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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.
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"
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.
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.
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.
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