Kitabı oku: «Birds and All Nature, Vol. VI, No. 3, October 1899», sayfa 5

THE BADGE OF CRUELTY

CELIA THAXTER

IS it not possible to persuade the women of Boston – the city we are proud to consider a centre of refinement, reason and intelligence – to take a decided stand in the matter of the slaughter of birds, and protect them by refusing to wear them? We are fostering a grievous wrong out of pure thoughtlessness. A bit of ribbon, or a bunch of flowers, or any of the endless variety of materials used by the milliner would answer every purpose of decoration, without involving the sacrifice of bright and beautiful lives. But women do not know what they are doing when they buy and wear birds and feathers, or they never would do it. How should people brought up in cities know anything of the sacred lives of birds? What woman, whose head is bristling with their feathers, knows, for instance, the hymn of the song-sparrows, the sweet jargon of the blackbirds, the fairy fluting of the oriole, the lonely, lovely wooing-call of the sandpiper, the cheerful challenge of the chickadee, the wild, clear whistle of the curfew, the twittering of the swallows as they go circling in long curves through summer air, filling earth and heaven with tones of pure gladness, each bird a marvel of grace, beauty, and joy? God gave us these exquisite creatures for delight and solace, and we suffer them to be slain by thousands for our "adornment." When I take note of the head-gear of my sex a kind of despair overwhelms me. I go mourning at heart in an endless funeral procession of slaughtered birds, many of whom are like dear friends to me. From infancy I have lived among them, have watched them with the most profound reverence and love, respected their rights, adored their beauty and their song, and I could no more injure a bird than I could hurt a child. No woman would if she knew it. The family life of most birds is a lesson to men and women. But how few people have had the privilege of watching that sweet life; of knowing how precious and sacred it is; how the little beings guard their nests with almost human wisdom and cherish their young with faithful, careful, self-sacrificing love! If women only knew these things there is not one in the length and breadth of the land, I am happy to believe, who would be cruel enough to encourage this massacre of the innocents by wearing any precious rifled plume of theirs upon her person.

Extract from Henry Ward Beecher's letter to Bonner on the death of the Auburn horse:

"Ought he not to have respect in death, especially as he has no chance hereafter? But are we so certain about that? Does not moral justice require that there should be some green pasture-land hereafter for good horses – say old family horses that have brought up a whole family of their master's children and never run away in their lives; doctors' horses that stand unhitched, hours, day and night, never gnawing the post or fence, while the work of intended humanity goes on; omnibus horses that are jerked and pulled, licked and kicked, ground up by inches on hard, sliding pavements, overloaded and abused; horses that died for their country on the field of battle, or wore out their constitutions in carrying noble generals through field and flood, without once flinching from the hardest duty; or my horse, old Charley, the first horse that I ever owned; of racing stock, large, raw-boned, too fiery for anybody's driving but my own, and as docile to my voice as my child was?"

FINISHED WOODS

Ash. – This name is applied to four species of forest trees. Most of the species are indigenous in North America, and some are found in Europe and Asia. The majority of these trees are large, affecting shady and moist places, banks of rivers, or marshes. The wood is tough and elastic, and is used by wheel-wrights, carriage-makers, and ship-builders. The Hungarian species is a favorite with cabinet-makers.

Cherry. – The common cherry tree (Prunus cerasus) is of Asiatic origin, and is said by Pliny to have been introduced into Italy by Lucullus about seventy years before Christ, and about 120 years after was introduced into Britain. It is extensively cultivated in the timber regions of Europe and America. There are now more than 300 varieties. The wood is of a reddish hue, hard and tough, and much used by the cabinet-maker; the gum is edible, and the fruit is eaten either fresh or dried, and is used for preserves. The cherry is best propagated by grafting with seedlings of the wild cherry.

Mahogany. – This wood is a native of South America, Honduras, and the West Indies Islands, and among the most valuable of tropical timber trees. It is a large, spreading tree, with pinnate, shining leaves. The trunk often exceeds fifty feet in height, and four to five feet in diameter. The flowers, three or four inches long, are small and greenish-yellow, and are succeeded by fruit of an oval form and the size of a turkey's egg. The wood is hard, heavy and close-grained, of a dark, rich brownish-red color, and susceptible of a high polish. The collection of mahogany for commerce is a most laborious business, often involving the construction of a road through a dense forest, upon which the wood may be transported to the nearest water-course. The natives make this wood serve many useful purposes, as canoes and handles for tools. The largest log ever cut in Honduras was seventeen feet long, fifty-seven inches broad, and sixty-four inches deep, measuring 5,421 feet of inch boards, and weighing upward of fifteen tons.

Mahogany is said to have been employed about the year 1595 in repairing some of Sir Walter Raleigh's ships, but it was not used for cabinet work until 1720, when a few planks from the West Indies were given to Dr. Gibbons of London. A man named Wollaston, employed to make some articles from this wood, discovered its rare qualities, and it was soon in high repute.

White Walnut. – Walnut (the nut of Jupiter) is the common name of large nut-bearing forest trees of the genus Juglans, which, with the hickories, make up the walnut family, in which the trees have a colorless juice, a strong scented bark, and compound leaves. Three species of the walnut are found in the United States. The wood is hard, fine-grained, and durable.

Bird's-eye Maple. – This is one of about fifty species, which are distributed over North America, Europe, Northern Asia, Java, and the Himalayas. While the wood of some of these is perfectly straight-grained, that in other specimens presents marked and often elegant varieties. The bird's-eye maple has its fibers so singularly contorted as to produce numerous little knots which look like the eye of a bird. It is a variety much valued for cabinet work of various kinds and interior finishing, while the straight-grained wood is used for making lasts, buckets, tubs, and other articles. It is also employed in ship-building.

Oak. – The English name of trees of the genus Quercus. Oaks are found over nearly the whole northern hemisphere, except the extreme north; in the tropics along the Andes, and in the Moluccas. All oaks are readily recognized by their peculiar fruit, consisting of an acorn with a cup which never completely encloses the nut. Some of the oaks furnish valuable timber. Tannic and gallic acids are obtained from them and the bark of many is useful for tanning. The nuts not only supply human food but that of various animals. The species vary so much that the genus is puzzling to botanists. The character of the wood is affected by the soil and locality in which the trees grow, lumbermen making distinctions not recognized by botanists. The white oak is long-lived, and specimens supposed to have been in existence before the settlement of the country are still standing. It is of slow growth, but does not cease to grow as it gets larger. The oak is much esteemed as an ornamental tree. The names of some of the varieties are: Post oak, burr oak, swamp oak, live oak, black oak, willow oak, scrub oak, scarlet oak, and California evergreen oak.

THAT ROOSTER

BY ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE

HE was a noble looking fowl, that rooster, and challenged my admiration by his unusual proportions, glossy plumage, and proud, exultant air.

As I paused in my walk to view him his sharp eyes were instantly fastened upon mine and a note of warning issued from his handsome throat. Away scampered the hens and young chicks, but the rooster, advancing a pace or two, lifted one foot menacingly, as if to defy my taking one step further.

"Dear, dear!" I exclaimed, "you make a great fuss over nothing. I only stopped to admire you and your family. Be assured I meant you no harm."

"Gluck, gluck, gluck," replied he angrily.

The spectacle of a champion standing on one leg and sending forth such a cry of defiance struck me as so ridiculous that I involuntarily burst into laughter.

Every fowl in the inclosure at the sound stood motionless.

"What was that?" questioned one motherly old hen of another.

It was a queer gibberish which she spoke, and most people would have failed to understand it, but to me – who had been listening to the voices of nature the whole day long, to whom the trees had whispered their secrets, the brooks had murmured their complaints, the birds had caroled their stories – to me the language of these feathered creatures was perfectly intelligible.

"I don't know, I'm sure," replied the other, "but somehow it sounded rather pleasant."

"Pleasant!" exclaimed a young white and buff hen, tossing her pretty head, "it appeared to me she was making fun of us."

"Will you be quiet, you cackling old hens?" roared Mr. Rooster, giving them a swift glance from one eye, while furtively watching me with the other. "What business is it of yours what the intentions of this intrusive person may be? I am the one to decide that question. What do females know about war, anyway, especially hens? If she means fight, why – "

"You'll run, no doubt, and hide behind your wives," I interrupted, feeling the old fellow to be a boaster. "I've a notion to scale the fence and see," I added mischievously.

He stepped back a pace or two in evident alarm.

"Never fear," I hastened to say. "Only cowardly hearts find pleasure in giving pain to innocent and defenseless creatures. My only object in stopping was to view your happy family and – and – in fact, Mr. Rooster, to interview yourself."

"Interview me?" he exclaimed. "Well, I never!" and filled with a sense of his importance the old fellow set up such a crowing that even a Jersey cow, munching grass by the wayside, paused to ruminate over what it might mean.

"A reporter," sneered the ill-natured young hen. "A woman reporter! How unnatural!"

"Louisa Mercedes," sharply cried the rooster, "how many times have I told you to bridle your tongue?"

"I'm not a horse," sulkily replied Louisa, "and what's more, I think if you would bridle your vanity it would be much more to your advantage. You want to do all the talking – and eating, too," she added in an undertone.

"She's but a young thing," loftily said Mr. Rooster, "and I have to overlook much of her insolence, you know. Another year will find her less spirited, like Georgiana and Marthena and Sukey over there. But let us resume our conversation. About what do you want to interview me?"

"First, I should like to know – why, do you intend to come out?" I interrupted as he moved nearer the fence.

"Oh, no; but it's just as well that the women folks don't hear all we have to say. They have such a disagreeable fashion of contradicting, you know, and such good memories, that when you're least expecting it up they'll drag some remark made months ago to clinch an argument against you. Females are such queer creatures – but I beg your pardon," he added apologetically, remembering my sex. "I forgot."

"How many wives have you?" I queried, beginning the interview.

"Well," marking with his claws in the sand as he named over Louisa Mercedes, Cassie, Maud, and a number of others. "I have, as near as I can figure it, about nine now."

"Now?" I repeated.

"Yes. I had more the first of the season, but the folks up at the house have the habit of coming through that door in the barn yonder when the minister comes to dinner and carrying off any member of my family which strikes their fancy. I don't know what they do with them, I am sure, but presently I hear a dreadful squawk or two in the woodshed, a flouncing around, and then all is still. It is very painful, I assure you," and Mr. Rooster, lifting one foot, pretended to wipe a tear from his sharp, dry eyes.

"You defend them, of course," I responded, endeavoring to appear solemn.

"Of course," swaggered the husband and father, "and sometimes I crow as loud as I can for an hour or so afterward."

"Crow?"

"Yes, to let the folks know I'm not conquered."

"Haven't you," I asked, to hide my mirth, "a preference for some of your wives over others?"

Mr. Rooster gravely surveyed his household.

"No," he said reflectively, "no, I can't say that I have."

"But that white one," I said, "over yonder. She is so handsome."

"Maud, that white and silver Wyandotte, you mean. H'm, yes. She's too handsome. I have a great deal of trouble with her."

"Trouble – how?"

"Oh, in various ways," with a frown. "She is too pretty to work, she thinks, and spends half her time in preening her feathers, polishing her toe nails, or, what's worse, staring through the fence over yonder at that proud, long-legged Mr. Shanghai. He's a foreign bird, you know, and thinks himself a deal better than a common American Plymouth Rock. There's going to be trouble between us yet, mark my words."

"You have no trouble, I suppose with the older ones," I returned, suppressing a smile.

"No, not in that way, ma'am. They quarrel a good deal about their children, however. Sukey – that brown and white Leghorn over there – thinks her children are veritable little angels with wings, and Georgiana – an out-and-out Plymouth Rock like myself – says they are little demons, her own brood being the little angels, you perceive. Twenty times a day I have to chastise the whole lot, mothers and all. Indeed," with a sigh, "I have a notion to turn them all out some day, just to have peace. All, except Jennie, the black Langshan. She's old to be sure, but a great comfort to me."

"Of course, of course," sneered a voice behind him. "Precious little spunk has Jennie, scratching around from morning till night that she may turn up a bug or worm for a lazy old curmudgeon like you. So you intend to turn me out on the cold, cold world some day, do you? Hm! we'll see about that."

"That's Jane," grinned Mr. Rooster, without turning around, "I hope they will choose her the next time they want one of my household, I really do."

"Oh, yes," sneered Jane, "you'll run away and squawk as you always do, and leave me to my fate."

"Run away," screamed Mr. Rooster making a dash for her, "I run away!"

"Fie, fie," I exclaimed, "you musn't show your valor by striking one of the weaker sex. You were intended to be her protector, you know."

I was here interrupted by a great commotion among the hens and chicks at the farther end of the enclosure.

"Only a quarrel, I presume," said he indifferently, "they can settle it among themselves, to-day."

"No, it seems to be something rather serious," I responded, and as I spoke a large cat succeeded in squeezing herself through the palings. Wildly ran the fowls about, cackling with fear.

"Hubby, hubby!" cried the hens.

"Papa, papa!" screamed the chicks.

"Run for your lives," admonished that hero, his knees knocking together, his comb and tail drooping, "run for your lives," and suiting the action to the word; away he scurried to the other side, and spreading his wings over the fence he flew, in his blind flight dropping at the feet of his hostile neighbor.

"Get out of here," screamed the young Shanghai, whom the handsome hen admired, "How dare you come over in my yard?"

"Give me time," meekly said my heroic Rooster, "give me time to gain my breath and I will."

"Now is my time," thought the young Shanghai, "the very chance I have been looking for," and straightway into the trembling Mr. Rooster he pitched.

From my standpoint I closely viewed the battle.

"Lo, the conquered braggart comes," I hummed, as a woebegone-looking object in a very little while dropped wearily over into our enclosure again.

"My poor dear," pityingly cried old Jennie. "Come, Sukey, let's lead him to the trough and bathe his wounded head."

I was about to depart, my heart wrung with compassion at the sight of his wounds, when, lifting his drooping head, with a ghastly wink of his uninjured eye, he said:

"Well!"

"Well!" I echoed in some surprise.

"Didn't I play that trick cleverly?" he asked with a sickly grin.

"Trick?"

"Yes, trick, you stupid! Couldn't you see the pretense I made of running away from the cat, just to get a chance of flying over the fence to get at that impudent Shanghai rooster?"

"But," I gasped, "you didn't whip him, you know."

"Didn't whip him!" he mimicked with brazen effrontery. "Why, how else, I'd like to know, could I have been torn up so? All I want now is a chance at that sneaking cat, and I'll make the fur fly, I warrant you."

Here the old deceiver, overcome with weakness and loss of blood, staggered, and would have fallen but for the Support of the faithful Jennie and Sukey.

"Go away," hoarsely muttered the rooster, "go away; what do females know about war. They can't crow! Go away!"

I bethought me here of one very important question.

"I hesitate," I said, "to disturb a suffering creature, but – "

"Call to-morrow, Miss Reporter," he muttered wearily, "call to-morrow."

"But," I persisted, "you may not be alive to-morrow, and I only desire to know why you roosters invariably crow at midnight?"

"Midnight!" he echoed faintly, catching but the last word. "Is that the reason it has grown so dark? Ah, that Shanghai over there will get ahead of me; that'll never do," and the dying old boaster, drawing himself up stiffly, a feeble "cock-a-doodle" rang out on the air, but the final "doo" stuck in his throat, a gasp, a shiver, a swaying to and fro, and the long, slender toes of Mr. Rooster were presently turned toward the sky.