717 



Many a farmer have you all seen who delights in gunning a little, 

 and who, when large ganae is not to be found, contents himself with 

 destroying the robin atid the meadow lark — not to make use of them,, 

 for that he does not do — but simply for want of other mark to shoot 

 at, and from an unaccountable desire to destroy life. He teaches his 

 boys, also, to do the same, and if, through the week, they find no time 

 to devote to this amusement, the Sabbath is very likely given up to it. 

 As a consequence, the birds are shy of his premises — they do not, in- 

 deed, steal an occasional cherry, as they were before in the habit of do- 

 ing, bat they let in instead a thousand varieties of insects to increase 

 and multiply unmolested. The farmer finds his trees filled with cater- 

 pillars, his house overrun with moths, the apple worm growing more 

 destructive every year, the curculio making sad ravages among his 

 plums and cherries — he does not stop to consider that this, in a great 

 measure, is his own fault — perhaps he resorts to some expedient to check 

 the evil, hangs up bottles of sweetened water in his trees, which may 

 catch one insect where birds would destroy a hundred — invents fly 

 traps, sets bis wits at work to study out curculio remedies, and all the 

 while keeps wondering why it is that Providence permits the scourge 

 thus to increase upon him. Yet he himself, wantonly and recklessly, 

 is thwarting one of the principal designs of Providence in filling our 

 woods and fields with the tribe of songsters; for however ornamental 

 or musical they may be, the main object of their creation, so far as that 

 object had reference to man, was their utility as a counterpoise upon 

 the mukiplication of insects. 



Think me not trifling, then, in putting in this earnest appeal for the 

 birds. I do not believe this a mere trifling matter, but one of the 

 utmost importance, especially to the horticulturist. Fruit is becoming 

 every year a larger proportion of our food — we raise more than we did 

 formerly, and with the new contrivances for preserving it, we shall pro- 

 bably soon be able to have it fresh upon our tables at all seasons 

 of the year. If love of the beautiful, if the charms of the sweet 

 songs which through the warm seasons are poured forth from every 

 thicket and every tree, if the sprightly motions of the songsters, as 

 they hop from spray to spray, fail to arouse a sympathetic chord in 

 omr bosoms, let our grosser nature at least protect them, and a desire 



