9 2 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 21, 1906. 
The Eagle and Other Bircs. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Why should any intelligent and thoughtful 
man wish to shoot an eagle? What has he ac¬ 
complished by the deed? A momentary triumph 
perhaps, of doubtful value, in exhibiting his 
trophy to his neighbors. In a day or two, his 
triumph, such as it is, has departed, and so has 
the eagle. This same man, and his neighbors, 
in pursuing their way through the same locality 
thereafter, must miss the pleasing anticipation 
of seeing such an interesting object as a live 
eagle on the journey, this particular specimen 
of the noblest bird that graces our natural 
scenery, having been blotted out of existence, 
and nothing left to show for it. 
The late ex-Governor and ex-United States 
Senator, James L. Alcorn, lived in this county, 
in a delightful home on his plantation, called 
“Eagle Nest.” He pointed out to the writer 
a large eagle’s nest in the top of a tall cypress 
tree in sight of his residence. 
He said that for many years a pair of eagles 
had occupied the nest every season, raising a 
brood each year, which was a characteristic and 
attractive feature of his home surroundings, 
this annual drama in which the two eagles 
played the title role. “But,” he remarked, “a 
fool came along one day and killed them both, 
and the nest has been vacant ever since.” There 
the nest remains, a melancholy ruin, and a 
fitting monument to the “fool” who killed the 
eagles. 
If, like “the ancient mariner,” this man and 
all the other eagle killers, could be made to 
wear the slain birds about their necks, the 
“triumph” would take on a different complex¬ 
ion. and the result be most salutary. 
The principle ought to be inculcated in the 
minds of our children, that no living creature 
should be killed without a distinct and justi¬ 
fiable object in such killing. 
It may not be inappropriate to remind even 
“grown up children,” that the most common¬ 
place bird presented to the view, flying through 
the air, or perched on a twig, is a most mar¬ 
velous example of a perfect and complex 
machine, vitalized by a principle that we call 
“life,” of the origin and nature of which we 
are ignorant. We know that we can destroy 
it in a moment of time. We know also that 
the combined wisdom and ingenuity of all the 
men now living, or who have ever lived, can¬ 
not rekindle the spark of life when once ex¬ 
tinguished. 
Let us contemplate for a little while this bit 
of animated machinery, the commonplace little 
bird. Its feathers alone are a marvel of delicate 
workmanship and exact adaptation to their special 
functions. Its powers of flight, (what would 
we not give to possess them) through “the 
desert and illimitable air,” with a boundless 
horizon of vision, and eyes of such delicate ad¬ 
justments that they can focus objects ten miles 
away in telescope fashion, and instantly change 
to microscpoic powers for minute objects a few 
feet distant; its nervous organism of exceeding 
delicacy, instantly responsive to demands for 
guidance of its rapid flight among an intricacy 
of trees and branches; its palpitating little heart 
with quick beats sending the flow of hot blood 
out through the arteries, and back through the 
labyrinthal veins, generating heat several de¬ 
grees higher than human blood heat; its vocal 
organs of such flexibility, and with powers so 
out of proportion to its diminutive size; and 
lastly, its little active brain, the repository of 
a little rudirhental mind, ever alert, taking on 
a myriad of impressions with electrical rapidity. 
When we pause to analyze and reflect upon this 
wonderful little creation out of nature’s fecund 
womb, does it not seem strange that we should 
look with indifference upon its wanton destruc¬ 
tion at a single blow, without any object, or 
purpose gained? or that our warm-hearted and 
sympathetic women should consent to the adorn¬ 
ment of their bonnets with the plumage of such 
innocents, mudered by ruthless men for sordid 
dollars? 
En passant —just at this moment, there perched 
near my window a nearly grown young jay¬ 
bird, who is apparently “practising up” on his 
voice, with comical effect. He utters the com¬ 
mon jaybird call in quick succession and ani¬ 
mated style, then immediately, without pause, 
grades off into a grotesque and uncouth attempt 
at a little guttural song, repeating the whole 
performance a number of times. 
A brood of these noisy and gaily colored young¬ 
sters, chasing after the parent bird with greedy 
calls, like the “Horse leech’s daughters,” for 
“more, more,” of grub, or grubs, lends animation 
to the scene in my office yard, on the bank of 
the Sunflower River. 
Occasionally a rabbit hops about the yard, nib¬ 
bling the grass, while now and again a pair of 
Bob Whites form part of the dramatis persona 
“No dogs are allowed” on the premises. 
Early in the spring, a red-headed woodpecker 
embarked upon the enterprise of excavating a 
dwelling in a dead hackberry that stood about 
fifty feet from one of the office windows. He 
doubtless had formulated in his mind a very com¬ 
mendable scheme of housekeeping and family 
duties for the present season. He worked in¬ 
dustriously at his task of housebuilding, diving 
into his hole, head first, and presently bobbing 
up with beak full of chips, which, after a pause he 
disposed of by a quick flirt of his head, right and 
left, never dropping them straight down to the 
base of the tree. After thus disposing of the 
chips, he did not drop back into the hole, but in¬ 
variably came outside, turned about and dived 
in, head foremost again. 
He paused in his labors now and then, and en¬ 
deavored to call the attention of some other 
woodpecker to his enterprise. He also occasion¬ 
ally flew over to another tree a hundred yards 
away, where he engaged in some courting pas¬ 
sages with a female bird, but apparently without 
success, for he could never induce his lady love 
even to come over and have a look at his ‘‘cot¬ 
tage.” 
He continued with languid interest, putting the 
finishing touches on his prospective dwelling, until 
a few weeks ago, when the tree was blown down 
in a storm, and now lies prostrate. An investi¬ 
gation of the ruined house showed that he had 
furnished it with only a few small green leaves. 
Another sad example wherein "the best laid 
schemes o’ mice an' men gang aft agley.” 
The woodpecker disappeared after the “earth¬ 
quake,” and has probably lost his place in the 
dance for this set. 
But to return to my philosophizing vein ; whence 
comes this strong propensity of untutored man to 
slay every wild creature that falls into his power? 
Presumably it is a brutish instinct that sur¬ 
vives from the, time of man’s first emergence from 
the animal stage of his development, when “the 
hand of man was against every creature.” There 
still cling about humanity shreds and fragments 
of the brute integument which in a previous 
age completely clothed us, and the degree of 
advancement of each individual to higher planes 
of moral development is marked by the compara¬ 
tive diminution of such evidence. We meet many 
human specimens who show scarce a rent in the 
continuity of the brutish envelopment. What an 
unenviable reputation man has acquired for him¬ 
self in the estimation of all of nature’s children. 
Everything distrusts him, and is afraid of his 
baneful presence. Even the "stray dog,” man’s 
humble and subserviant dependent, mistrusts the 
advances of a strange man, as experience has 
taught him that he is more likely to get kicks 
and cuffs than caresses at the hands of any 
stranger he may chance to meet. 
It is amusing to note that dogs belonging to 
negroes have only to become aware that they 
have attracted the notice of a white man, when 
away they scuttle for dear life. If man’s instinct 
of destructiveness shall continue to assert itself 
without restraining influence, the result must be 
a more or less complete annihilation of all ani¬ 
mated life in nature’s domain, leaving only such 
domestic creatures as are in man’s own control 
and which serve his daily needs. 
Fancy a Nature without a single living thing, 
except the grim invader man. What a forbid¬ 
ding desert this must be. For even those crea¬ 
tures that are regarded as obnoxious to man’s 
interests, if they were all destroyed, a painful 
void must be left. Even to him who feels the 
greatest aversion to snakes, if fishing in a mill¬ 
pond, a few snakes seen swimming about, or 
sunning themselves on logs and chunks, are ob¬ 
jects of keen interest, contributing to the com¬ 
plete appropriateness of the scene. When we 
reflect upon the sum total of the injuries inflicted 
on man by all the “noxious” creatures, it is very 
small, and generally the result of man’s own 
fault or heedlessness, for even the wasps and 
yellow jackets only attack when the sanctity of 
their homes is invaded. A few days ago, the 
writer and a companion were exploring a marshy 
thicket with grass knee high. The companion, 
some yards in the rear, remarked, “Here is a big 
moccasin.” "Which way is he headed?” "Going 
towards you.” I advanced a couple of steps in his 
direction and stopped to listen. Presently a rustl¬ 
ing was heard in the grass a yard to the right. 
By the aid of a stick to part the grass, the snake 
was soon disclosed, a moccasin three and a half 
feet long and the size of a man’s wrist. The 
snake crawled away and was pursued into more 
open ground, where repeated efforts were made 
to stop him by placing a stick on his back. When 
at last brought to a stand by a heavy pressure 
on his back, the head was thrown over angrily, 
the wdde open mouth exhibiting the cottony lining 
and cat claw fangs of the "deadly” cotton mouth. 
During the whole episode, the snake had made no 
effort to strike. He was released, and we went 
our several ways, he to pursue his frogs, and I 
to pursue mine. So let 11s all be mindful of 
'■‘Uncle Toby’s forbearance, who opened the 
casement of the parlor window, and released the 
"blue bottle” fly that had disturbed his slumbers, 
with the remark. “Go forth, poor fly'—the world 
is avide enough for thee and me.” For myself, 
I should deprecate the elimination from nature’s 
scenes even of the bugs, spiders and stinging 
insects (barring mosquitoes and their kind— 
they “never would be missed,” except with a 
benediction for their absence). 
The chance of encountering even those crea¬ 
tures that are to be shunned, lends a zest to one’s 
adventures in woods and fields, and would leave 
a sense of barrenness behind, if they were not. 
Coahoma. 
Rocky Mountain Game Photos. 
Mr. W. S. Berry, of Gardiner, Mont., is doing 
some excellent work in photographing the big 
game of the region, and so popularizing a knowl¬ 
edge of the species as they appear in their haunts. 
We print on our cover to-day one of his views of 
a band of elk. Mr. Berry has yielded so far to 
the prevailing post-card craze as to reproduce a 
number of his game photos in color cards. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any ncnrsdcaler on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
