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Birds of Song and Story

<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> SPARROWS AND SPARROWS <div class="blockquot"> What is it, then, to be a queen, if it is not like the silver linden-tree to cast a protecting shadow over the world's sweetest song-birds? Carmen Sylva. </div> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Grudge not the wheat Which hunger forces birds to eat; Your blinded eyes, worst foes to you, Can't see the good which sparrows do. Did not poor birds with watching rounds Pick up the insects from your grounds? Did they not tend your rising grain, You then might sow to reap in vain? </div> John Clare. </div> No bird, unless it be the crow, is so nicknamed as the sparrow. None is so evil spoken of, none so loved. Accepted enemy of the farmer, it is the farmer's dearest friend. It is a good, large family, that of the sparrows, ninety or more varieties occurring in the United States. Always, of whatever tint or markings, it is recognized by its stout, stalky shape, short legs, and strong feet; but more surely by its bulging, cone-like bill, pointed toward the end. This beak is the bird's best characteristic, just as a certain nose is the leading feature of some human families. And there is character in a sparrow's nose. It is used for original research and investigation, on account of which the sparrow, of all the birds, deserves the degree of doctor of philosophy conferred upon him; omitting, of course, one single member of the family, the English sparrow. And why the English sparrow should [ 74 ] come in for any notice among the song-birds we cannot tell, unless it be the fact that it really does haunt them, and they have to put up with it almost everywhere they go. Surely it needs no picture to introduce this little vagrant, save in a few regions sacred as yet from its presence. Even this little foreign rogue has lovable traits, were it not for the prejudice against him. What persistence he has in the face of persecution and death! What philosophy in the production of large families to compensate for loss! What domestic habits! What accommodation to circumstances! What cheerful acceptance of his lot! Surely the English sparrow presents an example worthy of imitation. To those whose preferences are for cooked little birds, what suggestions are stirred by the hosts of these sparrows invitingly arrayed on roof and porch and fences. They make as good pot-pie as the bobolink or robin, and it would seem less sacrilege to so appropriate them. The rich and poor alike might indulge in the delicacy. Especially might the weak little starvelings in the cities, whose dipper of fresh, new milk is long in coming, or never to come at all, find in sparrow broth a nourishing substitute. Who knows but for this very purpose the birds are sent to the large cities. We read of a story of "quails" in a certain Old Book, and more than half believe the wonderful tale. Why not make a modern story of sparrows sent "on purpose," and cultivate a taste for the little sinner? And its eggs! Why, a sparrow hen will lay on, indefinitely, like a real biddy. Only be sure to respect the "nest-egg," so the old bird may have one always by her "to measure by." <div class="fig_center" style="width: 505px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/english_sparrow.png" width-obs="505" height-obs="675" alt="" /> <div class="fig_caption">ENGLISH SPARROW.</div> </div> [ 75 ] Think of the "little mothers" of the big cities, raising baby weaklings on sparrow broth and poached sparrow's eggs. It is a pity to waste such fat, little scraps of meat as are thrown about. Besides, making good use of the birds, if they must be killed, is good for the soul of boys. It would teach them thrift and a good purpose. Our best ornithologists declare the English sparrow "a nuisance without a redeeming quality." Pity they hadn't thought about the pie. But there are sparrows and sparrows. Some of the family are our sweetest singers. Take the song-sparrow, the bird of the silver tongue. It is known throughout the Eastern United States and Canada; and on the Pacific coast and elsewhere it is still the song-sparrow, though it varies slightly in color in different regions. In many states it remains all winter, singing when the snow is falling, and keeping comradeship with the chickadee. Everybody knows the little fellow by his voice if not by his coat. Nothing fine about the coat or gown save its modest tints. But, as with many another bird of gray or brown plumage, its song is the sweetest. Hearty, limpid, cheerful in the saddest weather, always ending in the melody of an upward inflection, as if he invited answer. The song-sparrow is the only one we have noticed to gargle the song in its throat, swallowing a few drops with each mouthful; or it may be that he stops to take a breath between notes. We have seen him sing, sprawled flat on a log in a hot day, with wings outspread, and taking a sun bath. The song is always very brief, as if he would not tire his listeners, though he gives them an encore with hearty grace. Individual birds differ in song, no two singing their dozen notes exactly alike. While his mate is patiently waiting to get the best results from her four or five party-colored eggs, the song-sparrow [ 76 ] sings constantly, never far from the nest in the bush or the low tree, or even on the ground, where cats are debarred from the vicinity. One never can depend on the exact color of the eggs, for they vary in tint from greenish white to browns and lavender, speckled or clouded, "just as it happens." And the feathers of the birds have all these colors mingled and dotted and striped, and dashed off, as you may see for yourself, by looking out of the window or taking a still stroll down along the creek. The song-sparrow has a pert little way of sticking its tail straight up like a wren when it runs—and it is always running about. In our grounds they follow us like kittens, keeping up their happy chirp as if glad they ever lived and were blessed with feet and a beak. The nest of the song-sparrow is compact and snug, with little loose material about the base of it. We have had a long hunt many a time to find it. If we are in the vicinity of it the two birds follow us, chirping, never going straight to the nest, but wandering as we wander, picking up food in the way, and appearing to hold a chatty conversation. It is not evident that they are trying to conceal the fact that they have a nest and that we are near it; for if we sit down and wait, the mother goes straight to it without a sign of fear. But we must wait a long while sometimes, until dinner is over, for these birds seem to remain away from the nest longer at a time than most birds do. They feed their young on larvæ, pecked out of the loose earth, and tiny seeds from under the bushes, or soft buds that have fallen. They pick up a whole beakful, never being satisfied with the amount collected. So it drips from the corners of their mouths in an odd fashion, [ 77 ] and some of it escapes, especially if it have feet of its own. We have not seen a nest of any other than a dark color. Horsehairs make almost half of it, and the outside is of grass closely woven around. The young birds are not "scared out of their wits," as are some birdlings, if a stranger appears, but will snuggle down and look one in the face. Once off and out they are always hungry, following the parent birds with a merry chirp, with the usual upward inflection. They come early to our garden table, where crumbs of cake and other things tempt them to eat too much. After they are filled they hop a few feet away, and sit ruffled all up, and blinking with satisfaction. Once we played a pretty trick on the sparrows. Knowing their preference for sweets, we placed a saucer of black New Orleans molasses on the table, with a few crumbs sprinkled on the top. Of course the birds took the crumbs, and of course, again, they took a taste of the molasses. It wasn't a day before they dipped their beaks into the molasses that had now no sprinkling of crumbs, and seemed surprised at its lack of shape. It tasted good, and yet they couldn't pick it up like crumbs. Then they took to leaving the tip of the bill in the edge of it and swallowing like any person of sense. When they were done they flew away with the molasses dripping from their faces and beaks in a laughable style, returning almost immediately with more birds. The fact is, a sparrow is a boy when it comes to eating. Were it not for its good appetite, it couldn't put up with "just anything." Sparrows love the towns and cities because they find crumbs there. Our friend the baker knows them, and many a meal do they find ready spread at his back door. [ 78 ] So does Bridget the cook, and even Lung Wo, if their hearts happen to have a soft place for the birds. As for the boy around the corner, who walks about on crutches, he knows all about the sparrows' preferences. In fact, sparrows seem to have a special liking for boys on crutches. One little fellow we knew used to lay his crutch down flat on the ground and place food up and down on it when the sparrows were hungry in the morning. And the crutch came to be the "family board," around which the birds gathered, be the crutch laid flat or tilted aslant on the doorstep. In this way Johnny of the crippled foot came to have a good understanding with the birds, and many a quiet hour was spent in their company. Johnny may turn out to be a great ornithologist some day, all on account of his crutch. What will it matter that he may never shoulder a gun and wander off to the woods to shoot "specimens"? His knowledge of bird ways will serve a better purpose than a possible gun. It was Johnny who first told us to notice how a sparrow straddles his little stick legs far apart when he walks, spreading his toes in a comical way. Eastern and Western song-sparrows differ, and so do individual birds everywhere—not only in their songs, but in the distribution of specks and stripes on their clothes. What we have said about our song-sparrows may not wholly apply to the family elsewhere. These differences lead bird-lovers to study each of the birds about his own door and forests without placing too much credit upon what others say. There is much of the year when sparrows live almost solely on seeds, and this is the time when they join hands with the farmer, so to speak, and help him with the thistles and other weeds, by work at the seed tufts and pods. Sparrows love to run in and out of holes and cracks and between cornstalks and [ 79 ] dry woodpiles. It was this habit of peeping into everything, on the part of the birds, that led the olden poet to write: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I love the sparrows' ways to watch Upon the cotter's sheds. So here and there pull out the thatch That they may hide their heads." </div> </div> It was a pretty idea and a charitable one, that of the poet's. In a country where roofs are shingled with thatch, or dry sticks and leaves overlapping, the sparrows are familiar residents; and where somebody remembers to "pull out the thatch" or make a loose little corner on purpose, they sleep all night. We have ourselves made many a pile of brush on purpose for the sparrows. The white-crowned sparrows winter with us, going far up the Alaskan coast to nest in the spring, as do also the tree-sparrow, the golden-crowned, savanna, and some others, including the beautiful fox-sparrow. These birds arrive in the Far North as soon as the rivers are open, and to the gold-seekers, who get to their dreary work with pick and spade, are like friends from home. Many a homesick miner stops a moment to listen to their clear, ringing songs, almost always in the rising inflection, as if a question were asked. And for answer, the man who sometimes would "give all the gold he ever saw" for one glimpse of home, draws his sleeve across his eyes. Some of the sparrows which nest in Alaska use pure white ptarmigan feathers for nest-lining; while their cousins in the east, on the opposite side, breeding in Labrador, use eider-down. In these far northern latitudes these birds scratch in the moss and dead leaves of summer-time, often coming to ice at the depth of three or four inches. The summers are so [ 80 ] short that insect life is very scarce, excepting the mosquitoes. But there are berries! And an occasional hunter's or gold-seeker's cabin always furnishes meals at short notice. Men may pass the birds at home in civilization with scarcely a thought; but when away and alone, the presence of a bird they have known in other climes brings them to their senses. It is then they recognize the fact that birds are their comrades and friends, to be cherished and fed, not always hunted and eaten. On account of the distribution of sparrows the world over, many legends have been written of them. The very earliest we have read is the one that assures us the sparrow was seen by Mother Eve in the Garden of Eden, on the day she ate of the forbidden fruit. In fact, the "tree" was full of sparrows warning the woman not to eat, though the birds themselves were making for the fruit with might and main. In the story of Joseph it is recorded that the "chief baker" had a dream. In his dream he bore three baskets on his head. In the uppermost basket were all kinds of "bake-meats for the king." While the baker was walking to the palace with the baskets on his head the sparrows came and ate all the meat there was in the upper basket. In the narrative the name of the birds is not given, but the fact that they "ate up the meat," going in at the little wickerwork spaces, leads us to believe they were sparrows. It was only a dream; but people dream their waking thoughts and habits. It is supposed that this chief baker was fond of birds, and it was customary for him to feed them on the king's victuals. Well, the king is no poorer off now that the birds had [ 81 ] their fill. And we wish peace to the soul of the baker for his kindness. In the ballad of the "Babes in the Wood" it was the sparrow who made the fatal mistake which took off Cock Robin before the wedding feast was over. Poor sparrow! He has never been known to carry a bow and arrow under his coat from that day to this. Thinking of that old ballad, we have often watched the robins and the sparrows together, and are never able to make out that the robin holds any grudge against his ancient friend and guest who made the blunder. In nearly all the markets of the Old World sparrows have been sold as food, bringing the very smallest price imaginable. In Palestine two of them were sold for the least piece of money in use, though what anybody wants of two sparrows, unless to make a baby's meal, we do not know. The tree-sparrow of England is common in the Holy Land, and it was probably this bird to which the New Testament alludes. Of our American sparrows, the fox-sparrow is probably the most beautiful in markings. By its name one might imagine it had something to do with foxes, and so it has, but in color only, being a rich foxy brown in its darker tints. This bird is seen all winter in Washington on the Capitol grounds, scratching in the leaves for food and singing its loyal melody. The fox-sparrow has been sometimes detained in captivity, but as a rule grows too fat for a good singer. It seems to be the same with them as with our domestic fowls—if too fat they give poor returns. The hen and the sparrow and most people must scratch for a living, would they make a success in life. But who would want to cage a sparrow unless it be an invalid who can never go out of the room? [ 82 ] Even here, if the invalid have a window-sill it were better; for the window-sill is sparrow's own delight, if it be furnished with crumbs. Or, if one would see some fun, let the crumbs be in a good round loaf tightly fastened. This, let the sparrow understand, is for him alone, and he will burrow to the heart of it. Caged birds make sorry companions. The farmer sometimes wishes he had all the sparrows he ever saw in a cage. Well, farmer, were it not for the sparrows, there would be more abandoned farms than you can imagine. Therefore, let them live and have their freedom. And let the farmer's daughter make bread on purpose for them. They will make no complaints about her first attempts, nor call it sour or heavy. Let the children play at camp-fire and throw their biscuits to the birds. It will give them happy hearts, each of them, the birds and the children. The sparrows will respond with a single word of thanks, but it will be hearty. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "One syllable, clear and soft As a raindrop's silvery patter, Or a tinkling fairy bell heard aloft. In the midst of the merry chatter Of robin, and linnet, and wren, and jay, One syllable oft repeated: He has but a single word to say, And of that he will not be cheated." </div> </div> <hr class="chap" /> [ 83 ] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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