AY SY \ AX \ cc \ a | ~~ SY ANY AS \\ \\\ RQ Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090264866 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY DATE DUE GAYLORD FUERTTS 7OOM Quy = de Khee 2 \0- BIRDS IN LONDON ‘THE CROW WITH HIS VOICE OF CARE’ BIRDS IN LONDON LABORATORY OF ORNITHOLOGY CORNELL UNIVERSITY ITHACA, NEW YORK 2 FUERTES POOM Ww HB, PUDSON, F.2.8. ILLUSTRATED BY BRYAN HOOK, A. D. McCORMICK AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS FROM NATURE BY R. B. LODGE LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 1898 All rights reserved PREFACE THE opening chapter contains, by way of intro- duction, all that need be said concerning the object and scope of this work; it remains to say here that, as my aim has been to furnish an account of the London wild bird life of to-day, there was little help to be had from the writings of previous observers. These mostly deal with the central parks, and are interesting now, mainly, as showing the changes that have taken place. At the end of the volume a list will be found of the papers and books on the subject which are known to me. This list will strike many readers as an exceedingly meagre one, when it is remembered that London has always been a home of ornithologists—that from the days of Oliver Goldsmith, who wrote pleasantly vi BIRDS IN LONDON of the Temple Gardens rookery, and of Thomas Pennant and his friend Daines Barrington, there have never been wanting observers of the wild bird life within our gates. The fact remains that, with the exception of a few incidental passages to be found in various ornithological works, nothing was expressly written about the birds of London until James Jennings’s ‘ Ornithologia ’ saw the light a little over seventy years ago. Jennings’s work was a poem, probably the worst ever written in the English language; but as he inserted copious notes, fortunately in prose, embodying his own obser- vations on the bird life of east and south-east London, the book has a very considerable interest for us to-day. Nothing more of impor- tance appeared until the late Shirley Hibberd’s lively paper on ‘ London Birds’ in 1865. From that date onward the subject has attracted an increased attention, and at present we have a number of London or park naturalists, as they might be called, who view the resident London species as adapted to an urban life, and who chronicle their observations in the ‘Field, PREFACE vil ‘Nature,’ ‘Zoologist,’ ‘ Nature Notes,’ and other natural history journals, and in the newspapers and magazines. To return to the present work. ‘Treating ot actualities I have been obliged for the most part to gather my own materials, relying perhaps too much on my own observation ; since London is now too vast a field for any person, however diligent, to know it intimately in all its extent. Probably any reader who is an observer of birds on his own account, and has resided for some years near a park or other open space in London, will be able to say, by way of criticism, that I have omitted some important or interest- ing fact known to him—something that ought to have had a place in a work of this kind. In such a case I can only plead either that the fact was not known to me, or that I had some good reason for not using it. Moreover, there is a limit to the amount of matter which can be included in a book of this kind, and a selection had to be made from a large number of facts and anecdotes I had got together. vill BIRDS IN LONDON All the matter contained in this book, with the exception of one article, or part of an article, on London birds, in the ‘ Saturday Review,’ now appears for the first time. In conclusion, I have to express my warm thanks to those who have helped me in my task, by supplying me with fresh information, and in other ways. W 4H. HF. Lonvon : April, 1898. CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK A handbook of London birds considered— Reasons for not writing it—Changes in the character of the wild bird population, and supposed cause—The London sparrow —lIts abundance—Bread-begging habits —Monotony— Its best appearance—Beautiful finches —Value of open spaces—The sparrows’ afternoon tea in Hyde Park— Purpose of this book CHAPTER II CROWS IN LONDON A short general account of the London crows—The magpie —The jay—London ravens—The Enfield ravens—The Hyde Park ravens—The Tower ravens—The carrion crow, rook, and jackdaw CHAPTER III THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE The crow in London—Persecuted in the royal parks— Degradation of Hyde Park—Ducks in the Serpentine : PAGE 20 x BIRDS IN LONDON PAGE how they are thinned—Shooting a chicken with a revolver—Habits of the Hyde Park mallard—Anecdotes —Number of London crows—The crow a long-lived bird: a bread-eater—Anecdote—Seeks its food on the river—The crow as a pet—Anecdotes . . 82 CHAPTER IV THE LONDON DAW Rarity of the daw in London—Pigeons and daws com- pared—isthetic value of the daw as a cathedral bird—- Kensington Palace daws; their disposition and habits —Friendship with rooks—Wandering daws at Clissold Park—Solitary daws—Mr. Mark Melford’s birds— Rescue of a hundred daws—The strange history of an egg-stealing daw—White daws— White ravens—Wil- lughby’s speculations—A suggestion : é . 62 CHAPTER V EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS Positions of the rook and crow compared—Gray’s Inn Gardens rookery—Break-up of the old, and futile attempt of the birds to establish new rookeries—The rooks a great loss to London— Why the rook is esteemed —Incidents in the life of a tame rook—A first sight of the Kensington Gardens rookery—tThe true history of the expulsion of the rooks—A desolate scene, and a vision of London beautified . : : F 68 CHAPTER VI RECENT COLONISTS The wood-pigeon in Kensington Gardens—Its increase—Its beauty and charm—Perching on Shakespeare’s statue in Leicester Square—Change of habits—The moorhen—Its CONTENTS x1 PAGE appearance and habits—An esthetic bird—Its increase —The dabchick in London—Its increase—Appearance and habits—At Clissold Park—The stock-dove in Lon- don . : _ 3 . ‘ ‘ . 89 CHAPTER VII LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS Number of species, common and uncommon—The London sparrow-—His predominance, hardiness, and intelligence —A pet sparrow—Breeding irregularities—A love-sick bird—Sparrow shindies: their probable cause— Sparrow chapels ’—Evening in the parks—The starling—-His in- dependence—Characteristics—Blackbird, thrush, and robin—White blackbirds—The robin—Decrease in London— Habits and disposition . 4 aor 104 CHAPTER VIII MOVEMENTS OF LONDON BIRDS Migration as seen in London—Swallows in the parks— Fieldfares—A flock of wild geese—Autumn movements of resident species—Wood-pigeons—A curious habit— Dabchicks and moorhens—Crows and rooks—The Palace daws—Starlings—Robins—A Tower robin and the Tower sparrows—Passage birds in the parks— Small birds wintering in London—Influx of birds during severe frosts—Occasional visitors—The black- headed gull—A winter scene in St. James's Park . 129 CHAPTER IX A SURVEY OF THE PARKS: WEST LONDON A general survey of the metropolitan parks—West London — Central parks, with Holland Park—A bird’s highway —Decrease of songsters—The thrush in Kensington Xl BIRDS IN LONDON Gardens—Suggestions—Owls in Kensington Gardens —Other West London open spaces—Ravenscourt Vark as it was and as it is CHAPTER X NORTH-WEST AND NORTH LONDON Open spaces on thé borders of West London—The Scrubs, Old Oak Common, and Kensal Green Cemetery—North- west district—Paddington Recreation Ground, Kilburn Park, and adjoining open spaces--Regent’s Park de- scribed—Attractive to birds, but not safe—Hampstead Heath : its character and bird life—The ponds—A pair of moorhens—An improvement suggested— North Lon- don districts—Highgate Woods, Churchyard Bottom Wood, Waterlow Park, and Highgate Cemetery—Fins- bury Park—A paradise of thrushes—Clissold Park and Abney Park Cemetery CHAPTER XI EAST LONDON Condition of the East district—Large circular group of open spaces—Hackney Downs and London Fields— Victoria Park with Hackney Comnion—Smoky atmo- sphere—Bird life—Lakes—An improvement suggested —Chaftinch fanciers—Hackney Marsh with North and South Mill Fields—Unique character of the Marsh— White House Fishery—The vanished sporting times— Anecdotes—Collection of rare birds—-A region of marshes—Wanstead Old Park—Woodland character— Bird life--Heronry and rookery—A suggestion CHAPTER XII SOUTH-EAST LONDON General survey of South London—South-east London: its most populous portion—Three small open spaces— PAGE 151 171 192 CONTENTS xill PAGE Camberwell New Park—Southwark Park—Kennine- ton Park—Fine shrubberies—Greenwich Park and Blackheath—A stately and depressing park—Mutilated trees—The extreme East—Bostell Woods and Heath— Their peculiar charm—Woolwich and Plumstead Com- mons—Hilly Fields—Peckham Rye and Park—A remonstrance—Nunhead and Camberwell Cemeteries —Dulwich Park—Brockwell Park—The rookery . . 216 CHAPTER NIII SOUTH-WEST LONDON Introductory remarks-—-Comparative large extent of public ground in South-west London—Battersea Park— Character and popularity—Bird life—Clapham Com- mon: its present and past character—-Wandsworth Common—The yellow-hammer—Tooting Common— Tooting Bec—Questionable improvements—A passion for swans—Tooting Graveney—Streatham Common— Bird life—Magpies—Rookery—Bishop’s Park, Fulham —A suggestion—Barn Elms Park—Barnes Common— A burial-ground—Birds —Putney Heath, Lower Putney Common, and Wimbledon Common—Description— Bird life—Rookeries--The badger—Richmond Park— Its vast extent and character—Bird life—Daws— Herons—The charm of large soaring birds—Kew Gardens—List of birds -Unfavourable changes—'The Queen’s private grounds : ‘ - 237 CHAPTER XIV PROTECTION OF BIRDS IN THE PARKS Object of this book—Sununary of facts contained in pre- vious chapters—An incidental result of changes in progress—Some degree of protection in all the open spaces, efficient protection in none— Mischievous visi- tors to the .parks—Pird fanciers and stealers—The X1V BIRDS IN LONDON PAGE destructive rough—The barbarians are few— Two inci- dents at Clissold Park—Love of birds a common feeling of the people . : : : ‘ . 270 CHAPTER XV THE CAT QUESTION The cat’s unchangeable character—A check on the sparrows —Number of sparrows in London—What becomes of the annual increase—No natural check on the park sparrows—Cats in the parks—Story of a cat at Batter- sea Park—Rabbits destroved by cats in Hyde Park— Number of cats in London—Ownerless cats—Their miserable condition—How cats are made ownerless— How this evil may be remedied—How to keep cats out of the parks . : ; : 284 CHAPTER XVI BIRDS FOR LONDON Restoration of the rook—-The Gray’s Inn rookery—Sug- gestions—On attracting rooks—Temple Gardens rookery —Attempt to establish a rookery at Clissold Park—aA new colony of daws—Hawks—Domestie pigeons—An abuse—Stock-dove and turtle-dove—Ornamental water- fowl, pinioned and’ unpinioned—Suggestions—Wild water-fowl in the parks—Small birds for London— Missel-thrush —Nuthatch— Wren—Loudness a merit— Summer visitants to London—Kingfisher—Hard-billed birds—A use for the park sparrows—Natural checks— A sanctuary described . 4 “ A 2 . B04 BIBLIOGRAPHY . : ‘ : 830 INDEX. : * ‘ . B31 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PLATES ‘THE CROW WITH HIS VOICE OF CARE’ . ‘THE SEVEN SISTERS ’ Carrion Crow’s NzEst Pigeons at THE Law Courts . WooD-PIGEON ON SHAKESPEARE’S STATUE Love-sick Cock SPARROWS FEEDING THE GULLS aT St. JAMES’s Park Map oF Lonpon View on Hampstead HeEarit Waitt House FisHery, Hacknry Mars WANSTEAD OLD Park: EARLY SPRING BosteLL HeatH aNnp Woops THe Rookery, BrockwELL Park WIMBLEDON CoMMON Nest oF CHAFFINCH . Park SPARROWS MoorHEN AND CHICKS Frontispiece to face p. 24 34 xv BIRDS IN LONDON ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT PAGE Park Sparrow BEGGING 11 Tue Last Raven . 21 Tue Lapy anp THE Daw . : 60 Lonpon Crows. é 2 » 69 DascHick oN NEST . . 99 London STARLINGS Z : . . 119 FIELDFARES AT THE TOWER . 131 Woon-PiGkon FEEDING oN Haws 136 Ravenscourt Park . : 1538 CoRMORANTS AT ST. JAMES’S PaRk " . 170 Dascuick FEEDING ITS YOUNG. ‘ ‘ 189 NIGHTINGALE ON ITS NEST i 249 CHAFFINCH ‘ : : ; 271 STARLING AT HomE é ‘ i 5 3 . . 803 Dascuick’s Firoatinc Nest: St. JaMes’s Park . 829 BIRDS IN LONDON CHAPTER I THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK A handbook of London birds considered—Reasons for not writing it—Changes in the character of the wild bird population, and supposed cause—The London sparrow—Its abundance — Bread-begging habits — Monotony — Its best appearance—Beautiful finches—Value of open spaces—The sparrows’ afternoon tea in Hyde Park—Purpose of this book. Aone the many little schemes and more or less good intentions which have flitted about my brain like summer flies in a room, there was one for a small volume on London birds ; to contain, for principal matter, lists of the species resident throughout the year, of the visitants, regular and occasional, and of the vanished species which have inhabited the metropolis in recent, former, or historical times. For everyone, even the veriest Dryasdust among us, has some glow of poetic feeling in him, some lingering regret C B 2 BIRDS IN LONDON for the beautiful that has vanished and returneth not; consequently, it would be hard in treating of London bird life not to go back to times which now seem very ancient, when the kite was common—the city’s soaring scavenger, protected by law, just as the infinitely less attractive turkey-buzzard is now protected in some towns of the western world. ‘Again, thanks to Mr. Harting’s researches into old records, we have the account of beautiful white spoonbills, associated with herons, building their nests on the tree-tops in the Bishop of London’s grounds at Fulham. To leave this fascinating theme. It struck me at first that the book vaguely contemplated might be made useful to lovers and students of bird life in London; and I was also encouraged by the thought that the considerable amount of printed material which exists relating to the subject would make the task of writing it com- paratively easy. But I no sooner looked attentively into the subject than I saw how difficult it really was, and how unsatisfactory, and I might almost add useless, the work would prove. To begin with, what is London? It is a THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 3 very big town, a ‘province covered with houses’ ; but for the ornithologist where, on any side, does the province end? Does it end five miles south of Charing Cross, at Sydenham, or ten miles further afield, at Downe? Or, looking north, do we draw the line at Hampstead, or Aldenham ? The whole metropolitan area has, let us say, a circumference of about ninety miles, and within its outermost irregular boundary there is room for half a dozen concentric lines, each of which will contain a London, differing greatly in size and, in a much less degree,in character. If the list be made to include all the birds found in such rural and even wild places—woods, thickets, heaths, and marshes—as exist within a sixteen- mile radius, it is clear that most of the inland species found in the counties of Kent, Surrey, Middlesex, Hertfordshire, and Essex would be in it, The fact is, in drawing up a list of London birds, the writer can, within limits, make it as long or short as he thinks proper. Thus, if he wishes to have a long list, and is partial to round numbers, he will be able to get a century of species by making his own twelve or thirteen mile radius. Should he then alter his mind, B2 4 BIRDS IN LONDON and think that a modest fifty would content him, all he would have to do to get that number would be to contract his line, bringing it some- where near the indeterminate borders of inner London, where town and country mix or pass into each other. Now a handbook written on this plan would be useful only if a very exact boundary were drawn, and the precise locality given in which each resident or breeding species had its haunts, where the student or lover of birds could watch or listen for it with some chance of being rewarded. Even so, the book would not serve its purpose for a longer period than two or three years; after three years it would most certainly be out of date, so great and continuous is the growth of London on all sides. Thus, going round London, keeping to that partly green indeterminate borderland already mentioned, there are many little hidden rustic spots where in the summer of 1897 the wood- pecker, green and spotted, and the nuthatch and tree-creeper bred; also the nightingale, bottle- tit, and wryneck, and jay and crow, and kestrel and white and brown owl; but who can say that they will breed in the same places in 1899, or even in 1898? For these little green rustic THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 5 refuges are situated on the lower slopes of a volcano, which is always in a state of eruption, and year by year they are being burnt up and obliterated by ashes and lava. After T had at once and for ever dropped, for the reasons stated, all idea of a handbook, the thought remained that there was still much to be said about London bird life which might be useful, although in another way. The sub- ject was often in my mind during the summer months of 1896 and 1897, which, for my sins, I was compelled to spend in town. During this wasted and dreary period, when I was often in the parks and open spaces in all parts of London, I was impressed more than I had been before with the changes constantly going on in the character of the bird population of the metro- polis. These changes are not rapid enough to show a marked difference in a space of two or three years; but when we take a period of fifteen or twenty years, they strike us as really very great. They are the result of the gradual decrease in numbers and final dying out of many of the old-established species, chiefly singing birds, and, at the same time, the appearance of 6 BIRDS IN LONDON other species previously unknown in London, and their increase and diffusion. Considering these two facts, one is inclined to say off-hand that the diminution or dying out of one set of species is simply due to the fact that they are incapable of thriving in the conditions infwhich they are placed; that the London smoke is fatal in the long run to some of the more delicate birds, as it undoubtedly is to the rose and other plants that require pure air and plenty of sunshine; and that, on the other hand, the new colonists:that are increasing are species of a coarser fibre, greater vitality, and able, like the plane-tree in the plant world, to thrive in such conditions. It is really not so: the tits and finches, the robin, wren, hedge-sparrow, pied wagtail, some of the warblers, and the missel-thrush, are as vigorous and well able to live in London as the wood-pigeon. They are, moreover, very much more prolific than the pigeon, and find their food with greater ease. Yet we see that these lively, active species are dying out, while the slow, heavy dove, which must eat largely to live, and lays but two eggs on a frail platform of sticks for nest, is rapidly increasing. THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 7 Here then, it seemed, was a subject which it might be for the advantage of the bird-lovers in London to consider; and I write in the con- viction that there are as many Londoners who love the sight and sound of wild bird life as there are who find refreshment in trees and grass and flowers, who are made glad by the sight of a blue sky, to whom the sunshine is sweet and pleasant to behold. In going about London, after my mind had begun to dwell on this subject, I was frequently amused, and sometimes teased, by the sight and sound of the everywhere-present multitudinous sparrow. In London there are no grain-growers and market-gardeners, consequently there is no tiresome sparrow question, and no sparrow-clubs to vex the tender-hearted. These sparrows were not to be thought about in their relation to agriculture, but were simply little birds, too often, in many a weary mile, in many an unlovely district, the only representatives of the avian class, flying to and fro, chirping and chirruping from dawn to dark ; nor birds only: I had them also for butterflies, seen sometimes in crowds and clouds, as in the tropics, with no 8 BIRDS IN LONDON rich nor splendid colouring on their wings; and I had them for cicadas, and noisy locusts of arboreal habits, hundreds and thousands of them, whirring in a subdued way in the park trees during the sultry hours. They were all these things and scavengers as well, ever busy at their scavengering in the dusty and noisy ways; everywhere finding some organic matter to comfort their little stomachs, or to carry to their nestlings. At times the fanciful idea would occur to me that I was on a commission appointed to inquire into the state of the wild bird life of London, or some such subject, and that my fellow commissioners were sparrows, so in- cessantly were they with me, though in greatly varying numbers, during my perambulations. After all, the notion that they attended or accompanied me in my walks was not wholly fanciful. For no sooner does any person enter any public garden or park, or other open space where there are trees, than, if he be not too absorbed in his own thoughts, he will see that several sparrows are keeping him company, flying from tree to tree, or bush to bush, alighting occasionally on the ground near him, watching THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 9 his every movement ; and if he sit down on a chair or bench several of them will come close to him, and hop this way and that before him, uttering a little plaintive note of interrogation— Have you got nothing for us? They have come to look on every human being who walks among the park trees and round the garden-beds as a mere perambulating machine for the distribution of fragments of bread. The sparrow’s theory or philosophy of life, from our point of view, is very ridiculous, but he finds it profitable, and wauts no better. I remember that during those days, when the little creatures were so much with me, whether I wanted them or no, some person wrote to one of the newspapers to say that he had just made the acquaintance of the common sparrow in a new character. The sparrow was and always had been a familiar bird to him, but he had never previously seen it gathered in crowds at its ‘afternoon tea’ in Hyde Park, a spectacle which he had now witnessed with surprise and pleasure. If (I thought) this innumerous feathered company could only be varied somewhat, the modest plumage retouched, by Nature, with 10 BIRDS IN LONDON harmonious olive green and yellow tints, pure greys and pure browns, with rose, carmine, tile and chestnut reds; and if the monotonous little burly forms could be reshaped, and made in some cases larger, in others smaller, some burlier still and others slimmer, more delicate and aérial in appearance, the spectacle of their afternoon tea would be infinitely more attractive and refreshing than it now is to many a Londoner’s tired eyes. Their voices, too—for the refashioned mixed crowd would have a various language, like the species that warble and twitter and call music- ally to one another in orchard and copse— would give a new and strange delight to the listener. No doubt the sparrow is, to quote the letter- writer's expression, ‘a jolly little fellow,’ quite friendly with his supposed enemy man, amusing in his tea-table manners, and deserving of all the praise and crumbs we give him. He is even more. ‘To those who have watched him begging for and deftly catching small scraps of bread, suspended like a hawk-moth in the air before the giving hand, displaying his conspicuous black gorget and the pale ash colour of his under THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 11 surface, while his rapidly vibrating wings are made silky and translucent by the sunlight PARK SPARROW BEGGING passing through them, he appears, indeed, a pretty and even graceful creature. But he is, after all, only a common sparrow, a mean repre- sentative of bird life in our midst; in all the esthetic qualities which make birds charming—hbeauty of form and colour, grace of motion, and melody —less than the least of the others. Therefore to greatly praise him is to publish 12 BIRDS IN LONDON our ignorance, or, at all events, to make it appear that he is admired because, being numerous and familiar with man, he has been closely and well looked at, while the wilder and less common species have only been seen at a distance, and therefore indistinctly. A distinguished American writer on birds once visited England in order to make the acquaintance of our most noted feathered people, and in his haste pronounced the chaffinch the ‘prettiest British songster.’ Doubtless he had seen it oftenest, and closely, and at its best ; but he would never have expressed such an opinion if he had properly seen many other British singing birds; if, for instance (confining our- selves to the fringilline family), he had seen his ‘ shilfa’s ’ nearest relation, the brambling, in his black dress beautifully variegated with buff and brown ; or the many-coloured cirl-bunting ; or that golden image of a bird, the yellow- hammer ; or the green siskin, ‘ that lovely little oddity,’ seeking his food, tit-like, among the pine needles, or clinging to pendulous twigs; or the linnet in his spring plumage—pale grey and richest brown and carmine—singing among the flowery gorse; or the goldfinch, flitting THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK. 13 amidst the apple-bloom in May, or feeding on the thistle in July and August, clinging to the downy heads, twittering as he passes from plant to plant, showing his gay livery of crimson, black, and gold; or the sedentary bullfinch, a miniature hawk in appearance, with a wonder- ful rose-coloured breast, sitting among the clustering leaves of a dark evergreen—yew or holly. Beautiful birds are all these, and there are others just as beautiful in other passerine families, but alas! they are at a distance from us; they live in the country, and it is only that small ‘ whiff of the country’ to be enjoyed in a public park which fate allows to the majority of Londoners, the many thousands of toilers from year’s end to year’s end, and their wives and children. To those of us who take an annual holiday, aud, in addition, an occasional run in the country, or who are not bound to town, it is hardly possible to imagine how much is meant by that little daily or weekly visit to a park. Its value to the confined millions has accordingly never been, and probably cannot be, rightly estimated. For the poor who have not those 14 BIRDS IN LONDON periods of refreshment which others consider so necessary to their health and contentment, the change from the close, adulterated atmosphere of the workshop and the living-room, and stone- paved noisy street, to the open, green, compara- tively quiet park, is indeed great, and its benefit to body and mind incalculable. The sight of the sun; of the sky, no longer a narrow strip, but wide, infinite over all; the freshness of the unconfined air which the lungs drink in; the green expanse of earth, and large trees standing apart, away from houses—all this produces a shock of strange pleasure and quickens the tired pulse with sudden access of life. In a small way—sad it is to think in how small a way !— it is a return to nature, an escape for the moment from the prison and sick-room of un- natural conditions; and the larger and less artificial the park or open space, and the more abounding in wild, especially bird, life, the more restorative is the effect. It is indeed invariably the animal life which exercises the greatest attraction and is most exhilarating. It is really pathetic to see how many persons of the working class come every day, all the year round, but especially in the THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 15 summer months, to that minute transcript of wild nature in Hyde Park at the spot called the Dell, where the Serpentine ends. They are drawn thither by the birds—the multitude of sparrows that gather to be fed, and the wood- pigeons, and a few moorhens that live in the rushes. ‘I call these my chickens, and I’m obliged to come every day to feed them,’ said a paralytic- looking white-haired old man in the shabbiest clothes, one evening as I stood there; then, taking some fragments of stale bread from his pockets, he began feeding the sparrows, and while doing so he chuckled with delight, and looked round from time to time to see if the others were enjoying the spectacle. To him succeeded two sedate-looking labourers, big, strong men, with tired, dusty faces, on their way home from work. Each produced from his coat-pocket a little store of fragments of bread and meat, saved from the midday meal, carefully wrapped up in a piece of newspaper. After bestowing their scraps on the little brown-coated crowd, one spoke: ‘Come on, mate, they’ve had it all, and now let’s go home and see what the missus has got for 16 BIRDS IN LONDON our tea’; and home they trudged across the park, with hearts refreshed and lightened, no doubt, to be succeeded by others and _ still others, London workmen and their wives and children, until the sun had set and the birds were all gone. Here then is an object lesson which no person who is capable of reading the emotions in the countenance, who has any sympathy with his fellow-creatures, can fail to be impressed by. Not only at that spot in Hyde Park may it be seen, but at all the parks and open spaces in London; in some more than others, as at St, James’s Park, where the gulls are fed during the winter months, and at Battersea and Regent’s Parks, where the starlings congregate every evening in July and August. What we see is the perpetual hunger of the heart and craving of those who are compelled to live apart from Nature, who have only these momentary glimpses of her face, and of the refreshment they ex- perience at sight of trees and grass and water, and, above everything, of wild and glad animal life. How important, then, that the most should be made of our few suitable open spaces; that everything possible should be done to maintain THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 17 in them an abundant and varied wild bird life! Unfortunately, this has not been seen, else we should not have lost so much, especially in the royal parks. In some of the parks under the County Council there are great signs of im- provement, an evident anxiety to protect and increase the stock of wild birds; but even here the most zealous of the superintendents are not fully conscious of the value of what they are themselves doing. They are encouraging the wild birds because they are considered ‘ orna- ments’ to the park, just as they plant rhodo- dendrons and other exotic shrubs that have big gaily-coloured flowers in their season, and as they exhibit some foreign bird of gorgeous plumage in the park aviary. They have not yet grasped the fact—I hope Mr. Sexby, the excellent head of the parks department, will pardon my saying it—that the feathered inhabi- tants of our open spaces are something more than ‘ornaments’; that the sight and sound of any wild bird, from the croaking carrion crow to the small lyrical kitty wren or tinkling tom- tit, will afford more pleasure to the Londoner— in other words, conduce more to his health and C 18 BIRDS IN LONDON happiness—than all the gold pheasants and other brightly-apparelled prisoners, native and foreign, to be seen in the park cages. From the foregoing it will be seen that this little book, which comes in place of the one I had, in a vague way, once thought of writing, is in some degree a book with a purpose. Birds are not considered merely as objects of interest to the ornithologist and to a few other persons—objects or creatures which the great mass of the people of the metropolis have really nothing to do with, and vaguely regard as some- thing at a distance, of no practical import, or as wholly unrelated to their urban life. Rather they are considered as a necessary part of those pleasure- and health-giving transcripts of nature which we retain and cherish as our best pos- sessions—the open sun-lit and tree-shaded spaces, green with grass and bright with water; so im- portant a part indeed, as bringing home to us that glad freedom and wildness which is our best medicine, that without it all the rest would lose much of its virtue. But on this point—the extreme pleasure THE BIRDS AND THE BOOK 19 which the confined Londoner experiences in seeing and hearing wild birds, and the conse- quent value of our wild bird life—enough has been said in this place, as it will be necessary to return to the subject in one of the concluding chapters. c2 20 BIRDS IN LONDON CHAPTER II CROWS IN LONDON A short general account of the London crows—The magpie — The jay—London ravens—The Enfield ravens—The Hyde Park ravens—The Tower ravens—The carrion crow, rook, and jackdaw. THERE are not many crows in London; the number of the birds that are left are indeed few, and, if we exclude the magpie and jay, there are only three species. But the magpie and jay cannot be left out altogether, when we find both species still existing at a distance of six and a half to seven miles from Charing Cross. The magpie is all but lost; at the present time there are no more than four birds inhabiting inner London, doubtless escaped from captivity, and afraid to leave the parks in which they found refuge—-those islands of verdure in the midst of a sea, or desert, of houses. One bird, the sur- vivor of a pair, has his home in St. James’s Park, and is the most interesting figure in that haunt CROWS IN LONDON 21 of birds; a spirited creature, a great hater and persecutor of the carrion crows when they come. The other three consort together in Regent’s Park; once or twice they have built a nest, but THE LAST RAVEN failed to hatch their eggs. Probably all three are females. When, some time ago, the ‘Son of the Marshes’ wrote that the magpie had been extirpated in his own county of Surrey, and that to see it he should have to visit the London parks, he made too much of these escaped birds, which may be numbered on the fingers of one hand. Yet we know that the pie was formerly—even in this 22 BIRDS IN‘ LONDON century—quite common in London. Yarrell, in his ‘British Birds,’ relates.that he once saw twenty-three together in Kensington Gardens. In these gardens they bred, probably for the last time, in 1856. Nor, so far as I know, do any magpies survive in the woods and thickets on the outskirts of the metropolis, except at two spots in the south-west district. The fate of the last pair at Hampstead has been related by Harting, in Lobley’s ‘ Hampstead Hill’ (London, 1889). For several years this pair had their nest in an unclimbable tree at the Grove; at length, one of the pair was shot by a local bird-stuffer, after which the surviving bird twice found and returned with a new mate; but one by one all were killed by the same miscreant. It would be easy enough for any person to purchase a few magpies in the market and liberate them in St. James’s and Regent’s Parks, and other suitable places, where, if undisturbed, they would certainly breed; but I fear that it would not be an advisable thing to do at present, on account of the very strong prejudice which exists against this handsome bird. Thus, at St. James’s Park the one surviving bird is ‘ one too many, according to the keepers. ‘One for CROWS IN LONDON 23 sorrow’ is an old saying. He is, they say, a robber and a teaser, dangerous to the ornamental water-fowl in the breeding season, a great per- secutor of the wood-pigeons, and in summer never happy unless he has a pigeon’s. egg in his beak. It strikes one forcibly that this is not a faithful portrait—that the magpie has been painted all black, instead of black and white as nature made him. At all events, we know that during the first two or three decades of the present century there was an abundant and varied wild bird life in the royal parks, and that at the same time the magpies were more numerous there than they are now known to be in any forest or wild place in England. The jay does not inhabit any of the inner parks and open spaces ; nor is there any evidence of its having been a resident London species at any time. But it is found in the most rural parts and in the wooded outskirts of the metro- polis. Its haunts will be mentioned in the chap- ters descriptive of the parks and open spaces. There is no strong prejudice against the jay among the park keepers, and I am glad to know that, in two or three parks, attempts will be made shortly to introduce this most beautiful 24 BIRDS IN LONDON of British birds. It is to be hoped that when we have got him his occasional small peccadilloes will not be made too much of. The raven has long been lost to London, but not so long as might be imagined when we consider how nearly extinct this noble species, as an inland breeder, now is in all the southern half, and very nearly all the northern half, of England. It is not my intention in this book to go much into the past history of London bird life, but I make an exception of the raven on account of an extreme partiality for that most human-like of feathered creatures. Down to about the middle of last century, perhaps later, the raven was a common London bird. He was, after the kite had vanished, the principal feathered scavenger, and it was said that a London raven could easily be distinguished from a country bird by his dulled or dusty-looking plumage, the result of his food-seeking opera- tions in dust and ash heaps. A little way out of the metropolis he lingered on, as a breeding species, down to within a little more than half a century ago; the last pair, so far as I can discover, bred at Enfield down to about 1845. ‘THE SEVEN SISTERS’ CROWS IN LONDON 25 The original ‘ raven tree’ on which this pair had nested for many years was cut down, after which the birds built a nest in a clump of seven elm- trees, known locally as the ‘seven sisters,’ five of which are still standing. In London the last pair had ceased to breed about twenty years earlier; and of a hundred histories of ‘last ravens’ to be met with in all parts of the country, that of these London birds is by no means the least interesting, and is worth relating again. Down to about 1826 this pair bred annually on one of the large elms in Hyde Park, until it entered into the head of one of the park keepers to pull down the nest containing young birds. The name and subsequent history of this injurious wretch have not been handed down. Doubtless he has long gone to his account ; and let us add the pious wish that his soul, along with the souls of all those who were wanton destroyers of man’s feathered fellow-creatures, is now being driven, like a snow-flake, round and round the icy pole in that everlasting whirlwind described by Courthope in his ‘ Paradise of Birds.’ The old ravens, deprived of their young, forsook the park. One of the young birds was 26. BIRDS IN LONDON successfully reared by the keeper; and the story of this raven was long afterwards related by Jesse. He was allowed the fullest liberty, and as he passed a good deal of his time in the vicinity of the Row, he came to be very well known to all those who were accustomed to walk in Hyde Park at that time. He was fond of the society of the men then engaged in the construction of Rennie’s bridge over the Serpen- tine, and the workmen made a pet of him. His favourite amusement was to sidle cunningly up to some passer-by or idler, and, watching his chance, give him or her a sharp dig on the ankle with his beak. One day a fashionably. dressed lady was walking near the bridge, when all at once catching sight of the bird at her feet, on feeling its sharp beak prodding her heel, she screamed and gave a great start, and in starting dropped a valuable gold bracelet from her wrist. No sooner did the jewel touch the ground than the raven snatched it up in his beak and flew away with it into Kensington Gardens, where it was searched for, but never found. It was believed that he made use of one of the hollow trees in the gardens as a hiding place for plunder of this kind. At length CROWS IN. LONDON 27 the raven disappeared—some one had stolen him; but after an absence of several weeks he reappeared in the park with clipped wings. His disposition, too, had suffered a change : he moped a good deal, and finally one morning was found dead in the Serpentine. It was surmised that he had drowned himself from grief at having been deprived of the power of flight. A few ravens have since visited London. In 1850 a keeper in Regent’s Park observed two of these birds engaged in a savage fight, which ended in the death of one of the combatants. In March 1890 a solitary raven appeared in Kensington Gardens, and remained there for several weeks. A keeper informed me that it was captured and taken away. If this unfor- tunate raven had known his London better, he would not have chosen a royal park for a residence. Was this Kensington raven, it has been asked, a wild bird, or a strayed pet, or an escaped captive? I believe the following incident will throw some light on the question. For many years past two or three ravens have usually been kept at the Tower of London. About seven years ago, as near as I can make 28 BIRDS IN LONDON out, there were two birds, male and female, and they paired and set to work building a nest on a tree. By and by, for some unknown reason, they demolished the nest they had made and started building a new one in another place. This nest also failed to satisfy them and was pulled to pieces like the first, and another begun ; and finally, after half a dozen such attempts, the cock bird, who was a strong flyer, abandoned the task altogether and took to roaming about London, possibly in search of a new mate with a better knowledge of nest- building. It was his habit to mount up to a considerable height in the air, and soar about above the Tower, then to fly away to St. Paul’s Cathedral, where he would perch on the cross above the dome and survey the raree-show beneath. Then he would wing his way to the docks, or in some other direction ; and day by day his wanderings over London were extended, until the owner or owners of the bird were warned that if his wings were not clipped he would, soon or late, be lost. But when it was at last resolved to cut his wings he refused to be caught. He had grown shy and suspicious, and although he came for OROWS IN LONDON 29 food and to roost on one of the turrets every evening, he would not allow any person to come too near him. After some weeks of this semi- independent life he finally disappeared, having, as I believe, met his end in Kensington Gardens. His old mate ‘Jenny, as she is named, still lives at the Tower. I hear she has just been provided with a new mate. Three other crows remain—the carrion crow, rook, and jackdaw, all black but comely, although not beautiful nor elegant, like the bright vari-coloured jay and the black and white pie. Unfortunately they are a small remnant, and we are threatened with the near loss of one, if not of all. The first-named of this corvine trio is now the largest and most important wild bird that has been left to us; if any as big or bigger appear. they are but casual visitors—a chance cormorant in severe weather, and the heron, that sometimes comes by night to the ornamental waters in the parks in search of fish, to vanish again, grey and ghostlike in the grey dawn. It is curious to find that the big, loud-voiced, hated carrion crow—so conspicuous and aggres- ‘30 BIRDS IN’: LONDON sive a bird—has a firmer hold on life in the metropolis than his two relations, the rook and daw; for these two are sociable in ‘habits and inclined to be domestic, and are’ everywhere inhabitants of towns. Or, rather, it would be strange but for the fact that the crow is less generally disliked in London than out of it. Now, although these our three surviving crows are being left far behind in actual numbers by some other species that have only recently established themselves among us, and are moreover decreasing, and may be wholly lost at no distant date, they have been so long connected with London, and _ historically, as well as on account of their high intelligence and interesting habits, are so much more to us than the birds of other families, that Iam tempted to write at considerable length about them, devoting a separate chapter to each species. I also cherish the hope that their threatened loss may yet be prevented ; doubtless every Londoner will agree that it would be indeed a pity to lose these old residents. It is a fact, although perhaps not a quite familiar one, that those who reside in the metro-- polis are more interested in and have a kindlier CROWS IN LONDON 3l feeling for their wild birds than is the case in the rural districts. The reason is not far to seek: the poorer we are the more do we prize our small belongings. A wind-fluttered green leaf, a sweet-smelling red rose, a thrush in song, is naturally more to a Londoner than to the dweller in mid-Surrey, or Kent, or Devon. 32 BIRDS IN LONDON CHAPTER III THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE The crow in London—Persecuted in the royal parks—Degrada- tion of Hyde Park—Ducks in the Serpentine: how they are thinned—Shooting a chicken with « revolver—Habits of the Hyde Park mallard—Anecdotes—Number of London crows —The crow a long-lived bird; a bread-eater—Anecdote— Seeks its food on the river—The crow as a pet—Anecdotes. THE carrion crow has probably always been an inhabitant of the central parks ; at all events it is well known that for a long time past a pair bred annually in the trees on the north side of the Serpentine, down to within the last three years. As these birds took toll of the ducks’ eggs and ducklings when they had a nest full of ravenous young to feed, it was resolved that they should no longer be tolerated; their nests were ordered to be pulled down and the old birds shot whenever an opportunity offered. Now it is not the Hyde Park crows alone that will suffer if this policy be adhered to, but the London crows generally will be in danger of THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 33 extermination, for the birds are constantly passing and repassing across London, visiting all the parks where there are large trees, on their way to and from their various feeding- grounds. Hyde Park with Kensington Gardens is one of their favourite stopping places; one or more pairs may be seen there on most mornings, frequently at noon again on their return to Richmond, Kew, and Syon Park, and to the notthern heights of London. On the morning of October 10, 1896, I saw eight carrion crows, in pairs, perched at a considerable distance apart on the elm-tops near the palace in Kensington Gardens. After calling for some time on the trees, they began to pursue and buffet one another with violence, making the whole place in the meantime resound with their powerful, harsh, grating cries. Their mock battle over, they rose to a considerable height in the air and went away towards Hammersmith. It seemed to me a marvellous thing that I had witnessed such a scene in such a place. But it is not necessary to see a number of carrion crows together to feel impressed with the appearance of the bird. There are few finer sights in the wild bird life of London than one D 34 BIRDS IN LONDON of these visitors to the park on any autumn or winter morning, when he will allow you to come quite near to the leafless tree on which he is perched, to stand still and admire his massive raven-like beak and intense black plumage glossed with metallic green, as he sits flirting his wings and tail, swelling his throat. to the size of a duck’s egg, as, at intervals, he pours out a succession of raucous caws—the cry of a true savage, and the crow’s ‘voice of care, as Chaucer called it. _ The crow is, in fact, the grandest wild bird left’ to us in the metropolis; and after corre- sponding and conversing with a large. number of persons on the subject, I find that in London others—most persoris, I believe—admire him as much as I do, and are just as anxious that he should be preserved. It may be mentioned here that in two or three of the County Council’s parks the superintendents protect and take pride in their crows. Why, then, should these few birds, which Londoners value, be destroyed in the royal parks for fear of the loss of a few ducklings out of the hundreds that are annually hatched and reared ? The ducks in the Serpentine are very ISHN §,M0UO NOTWUVO THE CARRION CROW. IN THE BALANCE 35 numerous ; many bucketfuls of food—meal and grain—are given to them every day when they congregate at the boat-house, and. they get besides large quantities of broken bread cast to them by the public; all day long, and every day when it is not raining, there is a continual procession of men, women, and children bringing food for the birds. Is.it permissible to ask for whose advantage this large number of ducks:is reared and fattened for the table at so small a cost? Hyde Park is maintained by the nation, aad presumably for the nation; it is a national as well as a royal park; is it not extraordinary that so noble a possession, the largest and most beautiful open space in the capital of the British empire, the chief city of the world, should be degraded to something like a poultry farm, or at all events a duck-breeding establishment, and that in order to get as much profit as possible out of the ducks, one of the chief ornaments of the park, the one representative of noble wild bird life that has survived until now in London, should be sacrificed ? Let us by all means have ducks, and many of them; they are gregarious by nature and look well in flocks, and are a source of innocent D2 36 BIRDS IN LONDON pleasure to numberless visitors to the parks, especially to children ‘and nursemaids; but let us not have ducks only—a great multitude of ducks, to the exclusion of other wilder and nobler birds. Personally, I am very fond of these ducks, although I have never had one on my table, and believe that I am as well able to appreciate their beauty and feel an interest in their habits as any of the gentlemen in authority who have decreed that the carrion crow shall go the way of the raven in Hyde Park. I love them because they are not the ducks that have been made lazy and fat, with all their fine faculties dulled, by long domestication. They are the wild duck, or mallard, introduced many years ago into the Serpentine. Doubtless they have some domestic taint in them, since the young birds reared each season exhibit a very considerable variation in colour and markings. Those that vary in colour are weeded out each winter, and the original type is in this way preserved; but not strictly preserved, as the weeding-out process is carelessly—I had almost said stupidly—per- formed. The thinning takes place in December, and at THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 37 that season people who live in the vicinity of the park are startled each morning by the sound of firing, as at the covert side. The sub-ranger and his friends and underlings are enjoying their big annual shoot. And there is no reason why they should not have this sport, if it pleases them, and if by this means the object sought could be obtained. But it is not obtained, as anyone may see for himself; and it also seems a trifle ridiculous that any man can find sport in shooting birds accustomed to walk about among people’s legs and feed out of little children’s hands. Once upon a time, in a distant country, I came with a companion to a small farmhouse. We were very much in want of a meal, but no person was about, and the larder was empty, and so we determined to kill and broil a chicken for ourselves. On our making certain chuckling noises, which domestic birds understand, a number of fowls scattered about near the place rushed up to us, expecting to be fed. Wemade choice of a very tall cockerel for our breakfast ; so tall was this young bird on his long, bright yellow stilt-like shanks that he towered head and neck above his fellows. My companion, 38 BIRDS IN LONDON who was an American, had a revolver in his pocket, and pulling it out he fired five shots at the bird at a distance of about six yards, but failed to hit it. He was preparing to reload his weapon,,when, to expedite matters, I picked up a stick and knocked the chicken over, and in less than fifty minutes’ time we were picking his bones. I doubt if the Hyde Paik sportsmen will see anything very amusing in this story. ‘The mallard is an extremely handsome fowl, and it is pleasant to see such a bird in flocks, at home on the ornamental waters, and at the same time to learn that it is, in a sense, a wild bird, that in the keenness of its faculties, its power of flight, and nesting habits it differs greatly from its degenerate domestic relation. By day he will feed from any person’s hand ; in the evening he returns to his ancient wary habit, and will not suffer a person to approach him. He is active by night, particularly in the autumn, flying about the park and gardens in small flocks and feeding on the grass. It is a curious and delightful experience to be alone on adamp autumn night in Kensington Gardens. One is surrounded by London; its dull con- THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 39 tinuous murmur may be heard, and the elinting of distant lamps catches the eye through the trees ; these fitful gleams and distant sounds but make the silence and darkness all the more deep and impressive. Suddenly the whistling of wings is heard, and the loud startled cry of a mallard, as the birds, vaguely seen, rush by overhead ; the effect on the mind is wonderful—one has been transported as by a miracle into the midst of a wild and solitary nature. Both by day and night there is much going to and fro between the Serpentine and the Round Pond, but each bird appears to be faithful to its home, and those that have been reared on the Round Pond breed in its vicinity on the west side of the gardens. Where their eggs are deposited is known to few. Strange as it may seem, they nest in the trees, in holes in the trunks of the large elms, in many cases at a height of thirty feet or more from the ground. Some of the breeding-trees are known, of others the secret has been well kept by the birds. Not a few ducks breed in Holland Park, and find it an exceedingly difficult matter to get their broods into the gardens. More than once the strange spectacle of a duck leading its newly- 40 BIRDS IN LONDON hatched young along the thronged pavements of Kensington High Street has been witnessed. When the young have been hatched in a tree the parent bird takes them up in her beak and drops them one by one to the ground, and the fall does not appear to hurt them. Last year a duck bred in a tree broken off at the top near St. Gover’s Well, in the gardens. One morning she appeared with four ducklings, and leaving them near the pond went back to the tree and in time returned with a second lot of four. Still she was not satisfied, but continued to go back to the tree and to fly round and round it with a great clamour. A keeper who had been watching her movements sent for a man with a ladder to have the tree-top examined. The man found the broken stem hollow at the top, and by thrusting his arm down shoulder-deep was able to reach the bottom of the cavity with his hand. One duckling was found in it and rescued, and its mother made happy. That she had suc- ceeded in getting all the others out of so deep and narrow a shaft seemed very as- tonishing. An extraordinary incident relating to these Kensington ducks was told to me by one of the THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 41 keepers, who himself heard it by a very curious chance. One dark evening, after leaving the gardens, he got on to an omnibus near the Albert Hall to go to his home at Hammersmith. Two men who occupied the seat in front of him were talking about the gardens and the birds, and he listened. One of the men related that he once succeeded in taking a clutch of ducks’ egos from the gardens. He put them under a hen at his home in Hammersmith, and nine ducklings were hatched. They were healthy and strong and grew up into nine as fine ducks as he had ever seen. Such fine birds were they that he was loth to kill or part with them, and before he had made up his mind what to do he lost them in a very strange way. One morning he was in his back yard, where his birds were kept, when a crow appeared flying by at a con- siderable height in the air; instantly the ducks, with raised heads, ran together, then with a scream of terror sprang into the air and flew away, to be seen no more. Up till that moment they had never seen beyond the small back yard where they lived—it was their world—nor had any one of them ever attempted to use his wings. 42 BIRDS IN LONDON ‘Let us now return to the nobler bird, the subject of this chapter. It would not, I imagine, be difficult for one who had the time to count the London crows; those I am accustomed to see number about twenty, and I should not be surprised to learn that as many as forty crows frequent inner London. But with the exception of two, or perhaps three pairs, they do not now breed in London, but have their nesting-haunts in woods west, north, and east of the metropolis. These breeders on the outskirts bring the young they succeed in rearing to the parks, from which they have themselves in some cases been expelled, and the tradition is thus kept up. Most of the birds appear to fly over London every day, paying long visits on their way to Regent’s Park, Holland Park, the central parks, and Battersea Park. As their movements are very regular it would be possible to mark their various routes on a map of the metropolis. Mr. W. H. Tuck, writing to me about the carrion crow, says: ‘For many years, when living in Kensington, several pairs of crows going from N.E. to 8.W. passed at daybreak over my house on their way to the Thames THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 43 banks at Chelsea, and I could always time them within a minute or two.’ These birds come on their way from the northern heights to the river at Chelsea; the crows that breed in the neigh- bourhood of Syon Park and Richmond fly over the central parks to Westminster, and then follow the river down to its mouth. The persistency with which the carrion crow keeps to his nesting-place may be seen in the case of a pair that have bred in private grounds at Hillfield, Hampstead, for at least sixty years. Nor is it impossible to believe that the same birds have occupied the site for this long period, the crow being a long-lived creature. The venerable author of ‘Festus,’ who also has the secret of long life, might have been thinking of this very pair when, more than half a century ago, he wrote his spirited lyric :— The crow! the crow! the great black crow! He lives for a hundred years and mo’ ; He lives till he dies, and he dies as slow As the morning mists down the hill that go. Go—go! you great black crow! But it’s fine to live and die like a great black crow. Many persons might be inclined to think that it must be better for the crow to have his 44 BIRDS IN LONDON nest a little way out of the hurly-burly, or at all events within easy reach of the country; for how, they might ask, can this large flesh- eating, voracious creature feed himself and rear a nest full of young with cormorant appetites in London ? Eliza Cook, whose now universally neglected works I admired as a boy, makes the bird say, in her ‘Song of the Crow’ :— I plunged my beak in the marbling cheek, I perched on the clammy brow ; And a dainty treat was that fresh meat To the greedy carrion crow. The unknown author of ‘The Twa Corbies’ was a better naturalist as well as a better poet when he wrote— Tll pick out his bonny blue een. But this relates to a time when the bodies of dead men, as well as of other large animals, were left lying promiscuously about; in these ultra-civilised days, when all dead things are quickly and decently interred, the greedy carrion crow has greatly modified his feeding habits. In London, as in most places, he takes whatever } he finds on the table, and though not in principle THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 45 a vegetarian, there is no doubt that he feeds largely on vegetable substances. Like. the sparrow and other London birds, he has become with us a great bread-eater. Mr. Kempshall, the superintendent at Clissold Park, relates a curious story of this civilised taste in the crow. The park for very many years was the home of a pair of these birds. Unfortunately, when this space was opened to the public, in 1889, the birds forsook it, and settled in some large trees on private grounds in the neighbourhood. These trees were cut down about three years ago, whereupon the birds returned to Clissold Park; but they have now again left it. One summer morning before the park was opened, when there were young crows in the nest, Mr. Kempshall observed one of the old birds laboriously making his way across the open ground towards the nesting- tree, laden with a strange-looking object. This was white and round and three times as big as an orange, and the crow, flying close to the ground, was obliged to alight at short intervals, whereupon he would drop his pack and take a rest. Curious to know what he was carrying, the superintendent made a sudden rush at the 46 BIRDS, IN LONDON bird, at a moment when he had set his burden down, and succeeded in getting near enough to see that the white object was the round top part of a cottage loaf. But though the rush had been sudden and unexpected, and accompanied with a startling shout, the crow did not lose his head ; striking his powerful beak, or plunging it, as Eliza Cook would have said, into the mass, he flopped up and struggled resoiutely on until he reached the nest, to be boisterously welcomed by his hungry family. They had a big meal, but perhaps grumbled a little at-so much bread without any ghee. Probably the London crows get most of their food from the river. Very early every morning, as we have seen, they wing their way to the Thames, and at all hours of the day, when not engaged in breeding, crows may be seen travel- ling up and down the river, usually in couples, from Barnes and Mortlake and higher up, down to the sea. They search the mud at low tide for dead fishes, garbage, bread, and vegetable matter left by the water. Even when the tide is at its full the birds are still able to pick up something to eat, as they have borrowed the gull’s habit of dropping upon the water to pick THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 47 up any floating object which may form part of their exceedingly varied dietary. It is amusing to see the carrion crow fishing up his dinner in this way, for he does not venture to fold his wings like the gull and examine and take up the morsel at leisure; he drops upon the water rather awkwardly, wetting his legs and belly, but keeps working his wings until he has secured the floating object, then rises heavily with it in his beak. Another curious habit of some Lon- don crows in the south-west district, is to alight, dove-like, on the roofs and chimney-stacks of tall houses. In an article on this bird which appeared in _ the ‘ Fortnightly Review ’ for May 1895, I wrote : ‘It sometimes greatly adds to our knowledge of any wild creature to see it tamed—not confined in any way, nor with its wings clipped, but free to exercise all its faculties and to come and go at will. Some species in this condition are very much more companionable than others, and probably none so readily fall into the domestic life as the various members of the crow family ; for they are more intelligent and adaptive, and nearer to the mammalians in their mental cha- racter than most birds. It is therefore curious 48 BIRDS IN LONDON to find that the subject of this paper appears to be little known as a domestic bird, or pet. A caged crow, being next door, so to speak, to a dead and stuffed crow, does not interest me. Yet the crow strikes one as a bird with great possibilities as a pet: one would like to observe him freely associating with the larger unfeathered crows that have a different language, to learn by what means he communicates with them, to sound his depths of amusing devilry, and note the modulations of his voice; for he, too, like other corvines, is loquacious on occasions, and much given to soliloquy. He’is also a musician, a fact which is referred to by sop, Yarrell, and other authorities, but they have given us no proper description of his song. A friend tells me that he once kept a crow which did not prove a very interesting pet. This was not strange in the circumstances. The bird was an old one, just knocked down with a charge of shot, when he was handed over in a dazed con- dition to my informant. He recovered from his wounds, but was always a very sedate bird. He had the run of a big old country house, and was one day observed in a crouching attitude pressed tightly into the angle formed by the THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 49 wall and floor. He had discovered that the place was infested by mice, and was watching a crevice. The instant that a mouse put out a head the crow had him in his beak, and would kill him by striking him with lightning rapidity two or three times on the floor, then swallow him. From that time mouse-catching was this bird’s sole occupation and amusement, and he went about the house in the silent and stealthy manner of a cat. ‘I am anxious to get the history of a tame crow that never had his wing-feathers clipped, and did not begin the domestic life as an old bird with several pellets of lead in his body.’ Curiously enough, not long after this article appeared another bird-lover in London was asking the same question in another journal. This was Mr. Mandeville B. Phillips, of South Norwood, then private secretary to the late Archbishop of Canterbury. By accident he had become possessed of a carrion crow, sold to him as a young raven taken from a nest at Ely. This bird made so interesting a pet that its owner became desirous of hearing the experi- ences of others who had kept carrion crows. Mr. Phillips, in kindly giving me the history of E 50 BIRDS IN LONDON his bird, says that at different times he has kept ravens, daws, jays, and magpies, but has never had so delightful a bird friend as the crow. It was a revelation to him to find what an in- teresting pet this species made. No other bird he had owned approached him in clever- ness and in multiplicity of tricks and devices : he could give the cleverest jackdaw points and win easily. If his bird was an average specimen of the race, he wondered that the crow is not more popular asa pet. This bird was fond of his liberty, but would always come to his master when called, and roosted every night in an out- house. Like the tame raven, and also like human beings of a primitive order of mind, he was excessively fond of practical jokes, and whenever he found the dog or cat asleep he would steal quietly up and administer a severe prod on the tail with his powerful beak. He would also fly into the kitchen when he saw the window open, to steal the spoons; but his chief delight was in a box of matches, which he would carry off to pick to pieces and scatter the matches all over the place. He was extremely jealous of a tame raven and a jackdaw that shared the house and garden with him, and THE CARRION CROW IN THE BALANCE 51 which he chose to regard as rivals; but this was his only unhappiness. The appearance of his master dressed in ‘blazers’ always greatly affected him. It would, indeed, throw him into such a frenzy of terror that Mr. Phillips became careful not to exhibit himself in such bizarre raiment in the garden. My informant concludes, that he is not ashamed to say that he shed a few tears at the loss of this bird. I may add that I received a large number of letters in answer to my article on the carrion crow, but none of my correspondents in this country had any knowledge of the bird as a pet. In several letters received from America—the States and Canada—long histories of the common crow of that region as a pet bird were sent to me. 52 BIRDS IN LONDON CHAPTER IV THE LONDON DAW Rarity of the daw in London—Pigeons and daws compared— ABsthetic value of the dae as a cathedral bird—Kensington Palace daws ; their disposition and habits—Friendship with rooks—Wandering daws at Clissold Park—Solitary daws— Mr. Mark Melford’s birds—Rescue of a hundred daws—The strange history of an egg-stealing daw— White daws— White ravens—Willughby’s speculations—A suggestion. Ir is somewhat curious to find that the jackdaw is an extremely rare bird in London—that, in fact, with the exception of a small colony at one spot, he is almost non-existent. At Richmond Park, where pheasants (and the gamekeeper’s traditions) are preserved, he was sometimes shot in the breeding season; but in the metropolis, so far as I know, he has never been persecuted. Yet there are few birds, certainly no member of the crow family, seemingly so well adapted to a London life as this species. Throughout the kingdom he is a familiar town bird; in one English cathedral over a hundred pairs have PIGEONS AT THE LAW COURTS THE LONDON DAW 53 their nests ; and in that city and in many other towns the birds are accustomed to come to the gardens and window-sills, to be fed on scraps by their human neighbours and friends. While the daw has diminished with us, and is near to vanishing, the common pigeon—the domestic variety of the blue rock—has increased excessively in recent years. Large colonies of these birds inhabit the Temple Gardens, the Law Courts, St. Paul’s, the Museum, and Westminster Palace, and many smaller settlements exist all over the metropolis. Now, a flock or cloud of parti- coloured pigeons rushing up and wheeling about the roofs or fronts of these imposing structures forms a very pretty sight; but the daw toying with the wind, that lifts and blows him hither and thither, is a much more engaging spectacle, and in London we miss him greatly. I have often thought that it was due to the presence of the daw that I was ever able to get an adequate or satisfactory idea of the beauty and grandeur of some of our finest buildings. Watching the bird in his aérial evolutions, now g, then with half-closed wings precipitating himself suspended motionless, or rising and fallin downwards, as if demented, through vast 54 BIRDS IN LONDON distances, only to mount again with an exulting ery, to soar beyond the highest tower or pinnacle, and seem at that vast height no bigger than a swift in size—watching him thus, an image of the structure over and around which he disported himself so gloriously has been formed—its vast- ness, stability, and perfect proportions—and has remained thereafter a vivid picture in my mind. How much would be lost to the sculptured west front of Wells Cathedral, the soaring spire of Salisbury, the noble roof and towers of York Minster and of Canterbury, if the jackdaws were not there! I know that, compared with the images I retain of many daw-haunted cathe- drals and castles in the provinces, those of the cathedrals and other great buildings in London have in my mind a somewhat dim and blurred appearance. It is a pity that, before consenting to rebuild St. Paul's Cathedral, Sir Christopher Wren did not make the perpetual maintenance of a colony of jackdaws a condition. And if he had bargained with posterity for a pair or two of peregrine falcons and kestrels, his glory at the present time would have been greater. There are, I believe, about sixteen hundred churches in London; probably not more than THE LONDON DAW 55 three are now tenanted by the ‘ecclesiastical daw.’ On the borders of London—at Hampstead, Greenwich, Dulwich, Richmond, and other points -—daws in limited numbers are to be met with; in London proper, or inner London, there are no resident or breeding daws except the small colony of about twenty-four birds at Kensington Palace. Most of these breed in the hollow elms in Kensington Gardens; others in trees in Hoiland Park. There is something curious about this small isolated colony: the birds are far less loquacious and more sedate in manner than daws are wont to be. At almost any hour of the day they may be seen sitting quietly on the higher branches of the tall trees, silent and spiritless. The wind blows, and they rise not to play with it; the graceful spire of St. Mary Abbott’s springs high above the garden trees and palace and neighbouring buildings, but it does not attract them. Occasionally, in winter, when the morning sun shines bright and melts the mist, they experience a sudden return of the old frolicsome mood, and at such moments are capable of a very fine display, rushing over and among the tall elms in a black train, yelping 56 BIRDS IN LONDON like a pack of aérial hounds in hot pursuit of some invisible quarry. A still greater excitement is exhibited by these somewhat depressed and sedentary Ken- sington birds on the appearance of a flight of rooks; for rooks, sometimes in considerable numbers, do occasionally visit or pass over London, and keep, when travelling east or west, to the wide green way of the central parks. Now there are few more impressive spectacles in bird life in this country than the approach of a large company of rooks ; their black forms, that loom so large as they successively appear, follow each other with slow deliberate motion at long intervals, moving as in a funeral procession, with appropriate solemn noises, which may be heard when they are still at a great distance. They are chanting something that corresponds in the corvine world to our Dead March in ‘Saul.’ The coming sound has a magical effect on the daws; their answering cries ring out loud and sharp, and hurriedly mounting to a considerable height in the air, they go out to meet the pro- cessionists, to mix with and accompany them a distance on the journey. It isto mea wonderful sight—more wonderful here in Kensington THE LONDON DAW 57 Gardens, which have long been rookless, than in any country place, and has reminded me of the meeting of two savage tribes or families, living far apart but cherishing an ancient tradition of kinship and amity, who, after a long interval, perhaps of years, when at last they come in sight of each other’s faces rush together, bursting into loud shouts of greeting and welcome. And one is really inclined to believe at times that some such traditional alliance and feeling of friendship exists between these two most social and human-like of the crow family. Besides this small remnant of birds native to London, flocks of jackdaws from outside occa- sionally appear when migrating or in search of new quarters. One morning, not long ago, a flock of fifteen came down at Clissold Park. They settled on the dovecote, and amused them- selves in a characteristic way by hunting the pigeons out of their boxes ; then, having cleared the place, they remained contentedly for an hour or two, dozing, preening their feathers, and conversing together in low tones. The bird- loving superintendent's heart was filled with joy at the acquisition of so interesting a colony; but his rejoicing was premature, the loud call 58 BIEDS IN LONDON and invitation to fly was at last sounded, and hastily responded to— We have not come to stay— we are off — good-bye — so-long—farewell—and forthwith they rose up and flew away, probably in search of fresher woods and less trodden pastures than those of Clissold Park. There are also to be met with in London a few solitary vagrant daws which in most cases are probably birds escaped from captivity. Close to my home a daw of this description appears every morning at the house of a friend and demands his breakfast with loud taps on the window-pane. The generous treatment he has received has caused him to abandon his first suspicious attitude; he now flies boldly into the house and explores the rooms, and is specially interested in the objects on the dressing-table. Articles of jewellery are carefully put out of sight when he makes a call. My friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mark Melford, of Fulham, are probably responsible for the exist- ence in London of a good number of wandering solitary jackdaws. They cherish a wonderful admiration and affection towards all the mem- bers of the crow family, and have had num- berless daws, jays, and pies as pets, or rather THE LONDON DAW ag as guests, since their birds are always free to fly about the house and go and come at pleasure. But their special favourite is the daw, which they regard as far more intelligent, interesting, and companionable than any other animal, not excepting the dog. On one occasion Mr. Melford saw an advertisement of a hundred daws to be sold for trap-shooting, and to save them from so miserable a fate he at once pur- chased the lot and took them home. They were in a miserable half-starved condition, and to give them a better chance of survival, before freeing them he placed them in an outhouse in his garden with a wire-netting across the door- way, and there he fed and tended them until they were well and strong, and then gave them their libertv. But they did not at once take advantage of it; grown used to the place and the kindly faces of their protectors, they re- mained and were like tame birds about the house; but later, a few at a time, at long intervals, they went away and back to their wild independent life. Of the many stories of their pet daws which they have told me, I will give one of a bird which was a particular favourite of Mrs. Melford’s. 60 BIRDS IN LONDON His invariable habit was, on returning from an expedition abroad, to fly straight into the house in search of her, and, sitting on her head, to THE LADY AND THE DAW express his affection and delight at rejoining her by passing his beak through her hair. Unfortunately, this bird had a weakness for THE LONDON DAW 61 eggs, which led him into many scrapes, and in the end very nearly proved his undoing. He was constantly hanging about and prying into the fowl-house, and whenever he felt sure that he was not observed he would slip in to purloin an egg. His cunning reacted on the fowls and made them cunning too. When he appeared they looked the other way, or walked off pre- tending not to see him; but no sooner would he be inside exploring the obscure corners for an ege than the battle-cry would sound, and then poor Jackie would find it hard indeed to escape from their fury with nothing worse than a sound drubbing. In a day or two, before his many sores and bruises had had time to heal, the cackling of a hen and the thought of a new-laid egg would tempt him again, and at length one day he could not escape; the loud cries of rage and of vengeance gratified attracted some person to the fowl-house, where Jackie was found lying on the ground in the midst of a crowd of fowls engaged in pounding and pecking his life out, scattering his hated black feathers in all direc- tions He was rescued more dead than alive, and subsequently tended by his mistress with loving care. He lived, but failed to recover 62 BIRDS IN LONDON his old gay spirits; day after day he moped in silence, a picture of abject misery, recalling in his half-naked, bruised, and bedraggled ap- pearance the famous bird of Rheims, the stealer of the turquoise ring, after the awful malediction of the Lord Cardinal Archbishop had taken effect: On crumpled claw, Came limping a poor little lame jackdaw, No longer gay As on yesterday ; His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way ; His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried ‘ That’s him!’ By-and-by, when still in this broken-hearted and broken-feathered state, a sight to make his mistress weep, he disappeared; it was con- jectured that some compassionate-minded neigh- bour, finding him in his garden or grounds, and seeing his pitiable condition, had put an end to his misery. One day, a year later, Mrs. Melford, who was just recovering from an illness, was lying THE LONDON DAW 63 on a sofa in a room on the ground floor, when her husband, who was in the garden at the back, excitedly cried out that a wild jackdaw had just flown down and alighted near him. ‘ A perfect beauty!’ he exclaimed ; never had he seen a jack- daw in finer plumage! The lady, equally excited, called back, begging him to use every device to get the bird to stay. No sooner was her voice heard than the jackdaw rose up and dashed into the house, and flying the length of three rooms came to where she was lying, and at once alighted on her head and began passing his beak through her hair in the old manner. In no other way could this wild-looking and beautified bird have established his identity. His return was a great joy; they caressed and feasted him, and for several hours, during which he showed no desire to renew his intercourse with the fowls, he was as lively and amusing as he had ever been in the old days before he had got into trouble. But before night he left them, and has never returned since ; doubtless he had established relations with some of the wild daws on the outskirts of London. Before ending this chapter I should like to say a word about white jackdaws. It is a 64 BIRDS IN LONDON mystery to me where all the albinos occasion- ally to be seen in the London bird markets come from. I have seen half a dozen in the hands of one large dealer, two at another dealer’s, and several single birds at other shops ; altogether about sixteen or eighteen white daws on sale at one time. One often hears of and occasionally sees a white blackbird or other species in a wild state, but these uncoloured specimens are rare; they are also dear to the collector (nobody knows why), and as a rule are not long permitted to enjoy existence. Besides, in nine cases out of ten the abnormally white birds are not albinos. They are probably mere ‘sports, like our domestic white pigeons, fowls, and ducks, and would doubtless be more common but for the fact that their whiteness is a disadvantage to them in their struggle for life. It is rather curious to find that among wild birds those that have a black plumage appear more subject to loss of colour than others. Thus we find that, of our small birds, whiteness is more common in the blackbird than in any other species. Within the last twelve to eighteen months I have known of the existence of seven or eight white THE LONDON DAW 65 or partly white blackbirds in London; _ but during the same period I have not seen nor heard of a white thrush, and have only seen one white sparrow. My belief is that the species most commonly found with white or partly white plumage are the blackbird, rook, and daw. When carrion crows and ravens were abundant in this country it was probably no very unusual thing to meet with white specimens. The old ornithologist, Willughby, writing over two centuries ago, mentions two milk-white ravens which he saw; but the fact of their whiteness is less interesting to read at this distant date than the old author’s delightful speculations as to the cause of the phenomenon. He doubts that white ravens were as common in this country as Aldrovandus had affirmed that they were, and then adds: ‘I rather think that they are found in those mountainous Northern Countries, which are for the greatest part of the year covered with snow: Where also many other Animals change their native colours, and become white, as Bears, Foxes, Blackbirds, &c., whether it proceeds from the force of imagi- nation, heightened by the constant intuition of Snow, or from the cold of the Climate, occasion- ¥ 66 BIRDS IN LONDON ing such a languishing of colour ; as we see in old Age, when the natural heat decays, the hair grows grey, and at last white.’ To return to the subject of the beautiful albino daws, and the numbers sometimes seen in our bird markets. One can only say that the monster London throws its nets over an exceedingly wide area, capturing all rare and quaint and beautiful things for its own delight. Thinking of these wonderful white daws, when IT have cast up my eyes to the birdless towers and domes of our great London buildings, it has occurred to me to ask the following question : Is there not one among the many very wealthy men in London, who annually throw away hundreds of thousands of pounds on_ their several crazes—is there not one to give, say, fifty or sixty pounds per annum to buy up all these beautiful albinos, at the usual price of one or two guineas per bird, for three or four years, and establish a colony at Westminster, or other suitable place, where thousands of people would have great delight in looking at them every day? For it would indeed be a strange and beautiful sight, and many persons would THE LONDON DAW 67 come from a distance solely to see the milk- white daws soaring in the wind, as their custom is, above the roofs and towers; and he who made such a gift to London would be long and very pleasantly remembered. 68 BIRDS. IN LONDON CHAPTER V EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS Positions of the rook and crow compared—Gray’s Inn Gardens rookery—Break-up of the old, and futile attempt of the birds to establish new rookeries—The rooks a great loss to London—Why the rook is esteemed—Incidents in the life of a tame rook—A first sight of the Kensington Gardens rookery—The true history of the expulsion of the rooks—A desolate scene, and a vision of London beautified. We have seen how it is with the carrion crow—that he is in the balance, and that if the park authorities will but refrain from persecuting him he will probably be able to keep his ancient place among the wild birds of London. To what has already been said on the subject of this bird I will only add here that there is, just now, an unfortunate inclination in some of the County Council’s parks to adopt the policy of the royal parks—to set too high a value on domestic and ornamental’ water-fowl, which, however beautiful and costly they may be, can never give as much pleasure or produce EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 69 the same effect on the mind as the wild bird. The old London crow is worth more to London than many exotic swans and ducks and geese. We have also seen that the case of the jack- LONDON CROWS daw is not quite hopeless; for although the birds are now reduced to an insignificant remnant, the habits and disposition of this species make it reasonable to hope that they 70 . BIEDS IN LONDON will thrive and increase, and, in any case, that if we want the daw we can have him. But the case of the rook appears to me well nigh hope- less, and on this account, in this list of the corvines, he is put last that should have been first. There are nevertheless two reasons why a considerable space—a whole chapter—should be given to this species: one is, that down to within a few years ago. the rook attracted the largest share of attention, and was the most important species in the wild bird life of the metropolis ; the other, that it would be well that the cause of its departure should not be forgotten. - It is true that in the very heart of the metropolis a rookery still exists in Gray’s Inn Gardens, and that although it does not increase neither does it diminish. Thus, during the last twenty years there have never been fewer than seventeen or eighteen, and never more than thirty nests in a season; and for the last three seasons the num- bers have been twenty-five, twenty-three, and twenty-four nests. Going a little farther back in the history of this ancient famous colony, it is well to relate that, twenty-three years ago, it was well-nigh lost for ever through an uncon- sidered act of the Benchers, or of some ignorant EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 71 person in authority among them. It was thought that the trees would have a better appearance if. a number of their large horizontal branches were lopped off, and the work was carried out in the month of March, just when the rooks were busy repairing their old and building new nests. The birds were seized with panic, and went away in a body to be seen no more for the space of three years; then they returned to settle once more, and at present they are re- garded with so much pride and affection by the Benchers, and have so much food cast to them out of scores of windows, that they have grown to be the most domestic and stay-at-home rooks to be found anywhere in England. With the exception of this one small colony, it is sad to have to say that utter, irretrievable disaster has fallen on the inner London rookeries —those that still exist in the suburbs will be mentioned in subsequent chapters—and although rooks may still be found within our gates, go they will and go they must, never to return. The few birds that continue in constantly diminishing numbers to breed here and there in the metropolis, in spite of its gloomy atmo- sphere and the long distances they are obliged 72 BIRDS IN LONDON to travel in quest of grubs and worms for their young, are London rooks, themselves hatched in parks and squares—the town has always been their home and breeding place; and although it is more than probable that some of these town birds are from time to time enticed away to the country, it is indeed hard to believe that rooks hatched in the rural districts are ever tempted to come to us. During the last dozen years many attempts at founding new colonies have been made by small bands of rooks. These birds were and are survivors of the old broken- up communities. All these incipient rookeries, containing from two or three to a dozen nests (as at Connaught Square), have failed; but the birds, or some of them, still wander about in an aimless way in small companies, from park to park, and there is no doubt that year by year these homeless rooks will continue to decrease in number, until the ancient tradition is lost, and they will be seen no more. It is no slight loss which we have to lament ; it is the loss to the millions inhabiting this city, or congeries of cities and towns, of a bird which is more to us than any other wild bird, on account of its large size and interesting’ social EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 73 habits, its high intelligence, and the confidence it reposes in man; and, finally, of that ancient kindly regard and pride in it which, in some degree, is felt by all persons throughout the kingdom. The rook has other claims to our esteem and affection which are not so generally known: in a domestic state it is no whit be- hind other species in the capacity for strong attachments, in versatility and playfulness, and that tricksy spirit found in most of the corvines, which so curiously resembles, or simulates, the sense of humour in ourselves. I recall here an incident in the life of a tame rook, and by way of apology for introducing it I may mention that this bird, although country bred, was of London too, when his mistress came to town for the season accompanied by her glossy black pet. I will first relate some- thing of his country life, and feel confident that this digression will be pardoned by those of my readers who are admirers of the rook, a bird which we are accustomed to regard as of a more sedate disposition than the jackdaw. He was picked up injured in a park in Oxfordshire, taken in and nursed by the lady of the house until he was well and able to fly oe 74 BIRDS IN LONDON about once more; but he elected to stay with his benefactress, although he always spent a portion of each day in flying about the country in company with his fellows. He had various ways of showing his partiality for his mistress, one of which was very curious. Early every morning he flew into her bedroom by the open window, and alighting on her bed would deposit a small offering on the pillow—a horse-chestnut bur, a little crooked stick, a bleached rabbit bone, a pebble, a bit of rusty iron, which he had picked up and regarded as a_ suitable present. Whatever it was, it had to be accepted with demonstrations of gratitude and affection. If she took no notice he would lift it up and replace it again, calling attention to it with little subdued exclamations which sounded like words, and if she feigned sleep he would gently pull her hair or tap her cheek with his bill to awake her. Once the present was accepted he would nestle in under her arm and remain so, very contentedly, until she got up. Here we get a delightful little peep into the workings of the rook’s mind. We ourselves, our great philosopher tells us, are ‘ hopelessly’ anthropomorphic. The rook appears to be in as EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 75 bad a case; to his mind we are nothing but bigger rooks, somewhat misshapen, perhaps, featherless, deprived by some accident of the faculty of flight, and not very well able to take care of ourselves. One summer day the rook came into the daughter’s bedroom, where she was washing her hands, and had just taken off a valuable diamond ring from her finger and placed it on the marble top of the washing-stand. The rook came to the stand and very suddenly picked up the ring and flew out at the open window. The young lady ran down stairs and on to the terrace, calling out that the bird had flown away with her ring. Her mother quickly came out with a field glass in her hand, and together they watched the bird fly straight away across the park to a distance of about a third of a mile, where he dis- appeared from sight among the trees. The ring was gone! Two hours later the robber returned and flew into the dining-room, where his mistress happened to be; alighting on the table, he dropped the ring from his beak and began walking round it, viewing it first with one, then the other eye, uttering the while a variety of little complacent notes, in which he seemed to 76 BIRDS IN LONDON be saying: ‘I have often admired this beautiful ring, but never had an opportunity of examining it properly before; now, after having had it for some time in my possession and shown it to several wild rooks of my acquaintance, I have much satisfaction in restoring it to its owner, who is my very good friend.’ During his summer visits to London this rook met with many curious and amusing adventures, as he had the habit of flying in at the open windows of houses in the neighbour- hood of Park Lane, and making himself very much at home. He also flew about Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens every day to visit his fellow-rooks. One day his mistress was walking in the Row, at an hour when it was full of fashionable people, and the rook, winging his way homewards from the gardens, spied her, and circling down alighted on her shoulders, to the amazement of all who witnessed the incident. ‘What an astonishing thing!’ exclaimed some person in the crowd that gathered round her. ‘Oh, not at all, answered the lady, caressing the bird with her hand, while he rubbed his beak against her cheek ; ‘if you were as fond of ‘the birds as I am, and treated them as well, EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 77 they would be glad to come down on to your shoulders, too.’ This happened when the now vanished rooks had their populous rookery in Kensington Gar- dens, where they were to be seen all day flying to and from the old nesting-trees, and stalking over the green turf in search of grubs on the open portions of Hyde Park. And we should have had them there now if they had not been driven out. The two largest London rookeries were those at Greenwich Park and Kensington Gardens. In the first-named the trees were all topped over twenty years ago, with the result that the birds left; and although the locality has much to attract them, and numbers of rooks constantly visit the park, they have never attempted to build nests since the trees were mutilated. This rookery I never saw; that of Kensington Gardens I knew very well. Over twenty years ago, on arriving in London, I put up at a City hotel, and on the following day went out to explore, and walked at random, never inquiring my way of any person, and not knowing whether I was going 78 BIRDS IN LONDON east or west. After rambling about for. some three or four hours, I came to a vast wooded place where few persons were about, It was a wet, cold morning in early May, after a night of incessant rain; but when I reached this unknown place the sun shone out and made the air warm and fragrant and the grass and trees sparkle with innumerable raindrops. Never grass and trees in their early spring foliage looked so vividly green, while above the sky was clear and blue as if I had left London leagues behind. As I advanced farther into this wooded space the dull sounds of traffic be- came fainter, while ahead the continuous noise of many cawing rooks grew louder and louder. I was soon under the rookery listening to and watching the birds as they wrangled with one another, and passed in and out among the trees or soared above their tops. How intensely black they looked amidst the fresh brilliant green of the sunlit foliage! What wonderfully tall trees were these where the rookery was placed! It was like a wood where the trees were self- planted, and grew close together in charming disorder, reaching a height of about one hundred feet or more. Of the fine sights of London so EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 79 far known to me, including the turbid, rushing Thames, spanned by its vast stone bridges, the cathedral with its sombre cloud-like dome, and the endless hurrying procession of Cheapside, this impressed me the most. The existence of so noble a transcript of wild nature as this tall wood with its noisy black people, so near the heart of the metropolis, surrounded on all sides by miles of brick and mortar and innumerable smoking chimneys, filled me with astonishment ; and I may say that I have seldom looked on a scene that stamped itself on my memory in more vivid and lasting colours. Recalling the sensa- tions of delight I experienced then, I can now feel nothing but horror at the thought of the unspeakable barbarity the park authorities were guilty of in destroying this noble grove. Why was it destroyed? It was surely worth more to us than many of our possessions—many painted canvases, statues, and monuments, which have cost millions of the public money! Of brick and stone buildings, plain and ornamental, we have enough to afford shelter to our bodies, and for all other purposes, but trees of one or two centuries’ growth, the great trees that give shelter’ and refreshment to the soul, are not 80 BIRDS IN LONDON many in London. There must, then, have been- some urgent reason and necessity for the removal of this temple not builded by man. It could not surely have been for the sake of the paltry sum which the wood was worth—paltry, that is to say, if we compare the amount the timber- merchant would pay for seven hundred elm- trees with the sum of seventy-five thousand pounds the Government gave, a little later, for half a dozen dreary canvases from Blenheim —dust and ashes for the hungry and thirsty ! Those who witnessed the felling of these seven hundred trees, the tallest in London, could but believe that the authorities had good cause for what they did, that they had been advised by experts in forestry; and it was vaguely thought that the trees, which looked outwardly in so flourishing a condition, were inwardly eaten up with canker, and would eventually (and very soon perhaps) have to come down. If the trees had in very truth been dying, the authorities would not have been justified in their action. In the condition in which trees are placed in London it is well nigh impossible that they should have perfect health; but trees take long to die, and during decay. are still beautiful. EXPULSION OF THE KOOKS 81 Not far from London is a tree which Aubrey described as very old in his day, and which has been dying since the early years of this century, but it is not dead yet, and it may live to be admired by thousands of pilgrims down to the end of the twentieth century. In any case, trees are too precious in London to be removed because they are unsound. But the truth was, those in Kensington Gardens were not dying and not decayed. The very fact that they were chosen year after year by the rooks to build upon afforded the strongest evidence that they were the healthiest trees in the gardens. When they were felled a majority of them were found to be perfectly sound. I examined many of the finest boles, seventy and eighty feet long, and could detect no rotten spot in them, nor at the roots. The only reasons I have been able to discover as having been given for the destruction were that grass could not be made to grow so as to form a turf in the deep shade of the grove; that in wet weather, particularly during the fall of the leaf, the ground was always sloppy and dirty under the trees, so that no person could G 82 BIRDS IN LONDON walk in that part of the grounds without soiling his boots. It will hardly be credited that the very men who did the work, before setting about it, respectfully informed the park authorities that they considered it would be a great mistake to cut the trees down, not only because they were sound and beautiful to the eye, but for other reasons. One was that the rooks would be driven away; another that this tall thick grove was a protection to the gardens, and secured the trees scattered over its northern side from the violence of the winds from the west. They were laughed at for their pains, and told that the ‘screen’ was not wanted, as every tree was made safe by its own roots; and as to the rooks, they would not abandon the gardens where they had bred for generations, but would build new nests on other trees. Finally, when it came to the cutting down, the men begged to be allowed to spare a few of the finest trees in the grove; and at last one tree, with no fewer than fourteen nests on it: they were sharply ordered to cut down the lot. And cut down they were, with disastrous consequences, as we know, as during the next few years many scores of the EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 83 finest trees on the north side of the gardens were blown down by the winds, among them the noblest tree in London—the great beech on the east side of the wide vacant space where the grove had stood. The rooks, too, went away, as they had gone before from Greenwich Park, and as in a period of seventeen years they have not succeeded in establishing a new rookery, we may now regard them as lost for ever. Seventeen years! Some may say that this is going too far back; that in these fast-moving times, crowded with historically important events, it is hardly worth while in 1898 to recall the fact that in 1880 a grove of seven hundred trees was cut down in Kensington Gardens for no reason whatever, or for a reason which would not be taken seriously by any person in any degree removed from the condition of imbecility ! To the nation at large the destruction of this grove may not have been an important event, but to the millions inhabiting the metropolis, who in a sense form a nation in themselves, it was exceedingly important, immeasurably more so than most of the events recorded each year in the ‘ Annual Register.’ It must be borne in mind that to 3 vast G2 84 BIRDS IN LONDON majority of this population of five millions London is a permanent home, their ‘ province covered with houses’ where they spend their toiling lives far from the sights and sounds of nature ; that the conditions being what they are, an open space is a possession of incalculable value, to be prized above all others, like an amulet or a thrice-precious gem containing mysterious health-giving properties. He, then, who takes from London one of these sacred possessions, or who deprives it of its value by destroying its rural character, by cutting down its old trees and driving out its bird life, inflicts the greatest conceivable injury on the com- munity, and is really a worse enemy than the criminal who singles out an individual here and there for attack, and who for his misdeeds is sent to Dartmoor or to the gallows. We give praise and glory to those who confer lasting benefits on the community; we love their memories when they are no more, and cherish their fame, and hand it on from genera- tion to generation. In honouring them we honour ourselves. But praise and glory would be without significance, and love of our bene- factors would lose its best virtue, its peculiar EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 88 sweetness, if such a feeling did not have its bitter opposite and correlative. In conclusion of this in part mournful chapter I will relate a little experience met with in Kensington Gardens, seventeen years ago. I was in bad health at the time, with no prospect of recovery, and had been absent from London. It was a bright and beautiful morning in October, the air summer-like in its warmth, and, thinking how pleasant my favourite green and. wooded haunt would look in the sunshine, I paid a visit to Kensington Gardens. Then I first saw the great destruction that had been wrought ; where the grove had stood there was now a vast vacant space, many scores of felled trees lying about, and all the ground trodden and black, and variegated with innumerable yellow chips, which formed in appearance an irregular inlaid pattern. As I stood there idly contemplating the sawn- off half of a prostrate trunk, my attention was attracted to a couple of small, ragged, shrill- voiced urchins, dancing round the wood ‘and trying to get bits of bark and splinters off, one with a broken chopper for an implement, the 86 BIRDS IN LONDON other with a small hand-hatchet, which flew off the handle at every stroke. Seeing that I was observing their antics, one shouted to the other, ‘Say, Bill, got a penny?’ ‘No, don’t I wish I had !’ shouted the other. ‘Little beggars,’ thought I, ‘do you really imagine you are going to get a penny out of me?’ So much amused was I at their trans- parent device that I deliberately winked an eye —not at the urchins, but for the benefit of a carelessly dressed, idle-looking young woman who happened to be standing near just then, regarding us with an expression of slight interest, a slight smile on her rosy lips, the sunshine resting on her beautiful sun-browned face, and tawny bronzed hair. I must explain that I had met her before, often and often, in London and other towns, and in the country, and by the sea, and on distant seas, and in many uninhabited places, so that we were old friends and quite familiar. Presently an exceedingly wasted, miserable- looking, decrepid old woman came by, bent almost double under a ragged shawl full of sticks and brushwood which she had gathered where the men were now engaged in lopping off the branches EXPULSION OF THE ROOKS 87 of a tree they had just felled. ‘My! she’s got a load, ain’t she, Bill?’ cried the first urchin again. ‘Oh, if we had a penny, now!’ I asked him what he meant, and very readily and volubly he explained that-on payment of a penny the workmen would allow any person to take away as much of the waste wood as he could carry, but without the penny not a chip. T relented at that and gave them a penny, and with a whoop of joy at their success they ran off to where the men were working. Then I turned to leave the gardens, nodding a good-bye to the young woman, who was still standing there. The slight smile and expression of slight interest, that curious baffling expres- sion with which she regards all our actions, from the smallest to the greatest, came back to her lips and face. But as she returned my glance with her sunny eyes, behind the sunniness on the surface there was a look of deep meaning, such as I have occasionally seen in them before. It seemed to be saying sorrowful and yet comforting things to me, telling me not to grieve overmuch at these hackings and mutilations of the sweet places of the earth-——at these losses to be made good. It was asif she had shown me a 88 BIRDS IN LONDON vision of some far time, after this London, after the dust of all her people, from park ranger to bowed-down withered old woman gathering rotten rain-sodden sticks for fuel, had been blown about by the winds of many centuries —a vision of old trees growing again on this desecrated spot as in past ages, oak and elm, and beech and chestnut, the happy, green homes of squirrel and bird and bee. It was very sweet to see London beautified and made healthy at last! And I thought, quoting Hafiz, that after a thousand years my bones would be filled with gladness, and, uprising, dance in the sepulchre. 89 CHAPTER VI RECENT COLONISTS The wood-pigeon in Kensington Gardens—Its increase—Its beauty and charm—Perching on Shakespeare’s statue in Leicester Square—Change of habits—The moorhen—Its ap- pearance and habits—An esthetic bird—Its increase—The dabchick in London—Its increase—Appearance and habits —At Clissold Park—The stock-dove in London. Or the species which have established colonies in London during recent years, the wood-pigeon, or ringdove, is the most important, being the largest in size and the most numerous; and it is also remarkable on account of its beauty, melody, and tameness. Indeed, the presence of this bird and its abundance is a compensation for some of our losses suffered in recent years. It has for many of us, albeit in a less degree than the carrion crow, somewhat of glamour, pro- ducing in such a place as Kensington Gardens an illusion of wild nature; and watching it suddenly spring aloft, with loud flap of wings, to soar circling on high and descend in a graceful 90 BIRDS IN LONDON curve to its tree again, and listening to the beautiful sound of its human-like plaint, which may be heard not only in summer but on any mild day in winter, one is apt to lose sight of the increasingly artificial aspect of things; to forget the havoc that has been wrought, until the surviving trees—the decayed giants about whose roots the cruel, hungry, glittering axe ever flits and plays like a hawk-moth in the summer twilight—no longer seem conscious of their doom. Twenty years ago the wood-pigeon was almost unknown in London, the very few birds that existed being confined to woods on the borders of the metropolis and to some of the old private parks—Ravenscourt, Brondesbury, Clissold and Brockwell Parks; except two or three pairs that bred in the group of fir trees on the north side of Kensington Gardens, and one pair in St. James’s Park. Tree-felling caused these birds to abandon the parks sometime during the seventies. But from 1883, when a single pair nested in Buckingham Palace Gar- dens, wood-pigeons have increased and spread from year to year until the present time, when there is not any park with large old trees, or RECENT COLONISTS 91 with trees of a moderate size, where these birds are not annual breeders. As the park trees no longer afford them sufficient accommodation they have gone to other smaller areas, and to many squares and gardens, private and public. Thus, in Soho Square no fewer than six pairs had nests last summer. It was very pleasant, a friend told me, to look out of his window on an April morning and see two milk-white eggs, bright as gems in the sunlight, lying in the frail nest in a plane tree not many yards away. In North London these birds have increased greatly during the last three years. Sixteen pairs bred successfully in 1897 in Clissold Park, which is small, and there were scores of nests in the neigh- bourhood, on trees growing in private grounds. Even in the heart of the smoky, roaring City they build their nests and rear their young on any large tree. To other spaces, where there are no suitable trees, they are daily visitors; and lately I have been amused to see them come in small flocks to the coal deposits of the Great Western Railway at Westbourne Park. What attraction this busy black place, vexed with rumbling, puffing, and shrieking noises, can have for them I cannot guess. These doves, when 92 BIRDS IN LONDON disturbed, invariably fly to a terrace of houses close by and perch on the chimney-pots, a newly acquired habit. In Leicester Square I have seen as many as a dozen to twenty birds at a time, leisurely moving about on the asphalted walks in search of crumbs of bread. It is not unusual to see one bird perched in a pretty attitude on the head of Shakespeare's statue in the middle of the square, the most com- manding position. I never admired that marble until I saw it thus occupied by the pretty dove- coloured quest, with white collar, iridescent neck, and orange bill; since then I have thought highly of it, and am grateful to Baron Albert Grant for his gift to London, and recall with pleasure that on the occasion of its unveiling I heard its praise, as a work of art, recited in rhyme by Browning’s— Hop-o-my-thumb, there, Banjo-Byron on his strum-strum, there. I heartily wish that the birds would make use in the same way of many other statues with which our public places are furnished, if not adorned. So numerous are the wood-pigeons at the WOOD-PIGEON ON SHAKESPEARL’S STATUE RECENT COLONISTS 93 end of summer in their favourite parks that it is easy for any person, by throwing a few handfuls of grain, to attract as many as twenty or thirty of them to his feet. Their tameness is wonderful, and they are delightful to look at, although so stout of figure. Considering their enormous appetites, their portliness seems only natural. But a full habit does not detract from their beauty ; they remind us of some of our dearest lady friends, who in spite of their two score or more summers, and largeness where the maiden is slim, have somehow retained loveliness and erace. We have seen that the London wood- pigeon, like the London crow, occasionally alights on buildings. One bird comes to a ledge of a house-front opposite my window, and walks up and down there. We may expect that other changes in the birds’ habits will come about in time, if the present rate of increase should continue. Thus, last summer, one pair built a nest on St. Martin’s Church, Trafalgar Square; another pair on a mansion in Victoria Street, Westminster. Something further will be said of this species in a chapter on the movements of birds in London. 94 BIRDS IN LONDON Next to the ringdove in importance—and a bird of a more fascinating personality, if such a word be admissible—is the moorhen, pretty and quaint in its silky olive-brown and slaty- grey dress, with oblique white bar on its side, and white undertail, yellow and scarlet beak and frontal shield, and large green legs. Green- legged little hen is its scientific name. Its motions, too, are pretty and quaint. Not without a smile can we see it going about on the smooth turf with an air of dignity incongruous in so small a bird, lifting up and setting down its feet with all the deliberation of a crane or bustard. A hundred curious facts have been recorded of this familiar species—the ‘moat-hen’ of old troubled days when the fighting man, instead of the schoolmaster as now, was abroad in England, and manor-houses were surrounded by moats, in which the moorhen lived, close to human beings, in a semi-domestic state. But after all that has been written, we no sooner have him near us, under our eyes, as in London to-day, than we note some new trait or pretty trick. Thus, in a pond in West London I saw a moorhen act in a manner which, so far as I know, had never been described ; and I must confess that if some RECENT COLONISTS 95 friend had related such a thing to me I should have been disposed to think that his sight had deceived him. This moorhen was quietly feeding on the margin, but became greatly excited on the appearance, a little distance away, of a second bird. Lowering its head, it made a little rush at, or towards, the new comer, then stopped and went quietly back; then made a second little charge, and again walked back. Finally it began to walk backwards, with slow, measured steps, towards the other bird, displaying, as it advanced, or retrograded, its open white tail, at the same time glancing over its shoulder as if to observe the effect on its neighbour of this new mode of motion. Whether this demonstration meant anger, or love, or mere fun, I cannot say. Instances of what Ruskin has called the moorhen’s ‘ human domesticity of temper, with curious fineness of sagacity and sympathies in taste, have been given by Bishop Stanley in his book on birds. He relates that the young, when able to fly, sometimes assist in rearing the later broods, and even help the old birds to make new nests. Of the bird’s esthetic taste he has the following anecdote. A pair of very tame moorhens that lived in the grounds of a 96 BIRDS IN LONDON clergyman, in Cheadle, Staffordshire, in con- stantly adding to the materials of their nest and decorating it, made real havoc in the garden; the hen was once seen sitting on her egos ‘surrounded with a brilliant wreath of scarlet anemones.’ An instance equally re- markable occurred in 1896 in Battersea Park. A pair of moorhens took it into their fantastic little heads to build their nest against a piece of wire-netting stretched across the lake at one point. It was an enormous structure, built up from the water to the top of the netting, nearly three feet high, and presented a strange appearance from the shore. On a close view the superintendent, found that four tail- feathers of the peacock had been woven into its fabric, and so arranged that the four broad tips stood free above the nest, shading the cavity and sitting bird, like four great gorgeously coloured leaves. The moorhen, like the ringdove, was almost unknown in London twenty years ago, and is now as widely diffused, but owing to its struc- ture and habits it cannot keep pace with the other bird’s increase. It must have water, and some rushes, or weeds, or bushes to make its RECENT COLONISTS 97 nest in; and wherever these are found, however small the pond may be, there the moorhen will live very contentedly. A very few years ago it would have been a wild thing to say that the little grebe was a suitable bird for London, and if some wise ornithologist had prophesied its advent how we should all have laughed at him! For how should this timid feeble-winged wanderer be able to come and go, finding its way to and from its chosen park, in this large province covered with houses, by night, through the network of treacherous telegraph wires, in a lurid atmo- sphere, frightened by strange noises and con- fused by the glare of innumerable lamps? Of birds that get their living from the water, it would have seemed safer to look for the coming (as colonists) of the common sandpiper, king- fisher, coot, widgeon, teal: all these, also the heron and cormorant, are occasional visitors to inner London, and it is to be hoped that some of them will in time become permanent addi- tions to the wild bird life of the metropolis. The little grebe, before it formed a settlement, was also an occasional visitor during its spring H 98 BIRDS IN LONDON and autumn travels; and in 1870, when there was a visitation on a large scale, as many as one hundred little grebes were seen at one time on the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens. But it was not until long afterwards, about fifteen years ago, that the first pair had the boldness to stay and breed in one of the park lakes, in sight of many people coming and going every day and all day long. This was at St. James’s Park, and from this centre the bird has extended his range from year to year to other parks and spaces, and is now as well established as the ringdove and moorhen. But, ' unlike the others, he is a summer visitor, coming in March and April, and going, no man knows whither, in October and November. If he were to remain, a long severe frost might prove fatal to the whole colony. He lives on little fishes and water insects, and must have open water to fish in. He is not a showy bird, nor large, being less than the teal in size, and indeed is known to comparatively few persons. Nevertheless he is a welcome addition to our wild bird life, and is, to those who know him, a wonderfully interesting little creature, clothed in a dense RHCENT COLONISTS 99 unwettable plumage, olive, black, and chestnut in colour, his legs set far back—‘ becoming almost a fish’s tail indeed, rather than a bird’s DABCHICK ON NEST legs,’ the lobed feet in shape like a horse- chestnut leaf. His habits are as curious as his structure. His nest is-a raft made of a mass of water-weeds, moored to the rushes or to a drooping branch, and sometimes it breaks from its moorings and floats away, carrying eges and sitting bird on it. On quitting the nest the bird invariably draws a coverlet of wet weeds H2 100 BIRDS IN LONDON over the eggs; the nest in appearance is then nothing but a bunch of dead vegetable rubbish floating in the water. When the young are out of the eggs, the parent birds are accustomed to take them under their wings, just as a man might take a parcel under his arm, and dive into the water. Another curious habit of the dabchick was discovered during the summer of 1896 in Clissold Park, when, for the second time, a pair of these birds settled in the too small piece of water at that place. Unfortunately, their nest was attacked and repeatedly destroyed by the moorhens, who took a dislike to these ‘new chums,’ and by the swans, who probably found that the wet materials used by the little grebe in building its nest were good to eat: Now, it was observed that when the nest was made on deep water, where the swans could swim up to it, the dabchicks defended it by diving and pecking at, or biting, the webbed feet of the assailants under water. It was a curious duel between a pigmy and a giant—one a stately man-of-war floating on the water, the other a small submerged torpedo, very active and intelligent. The swans were greatly dis- concerted and repeatedly driven off by means of RECENT COLONISTS 101 this strategy, but in the end the brave little divers were beaten, and reared no young. The moral of this incident, which applies not only to Clissold but to Brockwell, Dulwich, and to a dozen other parks, is that you cannot have a big aquatic happy family in a very small pond. But it is extremely encouraging to all those who wish for a ‘better friendship’ with the fowls of the air to find that this contest was watched with keen interest and sympathy with the defenders by the superintendent of a London park and the park constables. It is curious to note that the three species we have been considering, differing so widely in their structures and habits, should be so closely associated in the history of London wild bird life. That they should have estab- lished colonies at very nearly about the same time, and very nearly at the same centre, from which they have subsequently spread over the metropolis; and that this centre, the cradle of the London races of these birds, should continue to be their most favoured resort. Seeing the numbers of wood-pigeons to-day, and their tameness everywhere, the statement will seem 102 BIRDS IN LONDON almost incredible to many readers that only fifteen years ago, one spring morning, the head gardener at Buckingham Palace, full of excite- ment, made a hurried visit to a friend to tell him that a pair of these birds had actually built a nest on a tree in the Palace grounds. Up till now the birds are most numerous in this part of London. The moorhen, I believe, bred first at St. James’s Park about seventeen years ago; a few days ago—January 1898—I saw twelve of these birds in a little scattered flock feeding in the grass in this park. In no other public park in London can so many be seen together. The dabchick first bred in St. James’s Park about fifteen years ago, and last summer, 1897, as many as seven broods were brought out. In no other London park were there more than two broods. The three species described are the only per- manent additions in recent years to the wild bird life of the metropolis. But when it is considered that their colonies were self-planted, and have shown a continuous growth, while great changes of decrease and increase have meanwhile been going on in the old-established colonies, we find RECENT COLONISTS 103 good reason for the hope that other species, previously unknown to the metropolis, will be added from time to time. We know that birds attract birds, both their own and other kinds. Even now there may be some new-comers— pioneers and founders of fresh colonies—whose presence is unsuspected, or known only to a very few observers. I have been informed by Mr. Howard Saunders that he has seen the stock-dove in one of the West-end parks, and that a friend of his had independently made the discovery that this species is now a visitor to, and possibly a resident in, London. One would imagine the stock-dove to be a species well suited to thrive- with us, as it would find numberless breeding-holes both in the decayed trees in the parks and in big buildings, in which to rear its young in safety. I should prefer to see the turtle-dove, a much prettier and more graceful bird, with a better voice, but beggars must not be choosers; with the stock-dove established, London will possess three of the four doves indigenous in these islands, and the turtle-dove—at present an annual breeder in woods quite near to London—may follow by- and-by to complete the quartette. 104 BIRDS IN LONDON CHAPTER VII LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS Number of species, common and uncommon—The London sparrow—His predominance, hardiness, and intelligence—A pet sparrow—Breeding irregularities—A love-sick bird— Sparrow shindies: their probable cause —‘ Sparrow chapels’ —Evening in the parks—The starling—His independence — Characteristics—Blackbird, thrush, and robin—White black- birds—The robin—Decrease in London—Habits and dis- position. THERE are not more than about twenty species of small passerine birds that live all the year in London proper. The larger wild birds that breed in London within the five-mile radius are eight species, or if we add the semi-domestic pigeon or rock-dove, there are nine. Of the twenty small birds, it is surprising to find that only five can be described as really common, including the robin, which in recent years has ceased to be abundant in the interior parks, and has quite disappeared from the squares, burial grounds, and other small open spaces. The five familiar species are the sparrow, starling, black- LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS 105 bird, song-thrush or throstle, and robin, and in the present chapter these only will be dealt with. All the other resident species found in London proper, or inner London—missel-thrush, wren, hedge-sparrow, nuthatch, tree-creeper, tits of five species, chaffinch, bullfinch, greenfinch, and yellowhammer, also the summer visitants, and some rare residents occasionally to be found breeding on the outskirts of the metropolis—will be spoken of in subsequent chapters descriptive of the parks and open spaces. Here once more the sparrow takes pre- cedence. ‘What! the sparrow again!’ the reader may exclaim; ‘I thought we had quite finished with that little bird, and were now going on to something else.’ Unfortunately, as we have seen, there is little else to go on to until we get to the suburbs, and that little bird the sparrow is not easily finished with. Besides, common as he is, intimately known to every man, woman, and child in the metropolis, even to the meanest gutter child in the poorest districts, it is always possible to find something fresh to say of a bird of so versatile a mind, so highly developed, so predominant. He must indeed be gifted with remarkable qualities to 106 BIRDS IN LONDON have risen to such a position, to have occupied, nay conquered, London, and made its human inhabitants food-providers to his nation; and, finally, to have kept his possession so long without any decay of his pristine vigour, despite the unhealthy conditions. He does not receive, nor does he need, that fresh blood from the country which we poor human creatures must have, or else perish in the course of a very few generations. Nor does he require change of air. It is commonly said that ‘town sparrows’ migrate to the fields in summer, to feast on corn ‘in the milk,’ and this is true of our birds in the outlying suburbs, who live in sight of the fields; farther in, the sparrow never leaves his London home. J know that my sparrows—a few dozen that breed and live under my eyes— never see the country, nor any park, square, or other open space. The hardiness and adaptiveness of the bird must both be great to enable it to keep its health and strength through the gloom and darkness of London winters. There is no doubt that many of our caged birds would perish at this season if they did not feed by gas or candle light. When they do not so feed it is found LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS 107 that the mortality, presumably from starvation, is very considerable. During December and January the London night is nearly seventeen hours in length, as it is sooner dark and later light than in the country; while in cold and fogey weather the birds feed little or not at all. They keep in their roosting-holes, and yet they do not appear to suffer. After a spell of frosty and very dark weather I have counted the sparrows I am accustomed to observe, and found none missing. But the sparrow’s chief advantage over other species doubtless lies in his greater intelligence. That ineradicable suspicion with which he regards the entire human race, and which one is sometimes inclined to set down to sheer stupidity, is, In the circumstances he exists in, his best policy. He has good cause to doubt the friendli- ness of his human neighbours, and his principle is, not to run risks; when in doubt, keep away. Thus, when the roads are swept the sparrows will go to the dirt and rubbish heaps, and search in them for food; then they will fly up to any window-sill and eat the bread they find put there for them. But let them see any rubbish of any description there, anything but bread—a 108 BIEDS IN LONDON bit of string, a chip of wood, a scrap of paper, white or blue or yellow, or a rag, or even a penny piece, and at the first sight of it away they will dart, and not return until the dangerous object has been removed. A pigeon or starling would come and take the food without paying any attention to the strange object which so startled the sparrow. They are less cunning. Without doubt there are many boys and men in all parts of London who amuse themselves by trying to take sparrows, and the result of their attempts is that the birds decline to trust anyone. In this extreme suspiciousness, and in their habits generally, all sparrows appear pretty much alike to us. When we come to know them intimately, in the domestic state, we find that there is as much individual character in sparrows as in other highly intelligent creatures. The most interesting tame sparrow I have known in London was the pet of a lady of my acquaint- ance. This bird, however, was not a cockney sparrow from the nest: he was hatched on the other side of the Channel, and his owner rescued him, when young and scarce able to fly, from some street urchins in a suburb of Paris, who were playing with and tormenting him. In his LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS 109 London home he grew up to be a handsome bird, brighter in plumage than our cock sparrows usually seem, even in the West-end parks. He was strongly attached to his mistress, and liked to play with and to be caressed by her; when she sat at work he would perch con- tentedly by her side by the half-hour chirruping his sparrow-music, interspersed with a few notes borrowed from caged songsters. He displayed a marked interest in her dress and ornaments, and appeared to take pleasure in richly coloured silks and satins, and in gold and precious stones. But all these things did not please him in the same degree, and the sight of some ornaments actually angered him: he would scold and peck at the brooch or necklace, or whatever it was, which he did not like, and if no notice was taken at first, he would work himself into a violent rage, and the offensive jewel would have to be taken off and put out of sight. He also had his likes and dislikes among the inmates and guests in the house. He would allow me to sit by him for an hour, taking no notice, but if I made any advance he would ruffle up his plumage, and tell me in his unmistakable sparrow-language to keep my distance. Once 110 BIRDS IN LONDON he took a sudden violent hatred to his owner’s maid; no sooner would she enter the room where the sparrow happened to be than he would dart at her face and peck and beat her with his wings; and as he could not be made to like, nor even to tolerate her, she had to be discharged. It was, however, rare for him to abuse his position of first favourite so grossly as on this occasion. He was on the whole a good- tempered bird, and had a happy life, spending the winter months each year in Italy, where his mistress had a country house, and returning in the spring to London. Then, very unexpectedly, his long life of eighteen years came to an end ; for up to the time of dying he showed no sign of decadence. To the last his plumage and dis- position were bright, and his affection for his mistress and love for his own music un- abated. After all, it must be said that the sparrow, as a pet, has his limitations ; he is not, mentally, as high as the crow, aptly described by Mac- gillivray as the ‘ great sub-rational chief of the kingdom of birds.’ And however luxurious the home we may give him, he is undoubtedly happier living his own independent life, a LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS 111 married bird, making slovenly straw nests under the tiles, and seeking his food in the gutter. Many years ago Dr. Gordon Stables said, in an article on the sparrow, that he felt convinced from his own observation of these birds that curious irregularities in their domestic or matrimonial relations were of very frequent occurrence, a fact which the ornithologists had overlooked. Last summer I had proof that such irregularities do occur, but I very much doubt that they are so common as he appears to believe. I had one pair of sparrows breeding in a hole under the eaves at the top of the house, quite close to a turret window, from which I look down upon and observe the birds, and on the sill of which I place bread for them. This pair reared brood after brood, from April to No- vember, and so long as they found bread on the window-sill they appeared to feed their young almost exclusively on it, although it is not their natural food ; but there was no green place near where caterpillars might be found, and I dare say the young sparrow has an adaptive stomach. At all events broods of four and five were successively brought out and taught to feed on 112 BIRDS IN LONDON the window-sill. After a few days’ holiday the old birds would begin to tidy up the nest to receive a fresh clutch of eges. In July I noticed that a second female, the wife, as it appeared, of a neighbouring bird, had joined the first pair, and shared in the tasks of incubation and of feeding the young. The cast-off cock-sparrow had followed her to her new home, and was constantly hanging about the nest trying to coax his wife to go back to him. Day after day, and all day long, he would be there, and sitting on the slates quite close to the nest he would begin his chirrup—chirrup—chirrup; and gradually as time went on, and there was no response, he would grow more and more excited, and throw his head from side to side, and rock his body until he would be lying first on one side, then the other, and after a while he would make a few little hops forward, trailing his wings and tail on the slates, then cast himself down once more. Something in his monotonous song with its not unmusical rhythm, and his extravagant love-sick imploring gestures and movements, reminded me irresistibly of Chevalier in the character of Mr.’Enry ’Awkins—his whole action on the stage, the thin piping cockney LOVE-SICK COCK SPARROW LONDON’S LITTLE BIRDS 113 voice, the trivial catching melody, and, I had almost added, the very words— So ’elp me bob, I’m crazy! Lizer, you’re a daisy! Won’t yer share my ‘umble ‘ome ? Oh, Lizer! sweet Lizer ! And so on, and on, until one of the birds in the nest would come out and furiously chase him away. Then he would sit on some chimney- pipe twenty or thirty yards off, silent and solitary ; but by-and-by, seeing the coast clear,-he would return and begin his passionate pleading once more. This went on until the young birds were brought out, after which they all went away for a few days, and then the original pair returned. No doubt ’Enry ’Awkins had got his undutiful doner back. The individual sparrow is, however, little known to us: we regard him rather as a species, or race, and he interests the mass of people chiefly in his social character when he is seen in companies, and crowds, and multitudes. He is noisiest and attracts most attention when there is what may be called a ‘ shindy’ in the sparrow 1 114 BIRDS IN LONDON community. Shindies are of frequent occurrence all the year round, and may arise from a variety of causes ; my belief is that, as they commonly take place at or near some favourite nesting or roosting site, they result from the sparrow’s sense of proprietorship and his too rough resentment of any intrusion into his own domain. Sparrows in London mostly remain paired all the year, and during the winter months roost in the breeding-hole, often in company with the young of the last-raised brood. Why all the neighbours rush in to take part in the fight is not so easy to guess: possibly they come in as would-be peace- makers, or policemen, but are themselves so wildly excited that they do nothing except to get into each other’s way and increase the confusion. Of more interest are those daily gatherings of a pacific nature at some favourite meeting- place, known to Londoners as a ‘sparrows’ chapel.’