BIRDS.
Having now, I think, mentioned all the "four-footed beasts" about which
I had any thing particular to say, I will pass on to another and still
more beautiful portion of God's handy-work--the birds. The account of
their creation is thus given: "And God said, Let the waters bring forth
abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly
above the earth in the open firmament of heaven. And God created great
whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought
forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his
kind: and God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, Be
fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl
multiply in the earth. And the evening and the morning were the fifth
day." The beasts were not made until the sixth day; so that, if I had
been writing a history of the creation, I should have put the birds and
fishes first. Notice these expressions, "God saw that it was good; and
God blessed them." Every thing when it came from his glorious hand was
very good; and man was the only being who became bad by his own fault,
despised the blessing, and brought the curse on himself, with all its
sad consequences to the whole earth and every creature. "God blessed
them;" and what right have we to make their little lives miserable? This
thought has often come over me when I have seen any cruel thing done.
God said, that the fowl were to "fly above the earth, in the open
firmament of heaven;" but he has made some fowls that are very useful to
man, willing to stay upon the earth. If hens and ducks were to lay their
eggs in high trees, and among rocks, as many birds do, we should get
very few of them; and as they lay many more than they can hatch, it
would be a great and wasteful loss. By this we are sure that poultry was
intended for our use; and if you take care not to frighten or tease
them, you may bring up chickens to be as tame and familiar as dogs or
cats. I remember a droll proof of this. Once, out of a great many fowls,
belonging to a dear friend in whose house I lived, there was only one
that would not be friends with me. She was a fine old speckled black and
white hen, very wild; and her running away from me vexed me; for I
cannot bear that any one of God's creatures should think I would be so
cruel as to hurt it. Well, I set myself to wheedle this hen into being
on better terms; taking crumbs to her, and persuading her by degrees to
feed from my hand, like the rest. This was very good: but it did not
stop here. Whether Mrs. Hen was flattered by so much attention, or
whether she was desirous of making up for her former rudeness, or how it
was, I don't know; but she became so unreasonably fond of me, that if a
door or window were opened she would pop in to look for her friend,
running up and down stairs, into the parlour, the drawing-room, the
bed-rooms, and making no little work for the servants. At first, every
body was amused at it; but, after a time, the poor hen became so
troublesome that we were obliged to give her away. Jack, the dumb boy,
would put his hands to his sides, and laugh till he lost his breath, to
see "my fat hen," as he called her, waddling after me, without minding
either dogs or strangers, and he was in great trouble when she was sent
away. Jack's care of the poultry, and his anxiety to prevent their being
hunted, or hurt, would have delighted you. Nothing pleased him better
than to see that fine fellow, the cock, when he had scratched up or
found any nice thing, calling the hens and chickens about him, bidding
them take it, and never seeming even to wish for it himself. Jack used
to say, "Good; beautiful! God made poor bird." When he was a little boy,
he had seen some cock-fighting; and he used to tell me of it, in his
way, with so much grief and anger. He said, "God see bad man hurt poor
birds--make birds fight." The tears would come into his eyes, when he
thought how the birds were tortured; but he always ended by pitying the
men and boys who suffered Satan to tempt them into such wickedness, for
which they would be dreadfully punished at last.
Jack was very fond of small birds: I suppose you think, then, that he
had some in a cage; and that he caught them in traps, for he was very
ingenious. No; Jack would as soon, and sooner, have gone to prison
himself. He could not bear the idea of imprisoning a bird. Canaries,
indeed, and such others as could not live in our cold climate, and
which, having been hatched in a cage, would not have known how to use
their liberty, he did not object to, but took great pleasure in giving
them pans or saucers of clean water, to bathe themselves in; and plenty
of fresh sand, and nice food: but most birds he could not bear to see
within the bars of a prison. The robin, the thrush, the blackbird, the
linnet, the sparrow, he knew it was a sin to deprive of their liberty. I
have seen him persuade other boys to break their traps, or to let the
poor frightened captives go: and I have seen him clap his hands with joy
as they spread out their pretty wings, and flew "above the earth, in the
open firmament of heaven," as they were made to do; but I do not believe
that a whole pocket full of silver and gold would have tempted Jack to
catch and sell a bird. Indeed, I am sure it would not; for he knew that
neither silver nor gold, nor any thing that is to be bought with them,
would make a person's heart feel happy; and that the commission of a sin
would make him feel very unhappy; for nothing was so dreadful to Jack as
the idea of offending his gracious God, or grieving the Holy Spirit,
who dwells in the heart of every true believer. Now, perhaps, you will
say, "I would not catch and sell birds to put money in my own pocket;
but may I not do it to earn a little for those who really want it?" But
robbing is not earning. If you catch a bird, or a fish, not belonging to
another person, to kill and eat it, or to sell or to give it to others
for food, you do what God has permitted; and if it is done for this
purpose, and not for sport, nobody can blame you. But, though the Lord
has given you the bodies of his creatures for food, he has never given
you their natural liberty, either for your amusement or profit.
As for keeping birds in a cage to sing, if you look at the hundred and
fourth Psalm, you will find that they were made to "sing among the
branches." Go into the fields, and listen to their happy little songs of
liberty, and take from them a lesson of thankful joy: or, if you want
them at home, put crumbs and grains of corn on the windows, and they
will learn to come and pick them up, and thank you with their merry
notes. Only do not be so mean and treacherous as to draw a snare or
close a trap over the poor things when they come, as they think, to be
fed by your bounty. People who love music so well as to make an innocent
creature miserable that they may enjoy its songs will wish, some day,
that they had been born deaf.
But there is one thing that I am sorry to see many boys doing every
spring, and which they cannot defend by any such excuses. I often wonder
who was the first to begin such a disgraceful custom, the most cruel,
senseless, and babyish piece of folly: I mean what is called
bird-nesting. God said to the creatures, "Be fruitful and
multiply,"--"let fowl multiply in the earth." At the same time, He gave
them a wonderful instinct and skill, such as man's reason cannot
imitate. The birds must keep their eggs very warm for a certain number
of days, to bring to life the little creatures that are forming within
them; and the eggs being so very delicate and brittle, they must also
have a soft place to lie in, close enough for the bird's body to cover
them all; and be out of reach of rats, and other enemies. So, when the
bird is going to lay, she and her mate set to work, and what wonderful
work it is! These little creatures, without any hands, or even paws like
four-footed animals, to help them, and with only the bits of stick, hay,
grass, dead leaves, wool, hairs, and moss, that they can pick up with
their bills, presently form a soft, snug, warm, strong apartment, as
round as a tea-cup, and exactly of the proper size; placed, too, where
it will be little seen, sheltered above from the wet, yet airy enough to
keep it fresh and wholesome, and so smooth on the inside that even the
delicate naked body of a bird just hatched cannot be made uneasy by a
rough point. It costs the parent-birds a great deal of trouble; and if
you leave a nest untouched from one year to another, neither disturbing
the eggs nor the nestings, you will find it the next spring nicely
repaired and new lined, and a new family in it. Oh! I do wish that boys,
remembering how, by the goodness of our equal laws, a poor man's house
is his castle, would let a poor bird's little nest be its castle too! He
is the bravest boy who will defend the weak from the strong; and he is
the best boy who loves and is kind to the least of God's creatures for
the sake of the glorious Creator.
But perhaps you may say, "Well, I will not spoil the nest; I will only
take the eggs." No, pray do not take the eggs. What pleasure in the
world can a parcel of little eggs afford you, compared with the delight
that the poor harmless mother takes in them as she sits in her warm
house, of her own making, listening for the first faint chirp of the
tiny creature within? Birds only bring up one family in a year; and if
you take from them the eggs that are to produce that one, you rob them
of all the happiness for which they took so much trouble. You are not
enough of a hen to hatch the eggs, though you may be enough of a goose
to try: then think, and be too much of a man to do such a silly, cruel
thing. You like, perhaps, to blow the inside out, and string the shells
in a row. Oh you thoughtless child! You must certainly be a very little
child to take pleasure in such a babyish thing; and you are very, very
thoughtless and wrong to do it at the expense of a poor innocent bird
which never injured or wished to injure you, though you can rob it of
all its delight, to please such a silly fancy. If you want a pretty
thing to ornament your room, go and pick up some round, clear pebbles,
of different colours, and give one side of them a polish at the
grindstone; then get some pieces of brick, and join them together in the
shape of an arch, or any thing you fancy, with a little mortar; spread
more mortar, thick and rough, over the front, and, while it is wet,
stick in your pebbles, with the shining side outmost, with bits of
glass, moss, sealing-wax, and any gay thing that comes in your way. I
have seen such pretty contrivances, and have said to myself, "The boy
who made this is skilful, and may come to be a good builder, or other
artisan, some day;" but when I see bird's eggshells hung up, I turn away
with a feeling of pain, because I know that somebody must be there,
either idle and cruel, or encouraging their children to be so.
[Illustration]
But there is something far worse than this. When the mother bird has
made her nest, and sat long days and nights on her eggs, and heard the
little ones chirp within, and helped them to break the thin shell, and
felt their little warm bodies cuddling themselves among her soft
feathers, and seen their yellow beaks open to ask her for the food that
it gives such joy to her affectionate heart to put into them; oh, THEN,
can you turn all her honest happiness into misery and mourning, and kill
those baby-birds with a miserable death, by cold and hunger, if not by
other tortures. If ever you have done this, pray to the Lord God to
forgive your sin, for Jesus Christ's sake. Do you think He will forgive
you? Yes, you say, because he is very merciful. Indeed he is and for
that very reason he hates cruelty: but while you look to the Lord's
mercy for pardon, you must steadily resolve to offend no more by doing
what he hates; else you only mock him.
I do not myself understand how anybody can bear to hurt little birds,
they are such endearing creatures; but I have seen it with my own eyes,
and am obliged to believe it. Bad example will go a great way. Boys, and
men too, will do what they see others do, without stopping to think of
the great truth that God sees them too. But, then, good example goes
far also; and the person who is careful not to do wrong has the comfort
of knowing that he is showing others the right way. While I write this
little book, I am praying to the Lord to make it the means of persuading
many young readers to be merciful; and that their good example will
persuade many more, who may not see the book; and so good will be done,
greater than you now think.
I have a cockatoo. A friend brought him from India, and a funny bird he
is, but terribly noisy. He soon began to bark like Fid, and to growl
like Bronti; to cackle like the hens, and to imitate every loud noise
that he heard. We hoped, if he had a good teacher, he would learn to
sing, instead of making such a riot, as he whistles uncommonly well
after his master. So we went to buy a Canary bird, and you may be sure
we bought two; for it is very cruel to shut up a bird alone in a cage.
The cockatoo is not in a cage, but on a stand, dancing and chattering
all day. We put our canaries into a very large cage, with a good-sized
pan of fresh water every day, clean gravel, and plenty of seed. Nothing
could be happier, or tamer, than these little things; but one day the
hen got at some green paper, which she pecked at through the wires, and
the stuff that coloured it killed her at once. We got another directly
in her place, and there they are in the sunshine, on a table close by
me, splashing the paper on which I write with the water; for they
delight to plunge into it, till they are wet in every feather. Nothing
is more necessary to animals and birds than plenty of fresh water. My
pigeons have a pan of it to wash in, and it wants changing several times
a day; and you do not know how much birds in confinement suffer if that
is neglected. A glass hung outside, if always kept full, is good to
drink out of; but a bath _in_ the cage is the great luxury.
Perhaps you will ask, Has the cockatoo learned to sing? No, I am sorry
to say, he is as noisy as ever, and not at all musical. We keep him
quiet by giving him sticks to break, and knotted cord to untie; and when
he has been good I take him on my lap, and rub his head and wings, which
he greatly likes. I never yet saw the animal, down to a little mouse,
that would not be fond of those who treated it tenderly; and the
pleasure of being loved is so great, that I only wonder how anybody can
neglect to win the love of the creatures which were made for man's use
and benefit. There is a wonderful deal of happiness among them, showing
how, as the Psalm says, the Lord's "tender mercies are over all his
works;" and a little kindness makes them so familiar, that we are always
reminded how sociable they were with Adam in the garden of Eden; and how
happy they and we should all be together now, if sin had not entered
into the world to destroy the beauty and blessedness that were upon
every thing when God first made them, and saw that they were all "very
good."
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