpillars were destroying an immense forest in

Europe, when suddenly a flock of cuckoos appeared and saved the

woodland. During the great locust invasion of our own western country,

when the farmers had given up the battle, an army of birds would

sometimes alight upon a field and save the crop.

Swallows live entirely upon insects, and a very large proportion of the

food of most of our birds is made up of insect life. Thirty-eight kinds

of birds have been seen to feed on some form of the gypsy moth, and they

are not expecting the salaries that are paid to government agents. The

sea-gull is another official on a small salary. He is the best health-

inspector of our coasts, for he not only sees what is to be done, but

does it himself, promptly and well. The little tree-sparrow, in Iowa

alone, destroys more than a million harmful seeds every year.

Sometimes, it is true, the birds eat the fruits that men have taken

pains to raise. "What little thieves they are!" says the gardener.

"Please tell me," says Mr. Robin, "how I am to know that you care so

much for some kinds of fruit, and so little for others? If you would

plant shad-berries for me, I would not eat so many strawberries. In

September I should be quite willing to make a dinner of choke-cherries,

if they were as conveniently near as your grapes. Perhaps, in time, you

will learn to be more careful in your planting. Why not protect your

fruits by planting wild varieties that we like?"

Mr. Lawrence Bruner says: "If we take pains to water our birds during

the dry season, they will be much less apt to seek this supply from the

juices of fruits so temptingly at hand." He suggests placing little pans

of water in the orchard and vineyard.

There is another side to the same question which is worth considering.

Not only does the agriculturist know how useful birds are to us, but

every child can tell us of the pleasure they give. One does not have to

be a poet to know the beauty of the birds. What would spring be without

the bluebird, or June without the oriole? To the eye and to the ear

alike they are a joy.

From a selfish point of view, then, it is folly to let the wholesale

destruction of birds go on. We are losing more than we fully understand.

But can there be no other motive than a selfish one? Have the birds no

rights which we are bound to respect? Must their claim to life be based

on the fact that they do us good or give us pleasure? We are hopeless

tyrants if this is true. Let us not be content with the smaller

question, What can the birds do for us? but ask ourselves the larger

one, What can we do for the birds?

"THE BRAVEST ARE THE TENDEREST."

It is remarkable how many great men have been noted for their interest

in birds and beasts. We have seen how devoted Scott and Dickens were to

their pets. Daniel Webster's dying request was that his beloved cattle

might be driven by his window, so that he might see them once more.

Abraham Lincoln often went out of his way to do a kindness to some weak

or suffering creature. [Footnote: The following incident is related by

one who knew Lincoln: "We passed through a thicket of wild plum and

crab-apple trees, and stopped to water our horses. One of the party came

up alone and we inquired: 'Where is Lincoln?'

"'Oh,' he replied, 'when I saw him last he had caught two young birds

which the wind had blown out of their nest, and he was hunting for the

nest, that he might put them back in it.'"] A great German poet so loved

the birds that he left a sum of money with the request that they should

be fed every day on his grave.

Thoreau, who has written many beautiful books about nature, had a great

love for the little wild creatures of the woods, and they in turn loved

and trusted him. "Even the fishes came into his hand when he dipped it

into the stream. The little mice would come arid playfully eat from his

fingers, and the very moles paid him friendly visits. Sparrows lighted

on his shoulders when he called them; the phoebe birds built their nests

in his shed, and the wild partridge with her brood came and fed quietly

beneath his window.

"After he had lived two or three months in the woods the wild birds

ceased to be afraid of him, and would come and perch on his shoulder,

and sometimes on his spade when he was digging."

Amiel, a great French writer, said in his journal: "I have just picked

up on the stairs a little yellow kitten, very ugly and pitiable. Now,

rolled into a ball on a chair at my side, he seems perfectly happy and

asks for nothing more. He followed me from room to room as I went to and

fro. I have nothing for him to eat, but a look and caress satisfy him,

at least for the present.

"I have been told that weak and feeble creatures feel happy near me. I

know that this is true, but I take no credit for it. I know that it is a

gift. With a little encouragement the birds would nest in my beard.

"This is the true relation of man with the weaker creatures. He would be

heartily adored by the animals if he were not a tyrant... So that all

unnecessary murder and torture are not only cowardly actions, but

crimes. A useful service imposed on the animal world demands in return

protection and kindness. In a word, the animal has claims on man, and

the man has duties to the animal."

St. Francis of Assisi not only cared for the birds and the harmless

creatures of the fields and woods, but he is said to have fed a fierce

and hungry wolf until it followed him like a dog.

Some years ago, General David S. Stanley, of the United States Army, was

leading a force across the plains. He was laying out the route for a

great railroad. There were two thousand men, twenty-five hundred horses

and mules, and a train of two hundred and fifty wagons heavily laden.

One day the general was riding at the head of the broad column, when

suddenly his voice rang out, "Halt!"

A bird's nest lay on the ground directly in front of him. In another

moment the horses would have trampled on the nestlings. The mother bird

was flying about and chirping in the greatest anxiety. But the brave

general had not brought out his army to destroy a bird's nest.

He halted for a moment, looked at the little birds in the nest below,

and then gave the order, "Left oblique!"

Men, horses, mules, and wagons turned aside and spared the home of the

helpless bird. Months, and even years after, those who crossed the

plains saw a great bend in the trail. It was the bend made to avoid

crushing the bird's nest. Truly, great hearts are tender hearts, and

"the loving are the daring."

"There is one language that all creatures comprehend--the language of

loving-kindness. Love to an animal is what sunshine is to a plant. It

has a tonic effect, and they thrive on it. This does not mean fussiness

--it means a combination of sympathy, wisdom and justice."

The Humane Pleader

LINES TO A SEABIRD.

Bird of the stormy wave! bird of the sea!

Wide is thy sweep, and thy course is free;

Cleaving the blue air, and brushing the foam,

Air is thy field of sport, ocean thy home.

Bird of the sea! I could envy thy wing,

O'er the blue waters I mark thy glad spring;

I see thy strong pinions as onward I glide,

Dashed by the foam of the white-crested tide.

M. A. STODART.

THE TRUE HERO.

FOUR WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT.

Four boys were standing at the corner of the street. Bound the next

turn, with a great burst of splendid music, came the regiment on its way

to the troop-ship. Along the street were lines of eager faces, some sad

and anxious, to be sure, but all interested and full of excitement.

"It must be glorious to fight for your country," said George, feeling

his heart beat faster and faster as the regiment drew near. "I'm going

to be a soldier when I grow up."

"I'm not!" said Dick, with a laugh. "It's too hard work, and I don't

care about being shot. I like plenty to eat, and a good bed to sleep in.

Soldiers' fare would never suit me!"

"I'm on your side, George," said the tallest boy of the group, as he

watched the men marching by. "A man can make a name for himself when

there's fighting going on. If we are only lucky enough to have another

war, I'm not going to spend my life at a high desk, or digging potatoes

on a farm. A soldier's life is the life for me."

"I don't feel just that way about it, Ned," said George doubtfully. "I

hope I'm not thinking about my own glory. I should be glad to go as a

common soldier, if I could feel that I was doing all that I could for my

country."

The fourth, boy was silent. With his hands in his. pockets, he had his

eyes fixed on the lines of glistening bayonets.

"What do you think, Jack?" said Ned. "You look as wise as an owl."

Jack turned slowly on his heel. He settled his firm chin a little deeper

in his coat collar.

"I don't agree with any of you, wholly," he said. "George has the best

of it so far, but I think fighting is a poor way of deciding whether a

thing is right or wrong."

"You'd make a noble hero," said Ned, with a good-natured laugh.

"I'd rather make my life count for something in doing work that is worth

doing, than in fighting with men who never did me any harm," said Jack

calmly.

"A man can't do more than give his life for his country," persisted

George.

"That's true," said Jack quickly. "Only you were talking about giving

your death, which isn't half so valuable."

George looked blank for a moment. The others laughed at his puzzled

face, but he recovered himself promptly.

"I don't see why fighting isn't a good way to settle disputes," he said.

"So everybody used to think," said Jack. "If a man quarreled with his

neighbor, it was the proper thing to have a duel. We don't have duels

nowadays, and I think we are better off. Don't you remember, George,

that day when we fought over the bag of marbles we found in an old

cellar? It was years ago, when we were little fellows. Father found us

fighting and sent us home. The next day he divided the marbles between

us. I'm sure that was a better way than if I'd held you down a minute

longer and got them all."

George had still a lively recollection of that fight.

"You were bigger than I was," he began.

"I know it," said Jack, "and because I was bigger, I should have got the

marbles if father hadn't stopped me. But that wouldn't have made me the

rightful owner of them. You had as much right to them as I had. Father

talked to me, and made me see how silly our fighting was."

"Do you truly think that a man who stays at home can be as good a

patriot as a soldier who goes to fight for his country?" asked George,

feeling a little ashamed of his friend.

"I think that a man can do more for his country in time of peace than in

war," said Jack. "And as for courage, I know it is harder to do some of

the little, common, everyday things well than to do great deeds. Father

says that the mothers are the real heroes in the world. I dare say it

took more courage for some men to stay at home than for any of those in

the regiment to go."

"But you never hear about the bravery of those men," objected George.

"Of course, once in a while, there is a fire or a railroad accident, and

somebody is very brave and heroic, but that is the exception."

"I don't call daring the only kind of bravery," said Jack. "Just think

of those nurses and priests who go out to the leper islands to care for

the sick. They know that they are going to something worse than death,

yet they give up everything to make life easier for a few unknown

people."

"I wasn't speaking of them," said George. "I mean those who stay at

home, and don't do anything very remarkable."

"I've noticed one thing," said Jack. "The heroes are usually those who

have done their work well every day. Father says that what the country

needs is the quiet faithfulness of every citizen."

"Do you think," said Ned, with a superior smile, "that wars are going to

stop because you disapprove of them?"

"I think that war is cruel," said Jack stoutly, "and I don't believe

there is any need of our being cruel. I know that some of our wisest men

think that the time is coming when nations will be ashamed to settle

questions in that way."

"How do you propose to show your wonderful patriotism. if you won't

fight?" demanded Ned.

Jack flushed a little, but he answered steadily:

"I propose to make of myself as good a citizen as I can. I propose to

keep my temper, and to remember that others beside myself have rights. I

propose to be honest and fair. If I do all my work as well as I can, I

hope that some day my life will be of service to my country."

Ned and Dick walked off with a disagreeable laugh, but George slipped

his arm through his friend's. "If I didn't know better, I should say

that you were a coward, Jack," he said. "I wish you had more of the hero

in you."

"Even a hero doesn't like to be laughed at," said Jack. "I know one

thing, George: it takes more courage to be called a coward, and to stand

up for what you think is right when others are laughing at you, than it

does to fight."

"I believe you are right," said George; "I can see that a man may be as

much of a hero and patriot in one place as another, if he is only true

to himself."

He serves his country best

Who lives pure life, and doeth righteous deed,

And walks straight paths, however others stray;

And leaves his sons, as uttermost bequest,

A stainless record which all men may read.

SUSAN COOLIDGE.

SELECTIONS.

"He prayeth best who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all."

COLERIDGE.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

EMILY DICKINSON.

Copyright 1890 by Roberts Bros

Little, Brown & Co., publishers.

[Illustration with caption: A BAND OF MERCY.]

WHAT THE CHILDREN CAN DO.

SUGGESTIONS

SPEAK GENTLY. Animals are very sensitive to loud, harsh tones. Listen to

the teamsters on the street and you will find that much of their

shouting is unnecessary. Watch a boy with his dog and notice the rough,

masterful way in which he likes to speak. There is no occasion for these

harsh tones. Dogs, cats, and horses are rarely deaf. On the contrary,

their hearing is most acute, and a loud tone, even if it is not an angry

one, is frequently a cause of positive suffering. Some birds are so

sensitive that they have been frightened to death by an angry tone. Let

us be courteous whenever we can, not only to each other, but to our dumb

friends.

BE KIND TO THE BIRDS. Many birds spend their winters with us, but we

rarely stop to think how a heavy snowstorm must fill their small hearts

with dismay. If we feed them, they will stay near our houses all winter.

Fasten a bark cup for water, and a bone with a bit of meat on it, to

some convenient tree-trunk and watch for your visitors. They may not

come to you while it is warm, but the first cold storm will bring them

in flocks. A flat board, fastened to the top of a clothes-post, will

hold seeds and crumbs, and makes a safe dining table for your guests.

Keep a cleared space on the ground for those who do not dare to be seen

in high places.

[Illustration with caption: MAKING FRIENDS.]

Here you may scatter cracked corn, nuts, and sunflower seeds. See to it

in the household that nothing is thrown away that can make a bird's

heart glad.

HELP THE HORSES. There are many ways in which this may be done.

Sometimes the day is warm, and you can bring a pailful of cool water for

some tired traveler. Or it may be cold and the horse-blanket has slipped

off. A pair of willing hands can soon fasten it properly. Perhaps the

street is icy, and a sprinkling of ashes would make it safe once more.

If a horse has fallen, a blanket spread upon the ice will help him to

regain his feet. Often kind-hearted boys, going up the hill to school,

will carry part of a heavy load, or will put their strong, young

shoulders to the wheel. If the hill is long, you can bring a stone or a

log of wood to block the wheel, and give the horse a moment's needed

rest. Do not get angry even with a cruel driver. Every kind thought,

kindly carried out, will not only be an immediate help, but it may lead

a thoughtless driver to be careful. If you can do nothing more, you can

speak a friendly word, which is never thrown away, even on a horse.

Sometimes a little encouragement will help over a hard place.

REMEMBER THE VALUE OF LITTLE THINGS. A cup of cold water to some toiling

worker may mean the difference between comfort and misery. Animals, as

well as human beings, suffer very much if they cannot get water. Louisa

Alcott tells a pretty story of the efforts of two little girls to give

water to the thirsty cattle in a dusty cattle-train.

"Full in the hot sun stood the cars, and every crevice of room between

the bars was filled with pathetic noses, sniffing eagerly at the sultry

gusts that blew by, with now and then a fresher breath from the pool

that lay dimpling before them. How they must have suffered, in sight of

water, with the cool dash of the fall tempting them, and not a drop to

wet their parched mouths!

"I could not hear what the little girls said, but as they worked away so

heartily, their little tanned faces grew lovely to me, in spite of their

old hats and their shabby gowns. One pulled off her apron, spread it on

the grass, and emptying upon it the berries from her pail, ran to the

pool and returned with it dripping, to hold it up to the suffering

sheep, who stretched their hot tongues gratefully to meet it, and lapped

the precious water with an eagerness which made the little barefoot's

task a hard one.

"But to and fro she ran, never tired, though the small pail was so soon

empty. Her friend meanwhile pulled great handfuls of clover and grass

for the cows, and having no pail, filled her 'picking-dish' with water

to throw on the poor dusty noses appealing to her through the bars. I

wish I could have told those tender-hearted children how beautiful their

compassion made the hot, noisy place, and what a sweet picture I took

away with me of those two little sisters of charity."

In a foreign city many of the shopkeepers provide dishes of water for

the thirsty dogs, cats, and birds who may need it. It is a pretty custom

and one easily followed.

Here is a clipping from a Western newspaper:--

"A short time ago, as I was crossing Market Street, near Twenty-second,

a boy, not over ten years old, who had been walking just before me, ran

into the street and picked up a broken glass pitcher. I supposed he

intended the pieces as missiles, since the desire to throw something

seems instinct in every boy. Consequently, I was very much surprised

when he tossed the pieces into a, vacant lot at the corner and walked

quietly on. As he passed me, whistling, I said:--

"'Why did you pick up that pitcher?'

"'I was afraid it might cut some horse's foot,' he replied.

"My next question was a natural one.

"'Are you a Band of Mercy boy?'

"He smiled as he said:--

"'Oh, yes; that's why I did it.'"

The little story may serve to suggest other ways in which children can

be of service, not only to the animals and to each other, but to the

world of grown-up men and women. Fragments of orange and banana skins

make our sidewalks dangerous as well as unsightly; rusty nails and bits

of glass may do much harm which the truly helpful child will prevent.

There is a mutual helpfulness among animals which is very beautiful to

see. They will come together for defence and to get food, and sometimes

help each other in sickness and trouble. A blind swan was fed with fish

brought twice a day by other swans from a lake thirty miles away. An

English sparrow pluckily rescued his mate from a big snowdrift at the

risk of his life. Livingstone tells of a wounded buffalo who was caught

up on the strong shoulders of another buffalo and carried to a place of

safety. The little mice in the meadow, and the birds upon the marshes,

have learned that to be strong they must keep together and help each

other. This is the law of all life.

When young people learn to think about the causes of pain and suffering,

and to respect the rights of animals, they will soon learn to respect

each other's rights and to render this mutual aid.

John Bright, a noted English statesman, said: "If children at school can

be made to understand how it is just and noble to be humane even to what

we term inferior animals, it will do much to give them a higher

character and tone through life."

There are men and women who would be thankful if they could blot out

some careless deed of their childhood. We may be sure that we shall

never regret the kind things we have done. George Eliot says:--

"It is only a poor sort of happiness that could ever come by caring very

much about our own narrow pleasures. We can only have the highest

happiness, such as goes along with being a great man, by having wide

thoughts and much feeling for the rest of the world as well as

ourselves. ...If you mean to act nobly and seek to know the best things

God has put within reach of men, you must learn to fix your mind on that

end and not on what will happen to you because of it."

In many places in this country and in Europe the children are uniting to

do what they can to lessen the suffering that is going on around them.

To aid in this work, they are forming little companies that are known as

Bands of Mercy.

The object of these bands is to encourage brave, generous, and

thoughtful deeds. The members do not pledge themselves not to kill any

creature, for sometimes that is the kindest thing that can be done, and

a wounded bird or insect should be put out of its pain at once.

This is the resolution which the children make:--

"I WILL TRY TO BE KIND TO ALL LIVING CREATURES, AND WILL TRY TO PROTECT

THEM FROM CRUEL USAGE."

No fee is needed to belong to such a band. The children should sign the

pledge, choose a name, and elect a president and secretary. It is well

that the teacher should be president. The meetings may be made very

interesting and helpful. Reading, recitations, and anecdotes will give

all the children a chance to share in the exercises. Each child should

be encouraged to tell the kindly actions he has witnessed, and to

suggest ways in which children can help each other and the animals about

them.

There are now several hundred thousand children in the United States and

in Canada who have pledged themselves to this good work. If these

children are faithful to the pledge which they have signed, an immense

amount of good will be done. Children who are taught to be kind to

animals and to each other make good citizens.

TO THE TEACHER.

BANDS OF MERCY.

So much of childish, cruelty is thoughtless that the help to be obtained

from Bands of Mercy is apparent. To make a boy understand the misery

that his air-gun and his fishhook may cause, to show the cowardly

cruelty in throwing stones and in hurting innocent and defenseless

creatures--this is what the Band of Mercy may accomplish. There is

abundant testimony from teachers who have introduced humane teaching

into their schools, to the effect that the children are not only kinder

to the lower animals, but also more thoughtful and considerate towards

each other.

We want our boys and girls to be strong and brave, but in no way can

their strength and bravery be made more certain than in protecting the

weak and helpless.

When young people learn to respect the rights of animals and to think

about the causes of pain and suffering, they will apply these thoughts

to their everyday life. They will learn to respect each other's rights,

and crime of all kinds will be diminished.

Upon teachers and parents a great responsibility rests. They are forming

the minds and the habits of the coming generation. Upon their

instruction may depend future peace or war, good citizenship or a low

standard of patriotism and morals.

With the best intention of implanting the humane idea, teachers

sometimes indirectly teach what is not really humane. For example,

physiology lessons are sometimes illustrated by parts of dead animals,

which must be obtained from a butcher's shop or a slaughterhouse.

This is not directly cruel, because the animals are already dead, but it

is not refining to the sensibilities.

Sometimes the teacher enlarges on the special use of animals for food.

It is unnecessary to lay emphasis on the use of animal food, when we

remember that the number of people who live without it is constantly

increasing, and that these people maintain at least as high a standard

of health as those who make use of it; indeed, it is claimed that their

health is better and that they are more likely to be free from certain

diseases to which meat eaters are subject.

The Bands of Mercy are valuable in teaching young people the highest

ideals of life, and in showing them that the universal law of love is

the only law which will bring what we all desire, "Peace on earth, and

good will to all."

SUGGESTIONS FOR SUBJECTS FOR COMPOSITIONS.

In connection with school work, compositions may be written on some of

the subjects suggested below:--

The Rights of Animals and the Protection that we should give them.

Transportation of Cattle; or, A Journey from the Western Plains to the

Market.

How does Cruelty to Animals affect Meat, Milk, and Fish?

Influence of Humane Education.

Importance of Early Lessons in Kindness.

Some Account of the Humane Work done by Henry Bergh.

Some Account of the Humane Work done by George T. Angell.

Cruelty to Horses. Checkrein, Blinders, Docking.

Various Ways in which the Tight Checkrein affects the Horse.

What are the Principal Lessons taught by "Black Beauty"?

Acts of Kindness which I have observed.

The Rights of Cats.

The Cruelty of Abandoning Cats when moving from One House to Another.

Good Work done by Frogs and Toads.

The Value of Bird Life.

How shall we protect the Birds?

Cruelty of Caging Birds and Squirrels.

Egret Plumes and how they are obtained.

Valuable leaflets on the care and kind treatment of animals may be

obtained by addressing The Animal Rescue League, 51 Carver Street,

Boston, Mass.

"We and Our Friends" and other leaflets may be obtained of Mrs. Mary F.

Lovell, 215 Summit Ave., Jenkintown, Pa.

Leaflets and pamphlets suitable for use in schools and for distribution

elsewhere, including some with stories of cats, dogs, etc., can be

obtained from The American Humane Education Society, 180 Longwood Ave.,

Boston, Mass.

At the same address may also be obtained other inexpensive publications.

Among them are the following:--

"Songs of Happy Life," a fine collection of songs, many of them with

original music by eminent modern composers. This book inculcates a love

of nature and kindness to all living creatures. Many of the songs are

suitable for Peace day, Bird day, and Arbor day exercises. It contains,

besides the music, an outline of Band of Mercy entertainments,

selections for readings, recitations, memory gems, etc., which may be

found very useful for school work as well as suitable for Bands of

Mercy. American Humane Education Society, Boston. Price 50 cents.

"Voices for the Speechless," a collection of poems from standard

authors, suitable for recitations etc.

"The Teacher's Helper in Humane Education," by Dr. Rowley. 32 pages.

Price 10 cents.

NOTE.--As soon as a Band of Mercy numbers thirty members it should be

reported to the American Humane Education Society, 180 Longwood Ave.,

Fenway Station, Boston, Mass., which will send Our Dumb Animals free for

one year, with an assortment of valuable leaflets. From this society may

also be obtained interesting books, "Black Beauty" among others. Several

hundred thousand copies of this book have been sold. Its price, paper

bound, is twenty cents, postage paid.

"Our Gold Mine at Hollyhurst" and "Twelve Lessons on Kindness to

Animals" may also be obtained from the Society.

INFORMATION CONCERNING THE JACK LONDON CLUB

All exhibitions of trained animals should be discouraged, as much

cruelty is involved in teaching them the unnatural tricks. Persons who

have witnessed the training of animals say there is a great deal of

suffering behind the scenes. They not only suffer from cruelty but are

forced to live in unnatural surroundings and suffer from close

confinement. Use your influence to discourage such shows. The Jack

London Club has been formed to stop this kind of cruelty. It is an

organized protest against the cruelties involved in training animals and

exhibiting them on the stage.

Send your name and address to Our Dumb Animals, 180 Longwood Ave.,

Boston, Mass. Sending your name will mean that you are willing to leave

your seat in any place of amusement while performing animals are on the

stage. Even if you won't do this, talk about the cruelties connected

with these performances. Join the Jack London Club now; no dues, no

fees. The Club, in little over three years, secured a membership of over

two hundred thousand and is growing rapidly. Free literature about the

Jack London Club may be obtained. The book by Jack London, "Michael

Brother of Jerry," which deals with this cruelty, is sold at one dollar

per copy.

Laws have been passed in the following states making humane education

compulsory in the public schools: Maine, Washington, California,

Colorado, North Dakota, South Dakota, Oklahoma, Idaho, Montana, Texas,

Wyoming, Pennsylvania, Utah, New Hampshire, Michigan, Wisconsin,

Illinois, Alabama, Connecticut, Kentucky, and New York. Many

testimonials have been received from school superintendents and teachers

as to the good results obtained since humane education has been made a

part of the regular school work.

As state after state is passing the law making humane education a part

of the school work, some students may ask why the state is especially

interested in their being taught kindness to all living creatures,--to

the lower animals as well as to human beings. The teacher can mention

the fact that eighty per cent of the criminal class in our jails and

prisons were cruel from childhood, and that it is less expensive for the

state to educate the child in humanity than to support him as a

criminal. The teacher can tell the child that if it is necessary to take

life, it should be done as quickly and painlessly as possible. It is

cruel to inflict needless pain. Tell the child that our hearts warm

toward one who is kind, while we shrink from one who is cruel.

The child should be taught to remember that no living creature is here

from choice; all comes from the hand of God, and each has its special

work. We must also remember that a child when cruel is morally hurt, and

a moral hurt is greater than a physical one.

"We and the beasts are kin. Man has nothing that the animals have not at

least a vestige of; the animals have nothing that man does not in some

degree share. Since, then, the animals are creatures with wants and

feelings differing in degree only from our own, they surely have their

rights."--ERNEST THOMPSON SETON.