362 
WHAT ARE BIRDS GOOD FOR ? 
WHAT ARE BIRDS GOOD FOR ? 
Our facetious clerical friend Beecher, in a 
late article in his very “ Independent ” paper, 
furnishes us with one of his unique and excel¬ 
lent horticultural sermons from this text — 
“ What are birds good for?” A question which 
has been so often answered to the disadvantage 
of this beautiful portion of God’s good gifts to 
man, that man’s children, as a matter of course, 
have learned to regard the poor birds as fair 
game, upon which they might exercise their or¬ 
gans of destructiveness, without fear, until the 
noble state of New Jersey added another feather 
to her cap full of common sense, by passing a 
very sensible law for the protection of every¬ 
thing that plumes the wing over her free 
soil. It is in noticing this law that Mr. Beecher 
asks: “What’s a bird good for? What dainty 
sentimentalism has set a legislature at such en¬ 
actments? Not so fast. Although we should 
greatly respect a legislature that had the human¬ 
ity to think of birds among other constituent 
bipeds, yet experience has taught farmers and 
gardeners the economic value of birds. 
“ There are no such indefatigable entomolo¬ 
gists as birds. Audubon and Wilson never 
hunted for specimen birds with the persever¬ 
ance that birds themselves exhibit in their re¬ 
searches. They depasture the air, penetrate 
every nook and corner of thicket, hedge, and 
shrubbery; they search the bark, pierce the 
dead wood, glean the surface of the soil, watch 
for the spade trench, and follow the furrow after 
worms and larva3. A single bird, in one season, 
destroys millions of insects for its own food, and 
that of its nest. No computation can be made 
of the insects which birds devour. We do not 
think of another scene more inspiriting than 
the plowing season, in this respect Bluebirds 
are in the tops of trees practising the scale; 
crows are cawing as they lazily swing through 
the air toward their companions in the tops of 
distant dead and dry trees; robins and black¬ 
birds are wide awake, searching every clod 
that the plow turns, and some venture almost 
to the farmer’s heels. Even boys relent, and 
seem touched by the birds’ \ appeal to their 
confidence, and until small fruits come, spare 
the birds. Bobolinks begin to appear, the buf¬ 
foon among birds, and half sing and half fizzle. 
How our young blood sparkled amid such 
scenes, we could not tell why; neither why we 
cried without sorrow or laughed without mirth, 
but only from a vague sympathy with that 
which was beautiful and joyous. 
“ Were there ever such neat scavengers ? Were 
there ever such nimble hunters ? Were there 
ever such adroit butchers ? No Grahamite scru¬ 
ples to agitate this seed-loving and bug-loving i 
tribe. They do not show their teeth to prove 
that they were designed for meat. They eat 
what they like, wipe their mouths on a limb, 
return thanks in a song, and wing away to a 
quiet nook to dose or meditate, snug from the 
hawk that spheres about far up in the ether. 
To be sure, birds, like men, have a relish for 
variety. There are no better pomologists. If 
we believed in transmigration we should be 
| sure that our distinguished fruit culturists could 
be traced home. Longworth , was a brown 
| thresher; Downing , a lark, sometimes in the 
dew and sometimes just below the sun; Thomas 
was a plain and sensible robin; junior Prince , 
was a bobolink, irreverently called skunk black¬ 
bird; Ernst, a dove; Parsons, a woodpecker; 
Wilder, a kingbird. We could put our finger, 
too, upon the human blackbird, wren, bluejay, 
and small owl—but prudence forbids; as it' 
also does the mention of a certain clerical- 
mocking bird, that makes game of his betters! 
“But we wander from the point. We charge 
every man with positive dishonesty who drives 
birds from his garden in fruit time. The fruit 
is theirs as well as yours. They took care of 
it as much, as you did. If they had not eaten 
egg, worm, and bug, your fruit would have 
been pierced and ruined. They only come for 
Wages. No honest man will cheat a bird of his 
spring and summer’s work.” 
We like short sermons, but this is too short. 
One never tires of listening to such “ sound doc¬ 
trine.” The personification of the fruit cultu¬ 
rists is capital,^as far as it goes. That “ certain 
clerical mocking bird ” is more like the wild 
turkey of the west, full of native dignity and 
“independence” as that noble bird in the 
depths of a real American forest—fond of the 
wild woods, yet capable of domestication, and 
affording happiness to all who have the pleas¬ 
ure of hearing his gobble. 
In connection with this subject, we will give 
an anecdote related to us last winter by Gov¬ 
ernor Aikin, of South Carolina, of the rice birds. 
These little creatures gather around the rice 
fields at harvest time in countless myriads, and 
of course consume considerable grain. Some 
years ago, it was determined to make war upon 
them, and drive them out of the country, and 
the measure was in some degree successful, so 
far as getting rid of the birds. “What are 
birds good for ?” The rice planter soon found 
out; for with the,decrease of birds, the worms 
increased so rapidly, that, instead of a few scat¬ 
tering grains to feed the birds, the whole crop 
was demanded to fill the insatiable maw of the 
army that came to consume every young shoot, 
as fast as they sprung from the ground. Most 
undoubtedly the birds were invited back again 
with a hearty welcome. Rice cannot be culti¬ 
vated without their assistance. 
A few years ago, the blackbirds in the north¬ 
ern part of Indiana were considered a most 
grievous nuisance to the farmer. Whole fields 
of oats were sometimes destroyed, and the dep¬ 
redations upon late corn were greater than can 
be believed, if told. The farmer sowed and the 
l birds reaped. He scolded and they twittered. 
Occasionally a charge of shot brought down a 
score, but made no more impression upon the 
great sea of birds, than the removal of a single 
bucket of water from the great salt puddle. A 
few years later, every green thing on the 
land seemed destined to destruction by the 
army worm. Man was powerless—a worm 
among worms. But his best friends, the hated 
blackbirds, came to his relief just in time to 
