The squirrel, or at least the common red one of our forest, seems remarkably intelligent, and its humors vary almost as much in comparison as those of a child. I kept four, having brought them up from the nest, and their antics and different moods were a source of continued amusement. Sometimes Tom would quarrel with a sort of mimic anger with Jill, and Jim and Sam were almost continually finding fault with each other over poor unfortunate Lady Jill, whose chief misfortune seemed to be that she preferred Tom to either of the others. The affection seemed to be returned, for if we gave a piece of potato to Tom he instantly passed it over to Jill and shared it. Sometimes entire good-humor would prevail, when the gambols with each other were a very pretty sight. This was generally on a fine sunny spring morning after a good meal of nuts. The cage was large, and a sort of leap-frog was kept up for half an hour, ending by somebody getting Tom’s temper out over Miss Jill. I never had a bite from either, and this I attribute to my never handling them unnecessarily, and never being afraid to take hold of them carefully but firmly.
Their end was a sad one. I acquired a splendid Persian cat, and the strangeness of a new habitation made Miss Pussy very spiteful and bad-tempered. One day I had turned out the four squirrels in order to clean the cage thoroughly, and they as usual betook themselves out of the window. With a sudden bound Puss had poor Jill, and with one scrunch she was dead. Puss then bounded after the others, and they escaping up a large yew tree I lost sight of all but one forever. What ultimately became of Jim and Sam I never knew, but Tom would often show himself in the tree and look down with eyes which seemed to say mournfully, “Ah, you’ve killed my little wife between you, and I’m not such a coon as to trust myself within range of her murderers.” Shortly after this we removed, and thus ended my squirrel-keeping, not, however, without much regret on my side at least.
[VI.
BIRD TRAPPING.]
Bird-catching has always a fascination for boys, and, indeed, in my opinion, as a harmless but most interesting pastime, it may be compared not unfavorably with fishing.
“But,” I hear some one say, “is it not cruel to catch and imprison or kill our pretty feathered friends, and if so, is it not wrong to teach boys cruelty?” I answer emphatically “No” to the first of these, and that reply does away with the other question.
It is not cruel to catch the hawk that preys on kindred species, as does the shark or pike, or the beautiful kingfisher that ruthlessly slaughters your innocent baby trout, or the weird and ghostly heron, whose insatiable maw will ever cry, “Give! Give!” like the daughters of the horseleech, from every inhabited stream, or the bad-mannered crow, or the mischievous jay with his egg-eating proclivities.
Then there are some birds, such as pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes, redwings and plovers, and the water-fowl, such as moorhens, widgeon, teal, ducks, etc., which are excellent eating, and who shall say that to kill and eat necessarily implies cruelty?
“But about the pretty song-birds?” you say. Well, now, what bird is happier in captivity than your consequential cock bullfinch, or merry-voiced chaffinch? And are there more annoying birds in existence to those who live by the soil? If you doubt me, go and ask the gardener and hear what he says about Chaffy’s and Bully’s work on the fruitbuds. Then remember what present pleasure the joyous song of the well-fed and warmly-caged linnet or siskin gives to all; but perchance most of all to some one whose hours are spent wearily on the bed of pain.
Of course, catching birds for the mere sake of doing it is wrong, and pray is not fishing liable to the same objection? To go out for the mere purpose of bringing home lots of fish, which are afterwards put to no use, is an abuse of an otherwise harmless sport to which such great and good men as Izaak Walton, Sir Henry Wotton, Archbishop Paley, Charles Kingsley, Mr. John Bright, and many others, have been and are devoted.