124 



THE OSPEEY. 



and taking its nestful of eggs has very likely 

 dined on roast chicken and breakfasted on 

 boiled eg-gs. Millions of birds are reared and 

 fattened for no other purpose than to have 

 their necks wrung or their heads chopped off 

 and their bodies used for food, ilillions are 

 kept to be daily robbed of their eggs and sel- 

 dom permitted to indulge the holy maternal 

 instinct. Why do not the Audubonian socie- 

 ties and other well-meaning persons protest 

 against this one of the most important indus- 

 tries of the United States, which annually in- 

 volves more "bird murdering'" and "egg hog- 

 ging" than all other destructive agencies com- 

 bined? AVhy this discrimination against the 

 turkey, the g'oose, the duck, and the liarnyard 

 fowl, in favor of the thrush, the finch, the 

 wren, the warbler? All are alike the handi- 

 work of God; and the life of the old yellow 

 hen in the barn is doubtless as precious in His 

 sight, to say nothing of the hen's, as that of 

 the daintiest song-bird. Ponder these things, 

 brethren, and sistern, too. and then tell us if 

 yon do not find .iust a hint, if not a pretty big 

 chunk of twaddle, humbug and cant in much 

 that is now written aboiit the Protection of 

 birds with a big P. Don't try to teach your 

 grandmother to suck egg's, and don't mourn 

 because you can't enlighten her on the sub- 

 ject. Protection, like charity, should be- 

 gin at home: right in the poultry yard; then 

 extend to wild game birds, under wholesome 

 laws ag'ainst unseasonable and unreasonable 

 killing; and then cover with its broad mantle 

 of humanit\' the very few other birds w'hich 

 fall victims to the arrant ardor of the errant 

 schoolboy in his thirst for adventure and 

 knowledge, the sometimes selfish and thought- 

 less collector in his acquisition of specimens, 

 the sometimes one-sided or narrow-minded or- 

 nithologist in the pursuit of his favorite 

 science. 



The nioral of Ihis fable is that persons who 

 have had boiled eggs for breakfast or roast 

 chicken for dinner should be expelled from 

 Andubon societies and compelled to remember 

 that schoolboys, collectors and ornithologists 

 are a part of the Divine scheme of the uni- 

 verse. 



Our last proposition. No. 5, is in fact already 

 sufficiently supported by what we have said be- 

 fore coming to it; but if it were not thus at- 

 tested, it would speak for itself. To our mind, 

 it goes without saying; it is axiomatic and 

 needs no demonstration to any sane, humane 

 and mature mind. Personally, we may say for 

 ourselves, that we believe cruelty is utterly 

 foreigii to our nature; we shrink from inflict- 

 ing pain, even as we do from enduring it; we 

 love birds with a love that sprang up in the 

 heart in our childhood, and is fostered in our 

 mature years as a precious possession; we 

 have not killed twenty birds in the past 

 twenty years, and probably never stole a 

 thousand eggs in all our life. Very likely we 

 shall never take a bird's life again, in the egg 

 or out of it. But for all that, we are the 

 friend and helper of every boy who wishes to 

 make a cabinet of eggs or skins; we stand 

 by every collector who takes birds or their 

 eggs for proper purposes of ownership, study. 

 exchange, or sale; and, of course, we applaud 



every ornitholog'ist who kills or otherwise ac- 

 quires what specimens of birds and their eggs 

 he needs for scientific purposes. Human be- 

 ings are so constructed that there are needs 

 of the head as well as of the heart and stom- 

 ach. Let the thrist for knowledge be slaked, 

 even though some bird-life be sacrificed to 

 that end. 



A little more knowledge, a little more com- 

 mon sense, a little more shrew'd philosophy 

 and mother wit might stop some of the con- 

 tortions of the protectionists, and make them 

 more seemly objects to contemplate. They are 

 not all women, either — plenty of hysterical 

 males are subject to the same changes of the 

 moon. We know one of them who addressed 

 an "Audubonian" letter to his "Dear Sister in 

 the Protection of Birds." Dear Sister in 

 Christ! It is enough to make old Audubon 

 turn in his grave. He was a crack shot, who 

 spent his life in shooting birds and robbing 

 nests, as long as his eyes would let him look 

 along the midrib to the foresight of his 

 double-barreled death dealer. He was a splen- 

 did ornithologist — no mawkish nonsense 

 about him. And how about a man who cries — 



"I .shall not have lived in vain. 

 If I but help one fainting Robin 

 Back to his nest again" — 



especially as he gets the gender a little mixed. 

 The vision of a fainting Robin being assisted 

 to his, her, or its nest by a gentleman from 

 Nebraska is entrancing, but we think he had 

 better saw wood and say nothing till he gets 

 over his namby-pambyishness. 



No; we have not named all the birds with- 

 out a gun; and what is more, nobody ever did, 

 and nobody ever will. Hear, then, the con- 

 clusion of the matter: Let birds be protected 

 when possible; let birds be destroyed when 

 necessary. 



PARABLE OF THE CLEVER KID AND HIS 

 AGED SIRE. 



"I say, guv'nor," remarked the Clever Kid, 

 carelessly, as he was blowing some eggs, 

 "have vou seen the latest thing out in orni- 

 thology?" 



"Prol-iably not," replied the Aged Ornitluilo- 

 gist, who had one foot in the grave and the 

 other almost there; "science is progressive, 

 the laborers are many, and no man knoweth 

 what a day may bring forth." 



"Jus' so," said the Kid, "but I can put you 

 up to date. It's no joke, I can tell you. Some 

 woman's been writing about a man that was 

 so mean he mixed sawdust with the meal he 

 fed his hen on, and she hatched twelve eggs." 



"I see nothing remarkable in that, my son," 

 answered the Aged Sire. "Inform me further 

 of your ornithological data." 



"Well, you see, pa, the woman says that 

 eleven of those chicks had wooden legs and 

 the other one was a woodpecker." 



"Ah!" said the Aged Ornithologist, as a faint 

 gleam of intelligence flickered across his sad, 

 worn face: "I perceive, my son, that you have 

 been reading the .Audubonian department of 

 P.ird-Lore." 



