Birds and Nature, Vol. 10 No. 4 [November 1901]

TO THE MEADOW LARK

 
Up from dewy grass, while yet ’tis dark —
On trembling pinions, soars the meadow lark;
His brilliant vest like ruddy orange glows;
From slender throat, the liquid music flows.
Dear flute-like warbler of the wood and field,
Before him all his rivals bow and yield!
The ambient air, with fluttering wing he beats;
With song ecstatic, early morn he greets.
High, high he rises; and his peans float, —
While listening Nature revels in his note.
 

– J. Mayne Baltimore.

THE OUTRAGED BIRD

Once upon a time, nearly seventy years ago, a little boy in a New England town was given a gun on the condition that he must not shoot any birds except those that robbed the corn fields. In those days farmers thought that the crow, brown thrasher and crow-black-bird stole so much grain that it was right to kill them and therefore a bounty, large for that time, of twenty-five cents was offered for every crow destroyed. Nowadays we are wiser and this very boy who has grown into a tall, gray haired, tender-hearted man, says that there is not a bird living that is not more of a blessing than a curse.

But to go on with my story. The little gunner went out one day to see what he could hit with his new gun. About a quarter of a mile from the house he spied a little bird in a tree on the edge of the woods. He took aim and fired. He did not kill the bird, did not even seriously wound it, only injured one of its wings. The bird dropped down at his feet and began chirping and scolding as if to demand an explanation.

The boy tried to get away but every time he moved aside the poor little outraged creature hopped in his path, never ceasing his vehement, indignant protest against the unwarrantable deed.

Finally the conscience-smitten boy, seeing that there was no escape for him and pitying the wounded condition of the bird, killed it outright, carrying away in his throat a great lump and in his heart a sharp pain that will never die out. Although he is now over eighty years of age he says that he would gladly give all the money he owns if he could undo that one thoughtless act.

When a bird can say so plainly that his life is his own and no one has a right to wantonly take it from him, what must have been the thought of that bird’s loving Creator, without whose knowledge and pity not even a sparrow falls to the ground!

Fannie Skelton Bissell.

NICODEMUS

Nicodemus was a pet blackbird. A sleet storm broke the bough on which the nest was built, and all the birds, save one, were killed in the fall. This one, Nicodemus, was placed in an old hat lined with wool, and kept near the fire until he was ready to fly about the room. He was an apt scholar, and soon knew his name, responding readily to every call. When the weather became warm he was allowed the freedom of the yard. Whenever his mistress saw a stray cat about she would go out on the porch to his cage, strike upon it, and call: “Nicodemus!” “Nicodemus!” whereupon the bird would fly into his cage for safety.

One day an aged gentleman called at the house. Nicodemus came into the parlor. At first he nestled upon his mistress’ shoulder, but his curiosity seemed much excited, and he soon flew to the old gentleman, alighted upon his bald head, when he began a vigorous scratching.

“For shame, Nicodemus! Come here at once,” cried the lady. He obeyed, but with a really abashed look.

Belle Paxson Drury.

A WEED PICTURE

To one who cares little for natural objects a bit of bottom land in autumn has few attractions, but to the botanist of experience or to a student of nature, from late July till the first frost comes, such a place is a continuous delight.

Perhaps you have seen this very picture. If so, have you studied its details?

A half acre of swamp, which in the springtime presented a dainty background of yellowish green willows and a foreground of green pasture dotted with dandelions and blue violets, has now transformed itself into a Persian effect of gorgeous color. Blue, pink, brown, green, red, purple, white, lavender, yellow, orange brown, and these through tintings and shadings that a modern Titian would never produce, even should he wear his brush to a stub, for the very simple reason that he couldn’t.

Plant life has here run riot and because of their dense growth the varieties are almost unaccountable.

Among the showier members of this very mixed growing effect, in color, brightest is purple iron weed and the helianthus.

But joe-pye weed tosses up his woolly pink head and flauntingly asks, “With that big yellow and black butterfly on my crown am I not more showy than they?” He has to be gently reminded that all his brothers are not wearing butterflies, which fact leads to a negative decision – still he is a beauty.

Then the corners festooned with clematis, hop bindweed and even dodder give to the raw edges a finish that cannot be excelled. Little dots of cardinal, here and there, show a belated cardinal flower and bitter sweet just ready to open hangs over the elder bushes, which form one edge of this picture.

The paler asters in eight or ten shadings, with the exception of the New England variety, begin to fill in the neutral patches, and golden rod is waving yellow plumes here and there. It is a beautiful color, but looks rather pale compared to the later sunflowers. Bone-set and yarrow and spurge each have a place, and great bunches of bedstraw fill up the crannies till not a square inch of earth is visible.

Some of the plants which help complete the perfect whole but which are less numerous and showy, are the tall dead stalks of angelica, parsnips in seed, milkweed, ragweed, mallow, nettles, vervain, blackberry, and wild rose with scarlet bolls; and this flanked on another side by the densest of willow and thorn.

Some of the finishing touches to this composite picture are the huge green dragon flies, the brilliantly colored butterflies and moths, and the catbirds and bird kindred which live in the heart of all this magnificence, but manage to keep well on the wing, especially when the sun shines bright and the air is soft and cool, and on days when a deep blue sky with great white clouds is the canopy.

Mary Noland.

 
The air is full of hints of grief,
Strange voices touched with pain —
The pathos of the falling leaf
And rustling of the rain.
 

– Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “Landscape.”

THE STRIPED HYENA
(Hyaena striata.)

The first Hyena in which I became interested lived in a zoölogical garden connected with a well known park.

I cannot claim that she was a beautiful creature for, if all must be told, she had the same ugly appearance of every other Striped Hyena. And yet her very ugliness made her somewhat interesting. She would look at me from her slanting eyes with an unsteady, uncanny expression. Her thick head and neck, her stout body, her shorter hind legs and longer front ones, causing her back to slope from shoulder to tail like a small toboggan slide, gave her an extremely awkward look, I admit; and then she had but four toes on each foot as is the case of all members of the hyena family. Her body was covered with rather long coarse hair of a yellowish gray color striped with black, her tail was short and bushy, and along the spine the hair grew long and stiff, making a sort of mane. Her ears were large, erect and devoid of hair, and her voice – well! it was something to startle the uninitiated. There were shrieks, murmurs and growls, sometimes hoarse and sometimes shrill, and yet I am told that it is mild and musical compared with the ghostly laughter of her cousin, the spotted hyena, and yet her voice is not pleasant to hear.

In spite of all these characteristics I was interested in Mrs. Hyena, perhaps on account of her unhappy lot, for she was not loved as were other animals around her. There was Duchess, the elephant, Major, the lion, and other favored ones whose personality was recognized, as they all had names and they received much attention. But Mrs. Hyena had no name, for the keeper declared that she was such a miserably cowardly mean creature that she was not worth one. She was only the “Hyena” to him, though he had cared for her for many years and sometimes had been obliged to put her in the hospital because her mate had mauled and punished her so badly.

And was she not to be pitied because she was so far from those of her own kind? for hyenas are not native in the new hemisphere and to seek her own, she would be obliged to cross the ocean to the coast of Africa. There she would find many of her own kind and should she cross into southern Asia as far as the Bay of Bengal she would still find many friends, while in central and southern Africa her cousin, the spotted hyena, would be plentiful, and at the south, along the western coast, her other cousin, the brown hyena, would be found.

In spite of the large area in which the various members of the family may be found a traveler may be in the country some time without seeing one, for they are nocturnal in their habits, hiding by day in their haunts among the rock-cut tombs in Syria and Palestine or among holes and caves in the rocks in other countries, sometime lurking among ruins, but more often inhabiting a den made by digging a hole in the side of a cliff or ravine.

But at night it is heard, if not seen, as it goes forth to seek its food. It prefers food already killed and only attacks a living animal when driven to it by lack of carrion. Its powerful jaws enable it to crush the bones which other animals leave. As the cleaning up of the world must be done in some way for the good of all, can we not believe that the hyena has an important mission to fulfil in spite of the strong feeling against it? It takes what other animals leave and is the vulture among beasts.

There seems to be little known about the brown hyena. It is found in a comparatively small region and is in some respects like the spotted hyena though it is smaller, being about the size of the Striped Hyena.

The spotted hyena is the largest of the three, the most ferocious, stupid and cruel. Owing to the legs being nearly of the same length it is less awkward than the striped species.

There are no animals about whom there are so many superstitions. Even Pliny, writing in the first century, tells us that it “imitates the human voice among the stalls of the shepherds; and while there learns the name of some one of them, and then calls him away and devours him.” It is also said that coming in contact with its shadow, dogs will lose their voice, and that, by certain magical influence “it can render any animal immovable round which it has walked three times.” The Arabs “believe that people who partake of the brain of the hyena become insane, and the head of a hyena is always buried lest it should be used by wicked sorcerers for their diabolical charms.”

They also believe that the hyena “are sorcerers in disguise, who assume human shape by day and prowl around as hyenas by night, working destruction upon good people.”

The stories of the body snatching propensities of the Striped Hyena are much exaggerated. If this occurs at all it is when the body is very lightly covered with sand and when other food is lacking.

The dislike for the hyena seems to exist wherever the animal is found. In many parts of India, when killed, the body is treated with every mark of indignity and then burned.

And yet the striped species is capable of great attachment. Colonel Sykes states that “in certain districts in central India it is as susceptible of domestication as ordinary dogs.” And Dr. Brehm, who found every created animal interesting, once had two young hyenas for pets; but I will give the narration in his own words. “A few days after our first arrival in Khartoum we purchased two young hyenas for a price equal to twenty-five cents in American money. The animals were about the size of a half-grown terrier, clothed in a very soft, fine woolly fur of dark gray hue and they were very spiteful, notwithstanding they had enjoyed human society for some time. We put them in a stable and I visited them daily. At first they were addicted to vicious biting, but repeated sound blows overawed their resistance, and three months after the day of purchase I could play with them as I would with a dog, without having to fear any mischief on their part. Their affection for me increased every day and they were overjoyed when I visited them. When they were more than half grown they signified their pleasure in a very strange manner. As soon as I entered the room they rushed at me with a joyous howl, put their fore paws on my shoulder and sniffed my face.

“Later on I led them by a single string through the streets of Cairo, to the horror of all good citizens.

“They were so affectionate that they often paid me a call without being invited and it made a surprising as well as uncanny impression on strangers to see us at the tea table. Each of us had a hyena at his side and the animal sat on his haunches as quietly and sensibly as a well behaved dog who pleads for a few scraps at the table. The hyena did that also, and their gentle request consisted of a low but very hoarse cry. They expressed their gratitude either by the same sounds and actions they used in greeting me as above described, or by sniffing my hands.

“They were passionately fond of sugar, but also had a great liking for bread, especially if it was soaked in tea. Their usual food was Pariah dogs, which we shot for the purpose. My pets were on good terms with each other. If one were absent for any considerable length of time there was great joy when the two met again; in short, they proved to me quite conclusively that even hyenas are capable of warm attachment.”

John Ainslie.