Ohio Arbor Day 1913: Arbor and Bird Day Manual Part 13

The Cardinal is too beautiful and valuable a bird to be confined within the narrow limits of a cage, where its splendid spirit is soon broken by its unavailing attempts to escape. Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller, in one of her charming pictures of bird life, says of a captive Cardinal, that, "He is a cynic, morose and crusty." Such a character cannot be attributed to the Cardinal when it is at liberty. Its wild, free song, its restless activity and its boldness are the ant.i.thesis of a depressed cage captive. Even when it receives the best care from its human jailer it is still a prisoner confined in a s.p.a.ce so small that it never has an opportunity to stretch its wings in flight, nor can it ever bathe in the bright suns.h.i.+ne or view the blue skies above it. The whispering of the winds through the sylvan shades is lost to the captive forever. Is it strange that the nature of this wild free spirit changes?

The writer has seen many hundreds of these beautiful birds in cages ready to be s.h.i.+pped, each one doomed to a short existence, a prisoner and an exile. Fortunately, this condition is now changed; and, had the National a.s.sociation accomplished no other good, the stopping of the cage-bird traffic would be a sufficient reason for its organization.

In the South, where the Cardinal is one of the most abundant birds, it is a special favorite, rivaling the Mockingbird in the affections of the people. It is commonly found in the towns as well as the rural districts. The female bird builds the nest, which is loosely constructed of leaves, bark, twigs, shreds of grape-vine, and is lined with dry gra.s.ses. The nest is placed in bushes or vines from eight to ten feet from the ground. Three or four white eggs, speckled with brown, are laid, and it is probable that in the South two broods are raised each season. The home life of Cardinals is a pattern of domestic felicity, so true are the s.e.xes to each other. Even in winter they seem to be paired, for a male and a female are always seen together.

However, during the season of incubation the tender solicitude of the male for his mate is best shown. In fact, his extreme anxiety that the home and its inmates should not be discovered excites him so much that he actually leads the visitor to the nest in the attempt to mislead.

The song of the male Cardinal is loud and clear, with a melodious ring, "What cheer! What cheer! What cheer!" winding up with a peculiar long-drawn out e-e-e. Contrary to the usual custom in bird families, the female Cardinal is an excellent singer, although her notes are in an entirely different key from those of her gifted mate, being lower and to some ears more sweet and musical.

Audubon's "American Ornithological Biography" is so rare at the present day, being found only in the largest libraries, and is consequently so inaccessible to the ordinary reader, that his description of the song of the Cardinal is quoted in full.

"Its song is at first loud and clear, resembling the finest sounds produced by the flageolet, and gradually descends into more marked and continued cadences, until it dies away in the air around. During the love season the song is emitted with increased emphasis by this proud musician, who, as if aware of his powers, swells his throat, spreads his rosy tail, droops his wings, and leans alternately to the right and left, as if on the eve of expiring with delight at the delicious sounds of his own voice. Again and again are those melodies repeated, the bird resting only at intervals to breathe. They may be heard from long before the sun gilds the eastern horizon, to the period when the blazing orb pours down its noonday floods of heat and light, driving the birds to the coverts to seek repose for a while. Nature again invigorated, the musician recommences his song, when, as if he had never strained his throat before, he makes the whole neighborhood resound, nor ceases until the shades of evening close around him. Day after day the song of the Red-bird beguiles the weariness of his mate as she a.s.siduously warmed her eggs; and at times she also a.s.sists with the modesty of her gentler s.e.x. Few individuals of our own race refuse their homage and admiration to the sweet songster. How pleasing is it, when, by a clouded sky, the woods are rendered so dark that, were it not for an occasional glimpse of clearer light falling between the trees, you might imagine night at hand, while you are yet far distant from your home, how pleasing to have your ear suddenly saluted by the well-known notes of this favorite bird, a.s.suring you of peace around, and of the full hour that still remains for you to pursue your walk in security! How often have I enjoyed this pleasure and how often, in due humbleness of hope, do I trust that I may enjoy it again."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SCHOOL GROUND WORTH MANY TIMES WHAT IT COSTS.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BIRD HOUSES.]

In addition to its great esthetic value of song and plumage, the Cardinal has another important character which should endear it to the husbandman. Its food is various, consisting of wild fruits such as grapes, berries, mulberries, cedar berries, seeds of gra.s.ses and of many species of weeds, also large numbers of adult beetles, gra.s.shoppers, crickets, flies, ants and their larvae; it is especially fond of rose-bugs. The Cardinal is from every point of view a bird of great interest and value, and any person who makes its intimate acquaintance will form a life-long friends.h.i.+p.

--_Reprinted from Bird-lore._

THE HERMIT THRUSH.

While walking through a lonely wood I heard a lovely voice: A voice so fresh and true and good It made my heart rejoice.

It sounded like a Sunday bell, Rung softly in a town, Or like a stream, that in a dell Forever trickles down.

It seemed to me a voice of love, That always had loved me, So softly it rang out above-- So wild and wanderingly.

O Voice, were you a golden dove, Or just a plain gray bird?

O Voice, you are my wandering love, Lost, yet forever heard.

--_Arvia Mackaye, 9 years old._

MY LITTLE BO-PEEP.

My little Bo-Peep does not cry for lost sheep-- O no! She is sobbing for bread; Her hands are so tired, so weary her feet, That she sighs, "I wish I were dead."

My little Bo-Peep does not wander away O'er meadows so gra.s.sy and green; 'Mid the factory din, face wan, white and thin, My little Bo-Peep can be seen.

My little Bo-Peep does not dream of white sheep-- Her day's work reaches into the night; On her pallet of straw, a few hours of rest-- For her task she is up with the light.

O let's find a day for my Bo-Peep to play-- Let's give her a breath of fresh air; Somehow we'll feel better when giving our thanks To G.o.d for our blessings in prayer.

Marion, Ohio.

--_Isabella Virginia Freeland._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE OAK TREE.

Long ago in changeful autumn, When the leaves are turning brown, From a tall oak's topmost branches Fell a little acorn down.

And it tumbled by the pathway, And a chance foot trod it deep In the ground, where all the winter In its sh.e.l.l it lay asleep.

With the white snow lying over, And the frost to hold it fast, Till there came the mild spring weather, When it burst its sh.e.l.l at last.

Many years kind Nature nursed it, Summers hot and winters long; Down the sun looked bright upon it, While it grew up tall and strong.

Now it stands up like a giant, Casting shadows broad and high, With huge trunk and leafy branches Spreading up into the sky.

Child, when haply you are resting, 'Neath the great oak's monster shade, Think how little was the acorn Whence that mighty tree was made.

Think how simple things and lowly Have a part in Nature's plan; How the great have small beginnings, And the child becomes a man.

Little efforts work great actions; Lessons in our childhood taught Mold the spirits to the temper Whereby n.o.blest deeds are wrought.

Cherish then the gifts of childhood, Use them gently, guard them well: For their future growth and greatness Who can measure, who can tell?

--_Colorado Arbor and Bird Day._

THE POPLAR FIELD.

The poplars are felled; farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew; And now in the gra.s.s behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me their shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazel affords him a screen from the heat; And the scene where his melody charmed me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

To change both my heart and my fancy employs; I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys; Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.