At this point I find an instructive parable in my tool chest. Fully half
of the tools are just knives. A chisel is a knife, a plane is a knife
set in a block of wood, a saw is a knife with the edge notched.
Moreover, there are many sorts of curious planes and saws, each intended
for one distinct kind of fine work. All these the joiner has need of,
but a schoolboy would rather have one good, strong pocket-knife than the
whole boxful. For, just in proportion as each tool is perfected for its
own special work, it becomes useless for any other. And your schoolboy
is not a specialist. He wants a tool that will cut a stick, carve a
boat, peel an apple, dig out a worm--in short, one that will do whatever
his active mind wants done.

Now apply this parable to the birds. If you see a bill that is nothing
but a large and powerful pair of forceps, good for any rough job, you
may know without further inquiry that the owner is no limited
specialist, but a "handy man," bold, enterprising, resourceful, and good
all round. He will not starve in the desert. No wholesome food comes
amiss to him--grub, slug, or snail, fruit, eggs, a live mouse or a dead
rat, and he can deal with them all. Such are the magpie, the crow, the
jackdaw, and all of that ilk; and these are the birds that are found in
all countries and climates, and prosper wherever they go.

[Illustration: NO DOUBT EACH BIRD SWEARS BY ITS OWN PATTERN.]

But all birds cannot play that part. One is timid, another fastidious,
another shy but ingenious. So, in the universal competition for a
living, each has taken its own line according to the bent of its nature,
and its one tool has been perfected for its trade until it can follow no
other. The thrush catches such worms as rashly show themselves