Friends and Helpers Part 26

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 d.i.c.kens 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 pa.s.sed 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.

Th.o.r.eau, 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 a.s.sisi 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 crus.h.i.+ng 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 brus.h.i.+ng 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-s.h.i.+p. 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 d.i.c.k, 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 n.o.ble 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.