Chapter V: Introduction (1)

This Arbor and Bird Day Annual has been compiled and published for the benefit of the teachers of Ohio. It is our purpose to have this book used from the time it is received until the close of the school term. We find that but few books written about birds and their habits come into the hands of the boys and girls; therefore, we have attempted to include as much additional information as possible concerning the most common birds of Ohio. You will find that the articles about birds are but a continuation of bird study found in the 1912 Arbor and Bird Day Annual. We are under obligations to "Nature and Life", a publication of the Audubon Society, for their articles, for which credit is given after each selection. Johnny Appleseed is a character with whom all the boys and girls should become acquainted. C. L. Martzolf's article about this peculiar man should be read carefully. F. B. Pearson contributed a fine description and history of the "Logan Elm". Charles DeGarmo of Cornell University generously contributed two poems that have not appeared in print before this publication.

G. R. C.

THE CLASS TREE.

(TUNE: AMERICA.)

Grow thou and flourish well
Ever the story tell,
Of this glad day;
Long may thy branches raise
To heaven our grateful praise
Waft them on sunlight rays
To God away.

Deep in the earth to-day,
Safely thy roots we lay,
Tree of our love;
Grow thou and flourish long;
Ever our grateful song
Shall its glad notes prolong
To God above.

"Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,"
On this glad day:
Bless Thou each student band
O'er all our happy land;
Teach them Thy love's command.
Great God, we pray.

--_Emma S. Thomas, Schoharie, N.Y., in Teacher's Magazine._

THIS IS ARBOR DAY.

(TUNE: LIGHTLY ROW.)

Arbor Day, Arbor Day,
See, the fields are fresh and green,
All is bright, cheerful sight,
After winter's night.
Birds are flying in the air,
All we see is fresh and fair;
Bowers green now are seen,
Flowers peep between.

Swaying trees, swaying trees,
Rocking gently in the breeze,
Dressed so gay, fine array,
For this is Arbor Day.
While we plant our trees so dear,
All the others list to hear
How we sing, in the spring,
And our voices ring.

Here we stand, here we stand,
Round the tree, a royal band;
Music floats, cheering notes,
Sweetly, gaily floats.
March along with heads so high
While our tree is standing nigh;
Step away, light and gay,
On this Arbor Day.

--_Selected._

WHY WE PLANT THE TREE.

FIRST PUPIL.

We plant the tree for the shade it gives;
For the shade of a leafy tree
On a hot summer's day when the hot sun shines,
Is pleasant for all to see.

SECOND PUPIL.

We plant the tree for the dear birds' sakes,
For they can take their rest,
While the mate sings of love and cheer
To the mother on her nest.

THIRD PUPIL.

We plant the tree to please the eye,
For who does not like to see,
Whether on hill or plain or dale,
The beauty of a tree?

FOURTH PUPIL.

We plant the tree for the wood to use
In winter to keep us warm,
And for hall and church and store and house,
To have shelter from the storm.

--_Primary Education._

WHAT THE TREE TEACHES US.

FIRST PUPIL.

I am taught by the oak
To be rugged and strong
In defence of the right;
In defiance of wrong.

SECOND PUPIL.

I have learned from the maple,
That beauty, to win
The love all hearts,
Must have sweetness within.

THIRD PUPIL.

The beech with its branches
Widespreading and low,
Awakes in my heart
Hospitality's glow.

FOURTH PUPIL.

The pine tells of constancy,
In its sweet voice;
It whispers of hope,
Till sad mortals rejoice.

--_Selected._

ARBOR DAY FETE.

BY GRACE A. LUSK, MILWAUKEE.

(Stage, if possible, represents scene out-of-doors; raised throne to right.)

_Enter Chorus._

Every season hath its pleasures,
Which we sing in joyous measures;
In Summer's sunshine, rich and sweet,
Blossom flowers, ripens wheat;
Autumn puts the wood aflame,
Poets give her beauties fame;
Winter comes--a world of snow
And crisp, clear air make faces glow;
Spring awakens Nature dear,
Song birds chant 'neath skies so clear,
Every season hath its pleasures,
Which we sing with joyous measures.

_Enter boy and girl_ (with flag and drum).

_Boy_:

In Summer comes the joyous Fourth,
I beat my drum for all I'm worth;

_Girl_:

Our crackers make a joyous noise,
For girls like fun as well as boys.

(The holidays, after speaking, step to left and right of throne.)

_Enter girl_ (in Puritan dress).

After reaping harvest's gold
Thanks we render, for manifold
The blessings are each passing year,
Thanksgiving is a day of cheer.

_Enter girl_ (in coat and furs, arms full of packages and holly).

On the night before Christmas
There came to our house,
A right jolly old elf, as still as a mouse;
He filled all the stockings,
Trimmed each Christmas tree,
Made our Christmas merry--a good saint is he!

_Enter very small boy_ (carrying a big book under his arm with 1913 printed on it).

The wild bells rang across the snow,
The old year went--though loath to go;
The New Year came, while bells were ringing;
His days of joy and sorrow bringing.

_Enter girl_ (in white trimmed with red hearts).

Mine is a day of piercing darts,
Flowers sweet, and big red hearts,
Cupids tender, verses fine,
I'm the happy valentine.

_Enter two boys_ (carrying flags).

_Together_:

Birthdays of patriots, brave and true,
In February drear, make cheer for you.

_First boy_:

Lincoln so kind, was everyone's friend;

_Second boy_:

Washington did a young nation defend.

_Chorus_ (to Holidays).

Once, each year, supreme you reign,
O'er the lads and lassies in your train,
Now comes our gentle springtime fay,
The gladsome, happy Arbor Day.

_Enter Arbor Day_ (in white, crown of flowers, accompanied by two small maids with flowers, accompanist softly plays Mendelssohn's Spring Song).

_Chorus continues._

Each holiday brings joy and gladness--
Makes us banish thoughts of sadness,
Arbor Day, your reign is brief,--
But every blossom, every leaf,
Every bird of wood or field
Its fullest homage now doth yield.
May you be a happy queen,
We, happy subjects are, I ween.

_Arbor Day_ (while Chorus leads her to throne).

Thank you for your greeting hearty,
This will be a merry party.

_Chorus._

Our friends, the children, in meadows at play,
Are coming to join our glad holiday.

_School children_ (with baskets and bouquets of flowers pass to
right of stage, salute in military fashion, saying):

Dear Arbor Day, your subjects loyal,
Give you greetings, hearty, royal.

_Queen._

Thank you, friends, greeting sweeter,
Never yet a queen had greet her.

_Enter ten girls_ (in white with flowers in hands and in their hair; they quickly and lightly run across stage and form in line; each courtesies as she says her lines).

_First girl_:

I'm the queen, for I'm the Rose,
The proudest, sweetest flower that blows.

_Second girl_:

I'm shy Violet, from the wood,
You know me by my purple hood.

_Third girl_:

I'm the Dandelion yellow,
Some call me a saucy fellow.

_Fourth girl_:

I'm Anemone, shy and tender,
On my stalk so tall and slender.

_Fifth girl_:

I'm Morning Glory that climbs the wall,
My trumpet flowers softly call.

_Sixth girl_:

I'm Buttercup with a chalice to hold
The rich warm sunshine's yellow gold.

_Seventh girl_:

I'm Apple-blossom, my pink dresses
The bee admires, so he confesses.

_Eighth girl_:

I'm Waterlily, my golden heart
Keeps the sunbeam's glancing dart.

_Ninth girl_:

I'm shy Crocus, the first to show
My pretty head from beneath the snow.

_Tenth girl_:

I'm sleepy Poppy, from my home in the wheat,
I've come with the others our new queen to greet.

_All in unison_:

Dear Arbor Day, your subjects loyal,
Give you greeting, hearty royal.

_Arbor Day._

Thank you, blossoms, sweet and tender,
I your kindness shall remember.

_Rose_ (turning to flowers and holidays).

Nature laughs in gleeful joy,
In songbirds trill, in flowerlets coy,
Shall we, also, voices raise,
Sing our gentle spring queen's praise?

(School children, Holidays and Flowers sing while Flowers join hands and dance about in circle.)

(Tune: Campbells are coming.)

Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la,
Brooklets run clear, tra-la, tra-la,
Birds are winging, flowers springing,
For springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

(Alternate girls step inside circle, face outward, other circle about.)

The gentle May breeze, tra-la, tra-la,
Plays o'er the green leas, tra-la, tra-la,
Dandelions twinkle, violets sprinkle,
The sward 'neath the trees, tra-la, tra-la.

(Each girl in inner circle gives her right hand to left hand of girl in outer circle, thus in "wheel form" they circle singing.)

The garden flowers gay, tra-la, tra-la,
Are here to stay, tra-la, tra-la,
The rich red roses, and all pretty posies,
Say springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

(Dropping hands in single file they pass to back of stage singing.)

Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la,
Brooklets run clear, tra-la, tra-la,
Birds are winging, flowers springing,
For springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

_Arbor Day._

Thank you, friends, greeting sweeter,
Never yet a queen had greet her.
But who comes now in trim array
So straight and proud,--tell me, pray?

_Trees enter_ (carrying budded boughs of trees; they march and countermarch in simple march figures, while piano plays "Campbells are coming," or "Narcissus." They form in line, each saluting queen as he speaks his line.)

_First boy:_

The Maple gives us grateful shade;

_Second boy:_

The Laurel's honors never fade;

_Third boy:_

The Chestnut's flowers are fine to see;

_Fourth boy:_

But the Apple's are better, thinks the bee;

_Fifth boy:_

The Fir tree softly seems to sigh;

_Sixth boy:_

The Spruce lifts up its head so high;

_Seventh boy:_

The Elm tree's beauty you'll remark;

_Eighth boy:_

The Birch is proud of its silver bark;

_Ninth boy:_

The Cedar tree is stately and tall,

_Tenth boy:_

But the hale old Oak is king of all.

_Trees in unison:_

Arbor Day, your subjects loyal,
Give you greetings; hearty, royal.

(March to music to back of stage behind Flowers.)

_Arbor Day._

Thank you, trees, from lowland and hill,
I appreciate your hearty good will,
Are others still coming to our fete?
We welcome them, though they be late.

_Enter ten small girls_ (run in on tiptoe lightly, waving arms while the others sing.)

The birds are flying, tra-la, tra-la,
Their strong wings a-trying, tra-la, tra-la,
From east and west, they come with the rest,
For Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

_First girl_ (courtesies):

The Robin has a pretty vest,

_Second girl:_

The Bluebird sweetly sings his best;

_Third girl:_

The Bob-o-Link trills in its meadow home,

_Fourth girl:_

The Bluejay calls in a shrill loud tone,

_Fifth girl:_

The Blackbird sings in the tall marsh rushes,

_Sixth girl:_

But sweeter, softer, call the Thrushes,

_Seventh girl:_

The Oriole whistles from its swinging nest,

_Eighth girl:_

But the Song Sparrow sings the sweetest and best.

_Ninth girl:_

The Meadow Lark chants his mad, merry glee,

_Tenth girl:_

Woodpecker just taps, so busy is he.

_In Unison:_

Dear Arbor Day, your subjects loyal,
Give you greeting, hearty, royal.

_Arbor Day:_

A queen whose welcomed by the birds,
Feels joy too deep for idle words.
Dear friends, my subjects, it is May;
Let us sing Spring's roundelay.

(Here may be introduced groups of the charming flower songs by Mrs. Gaynor, bird songs by Nevin, simple folk dances, and appropriate Spring poems, etc., as part of the May Day fete.)

_Arbor Day._

This day has been so full of pleasure,
I cannot yet my sadness measure.
And scatter our joyousness far and wide.

(Exit, first the Birds, then the Trees, the flowers, the School children, the Holidays, then Arbor Day and Chorus, singing.)

The birds are trilling, tra-la, tra-la,
Their glad songs are filling, tra-la, tra-la,
The wood and dale, the meadow and vale,
The Springtime is come, tra-la, tra-la.

The gentle May breeze, tra-la, tra-la,
Plays o'er the green leas, tra-la, tra-la,
Dandelions twinkle, violets sprinkle,
The sward 'neath the trees, tra-la, tra-la.

The garden flowers gay, tra-la, tra-la,
Are here to stay, tra-la, tra-la,
The rich red rosies and all the posies,
Say Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la,
Brooklets run clear, tra-la, tra-la,
Birds are winging, flowers springing,
For Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

(Simple costumes make this more effective. All the girls wear white gowns--Chorus has a simple Greek dress. Arbor Day a crown of flowers and scepter, her maids baskets of flowers; the flower girls wear chaplets of blossoms, artificial ones are best; The Holidays can wear appropriate dress; the School-Children enter as if from play with their baskets, dolls, flowers, fishing rods, etc.)

A BROKEN WING.

In front of my pew sits a maiden--
A little brown wing in her hat,
With its touches of tropical azure,
And the sheen of the sun upon that.

Through the colored pane shines a glory,
By which the vast shadows are stirred,
But I pine for the spirit and splendor,
That painted the wing of that bird.

The organ rolls down its great anthem,
With the soul of a song it is blent;
But for me, I am sick for the singing,
Of one little song that is spent.

The voice of the preacher is gentle;
"No sparrow shall fall to the ground;"
But the poor broken wing on the bonnet,
Is mocking the merciful sound.

--_Selected._

HUNTING THE WILD.

One Christmas, over forty years ago, my grandfather sent to me from Colorado a real Indian bow and arrows. It was a beautiful bow with a sinew string and wrapped in the middle and at the ends with sinews. The arrow-heads were iron spikes, bound in place with wrapping of fine sinews. The eagle feathers' tips were also bound with sinews.

It was a beautiful, snow-clad Christmas morning, and I remember how I yearned to go with this bow and arrows into the cedar grove to shoot the birds feeding there. This yearning must have expressed itself in some way, for I distinctly remember how a man with my bow and arrows led the way, and I in restrained delight followed him to the cedar grove. I remember how he maneuvered among the trees, and with keen eyes watched for an opportunity to make a shot.

He stopped, whispered to me, pointed to a bird in the trunk of a cedar. Raising the bow, it bent taut under his firm, cautious pull. "Whiz," went the arrow, and there, pinned to the tree with the iron spike, fluttered a hairy woodpecker. To my wondering child-mind it was a great feat--my inherent instinct for hunting the wild approved and applauded.

That very phase of human nature is what we are now trying to eliminate from the present and coming generation.

--Eugene Swope.

WREN NOTES.

FROM NATURE AND CULTURE.

We have grown to expect at least one wren's nest on our porch or elsewhere in our yard each year; so, as usual, we put our boxes this Spring with notices, figuratively: "For wrens only--no sparrows need apply."

Knowing Jenny's fastidious taste, we furnish several boxes, thus giving her a choice. There is but little we would not do to induce her to live in our neighborhood, and it would be a great disappointment to us if she would not accept one of our houses, rent free.

This year, 1912, she carried twigs to three different boxes before she settled down to business. When this occurred, to our amusement, she went to the other two boxes for twigs, bringing them to the chosen site, instead of getting them from the ground, which for obvious reasons would have been much easier. Mr. Wren is not so hard to suit. Anything is good enough, in his estimation, much to the disgust of his spouse.

One day he made bold to select a box and carried in a few twigs to lay the "cornerstone" of a structure. Soon Mrs. Wren came upon the scene and in unmistakable language told him what she thought of him. Still scolding, this Xantippe of birds threw out the material he had brought, and, meekly submitting, he accepted her choice of a new location.

We always have to reckon with the sparrows--"avian rats," as some one has aptly called them. We do our best in helping Jenny drive them away by emptying out the stuff they bring in, by shooting them away, and even by use of the air gun. When absent one day for several hours we found, upon our return, the following things in the box: a rusty nail, an old safety pin, a hairpin, an elastic fixture, besides the usual bits of grass, weeds, sticks, roots, etc.

After emptying this out, it gave Mrs. Wren her inning once more, and she improved the opportunity; for she built an unusually fine nest, which is not altogether apparent in this illustration. The box containing the nest was placed upon a ledge of the porch and so could be easily taken down for inspection.

The material first used in the nest was twigs found under a nearby plum tree. Then it was lined with grass, horse hair, a blue jay's feather, some hen's feathers, and some cottony material like lint. Jenny finally completed her boudoir by festooning a snake skin about it. When the nestlings began to walk about over the nest, this skin broke up into bits; so does not show in the picture.

This nest was begun May 4, and the first egg was laid May 12. One more egg was added each day until eight were counted. They began to hatch the 30th, thus celebrating Memorial Day. Seven eggs hatched and the little ones kept the old birds more than busy, early and late, feeding them.

First the tiniest little spiders and bugs were brought. Then came larger ones, and finally beetles, crickets, large spiders, etc., were dropped into the yawning mouths. So fast they grew, one could almost see the progress from day to day. They posed for this picture June 17, leaving the nest the 18th, and on the 19th the parent birds began their second nest in another box on the same porch.

The first egg was laid the 23rd, thus taking but four days in the construction of this nest, while the first required eight. As a matter of fact it was not so carefully made. This time only five eggs were laid, and at the present moment Mr. Wren is singing encouragement and appreciation to his brooding mate; and, although the thermometer registers 98 deg. in the shade, his notes joyously ripple out loud and clear, not only to Jenny's delight, but to ours as well.

A COMPARISON.

I'd ruther lay out here among the trees,
With the singing birds and the bumble bees,
A-knowing that I can do as I please,
Than to live what folks call a life of ease--
Up thar in the city.

For I don't 'xactly understan'
Where the comfort is for any man,
In walking hot bricks and using a fan,
And enjoying himself as he says he can--
Up thar in the city.

It's kinder lonesome, mebbe, you'll say,
A-livin' out here day after day,
In this kinder easy careless way,
But an hour out here's better'n a day--
Up thar in the city.

As for that, just look at the flowers aroun',
A-peepin' their heads up all over the groun,'
And the fruit a-bendin' the trees 'way down;
You don't find sech things as these in town--
Or, ruther, in the city.

As I said afore, sech things as these--
The flowers, the birds, and the bumble bees,
And a-livin' out here among the trees,
Where you can take your ease and do 's you please--
Make it better'n in the city.

Now, all the talk don't 'mount to snuff
'Bout this kinder life a-being rough,
And I'm sure it's plenty good enough,
And 'tween you and me, 'taint as tough--
As livin' in the city.

--_Selected._

* * * * *

"The woods were made for hunters of dreams,
The streams for fishers of song;
To those who hunt thus, go gunless for game,
The woods and the streams belong."

DAME NATURE'S RECIPE (APRIL).

Take a dozen little clouds
And a patch of blue;
Take a million raindrops,
As many sunbeams, too.

Take a host of violets,
A wandering little breeze,
And myriads of little leaves
Dancing on the trees.

Then mix them well together,
In the very quickest way,
Showers and sunshine, birds and flowers,
And you'll have an April day.

--_Selected._

THE GROUSE.

HATTIE WASHBURN, GOODWIN, S.D.

"The grouse is a very fine bird." The sentence leaped out of the conversation and caught my wandering attention. With a quick smile I looked toward our rather corpulent guest across the table. I love birds, and a word in their praise ever fills me with pleasure, not alone because one delights in the praise of whatever he cherishes, but because the expression of such a sentiment indicates that the speaker is one who will befriend the birds or at least leave them unmolested.

"Take them when they are properly prepared," our guest continued, and I lowered my eyes to my plate in disgust. He appreciated their value only as a palatable dish to feed his fat body or possibly as a target for his gun.

Such is the general attitude, it would seem, toward the grouse family, from the ruffled grouse of the wooded portions of the Eastern States to the prairie chicken of our vast plains, the dusky grouse of the mountain regions of the West and all their related species.

The drumming of the ruffled grouse so harmoniously breaking the stillness of the woodland is dear to the nature-lover; no sound is more characteristic of the prairies than the prairie chicken's melodious booking that echoes afar like the low notes of a vast organ; the dusky grouse's booming call, that may seem to come from a distance even when the bird is near by, has its place in the great symphony of nature, yet these musical sounds are being steadily and relentlessly silenced by the gun of the sportsman. By this silencing that costs the lives of countless hundreds of innocent and harmless birds, the agriculturist is being robbed of one of his most powerful allies in the endless battle against insects.

Nature has given the grouse tribe large, palatable bodies and characteristics which render them easy marks for the hunter, with only zest enough to the quest to make these birds what sportsmen call "good game." She has also endowed the grouse with food habits which should cause them to live and multiply under the protection of man. The former characteristics, however, seem most strongly to attract mankind in general, and the grouse is known as game rather than the insect-eating bird that it is.

Laws have been made for the protection of the pinnated grouse, or prairie chicken, and others of their tribe. These laws have been enforced and have aided materially in the great work of bird-protection. They have also, it is regrettable to state, been violated and ignored. Too often the land owner is too lenient; being blinded to his own interests or being keenly alive to the need of protecting the grouse within his realm, is powerless to act because of lack of evidence.

The prairie hen nests upon the ground, choosing her own nesting site, performing the duties of incubation, and rearing her young unaided by the cock. There are few wooers in bird-life so ardent as the pinnated grouse, yet he that joins in the mating ceremony of booming morning after morning on some chosen booming-ground or fiercely contests with other males for the favor of the chosen one deserts her soon after the winning.

Thus the eggs and young, having only one protector, are unduly exposed. Since they are always on the ground until the young are able to fly their loss is great. It is estimated that half of the prairie hens' eggs are destroyed by fire, water and other causes. Wet seasons are very injurious to the prairie chicks, and at all times they are in danger from skunks and other prowlers, save through the cunning and courageous protection of their devoted mother.

These unavoidable dangers should appeal to the farmer to render the prairie chicken his kindness and protection whenever he can. He has few, if any, greater allies, for during the rearing of the young and throughout the summer the food of the prairie chicken consists principally of insects, chiefly of the destructive grasshopper. During the winter they feed upon weed-seed and scattered grain. Of course, at times the prairie chickens make slight inroads upon the crops, but these are many times repaid by the noxious weed-seeds they destroy.

The wild rose is one of the most beautiful flowers on the prairie. It is also one of the most troublesome weeds, in the destruction of which the prairie chicken has no superior, for one of their principal foods in winter is the wild rose fruit.

The beneficial characteristics of the prairie chicken, varied by environment and ensuing tendencies of the birds, hold true of the entire grouse family. Wherever found, the grouse are considered good game birds. Were their good works in the destruction of weeds and insects as well known as is their desirability for the table or for targets for the sportsmen, they would be regarded as one of the most valuable among the agriculturist's feathered friends.

--_Reprint from Nature and Culture._

BUNNY.

There was once a little bunny,
In a little wooden hutch;
He'd a happy little master,
And he loved him very much.

But that bunny wasn't happy,
Tho' he'd such a pleasant home,
For he thought 'twould be much nicer
In the world outside to roam.

So he asked the pretty ponies,
And both answered with a neigh,
"Don't be silly; we should miss you,
If you were to run away."

So that foolish little bunny
Whispered, "Thank you, very much,"
And went back again, contented,
To his little wooden hutch.

OHIO'S PIONEER TREE-PLANTER.

BY CLEMENT L. MARTZOLFF, OHIO UNIVERSITY, ATHENS, OHIO.

In the year 1806, a man living in Jefferson County, happened to look out upon the Ohio River one day when he saw floating down with the tide a strange looking craft. It consisted of two ordinary canoes lashed together. The crew was one very oddly-dressed man and the cargo comprised racks of appleseeds. This singular man was John Chapman, better known as "Johnny Appleseed," from his penchant for gathering apple-seeds at the cider-presses in western Pennsylvania, bringing them to Ohio, planting them at suitable places, so when the pioneer came he would find an abundance of young apple trees ready for planting.

This was the mission of "Johnny Appleseed" who conscientiously believed it had been heaven sent. He was deeply religious and his faith taught him he could live as complete a life in thus serving his fellow-men, as in perhaps some higher (?) sphere of usefulness. Certainly the result of his labors proved a great blessing to the Ohio pioneer.

Very little is known of Johnny Appleseed before he came to Ohio. He was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, in the opening of the Revolutionary War, 1775. As a boy he loved to roam the woods, searching for plants and flowers. He was a lover of nature in all its forms. He studied the birds as well as the flowers. He loved the song of the brook as he did that of the birds. At night he would lie upon his back and gaze into the sky and whether he studied flowers or stars, brooks or birds, he saw God's hand-writing in them all. It is thought he came westward with his half-brother about the year 1801, and located somewhere about Pittsburgh. His father, Nathaniel Chapman, shortly afterward became one of the residents of Marietta and later moved to Duck Creek, in Washington county, where he died. "Johnny" never spoke much about his previous life. It was said by some that he had been once disappointed in love and this accounted for his never marrying and for living the life he did. This is not probable. Such stories are told about every old bachelor and since they are so common, they lose their value.

What educational advantages our tree-planter enjoyed, we do not know, either. But it is certain he possessed a fair knowledge of the rudiments of learning. He was a great reader for one of his time and his mode of life, and moreover, he was a clear thinker.

There are some who would call "Johnny Appleseed" "queer;" others, "freakish;" again, "eccentric," etc. This peculiar, odd personage may be described by all these terms. But the ruling passion of his life was to plant apple-seeds, because he loved to see trees grow and because he loved his fellow-men. The world has often been made better because there was a man who possessed but one idea, and he worked it for all it was worth.

"Johnny's" methods were to keep up with the van of pioneerdom and move along with it to the westward. So we find him in the early years of the century in western Pennsylvania, then in Ohio, and after forty-five years of service to mankind, he dies and is buried near Ft. Wayne in Indiana.

His nurseries were usually located in the moist land along some stream. Here he would plant the seeds, surround the patch with a brush fence and wander off to plant another one elsewhere. Returning at intervals to prune and care for them, he would soon have thrifty trees growing all over the country.

He did not plant these trees for money, but the pioneer got them oftentimes for old clothes, although his usual price for each tree was "a fip-penny-bit."

The first nursery Johnny planted in Ohio was on George's Run in Jefferson county. Others he planted along the river front, when he moved into the interior of the state. For years he lived in a little rude hut in Richland county near the present town of Perrysville, from where he operated his nurseries in the counties of Richland, Ashland, Wayne, Knox, and Tuscarawas.

On his journeys across the country he usually camped in the woods, although the pioneer latch-string was always hanging out for "Apple-seed John." He carried his cooking utensils with him. His mush-pan serving him for a hat. When he would accept the hospitality of a friend, he preferred making his bed on the floor. He wore few clothes and went bare-footed the most of his time, even when the weather was quite cold. For a coat a coffee sack with holes cut for neck and arms was ample.

There were plenty of Indians in those days and they were troublesome, too, since several massacres occurred in that region. But they never did any harm to our hero. No doubt they thought he was quite a "Medicine Man." Once, during the War of 1812, when the red-men were at their depredations and all the people were flocking to the Mansfield block-house for protection, it was necessary to get a message to Mt. Vernon, asking for the assistance of the militia. It was thirty miles away and the trip had to be made in the night. Johnny volunteered his services. Bare-footed and bare-headed he made his way along the forest trails, where wild animals and probably wild Indians were lurking. The next morning he had returned and with him was the needed help.

He loved everything that lived. He harmed no animal, and if he found any that were wounded or mis-treated, he would care for them as best he could. Once when a snake had bitten him, he instinctively killed it. He never quite forgave himself for this "ungodly passion."

He, as has already been stated, was deeply religious. He was a disciple of Emanuel Swedenborg, and he always carried some religious books about with him, in the bosom of his shirt. These books he would give away. Often he would divide a book into several pieces, so it would go farther. When he visited the pioneers, he would always hold worship and discuss religious subjects with them.

But Johnny was getting old. The first trees he planted had for years been bearing fruit. Still he kept planting and caring for new nurseries. Once in Ft. Wayne he heard that some cattle had broken into one of them and were destroying his trees. The distance was twenty miles. He started at once to protect his property. It was in the early spring of 1845. The weather was raw and the trip was too much for him. He sought shelter at a pioneer home, partook of a bowl of bread and milk for his supper, and before retiring for the night as usual held worship.

The family never forgot that evening. How the simple-minded old man read from the Book, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Then he prayed and as he spoke with God, he grew eloquent. His words made a deep impression on all who heard him.

In the morning he was found to have a high fever. Pneumonia had developed during the night. A physician was called, but the age of the man and the exposure to which he had subjected himself for so many years were against him. With the sunshine of joy and satisfaction upon his countenance as though his dying eyes were already looking into the new Jerusalem, "God's finger touched him and he slept."

* * * * * *

So he kept traveling, far and wide,
'Till his old limbs failed him and he died.
He said, at last: "'Tis a comfort to feel
I've done some good in the world, though not a great deal."

Weary travelers journeying West,
In the shade of his trees find pleasant rest,
And often they start with glad surprise
At the rosy fruit that around them lies.

And if they inquire whence came such trees
Where not a bough once swayed in the breeze?
The reply still comes as they travel on,
"These trees were planted by Appleseed John."

(_From "Appleseed John" by Maria Child._)

* * * * * *

Grandpa stopped, and from the grass at our feet,
Picked up an apple, large, juicy, and sweet;
Then took out his jack-knife, and, cutting a slice,
Said, as we ate it, "Isn't it nice
To have such apples to eat and enjoy?
Well, there weren't very many when I was a boy,
For the country was new--e'en food was scant;
We had hardly enough to keep us from want,
And this good man, as he rode around,
Oft eating and sleeping upon the ground,
Always carried and planted appleseeds--
Not for himself, but for others' needs.
The appleseeds grew, and we, to-day,
Eat of the fruit planted by the way.
While Johnny--bless him--is under the sod--
His body is--ah! he is with God;
For, child, though it seemed a trifling deed,
For a man just to plant an appleseed,
The apple-tree's shade, the flowers, the fruit,
Have proved a blessing to man and to brute.
Look at the orchards throughout the land,
All of them planted by old Johnny's hand.
He will forever remembered be;
I would wish to have all so think of me."

* * * * * *

_Bibliography of John Chapman._

_Howe's History of Ohio, Vol. II, p. 484._

_Ohio Archaeological and Historical Society Publications, Vol. VI, p. 290. Vol. IX, p. 301._

_"Philip Seymour" or "Pioneer Life in Richland County" by Rev. James F. McGraw._

_"The Quest of John Chapman" by Newell Dwight Hillis._

WHY STUDY BIRDS?

A Cincinnati teacher in one of the big intermediate schools recently discussed with her class the question of studying birds. She reminded them that they are city children living in a densely populated district, and that they could hardly expect to see the live birds unless they went into the country, but agreed to forming a bird-study class if the children could give good reasons for doing so.

One child called attention to the fact that they read and studied about many things all over the world that they never hoped to see, why not about birds also? One boy thought it just as necessary for city children to know what was to be seen in the country, as for country children to know what could be seen in the city. There were other reasons offered equally as good, but behind it all was a real live desire, a natural desire, that need give no reasons for its existence, to learn something about the wild birds. The teacher saw this, and being one who realizes that schools are maintained for the benefit of children rather than that children are born and reared to serve a school system, consented to the organization of a Junior Audubon Class.

Bird study in some measure should be given to every class in every school, city and country. Not just because it is new, not just because it is a branch of the now popular nature-study, not just because the children are eager for it, all of which are good reasons, but because of the great need of a national change of attitude toward the wild birds if we are to succeed in preserving this absolutely essential part of our natural resources.

--_Eugene Swope._

TROOP OF WINTER BIRDS LED BY CAPTAIN NUT-HATCH.

H. W. WEISGERBER.

_From Nature and Culture._

How many of the boys that roam the winter woods appreciate the services of the white-breasted nut-hatch? He is the captain of the small troop of winter resident birds, and where his "yank", "yank", is heard there are the other birds also. Sometimes he is far in advance of the troop, but the small company of followers press on and go where he leads.

In the winter birds are not as common as during the summer, and the bird student sometimes tramps a long ways before he sees one of any kind. Then, all of a sudden he hears the call-note of the nut-hatch, and if he is wise, he will follow it up until he comes upon the company, which will not be far away from where the nut-hatch is heard.

Sometimes only three species are found, but generally four different kinds of birds make up the small company that road the woods together. These four are the white-breasted nuthatch, tufted titmouse, downy woodpecker, and the merry little chickadee. What a happy, contented quartet they are!

One cold and cloudy November morning I thought I had caught a pair of nuthatches that had betrayed their trust. I had followed an old rail fence that bordered a weedy cornfield next to an open woods, and the only birds seen were a few juncos and tree sparrows. After walking about thirty rods, a pair of nuthatches were found; the next ten minutes were spent listening and looking for the other birds that should have been about. None were seen or heard. I was about to make a note of the fact; but, it being a cold, windy morning, I deferred this part, and moved on in order to get warm. I paralleled my first walk by keeping in the woods along the fence, waiting for the troop to come. I had not gone many rods until a note was heard, then a titmouse came in sight, and in a few minutes I was surrounded by titmice, downy woodpeckers, chickadees, and a number of golden-crowned kinglets. Altogether there were twenty-five or more of the little fellows, and they moved so fast that I did not get to see them all, so I followed them to the place where I first saw the nuthatches. Here was where white-breasted was christened "Captain Nuthatch."

FARMER JOHN.

Home from his journey Farmer John
Arrived this morning safe and sound;
His black coat off and his old clothes on,
"Now I'm myself," said Farmer John,
And he thinks, "I'll look around."
Up leaps the dog: "Get down, you pup!
Are you so glad you would eat me up?"
And the old cow lows at the gate to greet him,
The horses prick up their ears to meet him.
"Well, well, old Bay,
Ha, ha, old Gray,
Do you get good food when I'm away?"

"You haven't a rib," says Farmer John;
"The cattle are looking round and sleek;
The colt is going to be a roan,
And a beauty, too; how he has grown!
We'll ween the calf in a week."
Says Farmer John, "When I've been off--
To call you again about the trough,
And watch you and pat you while you drink,
Is a greater comfort than you can think;"
And he pats old Bay,
And he slaps old Gray,
"Ah, this is the comfort of going away!"

"For, after all," says Farmer John,
"The best of a journey is getting home;
I've seen great sights but I would not give
This spot and the peaceful life I live
For all their Paris and Rome;
These hills for the city's stifled air
And big hotels and bustle and glare;
Lands all houses, and roads all stone
That deafen your ears and batter your bones!
Would you, old Bay?
Would you, old Gray?
That's what one gets by going away."

"There Money is king," says Farmer John,
"And Fashion is queen, and it's very queer
To see how sometimes when the man
Is raking and scraping all he can,
The wife spends, every year,
Enough you would think for a score of wifes
To keep them in luxury all their lives!
The town is a perfect Babylon
To a quiet chat," said Farmer John.
"You see, old Bay,
You see, old Gray,
I'm wiser than when I went away.

"I've found this out," said Farmer John,
"That happiness is not bought and sold,
And clutched in a life of waste and hurry,
In nights of pleasure and days of worry,
And wealth isn't all in gold,
Mortgages, stocks and ten per cent,
But in simple ways and sweet content,
Few wants, pure hopes and noble ends,
Some land to till and a few good friends,
Like you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray,
That's what I've learned by going away."

And a happy man is Farmer John--
Oh, a rich and happy man is he!
He sees the peas and pumpkins growing,
The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing,
And fruit on vine and tree;
The large, kind oxen look their thanks
As he rubs their foreheads and pats their flanks;
The doves light round him and strut and coo;
Says Farmer John, "I'll take you, too;
And you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray,
Next time I travel so far away."

--_Trowbridge._

BIRD STUDY.

W. H. WISMAN, NEW PARIS, OHIO.

In order to carry on the work of bird study with any degree of success, experience has taught me that the subject must continually be kept before the pupils in all of its phases. This means actual work among the birds, with eyes sharpened for every movement and ears tuned to every sound.

The first essential, I think, is for the pupil to know the bird by sight--that is, at close range--and to be able to give a minute description, paying attention to details in markings, especially in cases where distinctive markings determine the species.

Our work in autumn consists in a sharp lookout for the warblers that are returning toward the Southland at the beginning of the school term. This requires careful observation, and pupils are encouraged to be watchful at this time and report any small bird they may be able to find on their way to or from school, or at home. A record is kept, and pupils are urged to compete for the longest list of different species.

Later in the season, when the leaves are well off the trees, we start a nest-hunting contest, the object being to see who can find the greatest number of nests in a specified time. Samples of nests are secured and put up in the school room.

When cold weather comes the question of food supply is considered. Shelters for the birds are constructed, and feeding places are prepared. One method is to place a feeding board outside a south window, and fastening a good-sized branch of a tree outside the window, upon which pieces of suet are fastened. The remains of the children's lunches, together with seeds, kernels of nuts, etc., are placed upon the board, and birds soon learn to come to the banquet prepared for them. The pupils are urged to go home and do likewise.

Monthly bird lists are kept, showing the kinds of birds that may be seen each month, and pupils are required to keep note-books in which anything of interest may be noted.

In the spring the question of housing the birds is considered, and pupils are taught to construct simple bird houses, and all are interested in placing these boxes about their homes.

In connection with this field work, attention is given to the literature upon this subject. Scrap-books are kept, and any article relating to birds found in papers or magazines is clipped and pasted in this book.

We have in the school room over one hundred and fifty pictures in colors of the birds to be found in this section of the State, and using these as a basis, I give frequent "lectures" on the habits or any other points of interest concerning these birds.

The pupils are very enthusiastic in the work, and the influence has not only extended throughout the entire district, but other teachers and pupils in the surrounding districts have caught the spirit and much is being done along this line throughout the township.

--_Reprint from Nature and Culture._

THE WHITE BIRCH.

BY CHARLES DEGARMO.

Have you seen the white birch in the spring, in the Spring?
When the sunlight gleams upon her branches in the spring?
When her green leaves, young and tender,
Through their soft concealment render
Glimpses of her outlines slender in the spring.

Have you seen her wave her branches in the spring, in the spring?
Wave those airy, milk-white branches in the spring?
As they glisten in the light
Of a day divinely bright
When to see them is delight, in the spring.

Have you seen the sunbeams glancing in the spring, in the spring?
Glancing on her leaflets glossy in the spring?
When the wind sets them in motion,
Like the ripples on the ocean,
And they stir our fond devotion, in the spring.

If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, in the spring,
Half the beauty of the birches in the spring.
Past their tops of silver sheen
In the distance far are seen
Blue-tinged hills in living green, in the spring.

--_After Wm. Martin._

BLUE.

BY CHARLES DEGARMO.

There's plentiful blue in the midst of the green;
For blue are the joys that chatter and preen;
The blue bells all nod and sway with the breeze;
Blue-tinged are the hills that border the scene,
And blue birds sing low of nests in the trees.
In the land of the North
When the bird's on the wing,
Then the blue in the woods
Is a charm of the spring.

On waters of blue where soft breezes blow,
With sunshine above and shadow below,
My boat sails the bay, with naught to annoy,
For two[1] that I love sit close as we go,
And laughing blue eyes that mirror with joy.
Far away to the South,
Where the warm tropics lie,
There the blue of the sea
Is the blue of the sky.

--_From the Author's forthcoming book, "An Aesthetic View of the
World."_

[1] The Author's little granddaughters.

SUNRISE NEVER FAILS.

Upon the sadness of the sea
The sunset broods regretfully;
From the far spaces, slow
Withdraws the wistful afterglow.

So out of life the splendor dies,
So darken all the happy skies,
So gathers twilight cold and stern;
But overhead the planets burn.

And up the east another day
Shall chase the bitter dark away,
What though our eyes with tears be wet?
The sunrise never failed us yet.

The blush of dawn may yet restore
Our light and hope and joys once more.
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget
That sunrise never failed us yet.

--_Celia Thaxter._

WHO-OO-

I wonder if you have ever heard
Of the queer, little, dismal Whiney-bird,
As black as a crow, as glum as an owl--
A most peculiar kind of a fowl?
He is oftenest seen on rainy days,
When children are barred from outdoor plays;
When the weather is bright and the warm sun shines,
Then he flies far away to the gloomy pines,
Dreary-looking, indeed, is his old black cloak,
And his whiney cry makes the whole house blue--
"There's nothing to do-oo! there's nothing to do-oo!"
Did you ever meet this doleful bird?
He's found where the children are, I've heard,
Now, who can he be? It can't be you.
But who is the Whiney-bird? Who-oo? Who-oo?

--_Jean Halifax in St. Nicholas._

THE BLUEBIRD.

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT.

The National Association of Audubon Societies Educational Leaflet No. 24.

Who dares write of the Bluebird, thinking to add a fresher tint to his plumage, a new tone to his melodious voice, or a word of praise to his gentle life, that is as much a part of our human heritage and blended with our memories as any other attribute of home?

Not I, surely, for I know him too well and each year feel myself more spellbound and mute by the memories he awakens. Yet I would repeat his brief biography, lest there be any who, being absorbed by living inward, have not yet looked outward and upward to this poet of the sky and earth and the fullness and goodness thereof.

[Sidenote: The Bluebird's Country.]

For the Bluebird was the first of all poets,--even before man had blazed a trail in the wilderness or set up the sign of his habitation and tamed his thoughts to wear harness and travel to measure. And so he came to inherit the earth before man, and this, our country, is all The Bluebird's County, for at some time of the year he roves about it from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Mexico to Nova Scotia, though westward, after he passes the range of the Rocky Mountains, he wears a different dress and bears other longer names.

[Sidenote: The Bluebird's Travels.]

In spite of the fact that our eastern Bluebird is a home-body, loving his nesting haunt and returning to it year after year, he is an adventurous traveler. Ranging all over the eastern United States at some time in the season, this bird has its nesting haunts at the very edge of the Gulf States and upward, as far north as Manitoba and Nova Scotia.

When the breeding season is over, the birds travel sometimes in family groups and sometimes in large flocks, moving southward little by little, according to season and food-supply, some journeying as far as Mexico, others lingering through the middle and southern states. The Bluebirds that live in our orchards in summer are very unlikely to be those that we see in the same place in winter days. Next to the breeding impulse, the migrating instinct seems to be the strongest factor of bird life. When the life of the home is over, Nature whispers, "To wing, up and on!" So a few of the Bluebirds who have nested in Massachusetts may be those who linger in New Jersey, while those whose breeding haunts were in Nova Scotia, drift downward to fill their places in Massachusetts. But the great mass of even those birds we call winter residents go to the more southern parts of their range every winter, those who do not being but a handful in comparison.

"What does this great downward journey of autumn mean?" you ask. What is the necessity for migration among a class of birds that are able to find food in fully half of the annual range? Why do birds seek extremes for nesting sites? This is a question about which the wise men have many theories, but they are still groping. One theory is that once the whole country had a more even climate and that many species of birds lived all the year in places that are now unsuitable for a permanent residence. Therefore, the home instinct being so strong, though they were driven from their nesting sites by scarcity of food and stress of weather, their instinct led them back as soon as the return of spring made it possible.

Thus the hereditary love of the place where they were given life may underlie the great subject of migration in general and that of the Bluebird's home in particular.

[Sidenote: The Bluebird at Home.]

Before more than the first notes of spring song have sounded in the distance, Bluebirds are to be seen by twos and threes about the edge of old orchards along open roads, where the skirting trees have crumbled or decaying knot-holes have left tempting nooks for the tree-trunk birds, with whom the Bluebird may be classed. For, though he takes kindly to a bird-box, or a convenient hole in a fencepost, telegraph pole or outbuilding, a tree hole must have been his first home and consequently he has a strong feeling in its favor.