Birds and Nature, Vol. VIII, No. 2, September 1900

No plants are more frequently mentioned in Ancient Myths and by the classical poets. Though the white lily (Lilium candidum) was, even before the time of Homer, known as a garden flower, yet the earliest descriptions of the lilies found in cultivation were written by Gerard in the year 1597.

It is thought by some that the "lilies of the field," spoken of in the seventh chapter of Matthew, are the red lily described by Pliny. The white lilies have long been considered the symbol of purity and were often used by the great masters in the pictures of the Annunciation, in which they were represented as held by the Angel Gabriel. How appropriate is the white lily, with its glossy and pure white petals for the decoration of Easter time!

The slender stalk of the Yellow Lily arises from a scaly bulbous and thickened underground stem, growing to a height of from two to five feet. The leaves are narrow and lance-shaped, from two to six inches in length and usually attached in whorls of from three to eight. Each stalk bears from one to fifteen flowers, the ground color of which is yellow or reddish with brownish spots toward the base of each division, which are six in number and are spreading and gracefully arched. The flowers, appearing in June, July and August, are nodding and vary in length from two to four inches. The fruit pods are oblong, large, and bear numerous seeds.

Closely related to the plant of our illustration, and at times closely resembling it, is the beautiful Turk's Cap Lily (Lilium superbum). This species is wonderfully prolific in the production of flowers, sometimes bearing forty or more on a single stalk. It is one of the tallest of the lilies, and frequently the marshes of the eastern states are transformed by its presence into striking masses of color, orange, orange-yellow or red.

WHAT DO WE OWE THE BIRDS?

The answer to this question needs to be presented from two distinctly different points of view – the commercial and the esthetic. In presenting the commercial point of view it will be necessary to ignore the use of any bird as an article of food, because we are now speaking of the living bird. Likewise it will be necessary to ignore the side which might be presented by the millinery trade, because that, too, has to do with the dead bird. We shall have occasion to present the general subject of the demands of fashion at a later time. This paper, then, is concerned only with our debt to the living bird.

In the of Birds and Nature some general remarks were made about what the birds eat. In this paper it will be necessary to go more into particulars in order to get clearly before us just wherein our debt lies.

First of all, we owe our physical comfort to the birds, because they check the increase in insect life. The mosquito and gnat, the horse fly and common housefly would soon rival the plagues of Egypt were the birds to disappear. If anyone doubts this let him go into the Cascade mountains where the scarcity of the birds gives great liberties to the "deer flies." And they take all liberties without so much as a "thank you, I guess I will!"

We owe our fruits largely to the birds. This statement anyone may prove by simple experiment. First drive the birds from your garden because you think they are eating the buds and blossoms, instead of the insects which sting the buds. You will be rewarded with a scanty and stunted fruit crop. Next conclude that you won't get fruit anyway, and so let the birds do as they please. You will be pretty sure to harvest a fairly good crop at least. Lastly, encourage the birds to visit your garden and orchard in their northward passage, as well as during the summer season. Build nesting boxes for the swallows, wrens and martins. Plant a mulberry tree for the fruit-loving robins and cat-birds. Now your fruit and garden are returning an abundant yield of the best grade. If the birds take a little for themselves have they not earned it? There is enough and to spare.

We owe corn and other grains largely to the birds, because they help to keep in check the insects which attack the cereals. During the grasshopper plagues very many birds feed upon the grasshoppers which do not usually touch grasshoppers. Probably chief among our grain field helpers is the Bronzed Grackle, who is so much in disfavor for the ravages he makes upon those same fields when the corn is in the roasting-ear stage. But he earns far more than he eats. The birds of prey destroy vast numbers of the little rodents which help themselves too freely to the planted grains.

We owe the preservation of the remnant of our forests, and all our trees and bushes largely to the birds who eat the insects which attack the trees and bushes. The woodpeckers are after the insect which is destroying the tree, not after the life of the tree.

Space would fail us to speak of the debt we owe to all the birds. There are the scavenger water-birds – gulls, terns and the like – the scavenger land birds – the vultures – the ducks, geese and swans, who check the encroachments of vegetable life upon our streams, ponds and lakes; the herons, cranes, rails, coots, gallinules and shore-birds, which feed upon the water and mud-inhabiting insects and other small animals; the sparrows and grouse, which destroy vast quantities of the seeds of harmful plants. In short, the only birds about whose usefulness there is any doubt are the English Sparrow, Crow, Blue Jay and four of the hawks. These are far too few for us to condemn all birds.

We cannot afford to overlook the esthetic side of this question. How much of our pleasure and happiness do we owe the birds directly for their intensely busy lives, the neatness and beauty of their dress, the perpetual joy of their songs? Can you imagine a world without birds? Are the returned warmth and the green vegetation all that make the summer months more pleasant than the winter season? Rob the tropics of their birds and you rob them of their heart. Pasadena, California, is a bird paradise, but take away its mocking birds, its orioles, its towhees, its gorgeous humming birds, and the many other birds which enliven every lawn, and you have taken away one of its chief charms.

But it is not simply that we are entertained by the birds, nor even that we are pleased with their neatness and beauty. Where their lives touch ours we feel an uplifting influence. We are better fitted for the service which it is our privilege to render to the world by the touch of the bird life. Our horizon is broadened beyond the self-interest, the egoistic, to the altruistic conception of life. We cannot live in the presence of these creatures so full of life without being spurred to more earnest effort ourselves. When we fail to see in the world of nature about us what it is our privilege to see we are losing that much of life. Let us open our eyes to all the influences that may shape our lives toward best living.

    Lynds Jones.

TO THE VESPER BIRD

Sweet bird of twilight wake in me
Bright memories of melody
Outpoured from every nesting-tree
At early morning gray.
O sing that I may ponder on
The songs away with noontide gone,
Ere shadows troop across the lawn
And voices die away.
Long have I waited wistfully;
And lest thy gift unheeded be,
Lo, now my gardens are for thee,
Thou truant all the day!

    Frank English.

THE VESPER SPARROW

In the fields, the pastures and along the roadsides of the Eastern United States and the British Provinces may be found the unobtrusive Vesper Sparrow (Poocaetes gramineus). It is also known by other names such as the Bay-winged Bunting or Sparrow, the Grass-Finch and sometimes, though incorrectly, it is called the Field Sparrow. The latter name should only be applied to one of the Chipping Sparrows (Spizella pusilla).

The characteristics of the male and the female are the same. The exposed part of the outer and the tip of the second tail feathers are white. This character is very marked as the bird alights. The feathers of the underside of the body are usually yellowish-white and the tops of the wings are a light chestnut-brown. It does not seem to shun one's presence, but will run along the side of the road, a short distance ahead, occasionally stopping for observation.

The Vesper Sparrow builds its nest on the ground without reference to any special plant protection except that of grass and other low herbage. The eggs are usually four in number, the general color of which is light gray marked, in a variable manner, by dull reddish-brown spots or blotches.

When frightened from her nest the mother-bird will endeavor to attract the attention of the intruder by slowly flying away and occasionally feigning injury by falling.

Mr. John Burroughs, in his little book, "Wake Robin," writes in an admirable manner of the song and habits of this little bird. He says: "Have you heard the song of the Field-Sparrow? If you have lived in a pastoral country, with broad upland pastures, you could hardly have missed him. Wilson, I believe, calls him the Grass-Finch, and was evidently unacquainted with his powers of song. The two white lateral quills of his tail, and his habit of running and skulking a few yards in advance of you as you walk through the fields, are sufficient to identify him. Not in meadows or orchards, but in high, breezy pasture grounds, will you look for him. His song is most noticeable after sundown, when other birds are silent, for which reason he has been aptly called the Vesper Sparrow. The farmer following his team from the field at dusk catches his sweetest strain. His song is not so brisk and varied as that of the Song-Sparrow, being softer and wilder, sweeter and more plaintive. Add the best parts of the lay of the latter to the sweet vibrating chant of the Wood Sparrow (Spizella pusilla), and you have the evening hymn of the Vesper-bird – the poet of the plain unadorned pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, uplying fields, where the cattle and sheep are grazing, and sit down on one of the warm, clean stones, and listen to this song. On every side, near and remote, from out the short grass which the herds are cropping, the strain rises. Two or three long, silver notes of rest and peace, ending in some subdued trills or quavers, constitute each separate song. Often you will catch only one or two of the bars, the breeze having blown the minor part away. Such unambitious, unconscious melody! It is one of the most characteristic sounds in Nature. The grass, the stones, the stubble, the furrow, the quiet herds, and the warm twilight among the hills, are all subtly expressed in this song; this is what they are at least capable of."

THE WORSHIP OF NATURE

The ocean looketh up to heaven
As 'twere a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given
In ceaseless worshiping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand,
As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea!

They pour the glittering treasures out
Which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about
The watching hills of earth.

The green earth sends its incense up
From every mountain-shrine,
From every flower and dewy cup
That greeteth the sunshine.

The mists are lifted from the rills,
Like the white wing of prayer:
They lean above the ancient hills
As doing homage there.

The forest-tops are lowly cast
O'er breezy hill and glen,
As if a prayerful spirit pass'd
On nature as on men.

The clouds weep o'er the fallen world,
E'en as repentant love;
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl'd,
They fade in light above.

The sky is as a temple's arch,
The blue and wavy air
Is glorious with the spirit-march