Twilight And Dawn by Caroline Pridham

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Of all the happy living things I think none _seem_ so full of joy as the
birds. Their very flight has such buoyancy and gladness in it, and their
songs seem always to be telling of happiness. Did you ever watch the
sea-gulls flashing and darting about, and then floating quietly above your
head, or the swallows in their rapid flight, wheeling round and round, and
think how beautiful a thing it is just to see them on the wing, fluttering,
soaring, floating in that ocean of air which is their home?

[Illustration: A "WINGED FOWL."]

Birds are marked off from all other vertebrate animals by the possession
of feathers. How wonderful is the wing of a bird; spread wide when it is
flying, and folded up like a fan when it is resting, perched upon the
branch of a tree, swaying to and fro in the sunshine. But how sad it is to
see such a wild, free creature as a lark, or even a thrush or a linnet,
pent up in a narrow cage, where there is no room to stretch those wings
so strong and light, no swinging branch to rest upon; but all the little
prisoner can do is to hop from one perch to another, and beat its wings
against the "wiry grate" which shuts it in so hopelessly. I suppose we
don't think so much of captive birds as of other captives, because a bird
in a cage is such a common sight, and when we hear it sing so sweetly it
seems as if it could not be _un_happy; but when we say "as happy as a
bird," I doubt if it is of birds in cages we are thinking after all.

The cage may be of gilded wires, or of willow twigs; but both are alike
prison bars which keep the birdie back from the liberty to which it was
born. At least this was what an English sailor felt when he met a man
carrying a cage full of birds. He had been a prisoner himself, away
in France, and had many a time longed to be free; and now when he saw
the birds in their gilded prison, he was not happy until he had made a
bargain and got them, cage and all, to do what he liked with. What was
the astonishment of the man from whom he had bought them, when he saw the
sailor open the cage door and let them out, one by one, until all the
little prisoners were free!

As you have watched the birds in their flight, I daresay you have wondered
how they can keep themselves up in the air. Even the little wren has some
weight; much more the crows which make their nests in the topmost branches
of the trees. We say "as light as a feather"; yet the downiest feather has
some weight, and will find its way to the ground if not kept up by wind or
breath.

It is true that the "feathered fowl," as all kinds of birds are called
in the Bible, are very much heavier than the air in which they float and
swim, using their wings for oars, just as the fish use their fins. But
do you remember that little balloon inside the fish, which enables it to
rise through the water? A bird is almost a live balloon; as it flies, it
breathes air into every part of its body; this air becomes heated, and is
kept warm by the feathers; and as hot air becomes light, the bird is so
much lighter than the air which surrounds it, that it can easily rise
higher and higher, until, like the skylark, its little quivering body seems
almost lost in the far blue sky, and its "waterfall of song" alone shows
where it is.

[Illustration: "THE WHITE SEA-GULL, THE BOLD SEA-GULL, A JOYFUL BIRD IS
HE."]

The bones of a bird are very strong, but they are also very light; if you
look at the bones of a chicken, you will see that some of them are hollow;
when the bird was alive, those hollow places were all filled with air. Take
a dead bird and look at the quills at the roots of the feathers; and now
watch that swallow as it darts so rapidly hither and thither. The bird is
able to fill each tiny quill with air, so that its body becomes like a
balloon, and it rises high above the roofs of the houses; then, like the
fish, when it wishes to sink, it can breathe out all the air again, and so
constantly change its weight, and fly, now high, now low, faster than any
train can rush or ship sail.

There is a wonderful bird which sailors have seen a thousand miles from
land. It is called the Frigate-bird, and has never been known to rest on
the sea; it lives upon sea-creatures, but makes its nest on shore. Each of
its wings, if stretched out as when the bird is flying, measures more than
the height of a man; yet even such an enormous bird as this does not sink
down by its own weight, but flies mile after mile upon its strong wings,
every feather of which unites strength and lightness, never resting till
its airy voyage is over, and it finds its nest. It is said that when storms
sweep over the sea, this "ocean eagle" mounts upward until it has reached
the calm which lies above the storm, and so sails upon its untroubled way.

The feathers of birds are to them what its scales are to the fish, and
hair and wool to other animals--a protection. They are not only light and
strong, but warm, and by their means, as a bird soars into colder regions
of air, it is protected from the cold: while for aquatic birds there is a
special provision--by pressing with their beaks an oil-gland near the tail
they can waterproof their feathers! Now look again at your dead bird; you
will see that the wings and tail are formed of quills, while the surface
of the body is covered with short feathers--even the ear being protected
by a little tuft--and all the spaces between are filled with the softest,
warmest down. Could any creature be more beautifully equipped for its
journey through the fields of air?

Then this soft, warm, light dress is renewed once or twice a year,
generally so gradually that the change is imperceptible--but you may have
seen fowls and ducks straggling about the farmyard with half their feathers
gone--on the principle of being off with the old coat before they are on
with the new.

The eyes of both fishes and birds have an extra lid formed of very thin
skin, which can be moved quickly over the surface of the eye, serving to
cleanse it and protect it.

There are three thousand distinct kinds of birds, but it would be
impossible to learn about so many, they have been divided into five
groups--birds of Prey, Perching birds, Scratching birds, Wading birds, and
Swimming birds.

I must tell you that Chrissie and Sharley and May had learnt something
about these groups from a book of which they are very fond; it is called
_The First Year of Scientific Knowledge_, and there are pictures in it of
the different birds, beasts, and fishes which are mentioned.

Now, let us think of some of the birds in the first group. Birds of Prey
are those which hunt for their food, and eat the flesh of other birds,
or of small animals, such as rats, and mice, or of snakes. All these
birds--vultures, hawks, owls--have sharp hooked beaks, and long claws, also
very sharp; they fly quickly, and soon overtake their prey, whether they
hunt by day or by night.

The two birds of prey most often mentioned in the Bible are the Raven and
the Eagle. You remember how, when the terrible flood, which God sent upon
the earth because of the violence and wickedness of men, was over, and the
Ark rested upon the mountains of Ararat, Noah opened the window of the Ark,
and sent forth a raven. This bird of prey could find food for itself, as it
"went forth to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off the earth,"
and it never came back to Noah; unlike the gentle dove who found no rest
for the sole of her foot, but twice returned to her refuge, the second time
carrying in her bill the fresh green "olive-leaf plucked off," which showed
Noah that the waters were indeed gone. How wonderfully God, who feeds the
young ravens which cry to Him, used those birds of prey to bring to Elijah
"bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening,"
all the time that they were commanded to feed the prophet in his lonely
hiding-place by the brook Cherith. The Raven is the patriarch among birds;
it lives to be a hundred years old--beyond the age of man!

The Eagle, the king of birds, is a large and beautiful creature with very
strong wings, and has its home in rocky places, difficult to reach. Like
all birds who live upon prey which they catch alive, it is bold and fierce.
There is a verse which speaks of it as "hasting to the prey." Eagles seize
rabbits, hares, lambs, and young deer, and have even been known to attack
a pony. They often carry off ducks and wild birds to their rocky eyrie, as
food for their young ones. The Sea-eagle lives upon fish which swim near
the surface of the waves; it sees them afar off with its keen eyes, and
darts down upon them.

[Illustration: "THE OWL WILL BUILD BESIDE A BARN, OR IN A HOLLOW TREE."]

Most likely you remember the story of the Highland mother, whose baby was
carried away by a great eagle, and how she climbed the steep rocks until
she reached its nest, and rescued her child. Her strong mother-love took
away all fear of the dreadful height which even a young sailor feared to
climb, and of the wild birds who flapped their great wings at her, and then
fled screaming away; but I need not say more of this Scotch story, which
you may have so often heard, so I will tell you of what happened once in
Switzerland to a little girl about five years old.

She was playing near her mountain home, when a great eagle saw her, darted
down, and was just catching her curly little head in its strong talons,
when a man with a gun, not far off, fired. He had been watching the eagle,
but did not see the child, or he would have been afraid to fire, lest he
should kill her. When he came to pick up the dead bird he found the little
girl beside it. She had been saved by the shot which killed the fierce
eagle; but I have heard that when she had grown to be a woman the scars of
deep wounds made by its talons upon her head could still be seen. No doubt
she often heard the story of how God had saved her from a double danger,
and by-and-by she felt that she must ask Him to make her His servant all
her life long, God heard her prayer, and allowed her to go as a missionary
to a far-off land.

There is a beautiful verse in the thirty-second chapter of Deuteronomy, in
which God compares His care for His people to the way in which the eagle
cares for its young ones, and teaches them to fly.

I do not know whether you know many of the second group, the
Perching-birds; but I am sure you have seen parrots, and heard them too.
These clever, gay birds must look beautiful indeed in their forest home
in tropical countries, as they flash and gleam in the sunshine; but their
screaming--you know what it is like if you have ever paid them a visit
at the Zoo--takes something away from their charm. They have been called
"feathered monkeys," because they are so well able to climb trees. Look at
their dark grey toes, and you will see that two of them are turned forward
and two backward, so as to enable them to take a firm hold upon branch or
twig. They have such hard bills because they live upon nuts and seeds. You
have seen how Polly holds a nut, and shells it with the sharp point of her
beak, keeping her eye on you all the time.

[Illustration: "FEATHERED MONKEYS."]

Perhaps you would not think it, but parrots are affectionate birds. A story
is told of one that was very fond of a servant girl in the house where he
lived. When she had a bad finger he would not leave her, and groaned as he
sat beside her bed, as if he were himself in pain; and when she recovered
he became quite cheerful again. But I think the account which Dr. Franklin
gives of the kindness of a parrot to its mate is more interesting still.

He says he knew two parrots who had lived together four years, when the
female became so ill from gout that she could not get down from her perch
to reach her food. For four months the male bird went on carrying the
food to her in his beak; and when at last she fell from her perch through
weakness, he kept constantly near her, trying to raise her, and showing the
greatest care for her.

When she could no longer eat, he tried in vain to open her beak, so as to
give her food, uttering sad cries; or stood with his eyes fixed on her,
mournful and silent. From the time of her death he pined away, and died a
few weeks afterwards.

Such stories are very beautiful, because they show, as a lover of animals
once said, "what kindness God has put into the heart of His creatures."

Of the Scratching birds, there is none which you know so well as the hen;
indeed this group is often called by a Latin name, which means that all
belonging to it are of the hen tribe.

Our fowls come from India, but they have been at home in this country for
a long time, and are very common in Palestine. If you have ever seen a
mother-hen taking care of her chicks, calling them to her when she fears
any danger for them, and hiding them beneath her soft warm wings, you will
better understand the words which the Lord Jesus spoke when He beheld
Jerusalem, the beloved city, and wept over it. Think of these words when
you hear the hen call her chickens, and see them all come running to her,
and hiding away under her wings, to be kept in safety from some foe which
_you_ cannot see, but which _she_ knows to be lurking near, or perhaps
hovering above, ready to pounce upon a stray chick and carry it off.

[Illustration: HARK!]

You may often see the Turkeys, Pheasants, Peacocks, and other birds of
this Hen-family, scratching up the gravel; and you know, I daresay, that
grain-eating birds have a little mill inside them called a gizzard, which
grinds their food for them. Birds of prey have no gizzards, because their
food does not need to be ground before they can digest it.

The Wading-birds have long bare legs because they live in marshy places,
and long necks and beaks to catch the small animals upon which they feed.
Snipe and Woodcock have long tapering bills which are alive to the very
points with what are called nerves, so that they may be able to feel for
worms as they dig for them in the soft sand and mud, where they cannot see
them. Two birds of this family, the Stork and the Crane, are mentioned in
the Bible in connection with a wonderful power which God has given to some
birds, by means of which they know when the time is come for them to leave
a country where their food is over and gone, and where the winter is too
cold for them, for a warmer land, where they may find food convenient for
them, and from which they will know right well how to come back again when
spring returns, with its food and foliage. Such birds are called birds of
passage; the Swallow is the one you know best, and it also is mentioned in
the verse in which so many migratory birds are grouped together, "The stork
in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle and the crane and
the swallow observe the time of their coming." It is God who bids these
birds "observe the time of their coming": no one knows why they go south
for the winter, nor how they can tell their way over land and sea, and come
back again to the very place from whence they took their flight.

The Stork must be to the People in Palestine just such a "guest of summer"
as the swallow is with us, for it regularly arrives about the end of March,
and flies away in the autumn.

Ships make their long voyages to the other end of the world and back with
wonderful regularity, but though the helmsman has a compass to guide him,
they do not arrive in port so exactly at their appointed time as the little
swallow, who has only the sense which we call "instinct" to guide it; only
its own light, strong wings to carry it on its swift way, flying a mile a
minute--for even to its little bones and feathers, every part of its body
is filled with air, rendering it the most buoyant of winged creatures.

I met with a beautiful passage about migratory birds in a book I was
reading lately. The writer says, "Were they planets revolving round the
sun, their arrival could hardly be more accurately calculated by the
astronomer.... The little birds are guided in their flight through the
waste, lone wilderness of the sky, and over wide seas, without a compass
or a map or a path, by His counsel and will. And they obey that guidance
without the slightest inclination to swerve from it or seek a way of their
own....

"Migratory birds passing from Africa to Europe over the sea, often alight
on ships bound in that direction. Not unfrequently ship-captains tell us
that they have seen birds of prey, hawks, and owls, appearing on the masts
on such occasions in the company of swallows, goldfinches, and chaffinches;
and yet the cruel birds never touched the innocent ones. The migratory
instinct seems to subdue for a season the predatory instinct."

I want to tell you more about swallows, and especially a true but sad
story of a tame one; but first we will speak of one more group, the
Swimming-birds. You may have often noticed a duck's foot, and seen how the
"web," or skin between the toes, can be folded up like a fan; or spread
out, when the bird is swimming; Geese, Swans, Sea-gulls, the beautiful
great Albatross, all these and a great many more of this family; they have
a kind of water-wing, which cleaves its way through the streams, and most
of them can also fly, although they are heavy birds. I have seen a flock of
grey geese sailing on the sea, and the same flock at sunset coming home by
a quicker way, looking like dark specks against the evening sky; but it is
only wild geese that will fly so far.

Now then, we have had five groups. Let us count them. Birds of Prey,
Perching birds, Scratching birds, Wading birds, Swimming birds, and I think
I must add one more; for the Passerine, or Sparrow group includes most
of the small birds, such as blackbirds and thrushes, nightingales and
swallows, larks and magpies, linnets and humming-birds, and I cannot tell
how many more "feathered fowl."

[Illustration: FISHING.]

Our story of a tame swallow must follow. There are four kinds of
swallows--the Swift, the Chimney-swallow, the House-martin, and the
Sand-martin; they all look much alike when on the wing, but there are
differences, especially in the sort of nest which they build. The
house-martin makes its nest of mud, lined with grass or feathers, against
the side of a house, and there lays its beautiful white eggs.

A pair of martins built their cosy nest one summer beneath the eaves of
a house in the country, just under the window of one of the bedrooms.
Swallows rear two broods every season, and one brood was reared
successfully in this nest, but the second was not so fortunate. Late in
September--and you know the swallows are off to Africa in October--a
servant found a poor little shivering bird on the steps. It was plain that
it had tried to fly from the nest, with its brothers and sisters, but had
not been strong enough. The poor birdie seemed almost dead when it was
picked up, but in the family there was a lady who loved "all things both
great and small," and she fed the tiny martin, and made a bed for it in a
work basket lined with wool. She was delighted when she saw it tuck its
head under its wing, puff out its little feathers, and settle itself to
sleep in her basket as cosily as if it had been at home in its parents'
nest, and she began to think that she might be able to keep this little
deserted bird in an English home while all the other swallows had gone over
sea for the winter.

I need not tell you that the little martin gave plenty of trouble and
anxiety in his rearing; but at last he got on so well that he was allowed
to go out in the garden, and sit upon his mistress's hand, while he feasted
on any spider, gnat, or fly which was caught for him. It must have been a
pretty sight to see the fondness of this pet bird for the kind friend who
had saved its life. He could not bear to be away from her, but would sit on
her shoulder while she was at work or writing, and sometimes nestle under
her chin; tiresome enough in his tricksy ways of pulling at her thread and
snatching at her paper, but still always borne with, because he was such a
pet.

One day when his mistress was going out for a long walk, and intended to
leave her bird behind, he insisted on going too. And go he did, perched
upon her finger; but on the way he became so clamorously hungry that she
had to take him into a butcher's shop, and get some meat for his dinner.

She often wondered how long he would stay with her. The swallows had not
yet gone; and sometimes he would look up and see crowds of them skimming
through the air, and darting about overhead. He would watch them, even call
to them and answer their wild cry, then sweep round the room in imitation
of their rapid flight; but always came back again to his old place on her
shoulder. At last, while there were still flies to be caught; be became
so grown up as to begin to catch them for himself, though he had had no
parent-bird to teach him; but still he was a tame swallow, liking to have
his head stroked, and enjoying his morning bath like any canary.

After all the wild swallows were off to Africa, the little tame martin
began to feel the cold. This wax what his mistress had been afraid would
happen, and she tried in every way to keep her pet warm. She wrapped him in
fur, and used to pack him warmly in a little box and take him to bed with
her; but she was soon awakened by his creeping out of the box, and nestling
under her chin. At sunrise he would career round and round her room, then
fly downstairs and begin to make himself very much at home at breakfast,
pecking at the butter, and standing upon the edges of the cups; but never
so busy as not to dart to his mistress at the sound of her voice. Indeed he
was so unhappy when away from her that she used even to take him railway
journeys, because she did not like to leave him behind. This way of
travelling, however, did not suit the little passenger-bird, for he was
always in a fright, and glad to get home again. But many a country walk he
took with his mistress, perched on her shoulder or her wrist, much to the
wonder of the country-folk, who used to crowd around and ask questions
about such a rare bird as a tame swallow. Sometimes they would shake their
heads and say, "Well, well; did ever anyone see the like? I'll never shoot
another swallow."

As the winter came, all these pleasant walks were over. The poor birdie
began to droop; it was impossible to keep him warm, though he often crept
under the parlour fender, to get as close to the fire as possible; and in
spite of all that loving care could do, before the end of the year his
bright little life had been lived, and all his clever tricks, and airy
flights and loving ways were over.

The lady missed her pet sorely; and next summer when the low twittering of
the swallows was heard again, as they came back to their old home to build
once more, she watched them at their work with many a thought of her lost
birdie.

This is why I said it was a sad story; but we must not forget that the lady
really saved the life of the poor bird, when it had fallen from the nest.
If she had stolen it away from its parents, and tried to keep it in our
cold country when they had gone to Africa, she would have blamed herself,
and felt that she had been the cause of its death. It is cruel to take
young birds from the nest, for it is a great grief to the parent-birds to
lose their little ones; and it is so difficult to rear them, that they are
almost sure to die, in spite of the great care you take of them. Some boys
are fond of collecting birds' eggs, and know a great deal about them. A
collection of eggs--of all sizes and of all shades of colour, from pure
white to bluish green, or speckled grey--is a pretty sight; but if you go
nesting, be careful not to spoil the beautiful little cradle which the
parent-birds have made with such labour and care. And if you take one, or
even two, eggs for your collection, be sure not to touch the others, or
it may be that the birds will desert them. I well remember the delight of
finding a robin's nest when I was a child; but my brothers and I were not
allowed to touch the eggs. We were told they did not belong to us, and this
certainly was nothing more than the truth.

It is beautiful to see God's care for all His creatures, especially the
helpless ones. When He was teaching His chosen people in the olden times
about things which are pleasing or displeasing to Him, He told them a good
deal about how they were to treat the animals. You would hardly expect to
find anything in the Bible about bird-nesting; and perhaps you might think
that if a boy found a nest with eggs or young birds in it, he might take
the young ones or the eggs, and if he chose he might take the mother-bird
also.

But God said--

"Thou shalt not take the dam with the young: thou shalt in anywise let the
dam go, and mayest take the young to thee, that it may be well with thee."

He who cares for the sparrow would not allow the mother-bird to suffer by
perhaps seeing her little ones die while she was shut up in a cage, too
fluttered and frightened to help them; and He would teach us to be merciful
and tender-hearted towards those who cannot defend themselves or plead
their own cause, "even as our Father in heaven is merciful."

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