  LYNDS JONES. WHAT DO we mean by a "natural right?" Are there rights of any other sort in the world? Yes, a legal right may not always be a natural right. On the contrary, a legal right is sometimes a natural wrong. In many states it has, at one time or another, been legally right to slaughter the hawks and owls, which are far more useful than harmful. The birds had a clear title to the natural right of life, which the laws denied until the lawmakers discovered their mistake. Long ago our forefathers declared that all men possess the natural right to "Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." Certainly no one will deny that any creature has a right to life so long as in its life it contributes more toward the welfare of the world than in its death. It also has a right to liberty so long as it can do more good at liberty than as a captive. Granting that the lower animals are capable of happiness, no one would think of denying them the right of the pursuit of their happiness except for some higher good. Without discussing these general principles further let us see how they will apply to the birds as natural rights. Has the bird a right to live? According to our first principle he has if he is more useful alive than dead. What, then, does he do that can be called really useful? If he is a diver, a gull, a tern, or any one of the really seafaring birds, he eats fish, water insects, offal and whatever small animals resort to the water, doing little or no harm and a great deal of good. Near large sea-coast cities the gulls dispose of the garbage which is taken out a distance from shore and dumped into the ocean, and so prevent its drifting back upon the beach. If he is a duck, goose or swan, he feeds upon fish, the plants which grow in the water and at its margins, upon the insects and worms which inhabit the ooze at the bottom, and sometimes upon grains in the fields and about the marshes. He does a great deal of good and rarely any harm. If he is a heron, crane, rail, coot or gallinule, his food is frogs, snakes, insects and worms, and so he is useful. If he is a snipe, sandpiper or plover, he destroys large numbers of insects, worms and such small animals as are to be found in wet places, and is always a very useful help to the farmer. If he is a bird of the fowl kind or a pigeon, he eats grain mostly, but also many insects. He may sometimes do a little damage to the ripe grain, but he usually gathers that which has gone to waste. If he is a vulture, hawk, eagle or owl, he destroys great quantities of animals that are harmful to man, not often visiting the poultry yard, and so does great good. If he is a kingfisher he eats small fish mostly, and so is not harmful. Among all the remaining birds there are but a few which do not feed almost entirely upon insects or other creatures which menace vegetation. Even these seed eaters feed the young upon insects and worms, and do good by destroying vast quantities of injurious plants. Those which eat ripe fruit pay for what they eat by scattering broadcast the seeds of the fruit. When there is no ripe fruit they eat insects and worms. The crows and blackbirds and bobolink are rather overly fond of green corn and ripe grains in the fall of the year, but they pay for what they eat by destroying immense quantities of insects and worms in the spring. When the whole life of the bird is taken into account we cannot escape the fact that the bird has a natural right to life on account of the good he does.
How does the value of the bird's body used for food compare with the good the bird would do if allowed to live? Reckoned How does the value of the bird's skin as an ornament of dress or of the dwelling, or as a scientific specimen compare with its value as a living creature? As an ornament it may be a thing of beauty, or a hideous caricature. Even as a thing of beauty it could not be made more so than the living bird. No one will be willing to declare that the quill, or the wing, or the skin is necessary to the bonnet. Many of us honestly think that the bonnet would look far better without either. As a scientific specimen the skin will serve some purposes, some legitimate purposes, which the living bird will not. The living bird cannot be fully understood without a careful study of its structure any more than a living man can. Unfortunately, birds which die a natural death cannot be found while their bodies are fit to study, if found at all. But happily, the number of dead birds necessary for study is limited. Even for scientific purposes there is no possible excuse for indiscriminate slaughter. Collecting should be left to those and those only who know what is needed and are content with enough. In these days of large collections and advanced knowledge, it is the rare exception when the dead bird will be more useful than the living one. These exceptions do not affect the right of the bird to live. Boys who begin to study birds have a passion for making a collection of the eggs. Eggs are beautiful things, and they look well in a cabinet properly arranged. But all of the eggs which most boys would be likely to find are already well known, so that a study of the eggs in the nest and of the young birds will teach him far more that we really need to know about the birds. The greater good is not to make a collection of birds' eggs. What shall we say about the bird's right to liberty? Clearly the bird at liberty to perform the part which Nature intended for him can fully accomplish that part only when at liberty to go his own way. But it would be idle to declare that the caged bird is in nowise useful to the world. There are some things which can be learned about birds only from caged ones. If a bird be caged for the purpose of learning these things the very few that will be needed for this purpose will be fulfilling a high good, and if given their freedom again when the lessons have been learned the harm, if there be any, will be fully repaid. But here, again, the caged bird will be the rare exception and so does not affect the right of the average bird to liberty. We then have only to inquire whether the bird has a right to the pursuit of happiness. No one who has studied the living bird with anything like an appreciation of it will think of denying that birds are creatures of intense life, capable of strong feeling and keen enjoyment. They speak out their feelings in song and action. It is really their human attributes which makes them appeal so strongly to us. We know that they are capable of love and hate, of joy and sorrow, of pleasure and pain. In them we recognize the heroic attribute of martyrdom. In order, therefore, to determine what the attitude of the bird would likely be were his right to the pursuit of happiness denied, we have only to ask what our own attitude would be under the same circumstances. If our happiness should be threatened in this place we would certainly go where it would not be. The birds do the same. But we have already seen that the birds have a right to life and liberty on account of the services they render to the world. If we deny them the right of happiness they will not We are ready, then, to concede to the birds as natural rights what we long ago declared were the natural rights of mankind,—"Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." We might properly discuss the question, What do we owe to the birds? but that is a separate topic for a later time. From a lecture by Frank M. Chapman, April, 1900. HOW HAVE the various types of bird life come into existence? To understand this we must study the wings of the creature to learn its evolution from the early reptile-like type of bird. The most primitive use of the wing is as a hand, by which the bird may climb about. In contrast the albatross has the finest developed wings of any species which are fourteen feet across. The man-o'-war, however, is even a better example, perhaps, for although having a body no larger than a hen, it has wings which spread apart to a distance of seven or eight feet, enabling it to soar in the air for several days without touching the earth. By intertwining the outer feathers of the wings some birds can remain stationary in the air for hours at a time, not once moving a wing. The razor-billed hawk is the nearest living representative of the extinct great hawk, a bird which, having small wings, could not fly, and soon became extinct. The penguin, with its flippers, can fly only on the water, and has to waddle when on land. Certain grebes which find their food in lakes have also lost their power of flight. This is true of some pigeons, auks, parrots, grebes, ducks and other birds which have not found it necessary to obtain their food by flying. Wings are also used to express emotion. Many young birds, of which the oriole furnishes an example, cause their wings to quaver in supplication. Certain birds also make use of their wings as a musical organ, as is evinced in the whistling sound produced by the woodcock. Our nighthawk makes a booming sound with its wings by extending its outer quills as it dives earthward. A weapon is also found by some birds in their wings, the pigeon, hen and other of our common birds using their wings to strike with. The foot shares with the wing the duties of locomotion. Birds with highly developed wings have poor feet. The swallow, an aerial bird, is an example. The chimney-swift has a tiny foot, but enormously developed wings, and if placed on a flat surface is unable even to support itself. All aquatic and terrestrial birds have excellently developed feet. The loon is so thoroughly aquatic that it cannot walk on land without the support of its breast and wings. The sea snipe has a foot especially fitted for swimming, and can be found a few hundred miles off the Atlantic coast in flocks of hundreds of thousands, perfectly at home in the water. The foot is generally related to the length of the neck. The flamingo wades out into the water, and is able to duck its head and secure its food with the aid of its particularly constructed neck. In securing prey the foot also plays an important part. The great horned owl and the duck hawk have enormous grasping power in their claws. In our grouse The bill is the most important organ of the four we are discussing. It has the offices of the hand. There is an almost limitless variation in its shape, admirably adapted in each instance to its food requirements. The fish-eating duck grasps its prey with a saw bill. The pelican catches its fish by diving from the air, often from distances of forty feet, and catches its fish in a bill an inch and a half in width. As it throws its head out in diving, it widens the rim of its bill and catches the prey in its curious pouch. The flamingo catches, with its food, mud and sand, which it expels through a curious straining apparatus. The woodcock has the power of curving up the upper portion of its bill, giving it the grasping power of a finger, which greatly aids it in probing for worms. The woodpecker uses its bill as a chisel. In southern Arizona the Californian woodpeckers have used the poles of the Western Union Telegraph Company in which to store acorns, and in some instances have bored large holes entirely through the poles. In those woodpeckers which feed on bark we find the tongue brush-like to swab up the sap. Where woodpeckers chisel the tongue is horny. In prying off cones from trees the cross-bill finds its apparently malformed tongue most helpful. In humming birds there is a marked variation in the bill, enabling them to feed on different sorts of flowers. The hurabird of New Zealand has the most curious bill known. The male has one sort which he uses in excavating, after which the female can insert her bill and secure the food which the male has thus obtained. After a study of the various forms of bird structure and habits has been made, it still remains a problem whether their structure is the result of natural selection, or natural selection is the result of their structure. THIS very interesting bird is found in all parts of eastern North America. Breeds in the states bordering on the Great Lakes and as far north as Manitoba. It winters in Central America. It is generally partial to low, swampy woodlands. He is much more shy than his pretty cousin, the wood thrush; he lives nearer the ground and is not so likely to leave the cover of his haunts. In localities where he is equally common with the wood thrush he is less frequently observed. The nest of this thrush is made of strips of bark, rootlets and leaf stems, wrapped with leaves and lined with fine rootlets. The nest is always on or near the ground. Mr. Chapman says of him: "He has a double personality, or he may repeat the notes of some less vocally developed ancestor, for on occasions he gives utterance to an entirely uncharacteristic series of cacking notes, and even mounts high in the tree to sing a hesitating medley of the same unmusical cacks, broken, whistled calls and attempted trills. Fortunately, this performance is comparatively uncommon, and to the most of us he is known only by his own strange, unearthly song. His notes touch chords which no other bird's song reaches. The water thrush is inspiring, the wood and hermit thrushes 'serenely exalt the spirit,' but Wilson's thrush or the veery appeals to higher feelings. All the wondrous mysteries of the wood find a voice in his song; he thrills us with emotions we can not express." | ||||||
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