104 WILD BIKD PROTECTION

When, in 1880, Sir John Lubbock (now Lord Ave-
bury) first induced the House of Commons to attend to
the grievances of our feathered fellow- creatures, he
found it far from unsympathetic. It is not on record
that any honourable member shed tears over the fate
of the great auk, but a distinct thrill ran through the
assembly when it was told that the black tern, the
avocet, the bittern, the great bustard, the black-tailed
godwit, and Savi's warbler, had already manifested
their disgust at the inhospitable treatment they had
received by ceasing to lay any eggs with us, and had
become so exceedingly rare, that individuals of these
species, alighting on their seasonal migration for ' a wash
and brush-up/ were relentlessly persecuted, and gener-
ally found their way into some local museum with an
obituary notice in the country paper. Sir John's Bill,
then, found an easy passage through all its stages, and
became the 'principal act/ of which subsequent acts
have been amendments and extensions. Appended to
it was a schedule, containing a list of wild birds for
which a close time was provided, protecting them
during the spring and summer months.

Perhaps the most notable general result of this Act
has been the increase of the common wild-duck. For-
merly, flapper-shooting — the shooting of young ducks
as soon as they are able to fly — was a recognised, though
inglorious form of sport ; and many persons persecuted
the helpless fowl for gain, finding a ready market for
them. Sir John Lubbock's close-time, extending from
March 15th to August 1st, practically put an end to

APRIL 106

this industry, and wild-fowling was restricted to seasons
when these birds are among the wariest and swiftest of
feathered creatures.

Every bird, however, has to pass through the stage
of an egg, and of eggs the original act took no account
whatever. Now eggs, or rather egg-shells, owing to
their beauty, portability, and easy preservation, have
always been favourite objects of collection. They are
sought after not only by the managers of the zoological
museums, but they vie with butterflies and moths in
the esteem of multitudes of schoolboys. Consequently,
the trade of egg-collecting has become very brisk ; the
rarer the egg, the more diligent the search for it. Not
only so, but British collectors insist on being supplied
with British laid specimens. An egg is an egg, one
might think ; but no — the egg of golden oriole or hoopoe
laid on the Continent may be had for a few pence ; it
is impossible to say how many guineas might be paid
for one certified to be taken in Britain. Regularly
organised expeditions used to set out each spring from
our great towns to visit remote places on the coast
frequented by such birds as the great skua, of which
only a limited number of pairs remained in existence.

The act of 1894, therefore, was framed to give protec-
tion to the eggs of desirable species ; but inasmuch as
certain birds, though desirable in limited numbers, might
be undesirable hi multitudes, this act, unlike the original
act, did not prescribe a uniform schedule for the whole
kingdom. Taking advantage of the recently formed
county councils, it empowered these local parliaments

liiKitlf

LIBRARY

WfVSTSITY OP j
CMffOWffA J

WOLOGY
UBRARY

MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS

SECOND SERIES

Memories of the Months

SECOND SERIES
BY THE RIGHT HON.

SIR HERBERT MAXWELL

BART., M.P., F.R.S.

Horas non numero nisifelices

SECOND IMPRESSION

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD

37 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND
1903

Edinburgh : Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE

BIOLOGY
LIBRARY

DEDICATION TO
B. M. M.

Mademoiselle, je commence & e'crire

parceque je n'ai rien a faire , je

finis parceque je n'ai rien

a dire.

038

PEEFACE

IT is probably a mere philological accident, devoid of
moral significance, that, in the whole of the English
version of the Old and New Testaments, there is not
a single instance of the use of the substantives 'enjoy-
ment' and 'happiness.' Frequent mention of 'joy'
and ' pleasure/ but the first seems to verge too closely
upon the boisterous, or at least the exuberant, and the
other to have become tainted too grossly in human
handling to express precisely the sensation stirred by
weather fair or foul, by noble landscape, by the every-
day operations of nature, and by communion, oral or
literary, with higher intellects than our own. One
derives pleasure from, and feels joy in, all such things,
but they inspire something incapable of interpretation
by either of these terms ; something which the
French denote by bonheur, and we, in defiance of
obvious etymology, by ' happiness.'

This mood of happiness is not to be separated from
a sense of gratitude towards an object more or less
definite, yet is so fleeting withal, that the mood and

vii

viii PREFACE

the sense are prone to pass away together and leave no
trace upon memory. Not upon conscious memory, at
least ; for it is believed that every experience sets an
impression, indelible except by disease, upon the
almost incalculably delicate machinery of reminiscence,
and that such impression may be revived at will, pro-
vided the intelligence has not lost record of the
precise tissue or ganglion in which it is stored. Some
memories we constantly recall without conscious
effort, familiarity rendering them easy of access ; others,
deeply overlaid by later experience, have to be pain-
fully sought for, or lie dormant till some chance — a
sentence spoken or a passage read — drives the blood
along the delicate capillaries about their hiding-place.
' Curious that I never remembered that till now,' you
ejaculate, as some long forgotten scene or passage leaps
to light, its outlines, even its details, scarcely dimmed
by long immurement.

Impressions of happiness or enjoyment seem to be
more transient than those of distress or suffering. Few
spirits are of such fibre that they can bear the legend
of the sundial — Horas non numero nisi serenas ; yet
many a weary or anxious mind would derive refresh-
ment from reflection upon the moments when it was
agreeably employed upon small matters, did it but
possess an easy clue through the labyrinth of retrospect.
There is no such simple clue as written notes, not in

PREFACE ix

the hazardous form of a regular journal— that is a far
different affair — but more in that of a commonplace-
book. Even that has the disadvantage of getting too
bulky, not to mention the unhandiness of manuscript
for reference. Therefore, a few years ago, I printed
some pages from the notebooks of several seasons,
which met with a very indulgent reception from the
public, notwithstanding that some of them had
appeared already in newspapers. So many persons,
both in this country and America, wrote to me in
reference to Memories of the Months, that I am
encouraged to hope that others, besides myself, may
derive some recreation from a second series.

HERBERT MAXWELL.

MONREITH, September 1900.

CONTENTS

PAGE

I. IS ANIMAL LIFE SACRED ?...,,, 1

II. WILLIAM SCROPE . 7

III. SCIENCE IN WANT OF A COMMON LANGUAGE . . 14

IV. PROTECTIVE COLORATION 15

V. A NEW EAGLE . 18

VI. THE SNOWDROP .20

VII. GORSE AND GROMWELL . . . . 21

VIII. FROSTED HEATHER ..... . . 22

IX. THE BADGER . . 24

X. MERCY IN FIELD SPORTS 27

XI. WINTER NOTES 32

XII. FOWLS OF THE AIR 37

XIIA. RABBIT-PROOF PLANTS . . . . . . . 48

XIII. A MILD WINTER . . 49

XIV. THE CURLEW SANDPIPER ... . . . 51

XV. FUDDLING CHUB . . . . . . . , 52

XVI. FROM A HIGHLAND STRATH . . . . . . 53

XVII. THE PASSING OF WINTER . ... • • • 56

XVIII. SPRING SALMON . . . . .... * 60

XIX. THE YEW . . . - . . > ...... . 66

XX. FLOWERLESS PLANTS . . . .••,.•.- . 68

XXI. THE MOLE . . . ... . « . 71

XXII. A BLANK DAY'S FISHING . . . . , • 76

XXIII. WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER 83

xt

xii CONTENTS

PAGE

XXIV. SAURIAN BIPEDS 87

XXV. ALAS ! FOR THE BIG GAME 93

XXVI. OWLS 97

XXVII. WILD BIRD PROTECTION 102

XXVIII. A REMARKABLE BLUE-BOOK 112

XXIX. FISH AND GAME PRESERVATION IN AMERICA . . 117

XXX. FLY-FISHING 122

XXXI. MAY IN DENMARK 126

XXXII. THE MAYFLY AND THE TROUT 132

XXXIII. CONCERNING THE SYCAMORE 137

XXXIV. SALMON FOR THE THAMES . . . . . .140

XXXV. HARLING 145

XXXVI. DO SALMON FEED IN FRESH WATER? . . . 150

XXXVII. NIGHTINGALES 155

XXXVIII. THROUGH TOURAINE ON TYRES 156

XXXIX. OF A CERTAIN MAYFLY 161

XL. THE HOLLY 164

XLI. THE ROOK UPON HIS TRIAL 167

XLII. WATER SUPPLY 170

XLIII. TOWN GARDENING — AS IT MIGHT BE . . . . 176

XLIV. ON A HIGHLAND LOCH 182

XLV. THE MONSTER OF LOCH ARKAIG 188

XLVI. IN HIGHLAND WATERS 192

XLVII. THE PURPLE WATERHEN 198

XLVIII. WATER GARDENING 200

XLIX. SEA-TROUT 204

L. THE GREAT LAKE TROUT 210

LI. IN CORROUR FOREST 214

LII. ANOTHER DAY ON THE HILL 220

LIII. THE FIRST BREATH OF WINTER ..... 225

LIV. CREATURES OF PREY 230

LV. DECENTLY AND IN ORDER 238

CONTENTS xiii

PAQB

LVI. TRAP REFORM 243

LVII. AUTUMN FLOWERS . 245

LVIU. WHERE TWO KINGDOMS MEET 252

LIX. POCHARDS AND TUFTED DUCK 258

LX. BERRIES 259

LXI. AUTUMN ON THE TWEED 266

LXII. THE OSMANTHUS . .... 276

LXIII. THE BEST OF OAKS 277

LXIV. A HILL TRAGEDY 279

LXV. THE AGE OF AN EAGLE 281

LXVI. A VANISHING FOOD FISH 282

LXVII. MISTLETOE UPON THE OAK 284

LXVIII. MY BOOKSHELVES 285

APPENDIX. RABBIT-PROOF PLANTS 293

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

WHERE CEEE AND MINNIOK MEET .... Frontispiece.

ON LOCH MOBE, CAITHNESS Toface p. 60

BAEGBENNAN LINN , ,,76

THE LOBD OP THE FOBEST ,,188

IN COBBOUB FOBEST „ 214

3[anuatp

THERE was a time, if belief may be placed in some
annalists, when certain practices of the Is Animal
French nobility gravely engaged the atten- LifeSacred?
tion of the legislature. The story goes that a fashion-
able restorative for a seigneur fatigued with the chase,
and a sure remedy for cold feet, was to plunge the
said feet into the entrails of a freshly-killed peasant.
It was an expensive recipe in days when peasants,
counting as live-stock upon the lord's lands, con-
stituted an important part of his wealth, and probably
was only in use in the leading families ; nevertheless,
it was enacted that no lord returning from hunting
should use up more than two peasants in this way — one
for each foot. Western Europeans have shifted their
sentimental standpoint since those distant and legend-
ary days. We are now so far from being indifferent to
preserving the humblest human life, that the resources
of science are strained to retain the vital spark, even in
those frail shards of humanity which, in a rougher age,
would have been broken in a very few years. Nobody
questions the moral duty of this, though it is permitted

A

2 IS ANIMAL LIFE SACRED?

to recognise some disadvantages accruing therefrom
to the human race, regarded simply as vertebrate
creatures.

But in speculating on the sacredness of life other than
human, the guiding principles are not so clear. Vege-
tarians apart, there are many earnest well-meaning
people who hold it unlawful to sacrifice life — animal
life — for any reason short of necessity. Be it said in
passing that these benevolent people draw the frontier
between the animal and vegetable kingdoms with a
precision which scientific men may envy, but cannot
emulate. Some of the humbler forms of cryptogams
have been ranged alternately in one realm and the
other, and still occupy the debatable land between the
two. Let us not, however, shelter ourselves behind any
such nice distinctions. The question to be answered is
simply this — whether there is any peculiar reverence
due on moral grounds to what is popularly understood
as animal life. Let us not even take our stand on the
well-fortified position of food supply, but pass at once
to ground where necessity cannot be relied on as a
defence.

The tender-hearted people above referred to are speci-
ally severe on what we are brought up to call field
sports, but what they define as ' blood sports.' It is not
necessary, they say, to take the lives of animals of the
chase, therefore it is cruel and demoralising. Life is a
sacred thing ; and they invoke the legislature to protect
it, just as it has protected domestic animals against the
infliction of suffering. Now if life, per se, be admitted

JANUARY 3

to be a sacred thing, see what a curious dilemma we
are landed in ! But for fox-hunting, foxes would have
become as extinct as wolves in the British Isles long
before our day. Fox-hunting, then, actually has been
the means of preserving the ' sacred thing/ and tens of
thousands of foxes have owed their existence to this
typical 'blood sport.' In pheasant shooting the case
seems still stronger. A man decides how many birds
he will have in his covers the following season — five
hundred, a thousand, five thousand, according to his
means and the extent of his woods. He is absolute
master of the ' sacred thing ' at both ends ; he can call
into existence as many creatures as he can pay for,
and put an end to their existence on a given day,
provided he and his friends hold straight.

' Ah ! but/ exclaims the humanitarian, ' that is the
worst case of all : life is sacred, and man has no right
to call it into existence merely for his amusement/

Indeed ! then let it be hoped, for sake of consistency,
that the schoolroom of the humanitarian contains no
little girls who delight in mating canary birds, of which
the offspring are condemned to life-long imprisonment.

Be it noted that I am not discussing at present the
ultimate or immediate effect on human morals of playing
with life — creating or destroying it — but whether life is
a thing with which a man may play in that manner
without infringing the abstract moral law. One of the
most plausible points in the humanitarian argument is
that it is unlawful so to play with it ; and it is a point,
in my judgment, far more worthy of consideration

4 IS ANIMAL LIFE SACRED?

than any used by those who denounce field sports on
political or economical grounds.

If we turn to Nature for light on the subject, we get
it — plenty of it — but of rather a lurid kind. Nobody
can have ventured beyond the threshold of animal
biology without being amazed by the recklessness
with which the 'sacred thing' is squandered. The
mortality — especially the infant mortality — is some-
thing appalling. In England, during the decade from
1881 to 1890, the rate of human mortality sank to the
unprecedently low figure of 19'1 per thousand per
annum. In many organisms which pass through
several metamorphoses, not one in a thousand reaches
maturity. As an example of this wastefulness of life,
let us consider the domestic routine of a common
British insect known as the oil-beetle (Meloe) as lately
elucidated by M. Fabre and Professor Miall. In its
mature state this is a sluggish, unlovely creature,
feeding harmlessly enough on buttercups, but endowed
with the unpleasant faculty, enjoyed by many Coleoptera,
of distilling from its joints, when interfered with, a foul*
smelling juice. Every female is believed to lay three
batches of eggs in the course of a summer, each con-
sisting of from eight to nine thousand. They are
deposited in a hole in ground frequented by humble
bees. In due time, if all goes well, each egg emits a
small, exceedingly active, yellow larva. No waste
of life so far; but mark what follows. The horde of
larvse run about in desperate haste, trying to match
the colour of their bodies with the yellow centre of a

JANUARY 6

composite flower, such as a meadow marguerite. To
do so, they ascend every stem they encounter ; many
of these are only grass stems, others bear flowers of the
wrong colour, which obliges them to descend and climb
another stem. A large percentage of these creatures
perish in the quest. A considerable number, however,
find a flower of the right kind, ensconce themselves
among the anthers, and lie perfectly still, waiting the
next momentous event. This will be the visit of a
flying insect. No sooner does one alight on the flower
than the concealed larva seizes the hairs of its thorax
with claws specially contrived for the purpose, and is
borne off— whither ? Ah, that is the strangest thing
of all. If it is a fly, a moth, a honey-bee to which it
has clung, the larva perishes. It must be a humble-bee
of a particular sort (Anthophora), by help of which
alone the larva can pass into its next stage. Supposing
it to have been lucky enough to have got into the right
train (perhaps not more than one in a thousand do so),
it has got some delicate work before it still. It must
hold on to its host till she flies home in order to deposit
an egg in the cell prepared for it. This cell is full of
honey, on the surface of which the egg is intended to
float. If the young oil-beetle were to fall into the
honey, it would assuredly perish ; it must wait till the
egg leaves the body of the bee, jump on it at that
moment, and sail about on the egg. It then begins its
first meal, devours the contents of the egg, and changes
into a fat maggot. In that state it acquires, for the
first time, a taste for honey; it empties the store

6 IS ANIMAL LIFE SACKED?

provided for the baby bee, goes asleep in the form of
a chrysalis or pupa ; and, finally, emerging a full-grown
oil-beetle, crawls forth to seek a mate and begin a
fresh chapter in the sordid history of its race.

Now what does all this suggest ? Does it not appear
that if life were really a ' sacred thing ' in a sense above
other natural forces, such as light and electricity, the
Designer of Nature would not have flung it about in
this contemptuous haphazard way? Would He not
have devised some means for perpetuating the race of
oil-beetles without such a prodigious rate of mortality ?
And what curious problems present themselves about
the life by which we set such store ! Is material
human life the same in essence as that of oil-beetles
and foxes and pheasants ? If not, where is the line to
be drawn ? To those who like to imagine human life
as something higher in kind, as well as in degree, than
that of the beasts of the field, it is a discouraging
thought that each is subject to similar influences,
depends equally on regular nourishment, endures each
its allotted span. It does not require proficiency in
the researches of Malthus to prove that men and
women multiply up to the limits of food supply with
as much certainty as mites in cheese or elephants in
a jungle. Is food plentiful in any given district?
There society will flourish and abound, to melt away as
soon as there is sign of shrinkage.

And there, for the present, must be left this knotty
question.

JANUARY 7

II

These dark winter days and long evenings are
famous for looking up old friends in for- wim^
gotten shelves. The bibliography of field Scrope
sports would, in itself, fill many volumes, and perhaps
no department of modern literature, except fiction,
' pans out ' so poorly. Much of it consists of business-
like instruction how to kill, or a ledger-like chronicle
of what has been killed ; here and there a good soul is
moved to the endeavour to impart to the public some
of the emotions which affected him in the presence of
wild nature, resulting either in unfluent rhapsody which
stirs nobody, or in liberal extracts from the poets
which everybody either knows already or skips. But
there are exceptions. Here and there in the inter-
minable catalogue are books which it is a privilege to
know ; books that it is refreshment to drop into ; books
that speak of a world which seems far fresher than our
own, more leisurely, less methodical. Nowadays, for
instance, when a man goes a-fishing, he falls into a
fidget unless his fly is perpetually on the water.
Perhaps there is some record to beat, which can only
be done (and records exist but to be beaten) by feverish
attention to business; or the water is in prime order
— a condition which, in modern salmon rivers, seems
far more fleeting than of yore ; not a moment must be
lost ; Viator, Venator, Poietes, Physicus — all the simple
interrogators that used to tempt Piscator into delightful
irrelevancy— have been hustled off the scene ; we have

8 WILLIAM SCROPE

no idle moment for milkmaids and syllabubs ; informa-
tion and instruction must be compressed into business-
like paragraphs.

Heaven forbid that we should revive the dear shades!
This is no scene for them. We have no time to waste
with Theophilus while, ' lest precipitancy spoil his
sport, he preponders his rudiments,' nor patience for
Richard Franck while he ' expostulates the antiquities
of Kilmarnock' when we want to read about fishing.
Nevertheless, there are moments when it is good to
meet with a sportsman who retains traces of a liberal
education, who does not make us shiver by treating
' lay ' as an intransitive verb, and enriches his narrative
with observations on character and scenery. Such a
writer is William Scrope, whose whole literary works
are comprised in two rather brief and very charming
volumes — The Art of Deer-stalking and Days and
Nights of Salmon Fishing. If ever there were an
exception to Dr. Johnson's dogma, that none but a
blockhead ever wrote except for money, this writer
were he. Scrope, the owner of Castle Combe, in
Wiltshire, the last male representative of the historic
Lords Scrope of Bolton, was of perfectly independent
means, and wrote, as he painted, purely as an amateur
— out of love of the art. Sir Walter Scott pronounced
'the little artist' — as he calls him in his journal — to be
'one of the best amateur painters I ever saw, Sir
George Beaumont scarcely excepted ' ; but Scott was
sleeping in Dryburgh before The Art of Deer-stalking
was written. By that time Scrope, having had experi-

JANUARY 9

ence of ten years in the forest of Athol, was well
qualified to undertake the first treatise ever published
on killing red deer with the rifle. Nevertheless, he
did so with a degree of trepidation which seldom
interferes with the scribbling of smaller men. He
remembered how, thirty years before, Scott had slated
Colonel Thornton in the Edinburgh Review —

* " Shall a poaching, hunting, or hawking squire presume to
trespass on the fields of literature ? " These words, or others
of similar import, I remember to have encountered in one
of our distinguished reviews. They ring still in my ears,
and fill me with apprehension as it is ; but they would alarm
me much more if I had attempted to put my foot within the
sacred enclosures alluded to ... Literature 1 — Heaven help
us ! — far from it : I have no such presumption : I have
merely attempted to describe a very interesting pursuit as
nearly as possible in the style and spirit in which I have
seen it carried out.'

In spite of this disclaimer, Scrope, who was a well-
educated, widely-read traveller, must have had some
suspicion that he was producing something better than
the stuff which passed for sporting literature during
the first half of this century. What Apperley, writing
as ' Niinrod,' had done for fox-hunting, Scrope did, and
may have intended to do, for deer-stalking and salmon-
fishing. Like Nimrod, he always had a quotation from
the classics ready; this was the recognised elegancy of an
age when the House of Commons would listen patiently
to lengthy extracts from the JEneid. Field sports had
long been the monopoly of hard-drinking squires and

10 WILLIAM SCROPE

lairds ; Scrope's fastidious taste had often been wounded
by the habits of his associates ; and it is amusing to see
how tenderly he deals with topers, and how cautiously
he attempts to limit the deer-stalkers' libations and
prescribe a regimen for the forest —

' " O'Doherty, be merciful ; Christopher, put down thy
bristles ; for, lo, I will not limit him, as Sir Humphrey does
his fisherman, to the philosopher's half-pint of claret. . . .
The best part of a bottle of champagne may be allowed at
dinner; this is not only venial, but salutary. A few
tumblers of brandy and soda-water are greatly to be com-
mended, for they are cooling. Whisky cannot reasonably
be objected to, for it is an absolute necessary, and does not
come under the name of intemperance, but rather, as Dogberry
says, or ought to say, l it comes by nature ! ' Ginger-beer
I hold to be a dropsical, insufficient, and unmanly beverage ;
I pray you avoid it ; and as for your magnums and pottle-
deep potations, why, really, at this season of the year, as
Captain Bobadil says, 'We cannot extend thus far.'"

Only to peruse such a prescription makes degenerate
modern temples throb. Fancy taking the hill to any
purpose the morning after a bottle of champagne and
' a few tumblers ' of brandy and soda-water ; followed by
whisky !

Once get him upon the heather, and Scrope proves
a delightful companion. You breathe the very air
of the mountain ; you hear the bleat of the hill sheep,
the hum of the heather flies, the roar of the autumn
stag. You swelter in the blazing sun on the lee side of
the ascent ; you cower away from the wet blast under
the boulder-strewn crest ; you are led through all the

JANUARY 11

breathless vicissitudes of the stalk to the moment of
triumph or of hopeless chagrin ; yet your guide is
never so entirely absorbed hi the sport as to forget
the story which gives historic dignity to crag and
waste, to glen and moor. There is a great deal in The
Art of Deer-stalking besides the stalking of deer, and
the book was nobly illustrated by its author, and by
Edwin, Charles, and Thomas Landseer.

Excellent, however, as was Scrope's first essay in
letters, his second and last was better. There was
not one salmon-fisher in his day for fifty there are in
our own ; there were, on the other hand, many more
salmon, so there is no lack of sport to be described.
Scrope had cast angle in many waters, but in Days
and Nights he recounted only his experience on the
Tweed; what land so fascinating as Tweedside for a
mind like his ? He rented the Pavilion near Melrose
for many years, and naturally grew into friendship
with ' The Shirra',' of whom his pages are full of
reminiscence. Nor the Shirra' alone, but Tom Purdie,
Scott's immortal henchman, is brought before us as he
lived ; we hear his own quaint phrases, even as Scrope
heard them in far-off summer days. Magni nominis
umbra — sons have failed the line of Abbotsford, but
still the stem of Purdie flourishes, inseparable from
Craigover, the Webbs, Bloody Breeks, and other famous
salmon casts where Scrope found his delight —

Ercildoune and Cowdenknowes,

Where Homes had ance commanding,

And Drygrange, with its milk-white ewes,
'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing.

12 WILLIAM SCROPE

The bird that flies through Redpath trees

And Glad wood banks each morrow
May chant and sing sweet Leader Haugh

And bonny howms o' Yarrow.'

In scenes like these a fisherman like Scrope, with an
eye for landscape and an ear for legend, might well seek
his pleasure, but not till he had companied with Scott
could their spirit thoroughly enter into him. He
confesses as much in sentences more homely, but not
less tender, less passionate but not less faithful than
the verse in which Moschus wailed for his lost
Bion : —

* My first visit to the Tweed was before the Minstrel of
the North had sung. . . . The scenery, therefore, at that
time, unassisted by story, lost its chief interest ; yet was it
all lovely in its native charm. Since that time I have seen
the cottage of Abbotsford, with its rustic porch, lying peace-
fully on the haugh between the lone hills. ... I have seen
that cottage converted into a picturesque mansion, with
every luxury and comfort attached to it, and have partaken
of its hospitality; the unproductive hills I have viewed
covered with thriving plantations, and the whole aspect of
the country civilised. But amidst all these revolutions, I
have never perceived any change in the mind of him who
made them. . . . There he dwelt in the hearts of the people,
diffusing life and happiness around him: he made a home
beside the border river, in a country and a nation that have
derived benefit from his presence and consequence from his
genius. From his chambers he looked out upon the grey
ruins of the abbey, and the sun which set in splendour
behind the Eildon Hills. Like that sun, his course has been
run; and though disastrous clouds came across him in his
career, he went down in unfading glory . . . Abbotsford,

JANUAKY 13

Mertoun, Chiefswood, Huntley Burn, Allerley ! — when shall
I forget you 1 '

Then, for a character sketch, what could beat ' Tom
Purdie's muckle fish'? True, it is a dark deed that
is related, one that every legitimate sportsman is bound
to reprobate ; for these were the old, wicked days when
leistering was lawful, and the muckle fish was an
enormous kipper in Caberston Throat — ' mair like a
red stirk than aught else ' — so huge that Tom believed
it was the Devil himself tempting him to break the
Sabbath. He had broken it, indeed, by spying the
water instead of going to Traquair Kirk ; but he had
the grace to wait till midnight, till he roused the ' nout-
herd callant ' to go in quest of the mighty kipper. How
they found it, how Tom struck it, and how the fourteen-
pound leister ' stottit off his back as if he had been a
bag o' wool,' must be read in the original taken down
from Tom's lips. Tom rarely missed his aim, and at
first he felt convinced that he had had Satan to deal
with. A few minutes' reflection, and, his blood being
up, he argued himself and Sandy into the belief that
the Devil could never have shown himself in broad
daylight on the Sabbath. It must be a fish after all ;
they renewed the assault; and, after a fearful tussle,
secured their quarry, which was so big that ' as I waded
the water wi' him, leadin' Sandie by the hand, his neb
was above my head, an' his tail plash'd in the water
on my heels.'

14 SCIENCE IN WANT OF A COMMON LANGUAGE

III

Mr. Seager's Natural History in Shakespeare's Time
science in is an amusing compilation, affording useful
commona insight into the methods of pre- scientific
language research. No statement too dogmatic, no
falsehood too flagrant, no explanation too preposterous,
to be presented and accepted in those days as revela-
tions of natural phenomena. Once a lie got into print
(and Elizabethan publishers were by no means
squeamish about what passed through their hands) it
took centuries to overtake it ; one writer after another
copied it ; and any one who should express any doubts
as to the breeding of barnacle geese from shellfish or
the influence of the phases of the moon on the climate
of Great Britain (as distinguished from the rest of the
globe) was looked upon as a troublesome fellow
incapable of sound philosophy. Writers on natural
science seem to have been afraid of showing imperfect
erudition, unless they began by faking up all the
rubbish that had found utterance by their predecessors.

At the present day danger of another kind besets
the diffusion of knowledge. There is such a multitude
of patient systematic workers and observers in every
quarter of the globe, such an abundance of scientific
literature in almost every civilised language, that it is
difficult for those who are not active members of
learned societies to keep abreast of the discoveries
which reward the student in every department. Even
the foremost and most fruitful workers are conscious

JANUARY 15

of this embarrassment of information. It is some
years since I listened with sympathy to Dr. Dorn
in his laboratory at .Naples, confessing with a sigh
that he was outpaced ; that it would take six heads to
deal with the advance of knowledge, even in his special
branch — marine biology. He lamented that Latin had
been abandoned as the language of science common to
all nations. At present the proceedings of learned
societies are published in so many languages that it
is impossible for one man to overtake what is important
in each.

IV ^

One of the phenomena most familiar to the field

aaturalist, which has hitherto baffled under-

,. , , . , Protective

standing, seems to have received mterpreta- colora-
tion by a well-known American ornithologist,
Mr. Thayer. The design of protective coloration in
bird and beast is often sufficiently obvious. Even the
stripes of the tiger and the spots of the leopard have
been recognised by hunters as harmonising completely
with their surroundings in brilliant sunshine, while our
own partridge, ptarmigan, hare, and other creatures are
conveniently assimilated in hue to that of their usual
haunts. But nobody hitherto has hit upon the reason
why the underparts of terrestrial birds and mammals
are so often white or very light coloured.

That this is part of a scheme of protective coloration
is perhaps the last idea that would occur to most
people. It would be much easier to account for it

16 PROTECTIVE COLORATION

on the grounds of economical design, that the colouring
pigment should not be supplied where protective
colour was of no use. Mr. Thayer attempts to prove
by some simple experiments that the whiteness of
breasts and bellies in these animals has a far deeper
significance. At a meeting of the American Ornitho-
logists' Union at Cambridge, Mass., on November 10th,
1897, he took three sweet potatoes, smeared with a
sticky material, and fixed them horizontally on a wire
stretched a few inches above a dusty road. Dust from
the road was then sprir jded over them, so that they
harmonised closely with the background, and the
undersides of the -ewo end ones were painted pure
white, the paint being blended gradually into the
brown on the sides. Viewed at a distance of several
yards, the painted potatoes disappeared from sight,
while the unpainted one in the middle was plainly
visible in strong relief, appearing many shades darker
than the road, which it had been prepared to match.
Mr. Thayer next explained that the white paint on the
undersides of the potatoes, corresponding to the white
underparts of terrestrial birds and mammals, was
essential to concealment, though, when viewed close,
it made them more conspicuous. The effect of it was
to neutralise the shadow, which, unless counteracted
in this way, renders the whole object far darker and
more conspicuous than it would be if laid close to the
ground. To prove this, he proceeded to paint with
white the underside of the middle potato, whereupon
it immediately disappeared from view of the spectators.

JANUARY 17

The experiment was afterwards tried on a green lawn.
Of two potatoes painted to match the grass, one was
painted white on the underside. This one became
practically indistinguishable at a little distance, while
the other one, all green, was plainly seen, and appeared
much darker than the lawn.

This experiment, which anybody may try for himself,
is remarkable, not only for its simplicity, but because
of its suggestiveness. That hares, deer, partridges, and
female water-birds should be closely assimilated to the
background of their breeding haunts is a striking
instance of provision for the protection of the species;
but people are apt to view it vaguely as the result of
an automatic process such as causes all the book-backs
in a venerable library to assume a generally uniform
complexion. Here, in the whiteness of the underparts,
we seem to touch on evidence of a deeper and more
deliberate design; the stratagem of an external in-
tellect to neutralise the danger arising from the law
of light and shade. To hold that the prevalence of
white underparts had an accidental origin seems to
strain to the utmost the doctrine of evolution and
survival of the best protected ; although, on the other
hand, it may be claimed as additional evidence in
favour of that doctrine. It will be observed, by the by,
that white waistcoats have never come into favour
among grouse. On the contrary, living as they do
among dark heather and darker peat, they have
nothing to fear from their own shadows.

Talking of protective coloration reminds one of the

B

18 A NEW EAGLE

singular exception to its adoption among the females
of British Anatidce. In the sheldrake, perhaps the
most conspicuously coloured of all our ducks, there is
very little difference in the plumage of male and female.
Each wears a splendid livery of chestnut, black, and
bottle-green on a ground of swan-like white, with
scarlet bills and legs. Such a garb is wholly unsuitable
for the privy purposes of incubation above ground, so
the female sheldrake creeps into rabbit burrows, lays
her eggs in them far beyond human arm's length, and
thus gratifies at once the two strongest impulses in the
feminine mind — the maternal instinct and the love of
finery. It is not easy to decide whether subterranean
nidification was resorted to because of the brilliant
plumage, or whether the female sheldrake, unlike other
ducks, earned the privilege of wearing fine feathers in
consideration of laying her eggs out of sight. No such
reward has been bestowed on the sand-martin, which,
although incubating persistently underground, remains
the dingiest of all the Hirundinidce. This little bird
(Cotile riparia) is the earliest of its tribe to arrive, and
often attains a spurious fame in local prints by being
heralded as the ' first swallow.'

V

The crown of the collector's ambition is reached

Anew when he adds a new species to the list of

vertebrates. Each year renders this crown

more difficult to attain ; for the forests and floods, the

JANUAKY 19

mountains and plains of the habitable parts of the earth
have been pretty completely ransacked by this time.
Of invertebrate creatures the catalogue is still capable
of indefinite expansion; but of birds, beasts, reptiles,
and fish there can remain no more than a very small
minority to be revealed. The greater glory then is due
to Mr. Whitehead in his discovery (reported in 1898) of
the great forest eagle of the Philippine Islands (Pithe-
cophaga Jeffryi). That this magnificent bird, of which
the only specimen obtained weighed nearly twenty
pounds, should have escaped hitherto the vigilance of
wandering naturalists, is owing to the impenetrable
nature of its haunts, which are the dense forests of the
island of Samar, where many of the trees are upwards
of two hundred and forty feet in height. Day after day
Mr. Whitehead watched these mighty eagles circling
far out of shot near his camp, till at last one of his
collectors, having marked a male bird alighting on a
lofty tree, stalked it and succeeded in lodging a single
buckshot in the neck. Even then the booty was far
from being secured, for the tremendous talons of the
dead bird still clung to the branch; but one of the
natives climbed the tree and released them. The skin
now in the British Museum, shows an aquiline character
of the highest type. The head is adorned with a shaggy
crest ; the skull is larger even than that of the harpy,
which seems to be the nearest allied species ; while the
bill is exceedingly powerful and equalled in depth by
that of only one bird of prey hitherto known — Pallas's
sea-eagle. Its favourite prey consists of green monkeys,

20 THE SNOWDROP

though it does not disdain to vary its diet by occasional
raids on the poultry of the villagers.

VI

There is no more constant timekeeper than the snow-
The Snow- drop. It seems constitutionally insensible of
taop temperature; for, although hard frost may

retard the blossoms by making the ground like iron,
through which they cannot be thrust, they make their
appearance simultaneously with a thaw. On the other
hand, this curious little plant will not respond to
abnormal warmth, natural or applied. You may
coddle the bulbs in pots, and put them in a warm
frame with crocus, hyacinth, narcissus, and lily of the
valley, — these last will reward you by anticipating their
natural season by many weeks. Not so the snowdrop;
unless the ground outside be really frost-bound, the
protected flowers will keep exact pace with those in
the lawn turf. The present winter (1897-8) has been
unusually mild, yet the first snowdrops have appeared
just at the usual time — between Christmas and the New
Year. That is their constant date in the mild west
near the sea. On the east coast and in the London
district, snowdrops will not be seen till a full month
later.

Botanists do not admit the snowdrop as a true native
of Britain. From the Caucasus to Central Germany,
they say, is its legitimate range ; but there is no pretty
weed which has established itself more firmly as a
British colonist, in those districts, at least, where soil

JANUARY 21

and climate suit it. In the Scilly Isles, strange to
say, where bulbous plants are cultivated to produce
hundreds of tons of early blossom, the snowdrop will
scarcely live ; while four hundred miles to the north,
on the misty Atlantic seaboard, it spreads from garden
to lawn, from lawn to woodland, and sheets the banks
with mimic snow.

VII

' When the gorse is out of bloom, kissing will go out
of fashion,' is the conceit of amorous English Gorse g^
rustics. In Scotland, where, as everybody GromweU
knows, kissing was not practised until the Union, the
perpetual flowering of the gorse has given rise to the
distich —

* When the whin gangs out o' bloom,
Will be the end o' Em'brugh toun.'

Now this welcome property of the gorse has been
attained by a floral subterfuge — harmless indeed, but
distinctly insincere. It is not known to everybody
that there are two kinds of gorse equally distributed
over Britain, very like each other, so much so that they
are regarded by some botanists merely as varieties of
the same species. But the difference is invariable be-
tween Ulex europceus, the gorse dear to foxhunters,
and Ulex nanus, a dwarfer shrub, with spines of deeper
green and flowers of ruddier gold. Both kinds, especi-
ally the last-named, have a perpetual flowering tendency ;
but if Ulex nanus were not present to take up the

22 FROSTED HEATHER

running in autumn and winter, there would be a dis-
tinct risk of the calamities indicated respectively in
the English and Scots proverbs. There is only one
hardy plant known to me which never fails to bear
flowers, and lovely ones, on every day in the year.
It is one of the borage family, the same to which we
owe our forget-me-nots, and goes by the name of the
blue gromwell (Lithospermum prostratum). In its
native southern Europe it flowers but once a year,
under the influence of spring moisture; but in our
dripping climate it is always growing, and having the
almost unique constitution to enable it to dispense
with rest, its dark evergreen sprays are always studded
with charming stars of deep azure. It is a low shrub,
of the stature of common heather, but more spreading,
and relishes a slightly elevated mound set with lumps
of stone to sprawl over.

VIII

Mr. Percy Grimshaw, in an interesting communication
Frosted ^° a recent number of Annals of Scottish
Heather ]yaturai History, has thrown a new light on
what is too well known to the owners of moors as
' frosted heather.' This phenomenon, with which some
observers have connected visitations of grouse disease,
does not owe its origin, it appears, to frost, but is the
result of the ravages of a small beetle (Lochmcea sutur-
alis) which time to time increases to prodigious
swarms. This insect only measures five millimetres in
length (about one-fifth of an inch), and attacks the

JANUARY 23

roots of the heather, which withers away and looks as
if it has been seared by frost. No remedy can be sug-
gested, for this creature waxes and wanes without any
apparent cause. All that we have gained is the know-
ledge that if ' frosted heather ' is the cause of grouse
disease, temperature has nothing to do with it. The
idea which experience encourages is that grouse disease
puts in an appearance in places where abnormal repro-
duction lias raised the stock above the natural limit,
whence i, may spread by infection to other and less
densely populated moors. Five or six years ago, when
the vole plague was at its height in the Scottish
lowlands, and sheep farmers were at their wits' ends
because of their ruined pastures, when every hillside
from Ettrick to Carsphairn was alive with the vermin,
suddenly the creatures began to rot off in thousands,
until the vole population shrank to normal and harm-
less proportions. So it is with grouse. In this district,
Galloway, there remain many patches of one hundred
to one thousand acres of moor and mossland, isolated
among wide tracts of arable land. Each of these patches
produces annually a few broods of grouse, but these never
exceed the power of the ground to sustain them in health,
and such a thing as a diseased bird has never been seen.
Probably the heather beetle is subject to a similar
natural and automatic check. Always present in the
soil, some incalculable combination of favourable cir-
cumstances causes it to multiply abnormally, until
Nature decrees, ' Enough ! too much ! ' and the swarms
die off. It is pretty clear that gamekeepers may dis-

24 THE BADGER

miss ' frosted heather' from their long catalogue of
causes of grouse disease.

IX

Mr. Pease has done good service to British Zoology in
The drawing attention to one of our most in-

Badger teresting wild animals (though not the largest,
as he describes it, for the red deer and the roe excel
the badger in stature and weight). Perhaps his little
treatise x has come in time to postpone the necessity for
an epitaph on the last British brock; and it may be
hoped that warm advocacy by one well known as a
keen sportsman may redeem the race from unmerited
obloquy, rescue it from the opprobrium which con-
signed it to the category of vermin, and restore it to its
ancient position among beasts of venery.
It is rough, hard work, badger-hunting.

'I have, with my brother, Mr. J. A. Pease, started at 7.30
A.M. from home, worked a summer day with a slight refresh-
ment at one, handled pick and shovel and spade, fought the
terriers, and gone on through the afternoon, evening, and a
black, wet night, without even a drop of water to slake our
parched throats, deserted by all but one faithful workman,
and on till the grey dawn of another day. ... At fivs
o'clock we secured a splendid pair of badgers, which we
bore home on our aching backs, followed by our gallant
little team of draggled and dirty terriers.'

The disposal of the game when taken is a problem.
Mr. Pease finds that badgers make sympathetic pets,

1 Tk& Bidder, a monograph, by Alfred E. Pease, M.P., London,
Lawrence and Bullen, Ld. 1898.

JANUARY 25

but there must be limits to accommodation for them.
They are not worth killing, unless you have a fancy for
badger hams — reputed a delicacy in Ireland — or enter
into a contract to supply a shaving-brush maker. But
it is good to hunt them, says Mr. Pease, not only
because it is stirring, invigorating sport, which takes
you to the woodland early and late, but also because
hunting is the only thing that will preserve a fine
animal from extinction. Paradox this, as some may
think, but the author quotes the parallel of fox-hunting.
No foxhounds, no foxes; it is only fair hunting that
can protect the badger from the fate which almost
inevitably awaits him now when he is caught — that of
being taken to a town to be brutally and repeatedly
baited.

It is good to hear Mr. Pease dilate, with all a York-
shireman's zeal and science, on the points and qualities
of a good terrier —

1 What thousands of little curs there are called terriers —
and fox-terriers — that will no more go down a fox-earth than
go up a chimney ! How many thousands of the best of
these, however finely shaped for the show-bench, that have
no more idea of their profession and the duties for which
Nature made them, and from which they derive their name,
than the man in the moon.'

How few there are that deserve the encomium pro-
nounced, in exquisite dialect, by the old shoemaker on
one of the author's dogs which had thrown six big
rats over her shoulder in half as many seconds: 'Si'
the, lads ! Worry's t'yan fer pickin' t'wick out on 'em '

26 THE BADGER

— which, being interpreted into Mercian speech, would
run : ' Look ye, lads ! Worry's the one to pick the life
out of 'em.'

Well, leaving Mr. Pease to settle with the Humani-
tarian League the ethics of badger-hunting, a word of
praise must be given to his notes on the habits and
food of an animal hitherto obscurely understood. A
keen preserver of both game and foxes, he acquits the
badger of any serious detriment to the first, though it
cannot resist a nest of young rabbits, to which it
delights to dig down, and proves that the crime of
crunching the heads of fox cubs attributed to the
badger is really the work of a depraved old dog fox.
Mr. Pease discredits Mr. Yyner's statement in Notitia
Venatica about the extraordinary period of gestation in
badgers, a statement only made on hearsay. His own
observations, which are worth any amount of theory
and second-hand information, tend to fixing nine
weeks, instead of twelve months, as the period of
pregnancy.

This brings me to the only fault I have to find with
Mr. Pease — the somewhat unworthy slights he puts on
men of science. Here is one instance : —

' A man who is not able to tell you everything, as these
learned men do, about every living creature may from a
country life and experience be able to correct some errors.'

Precisely ; and warmly will men of science welcome
the observations of Mr. Pease, who has made good use
of opportunities denied to them, and watched badgers

JANUARY 27

at play on summer nights, or at work dragging out the
old bedding and bringing in new to their earths. The
field naturalist and the student of the museum and
dissecting-room are inseparable allies ; their work is
mutual, though distinct, and they ought not to show
each other up. How could Mr. Pease tell us, as he
does, that the badger is the nearest approach to a bear
that England can boast, were it not for the labours of
such men as Buffon, to whom his reference is something
short of generous. Perhaps, however, the expressions
used by Mr Pease convey more than he intended. All
lovers of country life owe him much gratitude for an
excellent little work

The claim of sportsmen to be considered merciful must

ever remain an absurd paradox in the eyes

* Mercy in
of those unversed in woodcraft. All killing Reid

is cruel, runs their syllogism; the object of
sport and sportsmen is killing; therefore sport and
sportsmen are cruel. If the major premise were fault-
less, I should certainly not have a word to say in
defence of sport, least of all in defence of shooting,
which involves more killing than any other field
sport, for of all hateful things there is none so loath-
some as cruelty. But- killing and cruelty are not
synonymous, else the whole scheme of animated nature
stands condemned. What the shooter does is to class
certain wild animals useful for food as 'game'; to
encourage their multiplication and protect them from

28 MERCY IN FIELD SPORTS

molestation by destroying other wild animals which
prey upon them, and by formulating regulations for
killing them at specified seasons. He says, in effect :
'You are beautiful or interesting animals, useful to me
for food, clothing, or other purposes ; it is the inexor-
able law of nature that you should be killed, but I will
take the killing of you into my own hands. I will
undertake that you undergo no unnecessary suffering,
and, above all, that you are secured from injury during
the sacred season of reproduction.'

This is the principle that lies at the base of the
ethics of field sports, and it is the sedulous observance
of this that gives the sportsman a just claim to be
considered merciful. It is apart from, and much higher
than, the mere manner of killing prescribed by the code
of sport, for the welfare of an animal is not affected by
the manner of its sudden death. It is held unsports-
manlike, indeed, to shoot game birds on the ground or
on a tree, but that is from consideration for the sports-
man, to whose advantage it is to practise dexterity of
hand and eye. So the paradox is only apparent to
those who do not understand the nature of sport, and
the humane consideration which inspires the true
sportsman, both for the objects of the chase and for
certain animals employed in it.

Take, for example, the ancient sport of falconry.
The peregrine preys on grouse and partridges, and, but
for the intervention of man, would soon reduce them
to very small numbers. Man wants the game for
food ; protects the birds from indiscriminate slaughter

JANUARY 29

by their natural foes ; trains some of these foes to take
some of the game at prescribed seasons, and enjoys a
health-giving pastime besides. Grouse and partridges
are no losers under this arrangement. The same man
who takes delight in tearing the rocketers out of the
skies, or artistically dropping scores of driven grouse
round his box, will endure tortures on seeing a
retriever unmercifully beaten for a blunder, and feel
his heart bleed for the sufferings of a cab-horse with
navicular disease. Nor will he be content merely to
give sympathy, however sincere. He will be foremost
in those efforts — which, happily, are characteristic of
our civilisation — for protecting beast and bird from
unnecessary suffering or wilful abuse. It is not in the
sportsman's stable that cruelly tight-bearing reins are
permitted, nor in his study that you need look for a
lark imprisoned in a tiny cage. One can best realise
the effect of sport on the welfare of wild animals by
imagining what would have been the present state
of things had the Game Laws been abolished, as many
earnest and well-meaning persons think they ought to
be, and shooting put an end to as a pastime. Game
would have ceased to exist, except, perhaps, in the
walled parks of a few very rich men. Grouse, the only
exclusively British species of bird, don't frequent walled
parks, and would have been wiped off the face of the
earth; we should be talking of them with the same
melancholy interest that invests the dodo and the
great auk.

So much from the naturalist's point of view, but the

30 MERCY IN FIELD SPORTS

economic point is even more important. A vast supply
of choice food would have been lost. Careful preserva-
tion— and, in the case of pheasants, hand-rearing —
have resulted in an enormous increase in the winged
game of this country, the bulk of which finds its way
into the market, greatly to the advantage of the public
in general and poulterers in particular.

' Oh, but,' say certain moralists, ' how degrading it is
to rear birds for the mere purpose of shooting them
down ! '

Why, pray? Could the birds be consulted, they
would probably prefer a short life and a merry one
while it lasts to no life at all. And as for degrada-
tion, how many mutton chops do your moralists con-
sume in the course of the year? A large number, I
am glad to think, thanks to the skill and industry of
farmers, who produce large numbers of sheep. The
moralists are not heard to reflect on the degradation of
farmers and butchers.

The result of shooting as a field sport has been to
retain in this country a number of beautiful and useful
birds and beasts which would have been utterly
destroyed unless means had been taken to protect
them. It has been necessary, in doing so, to kill down
other animals not less beautiful, such as martens,
polecats, stoats, peregrine falcons, hobbies, harriers, and
sparrowhawks. It must be confessed also that some
innocent species have been confounded with the guilty.
Merlins, kestrels, and owls do very little harm and a
great deal of good. Even weasels suffer in reputation

JANUAKY 31

from their likeness to stoats, and, indeed, they are not
to be trusted with young leverets. But their chief diet
consists of mice, rats, and young rabbits. The intelli-
gent interest in wild things which the pursuit of game
wakens in so many minds may be trusted to make the
regulations of game-preserving more discriminating in
the future than it has been in the past. The harmless
nigh tr jar will no longer pay the penalty of his hawk-
like mien, for it is well understood what useful work he
does in keeping down moths and cockchafers. Men are
beginning to take delight in encouraging and studying,
rather than slaying, some of our visitors which have
become rare — the bittern, the ruff and reeve, and some
of the scarcer waterfowl ; and we look chiefly to sports-
men to set the fashion. It still is too much the way
for one who has shot a strange and beautiful animal to
record it boastfully in the local press. The collector
is busy at his nefarious trade, and every noodle who
wants to pose as an ornithologist writes to the local
press to report his senseless outrages on feathered
visitors. News comes (1898) of the slaughter of wax-
wings (Ampelis garrulus), from Banff (two), Elgin
(one), and Cairngorm (two): evidently a small party,
just landed in the inhospitable north-east, has received
the usual 'Highland welcome.' It is in the power of
sportsmen to discourage this kind of thing, and people
will soon learn to be ashamed of such treatment of
wanderers if the right example is set them.

34 WINTER NOTES

elated by blackgame. The old cocks made light of the
storm which roared over the heights and drove blinding
snow-showers down the strath; they knew the rough
weather could not last; and when the sun shone out
between the gusts, they began crooning among the birch
boughs, alighting at times on the snowclad ground to
strut and swagger after their manner when spring draws
nigh. But a much more trustworthy harbinger of
better things appeared in the strath on one of the
bitterest days at the close of February — a solitary
peewit, to be joined next day by several companions.
Sutherland lies to the north of the winter haunts of
the lapwing ; the appearance of this bird there marks
the approach, as the cuckoo in Cambridgeshire does
the presence, of spring. Several parties of northward-
bound chaffinches and other small birds also ap-
peared, having set out, in spite of the temporary wintry
aspect of things, on their annual journey to far
Scandinavia.

Season after season, day after day, the close observer
of nature will witness the same incidents, the same
traits, repeated by wild creatures ; from time to
time he will be rewarded by something novel. During
the recent bitter after- Yule I happened to notice
one such occurrence. Everybody knows how the hen
birds of many species will pretend to be cripples in
order to lead away an intruder from their young. It
is a touching, but threadbare, and therefore not very
effective device, but it is always pretty to see the
imposture well acted. I was crossing a small flat of

FEBRUARY 35

heather to fish a certain salmon pool in the Helms-
dale, when a hen grouse fluttered out at my feet, and
scrambled away with a deplorably crippled gait. ' A
wounded bird/ I remarked to my gillie, well knowing
there could be no brood about in February. No sooner
were the words spoken than my boot almost went upon
an old cock, which flew out of the heather with a brave
cackle; immediately the hen pulled herself together,
joined her mate, and both were soon out of view hi
strong flight across the river. This is the first instance
I have witnessed of a bird incurring personal risk hi
order to protect its mate. It will be observed that this
devotion was shown by the hen ; I am afraid it would
never occur to a cock bird to put himself in jeopardy
for his spouse's sake. It is true, however, that the
whirring rise of a cock pheasant serves as a warning,
albeit involuntary, for his wives to lie low in the presence
of danger.

Talking of cock pheasants, there is one of their habits
for which it is exceedingly difficult to imagine any good
reason — namely, that inveterate one of crowing loudly
and repeatedly before going to roost, or, rather, after
going to roost, and before going to sleep. The black-
bird does the same; and besides these two I cannot
recall any British bird which indulges in this foolish
custom. Foolish it surely is, for it must be of some
importance to every animal to sleep securely, and that
might be best ensured by not announcing the exact
position of the sleeping place to all prowling creatures.
At all events, nearly all wild animals go to bed in

34 WINTER NOTES

elated by blackgame. The old cocks made light of the
storm which roared over the heights and drove blinding
snow-showers down the strath; they knew the rough
weather could not last; and when the sun shone out
between the gusts, they began crooning among the birch
boughs, alighting at times on the snowclad ground to
strut and swagger after their manner when spring draws
nigh. But a much more trustworthy harbinger of
better things appeared in the strath on one of the
bitterest days at the close of February — a solitary
peewit, to be joined next day by several companions.
Sutherland lies to the north of the winter haunts of
the lapwing ; the appearance of this bird there marks
the approach, as the cuckoo in Cambridgeshire does
the presence, of spring. Several parties of northward-
bound chaffinches and other small birds also ap-
peared, having set out, in spite of the temporary wintry
aspect of things, on their annual journey to far
Scandinavia.

Season after season, day after day, the close observer
of nature will witness the same incidents, the same
traits, repeated by wild creatures ; from time to
time he will be rewarded by something novel. During
the recent bitter after- Yule I happened to notice
one such occurrence. Everybody knows how the hen
birds of many species will pretend to be cripples in
order to lead away an intruder from their young. It
is a touching, but threadbare, and therefore not very
effective device, but it is always pretty to see the
imposture well acted. I was crossing a small flat of

FEBRUARY 35

heather to fish a certain salmon pool in the Helms-
dale, when a hen grouse fluttered out at my feet, and
scrambled away with a deplorably crippled gait. ' A
wounded bird/ I remarked to my gillie, well knowing
there could be no brood about in February. No sooner
were the words spoken than my boot almost went upon
an old cock, which flew out of the heather with a brave
cackle; immediately the hen pulled herself together,
joined her mate, and both were soon out of view in
strong flight across the river. This is the first instance
I have witnessed of a bird incurring personal risk hi
order to protect its mate. It will be observed that this
devotion was shown by the hen ; I am afraid it would
never occur to a cock bird to put himself in jeopardy
for his spouse's sake. It is true, however, that the
whirring rise of a cock pheasant serves as a warning,
albeit involuntary, for his wives to lie low in the presence
of danger.

Talking of cock pheasants, there is one of their habits
for which it is exceedingly difficult to imagine any good
reason — namely, that inveterate one of crowing loudly
and repeatedly before going to roost, or, rather, after
going to roost, and before going to sleep. The black-
bird does the same; and besides these two I cannot
recall any British bird which indulges in this foolish
custom. Foolish it surely is, for it must be of some
importance to every animal to sleep securely, and that
might be best ensured by not announcing the exact
position of the sleeping place to all prowling creatures.
At all events, nearly all wild animals go to bed in

36 WINTER NOTES

silence, however much clamour they may make on
waking.

To whom, then, is this advertisement addressed by the
cock pheasant and the blackbird ? It may be assumed
that every note of a bird is intended to convey informa-
tion to its fellows on some subject of importance. Even
man, most garrulous of all creatures, rarely indulges
in soliloquy, and feels much ashamed when detected
in so doing. Certainly, it is exceptional to hear a
self-respecting human householder bellowing 'Rule
Britannia ' or ' I fear no Foe in Shining Armour ' as he
takes his bedroom candlestick. But this is just what
the cock pheasant and the blackbird do at all seasons.
You may hear the wise partridge calling at sundown in
August ; but that is to summon her brood to their bed-
room. The cock pheasant sets more store on a single
barleycorn than on all the broods of all his many wives,
and the blackbird chatters as much at nightfall in mid-
winter as in May. Dr. Louis Robinson has lately pub-
lished some exceedingly interesting and suggestive
speculations on the hereditary and acquired habits of
wild animals ; but in his volume — Wild Traits in Tame
Animals1 — this problem is not discussed. He does,
indeed, analyse the vocal peculiarities of domestic fowl ;
but these are mostly matutinal. The puzzle about the
pheasant and blackbird is that they make a noise pre-
cisely when prudence, experience, or instinct should
have warned them it were wiser to be silent.

1 Edinburgh : Blackwood and Sons, 1897.

FEBRUARY 37

XII

• Just one hundred and seventy years ago a certain
clergyman, the Rev. James Granger, preached Fowla of
a sermon which gave mighty offence to his the Ajx
parishioners. Those were days when few people gave
serious thought to the sufferings of what we arrogantly
call the lower animals ; and it was held to be frivolous,
impertinent, and altogether derogatory to the dignity
of the Church of England that horses and dogs should
be mentioned from the pulpit, and cruelty towards
them condemned as contrary to Christian mercy.
The most plausible excuse put forward for the parson
was that he had gone mad. Howbeit, mad or sane,
good Parson Granger afterwards published his sermon
in the form of a pamphlet, called An Apology for the
Brute Creation, or Abuse of Animals censured, and
thus the first note was sounded in that agitation which
has resulted in our own day in the presence on the
statute book of some of the most excellent laws ever
devised.

Peradventure the thought may enter the mind of
a worshipper in some of our fashionable London
churches, while the preacher sends a sympathetic thrill
through a forest of feather - decked bonnets, that he
might venture sometimes to chide the cruelty of fashion,
as well as its vanity and selfishness. It seems as if he
would be doing his Master's work as thoroughly
were he to suspend eloquent elucidation of theological
conundrums, in order to devote a spare half hour

38 FOWLS OF THE AIR

to imploring mercy for our fellow- creatures — the
birds.

There were times, happily now for ever past in this
country, when the Church profited by the ignorance
of the people. Mourning relatives believed that the
souls of their lost ones might be redeemed from pur-
gatory by the repetition of so many masses, paid for
by the dozen, and that the penalty for their own sins
might be liquidated by the purchase of indulgences.
The Church knows now that sound knowledge is one
of the most trustworthy handmaids of devotion. In
this matter, then, of mercy to birds, knowledge is the
surest remedy to the present practice ; for there can
be nothing more certain than this, that kind-hearted
Englishwomen would never consent to deck them-
selves with borrowed plumes if they knew the irre-
parable mischief that is being wrought by the traffic
which supplies them. Should any clergyman feel at
a loss for a text from which to preach on this subject,
let me respectfully refer him to Professor Newton's
admirable Dictionary of Birds ; and therein, under
the heading ' Extermination,' the following words : —

1 One other cause which threatens the existence of many
species of birds, if it has not already produced the exter-
mination of some, is the rage for wearing their feathers that
now and again seizes civilised women, who take their ideas
of dress from interested milliners of both sexes — persons
who having bought a large stock of what are known as
" plumes," proceed to make a profit by declaring them to
be in fashion. The tender-hearted ladies who buy them
little suspect that some of the large supplies required by

FEBRUARY 39

the " plume trade" are chiefly got by laying waste the
homes of birds that breed gregariously, and that at their
very breeding time. ... No havoc in these islands approaches
that which is perpetrated in some other countries, especially
it is surmised in India, though there now contrary to law ;
and the account of the ravages of a party of " bird-plumers "
at the breeding stations on the coast of Florida, given by
Mr. W. E. D. Scott, who in former years had seen them
thronged by a peaceful population, is simply sickening.
Did we not know what his feelings were, one might in
reading his terrible narrative lose patience with him for
not expressing more strongly his detestation of the bar-
barities he recounts. But his abstention is doubtless
attributable to the fact that his narrative appears in a
strictly scientific journal, where sentimental expressions
would be out of place. All efforts to awaken the conscience
of those who tacitly encourage this detestable devastation,
and thereby share in its guilt, have hitherto failed, and,
unless laws to stop it be not only passed but enforced, it
will go on till it ceases for want of victims, which indeed
may happen very shortly. Then milliners will doubtless
find that artificial feathers can be made even as artificial
flowers now are, and there will be a fine opening for the
ingenious inventor. The pity is that he does not begin at
once.'

Now the excuse for making such a lengthy extract
as the above is found in the fact that it also is taken
from a strictly scientific work. The evil must indeed
be crying that wrings from the learned professor such
strong expressions of displeasure.

Of course, when unsanctified man presumes to make
observations upon ladies' dress, he must be prepared
for the consequences. He will be told that he knows

40 FOWLS OF THE AIR

nothing about it; that he had better mind his own
business and look after the beam in his own eye. Cer-
tainly I am ready to admit that it would not impart
the faintest thrill of pleasure either to myself or, I
fancy to any one else, except rude little boys in the
street, were I to walk about with a humming-bird on
one side of my hat, a golden oriole on the other, and a
so-called ' osprey ' in the middle. All that I venture to
assert is that if ladies knew the realities of the plume
trade, they would either discard feathers altogether, or,
snapping their fingers at the tyrants of fashion, use
ostrich plumes, cut from birds bred for the purpose,
and the feathers of those domestic birds, game or wild
fowl, which are sold for food. Would that every lady
in London would pay a single visit to the East India
Docks, and see the millions and millions of bird skins,
ransacked from all the fairest places of the earth, to
enable fashionable folk, and their imitators, to comply
with a senseless decree. It would be an insult to the
charms of English women were any one to suggest
that their influence can be enhanced by the use of
feathers. At the present moment (1897), it seems,
feathers, except ostrich plumes and the above-
mentioned ' osprey ' (of which more presently), are off,
and ribbons are on. Will any man be so foolhardy as
to assert that, in consequence, he is less liable to lose
his head or his heart? Every hue that ever shone
on feathered fowl can be imitated in Coventry ribbons.
Would it not be better to provide employment for our
own working class in legitimate home industry than

FEBRUARY 41

to stimulate among South Sea islanders and long-
shore loafers the greed of exterminating some of the
loveliest creatures on God's earth ?

Two instances, one of the ingratitude, the other of
the cruelty of milliners' fashions, must suffice to illus-
trate the urgency of the case.

A few years ago owls' 'plumes' were the rage
for ladies' hats. Besides innumerable counterfeits,
thousands of the genuine article might be seen flaunt-
ing in the streets, evidence of the slaughter that had
been wrought among one of the most beneficent families
of birds. The nature of these plumes might itself have
testified to the usefulness of the original owner — to the
thoughtlessness of the borrower — for the structure of
an owl's wing coverts is specially adapted to noiseless
flight. The importance to the owl of being able to fly
without sound lies in his nocturnal habits, and in the
keen sense of hearing possessed by his chief prey — rats,
mice, and voles. The services rendered to farmers,
gardeners, millers, and indeed to all rural householders,
by a pair of owls is quite beyond calculation. And how
do we reward them ? By shooting down this beautiful
nocturnal police, savagely tearing out wing-and-tail
coverts, fixing them on our feast day hats for a few
weeks, and then casting them on the cinder heap.

To man, we are told, was committed the privilege of
devising names for all animated nature. He has, with
questionable modesty, reserved for his own species the
title of Homo sapiens — Man the Wise. Sometimes
there is forced upon one the reflection that one of two

42 FOWLS OF THE AIR

courses is necessary — either a new classification and re-
naming of the human species, or the abandonment of
certain practices which make the old nomenclature in-
appropriate. It would be gratifying to our self-respect
if, assuming it to be necessary for ladies to display frag-
ments of animated nature in their attire, they should
adopt the fashion of wearing the carcases of rats; mice,
and other furred marauders on their heads.

So much for Man the Wise ; now for an instance of
Man the Merciful.

Reference has been made to the ' osprey ' plumes so
highly prized in bonnet shops. These delicate sprays
have quite as much to do with alligators as with
ospreys. They are produced by two or three species
of heron of fairy-like beauty. To realise their exceed-
ing loveliness let the reader turn to the plates of the
Great White Heron (Ardea alba) and the little Egret
(Ardea garzetta) given in Parts xiv. and xv. of Lord
Lilford's Coloured Figures of the Birds of the British
Islands. These are most faithful and life-like repre-
sentations of these birds in their nuptial dress. At
the pairing season long filiform feathers spring from
the back and fall, like a bridal veil, over the snowy
plumage. That such exquisite creatures should meet
with short shrift on the rare occasions when they visit
these islands, is only in accordance with our invari-
able treatment of rare birds. John Ruskin wrote the
mournful elegy of the last white egret known to have
been killed in England, and told how this ' living cloud
rather than a bird, with its frostwork of dead silver,' was

FEBRUARY 43

battered to death by a labouring man, and sold to a
neighbouring bird stuffer. That is only what we must
expect from labouring men as long as people who are
not under the necessity of labouring remain ignorantly
indifferent. Surely ignorance is the only cause of this
indifference. Surely no lady would buy one of these
egret plumes, dyed, as they often are, red, blue, or even
black, if she remembered that they were once the
bridal dress of an innocent bird; that in order to
supply them, peaceful colonies must be invaded and
ruthlessly violated at the most sacred season of the
year ; and that this heartless trade must soon end in
the total extermination of white herons.

To what purpose, some hard-working philanthropist
may be heard saying, is all this outcry about the suffer-
ings of birds, when such clamant need exists for the
relief of human want and misery ? Will it not be time
enough to take up the cause of the first when that of
the last has been finally and successfully redressed ?
That might be so if man were neutral in his dealings
with these wild things ; if, instead of exerting himself
to destroy and torment them, he left them undisturbed.
This is no appeal for mission work among fowls, but
for the conversion of human beings from inhuman
practices. The Society for the Protection of Birds was
originally started for the purpose of discouraging the
'plume' trade, by informing women about its true
nature ; it has lately extended its scope so as to grapple
with needless and wanton destruction of birds. It does
not clamour for legislation; there is plenty of that

44 FOWLS OF THE AIR

already, and to spare. It aims at the diffusion of sound
information on bird life and habits, and at shaming
people out of barbarous treatment of harmless, gener-
ally beautiful, and often useful species. Any one may
become a member for the trifling annual subscription
of half-a-crown, or a life member by the single payment
of a guinea.1 The pamphlets and leaflets already pub-
lished by the Society exhibit, in addition to zeal, the
indispensable quality of discretion. No attempt is
made, as some good folks think necessary, to discourage
field sports. Many of its members would have no part
in it if the programme included putting an end to
shooting birds for sport. No intelligent observer of
human nature can have remained blind to this apparent
paradox, that among no class of persons — no ! not even
among the fair sex — are animals more sure of humane
treatment than at the hands of sportsmen.

Besides, as has been observed above — but for the
game-laws, but for the preservation of wild birds for
sport, there would not be in our land at this day one in
ten thousand of the grouse, pheasants, and partridges
which adorn it. The red grouse is the only exclusively
British bird in the whole list. Collectors would have
swarmed from all parts of the world, and long ere this
grouse would have ceased to exist but for the protec-
tion of the game- laws. Let us even descend so low as
pigeon-shooting from traps. It is not, indeed, a field
sport, it is perhaps a stretch of courtesy to call it sport
of any sort, and I cannot bear to witness it. Never-

1 The Secretary is Mrs. F. E. Lemon, 3 Hanover Square, W.

FEBRUARY 45

theless, even pigeon-shooting has its bright side for
the victims. Hundreds of thousands of pigeons are
bred annually for the sole purpose of supplying pigeon
matches, which would never have existence at all if
pigeon-shooting were prohibited. During their brief
lives they are well tended and well fed ; they have no
knowledge of the fate in store for them ; and it may be
left to subtler intellects than mine to decide whether
'Tis better to be hatched and shot than never to be
hatched at all/

With all this vexed question the Society for the
Protection of Birds does not concern itself. Some of
its members, indeed, who have travelled in countries
where all wild birds are scrupulously and spontaneously
protected by the natives, may feel more in sympathy
with the Mohammedan, who, from superstitious dread
of injuring the spirit of one of his ancestors, refrains
from taking the life of any wild bird, than they feel
with the idle English ' milor ' who ascends the Nile, not
content to enjoy the glorious sunshine or to explore
the relics of the most ancient civilisation in the world,
but intent upon carrying death and wounds among the
harmless waterfowl that crowd the river banks.

At the beginning of the great frost in February 1895
I was fishing in Thurso. A brace of beautiful wild
swans came up the river and offered to light on the
pool beside which I was standing, but on seeing me
they flew on. My gillie said he thought they would
settle at a place higher up the river, and urged me to
get a gun, for I would get a fine chance at them. I

46 FOWLS OF THE AIR

turned and said, ' Do you know that if I were to get
twenty guineas for every swan I bagged, I never would
fire at one of them?' He looked half amused, half
incredulous, but many sportsmen will understand my
feelings. I don't want to make myself out better than
I am. I was bred a sportsman, and though I shoot no
longer, I would be ashamed to compound for sins I am
inclined for (fishing, for instance) by damning those I
have no mind for ; and the Society for the Protection
of Birds have done well in refraining from interference
with legitimate sport.

Of what the law can do, a great deal — perhaps all
that can be done — has been done in this country. The
more defenceless species have profited by the low estate
to which game preservation has reduced birds of prey.
Song birds and other small kinds were never probably
so numerous as at the present time. But several birds
are still killed as ' vermin,' which it is the duty of the
Society to make known in their true character. The
kestrel dies because he is a hawk (to speak more
strictly, a falcon), but his chief prey is mice and beetles.
Owls have long enjoyed evil repute with gamekeepers,
because for every five hundred mice and rats he catches,
an owl will pick up a young pheasant or partridge, of
which neither, by the bye, has any business to be
abroad at night. Then there is another bird which
has suffered grievously by misnomer, being called in
the vulgar tongue a fern-owl, night-hawk, or goat-
sucker. But seeing that he is a relative of the swallows,
living honestly by catching cockchafers and moths, it

FEBRUARY 47

is kinder to give him his fourth popular name of night-
jar. Of all the birds of the heath and brake, none is
more absolutely innocuous, none more fascinating than
this one, yet hundreds are slain every year because
foolish persons believe they hurt game or suck the
milk of cattle !

So great has been the increase of certain small birds
in cultivated districts, that it is sometimes necessary to
apply a check in place of the natural one that has
been removed. But, for pity's sake, let it be applied in
the form of sudden death, and not imprisonment. The
bird-catcher's trade is full of untold horrors, not less
repulsive than those of the plume trade. Captivity is
bitter to every living creature ; it must be doubly bitter
when it involves the deprivation of a faculty distin-
guishing birds from all other warm-blooded animals
except bats — a faculty, too, which has been the type of
freedom in all ages, and which man has applied all his
ingenuity to acquire, without success.

It is, of course, true that those who cultivate a craze
for caged birds are not intentionally cruel. They
lavish every kind of attention, wise and unwise, on
their pets. It is true, too, that abundant warmth and
food, combined with little exercise, soon tend hi some
species to dull the prisoner's craving for liberty, and
may even cast a torpor over the seasonal impulse to
migrate. But even if it were a pleasant thought that
a cage-bird's life is only rendered endurable by the
effect of overfeeding on its natural faculties, a vast
amount of suffering and of lingering death is brought

48 RABBIT-PROOF PLANTS

upon the fowls of the air by the preliminary stages of
the bird-catcher's craft.

Let me return, in conclusion, to Caithness, whither
I have dragged the reader once already. There is no
bird more typical of those northern wastes than the
pretty snow-bunting. There are many mammals and
birds which don white raiment in winter to match the
surrounding pallor, but the snow-bunting alone, I think,
among all birds, assumes a whiter plumage in summer
than in winter. The reason seems obvious that, whereas
it resorts in winter to temperate climes, where a piebald
coat will serve, it goes far north to breed on snowy up-
lands, where white is essential to concealment about the
nest.

Xlla

In the first series of these irresponsible papers I dis-
Rabbit-proof coursed upon the discrimination shown by
plants various animals in their choice of food, and
furnished a list of the shrubs and herbs which long and
bitter experience had proved to be immune from rabbits.
Exception was taken to some of these by certain critics,
who pronounced my list too liberal, and averred either
that I had spoken unadvisedly, or that the malice of
their rabbits was of a more atrocious grain than that of
mine. Well, all I can say is this, that rabbits do greatly
abound in the woods wherein I have exposed to their
attacks all the plants named in my list, and that these
have not only survived, but flourished. It is quite true
that some of these shrubs, when first planted out, are
liable to be gnawed, out of wantonness, curiosity, or sheer

FEBRUARY 49

' cussedness,' and it is well to give them the protection
of wire for the first season or two, after which they may
be considered safe. It is also true that some herbaceous
plants, such as the Japanese day-lily (Hemerocallis), are
apt to be tasted when first pushing a succulent growth
in spring ; but when they have become established, littlo
harm results from this, and when the clump has grown
strong and has assimilated with its surroundings — lost its
newly-planted look — rabbits pay it no further attention.
So many people have expressed their gratitude for
the publication of the list in the first series, that it has
occurred to me that it might be useful to reprint it as
an appendix to the present volume, with certain addi-
tions which subsequent experience has confirmed. These
additions are, among shrubs, Choysia ternata, Clematis
(all species), Olearia hassti, Cassinia (Diplopappus)
fulvida, Berberis (all species), Rubus (including the
fine American species); and among herbs, Spircea (all
species), bamboos (many, probably all, species), day-lilies,
lily of the valley, New Zealand flax, etc.

XIII

The present winter (1899), remarkably mild up to
now, has confirmed the impression which Amiid
must often have suggested itself to observers Wmter
of wild animals, namely, that their existence is devoted
to two main objects — the supply of food and the duty
of reproduction. All through January there has been
no lack of food ; not even the film of ice has crusted
the pools; the grass has grown without a check, and

D

50 A MILD WINTER

every still corner is dancing with winged insects. A
few days since the garden bees were busy in the snow-
drop bells, and over a bed of wallflower there was a
sound of summer wings. The question of commissariat
therefore causes no anxiety, and the minds of beast and
bird are turning lightly and prematurely to thoughts of
love. The blackbirds, for instance, are behaving in
quite a delirious way; the hen birds looking out for
felicitous nesting-places, and some of the males in full
song. This is very exceptional at this season. Thrushes
— an odd one here and there — are always ready to tune
up after a week of warm weather, but the merle is much
less easily beguiled into amatory expression. Never till
this year did I hear the song of a blackbird on January
2nd ; since that day, when he was decidedly staccato, he
has practised incessantly, and now accomplishes the
whole vernal operetta, while others near him are also
taking up the strain.

Evidently they have been thrown out of their reckon-
ing. The blackbird's song is purely hymeneal; the
prudent pere de famille exhorts his wife betimes : ' Look
here, this has been a season of plenty ; there are very few
families in mourning, and it will be difficult to get a
house for the season unless you set about it soon. Just
you look about you, will you ? and 1 11 sit and sing while
you are busy.' There is some excuse for this confusion
of dates ; to-day (February 3rd) I saw hollyhocks, mari-
golds, and scarlet geranium in bloom in the open.

Many of the time-honoured prognostications of a hard
winter have been discredited this year. There was a

FEBRUARY 61

heavy crop of hips and haws; holly berries were
unusually abundant, and as yet there is little diminu-
tion in the store. Perhaps this provender may come in
handy still. There is a very large holly tree close —
some people think too close — to my window, which
bears a very large crop each year. Its branches are still
thickly set with scarlet fruit, although wood-pigeons
(there were six in it one morning lately) and pheasants
resort to it ' when so dispoged.' But there have been
none of the usual visits of redwings ; while blackbirds
and thrushes despise it altogether, as earthworms are to
be had in abundance. A pair of fine mistletoe thrushes
kept me company as long as an old spindle bush had
any rosy berries left, but they finished these a fortnight
ago, and have gone afield for something more succulent
than holly berries.

XIV

In the present painfully congested state of knowledge,
it amounts almost to a calamity when a fresh T^ curlew-
discovery dispels some venerable mystery. S3^*1?1?6*
Hence it is with mingled feelings that one learns that
the egg of the curlew sandpiper has at last been
found. Hitherto the knot and the curlew sandpiper,
two diminutive and nearly related members of the sub-
family of Snipes, and both well known on our coasts as
spring and autumn passengers, have maintained the
distinction of being the only British birds which have
succeeded in defying the curiosity of egg-collectors.
Not a single egg of either species has ever been found

52 FUDDLING CHUB

till, last year (1897), Mr. Pophain brought back from
the Yenesei a clutch of eggs of the curlew sandpiper,
together with the parent birds. Nestlings of the knot
have been found many years ago in Melville Island,
and lately in Grinnell Land, so it seems merely a ques-
tion of time when this little traveller also must yield up
its domestic secrets.

XV

Owners of trout-streams, especially those of Hertford-
Fuddiing shire, are often driven to the verge of despair
by the irrepressible increase of coarse fish.
Dace and chub are almost as inimical to the welfare
and abundance of trout as is the pirate pike. Their
hostility is not overt, but they consume a vast amount
of good food which ought to descend into nobler gullets,
and no doubt they devour a quantity of trout spawn.
Pike may be snared and shot ; to keep them within
limits is merely a question of diligence ; but no amount
of diligence will rid a stream of dace and chub. A
certain number may be taken in nets; but where
willows and alders abound to the advantage of the
stream, effective netting cannot be carried out.

Now dace and chub are chiefly known in the southern
and Midland counties ; but it is in the north that wise
men have devised an insidious way of ridding them-
selves of the pest. Chub, locally known as 'skellies,'
exist naturally in great quantities in that noble stream
the Cumberland Eden, and here salmon and trout
anglers avail themselves of the process known by the

FEBRUARY 63

delightful title of 'fuddling chub/ The very term
has a fascination in it, and I commend the plan to
the attention of south- country conservators as well
worthy of a trial at the present season. The recipe is
as follows : — Boil 1 J Ib. of rice until rather soft (not so
soft as for the table), let it cool, then add 1J Ib. of
flour, one ounce of Cocculus Indicus, and crumble up
with the whole a threepenny loaf of stale bread. Mix
all together with the hands, and throw into the haunts
of chub in pieces about the size of a pea. The chub
eat it, presently float on the top incapably drunk, and
may be ladled out. It is said that trout do not take it,
but the experiment should be carried out cautiously at
first.

XVI

The real tooth of winter (1898) has come upon us with
the lengthening days ; the warmth of Yule tide
has passed away, and a terrible north wind HigMand
drives down our Highland strath. The sky,
yesterday so blue, is uniformly grey, and the snow-
flakes fly thickly. Far up on the bosom of Beinn
Uarie one can discern, in the clearer intervals, the
great corrie, where the drifts seethe and whirl; last
week you might have basked there in the sun, looking
forth upon the wide firth ; to-day it would be death to
venture within that awful chamber of snow.

On the smooth holm beside the river stands a sub-
stantial farmhouse, where dwells one of those great
sheep-farmers who have had to bear so much abuse for
displacing the crofters. A young woman comes out,

54 FROM A HIGHLAND STEATH

and steps briskly over the sward, heeding the bitter
blast as little as if it were a zephyr of the ^Egean.
A harmony in rose and silver-grey. Roses are in her
cheeks — such roses as only youth at its best can grow ;
grey her dress — a thick, short skirt of homespun over
good serviceable boots — a short cloak, held close to
the throat with one ungloved, well-shaped hand — and a
grey Tarn- o'- Shan ter pulled well down over pale golden
hair. There is a flash of scarlet somewhere, not to be
denned — is it handkerchief, or glimpse of petticoat, or
corner of ribbon ? — a spark of vivid colour rendering
the rest more delicate. A prettier picture than this
lass marching through the storm you would not find in
all the streets and parks of London. One of Mr. Black's
braves must have come in captive on the spot.

Will our dear, fine ladies not read a moral therein ?
Not, indeed, that they should wear Tam-o'-Shanters
at matindes, or forswear gloves in populous places, but
the old, threadbare precept — simplex munditiis.
What return does anybody, except the milliners,
derive from the vast outlay in fine feathers and
' picture ' hats ? It is shining eyes and hair, and
shapely limbs and je ne sfais quoi — not ' ospreys '
and humming-birds and aniline dyes — that does for
the enemy. But the enemy is done for daily, in spite
of these detriments to fascination (for such, in most
cases, they really are). The plea here is not for him,
but on behalf of innumerable beautiful and harmless
creatures, who suffer by reason of extravagant adorn-
ment of ladies' hats.

FEBRUARY 55

Perhaps I have said enough upon this matter already,
but since the notes on pp. 37-44 were penned, the
question has entered upon a new phase. The Society
for the Protection of Birds has been so busy making
known by lectures and leaflets the truly abominable
proceeding necessary to keep up the supply of 'ospreys,'
that the demand has been affected. Ladies having
refused to decorate themselves with plumes so basely
borrowed, Monsiewr le plumassier has been compelled
to resort to artifice. Hitherto he would have been
righteously indignant had anybody hinted that his
' ospreys ' were not genuine ; now he protests that they
are artificial. Many ladies have bought them on this
assurance, and it is time to inform them that they are
being deceived. So greedily is the harvest being reaped,
so abundant are the consignments from Virginia and
India, that it would not pay to fabricate white heron
plume. Let ladies be persuaded, therefore, to decline
to help off the trade with its ill-gotten stock, and
that a cock's plume or a bunch of ribbons — even
a Tam-o'-Shanter — will exact quite as much homage
from the other sex as the rarest plumes from
outre-mer.

The traffic in 'ospreys' is only one of many other
branches which keeps collectors busy. Birds of
Paradise, humming-birds, chatterers, all the living
jewellery of the tropics, is being depleted to satisfy
this truly savage fashion. A remarkable tirade has
been uttered recently by the Jesuit Victor Cathrein
against the growing tenderness of modern Christians

56 THE PASSING OF WINTER

towards the lower animals. This he denounces as
un- Chris tianlike and demoralising, on the theological
ground that these creatures have no rights, and that
man is as free to tear them in pieces or destroy them
as he is to ruin his own clothes or pull a peony to
pieces. Happily, matters have gone too far for any
such anthropocentric doctrine to find any echo in
Britain, through it is true that Christians have a
good deal still to learn from Mahommedans in this
respect, as anybody may observe by comparing street
scenes in Naples with those in Constantinople. Eng-
lish ladies of fashion have it much in their power to
promote the humane treatment of their feathered
fellow- creatures ; nor will they fail to do so when
they understand how to do it, without the slightest
sacrifice of grace or splendour in attire — without even
adopting the rule of simplex munditiis.

XVII

Seldom is there a night so still that he who is abroad
The Passing or watching from an open window is not
of winter conscious of an indefinable stir, it may be
among the treetops or upon the beach, among the
summer meadows or on the snowy hillside. Not the
wind, albeit that often gives a momentary sigh, nor the
going of beast and bird, nor the movement of men ; it
is something apart from these, intangible, like the
change upon a sleeping child before it wakes. It is as
if the spiritual sentries which we are fond to imagine

FEBRUARY 67

keeping ward over the slumbering world were giving
place to the day reliefs before the sounding of the
grand reveille.

Be it this, or be it some other, nobody who is in tune
with nature will be insensible thereof, nor fail to recog-
nise in the calendar a counterpart to this daily revival.
It comes in the thrill running through the land ere it
wakes from the sleep of winter. Our seasons are so
variable that there is sometimes plant growth in every
month. The earth carried into the winter that is just
passing away (1899-1900) so much of the heat imparted
by a gracious summer, that the heliotrope — of all
common bedding plants most sensitive to cold — was
flowering in open borders on the west coast of Scotland
as late as the 8th of December. Then the frost got in
its tooth for a short spell, yet the first snowdrop flowered
on the 28th of that month. Still, even the singing of
credulous thrushes did not delude one into the belief
that winter was past. It was a full month later when
an indescribable something in the morning air made
one aware that a change had taken effect ; that winter
was no longer master ; that steam was getting up, and
the business of the year was afoot. Since that day there
has been a set-back ; furious snow-storms and nights of
cruel frost have interrupted the business; but it has
been proceeding all the same, and the dead months are
behind us.

Even here, seven hundred miles north of London,
about as far north as you can get without falling over
the edge of our little island, with the glen wrapped in

58 THE PASSING OF WINTER

snow and the river bound in arctic fetters, save here
and there a swifter reach running dark amid the sur-
rounding whiteness, one feels assured that 'joy cometh
in the morning/ It is not merely experience of
February — Sprokelmaund, as the Dutch call it, the
breaking-up month — that assures one of this. Depend
upon it, the earth is alive and watchful ; the very alder
buds have blushed a conscious purple ; although not a
green leaf will appear for ten weeks to come, the invis-
ible seamstresses are preparing for the gala month of
June.

Yet, of a surety, a stranger in this northern land —
above all, a stranger fatuously bent upon salmon-fishing
— might be tempted to curse his own folly, or his
friend's deceitful assurance, which induced him to incur
exile at such a season from the inglorious comforts of
his club. Fish ! How can he fish in a frozen river ?
'Maybe there will be a change coming before many days/
observes the consolatory gillie. A change ! Good need
for it ! Look at the deer, low on the hill above the lodge,
crouching away from the fierce nor'easter, densely
charged with stinging snow-needles. They seem to
have made up their minds for the worst, and run risk
of winding the abhorred odour of man rather than
endure the unmitigated misery on the tops. It is not
like the same world which, two nights ago, he left in
London. There, the elm tops were swaying in a wet
sou'wester, the pavements flowed with mire, and an
ordinary overcoat was oppressive. Here the very breath
freezes on the beard, and woe to the unwary who avails

FEBRUARY 69

himself not of the thickest woollen webs. Ungrateful
mortal ! Know you not that no pleasures in life are so
exquisite as those which come of contrast ? Think of
the murky capital you have left behind, but think of it
in gratitude for the lot which has landed you in a
county where you could not find a teaspoonful of mud
were you offered its weight in diamonds.

Well, the stranger has come to fish, and has nothing
else to do, unless he sit down and write to the papers
about the shortcomings and long delays of the High-
land Railway ; so he had best do as I did — yield to the
sanguine gillie's persuasion, and put a fly over what
open water may be found. We had spent several hours
in a snowdrift at Dalwhinnie, therefore it was late in
the afternoon of the third day from leaving Euston that
I reached my sub-arctic quarters. Just below the lodge
a long, swift sweep of the Helmsdale was free from ice,
save for a few feet on each side — a famous cast for
spring salmon; and about 4 P.M. I began hurling a
huge ' Goldsmith,' a flamboyant confection of yellow
feathers, scarlet wool, and silver tinsel, across the leaden-
coloured surface of the flood. It was bitterly, bitterly
cold ; the line froze to the rings ; the fly — good save us !
'twas as like a young crocodile as any winged insect —
the fly, I say, had to be sucked clear of ice from tune
to time ; surely no fish can be astir in such a season.
Ha ! there is one, anyhow, as may be seen by the most
incredulous in a heavy swirl behind the lure. He would
not come again, so we both voted him a kelt, and went
on. Twenty yards lower I fastened in something, a

60 SPRING SALMON

manifest kelt, which was expiscated, and duly returned
unhurt.

Well, if kelts are on the move, clean fish may be so
also ; and I fished on in momentary expectation, having,
from long experience, faith in the seasonal, if irrational,
impulse which drives salmon from the abundant store-
house of the ocean into the lean quarters of a Highland
torrent, no matter how inclement may be the time. It
came at last — a good solid 'rug' under water, just
where the current narrowed between two opposing ice-
floes, and a few minutes of vigorous exercise set the
blood circulating in fine style. There were moments
of exceeding apprehension, when the fish evinced a
decided hankering for shelter under the ice at my feet ;
but eighteen feet of greenheart availed to hold him
clear, and in five minutes I was enjoying one of the
fairest sights upon which an angler's eyes may feast
themselves — a new-run salmon reposing upon a wreath
of stainless snow.

XVIII

The change in men and manners noted by one crossing

Spring the Moray Firth is not less remarkable than

salmon ^^ -n ^Q habits and behaviour of birds

which distinguishes the districts north and south of

that stately fiord. The Saxon element predominates in

the counties bordering upon Aberdeen ; but cross the

Firth, pass into the dreary tableland of Caithness, and

you encounter unmistakable Scandinavian traits in

FEBEUAKY 61

the population. Now Norsemen and Saxons may be
traced to a common Germanic stock, but the first
seem to have monopolised William of Wykeham's
adage, ' Manners makyth man/ and succeed in making
intercourse exceedingly agreeable all round. Norse
blood, with an infusion of Celtic, produces a race pro-
bably of superior social amenity to any other. This
adds immensely to the zest of field-sports in penulti-
mate Thule, especially to that of early salmon fishing,
which involves the spending of long hours by the water-
side in solitude, save for the presence of the attendant
gillie.

Now, there be gillies and gillies. An Irishman in
that capacity is sure to be amusing, a Highlander
generally sympathetic; both perhaps succeed in con-
cealing their total disregard of veracity. As for the
Lowland Scot, you may place implicit reliance on the
few observations he emits, but his incorrigible dourness
has a depressing effect. It is the Norse Highlander
of Caithness who alone fulfils the part to perfection,
putting himself in harmony with all his employer's
moods, ready to discuss politics, agriculture, literature,
or what not, yet thoroughly sound and true in all
pertaining to his craft.

Great is the joy to stand with such a man on the
familiar marge; the well-known landscape lies around
— weather-wan grass — brown, stunted heather — dark,
blotchy ploughed land stretching away without a tree,
hardly a superfluous bush to break the monotony of it,
to the low upland horizon of that purple blue peculiar

62 SPEING SALMON

to northern atmosphere. It has been a winter mild
almost beyond precedent. There has been no ice, fish
have been running up for weeks, and the river flows on
as of yore, full of promise and full of mystery — the
fundamental charm of angling. The current ripples
under the cliff on the far side with exactly the same
eddies as it did twelve months ago, when your fly,
passing the point of yonder sunken rock, suddenly
stopped, the line tightened, the greenheart bent, the
reel screeched, and, ten minutes later, the first clean
fish of 1897 drew the index of the steelyard to an
honest twelve pounds.

We don't waste much time at this season in discussing
the merits of different flies. A Highlander's imagina-
tion runs riot in change; a Lowlander is obstinate in
preference for some particular pattern, and turns sulky
if you hesitate to conform exactly to what he prescribes ;
but a Norseman is sensible, all he stipulates for is size ;
provided the lure be big enough to stir fish lying in a
snow-fed stream, he sets no store by nice shades of
colour or variety of material. On this occasion a new
device from the Dee called the ' Mar Lodge ' — an elegant
confection of black silk, silver tinsel, and jungle-fowl
hackles — is dispatched to its mission on the waters.
Again and again it traverses the well-remembered spot
at the rock point ; there is nobody at home there to-day.
Twenty yards lower, where the channel shoals and
broadens, comes that indescribable elastic ' draw ' which
tells of a fish firmly hooked under water ; the exquisite
spasm traverses line and rod, making all the fisherman's

FEBRUARY 63

ganglia tingle ; but immediately there follows a figure-
of-eight movement, unmistakable token of the unclean.
Hope is restored for a moment by a spirited dash up
stream, but that ends by the fish showing on the sur-
face and revealing the white body and dark fins which
distinguish the unwelcome kelt. Lose no time over
him; get hold of the line, James (fancy this heir of
Vikings answering to commonplace 'James!' — he ought
to be Magnus or Olaf), and draw the beast ashore. Ah !
see how he has chewed up the ' Mar Lodge ' ; serve me
right for displaying fancy articles at 3s. 6d. each when
kelts are about.

Operations are resumed with a fly of tougher materials,
fully three inches long, with a body of indestructible
pig's wool, dyed, like the Northumbrian miner's hand-
kerchief— 'Nane o' yer gaudy collors; just gie me plain
reed and yalley ! ' — and lapped with stout silver twist
instead of tinsel. Kelts are on the job to-day, and keep
one's nerves alert ; but never a ' sea-fish ' makes a sign
till the light is beginning to fail. It is at Hell Pool —
famed for holding fish, but of indifferent repute as a
good place for raising them, by reason of its great
depth — that we meet him. The river here, rushing
full against an opposing crag, wheels with mighty
tumult to the right. It is a bad place to fish, for
the wind (it is always blowing in Caithness) flies in
violent gusts now here, now there — now behind, now
before. Far out of reach, just where there are a few
square yards of quiet water at the tail of the pool, a
fish, unmistakably clean, makes a head-and-tail rise.

64 SPRING SALMON

* That one will take if you can cover him,' quoth the
watchful James.

Ay, but how to cover him ? he is full forty yards
away, and the cliff bars all nearer approach. The only
plan is to make a wide circuit round the cliff through
the moor; which we proceed to do in feverish haste,
for it will be dark in half an hour. Then there is a
scramble down a kind of watercourse — a mere scar in
the precipice — transacted not without abrasion and the
admission of cold water to very sensitive parts of the
person; and at last we stand together on a strip of
rock-strewn turf beside the river.

Loudly thumps the fisher's heart against his ribs as
the line extends over the oily surface ; it is a moment
of suspense verging on the painful. The current is
strong, and brings the fly round quick, but not too
quick for a quicker pair of eyes below. There is a
gleam — a snatch — then begins the old game of pulley-
hauley, in which treble gut puts the odds heavily on
the landward side. No kelt this, but a salmon fresh
from the tide, which in due time lies high and dry in
the twilight — one of the most perfectly beautiful of all
living creatures.

As we stand at the opening of a new season, I don't
mind giving a worthy Scandinavian the benefit of an
advertisement by quoting verbatim a handbill which
has come to me.

FEBRUAKY

65

LOOK HER ! SALMON !

The honourable travellers are averted to, that
undersigned, who lives in Fjorde pr. Vol. den
Romsdals county, Norway, short or long time,
hires out a good Salmonriver. Good lodging
finds.

DIDRIK MAAN,

Shopkeeper.

XIX

WE live in an age of shattered illusions : one
by one . our most cherished traditions are
proved incontestably to be irreconcilable with
common sense. It was but last year (1897) that an
impious Scot relegated Bruce's spider to the realm of
myth, and now Dr. Lowe comes cranking in l to show
that our yew trees, for which the epithet 'immemorial'
seems to have been specially devised, can lay no claim
to extraordinary antiquity. It is not easy to see how,
as a faithful witness, he could have avoided doing so,
seeing that he has undertaken, and right well dis-
charged, the task of recording all the notable yews in
these islands. The slow growth of the yew, its im-
mutable mantle of sombre green, its frequent presence
in God's acre, are all features rendering this tree a
pliant accomplice with tradition, which is ever ready
to invest familiar objects with marvellous attributes.
The old fond beliefs will hardly be shaken by the

1 The Yew Trees of Great Britain and Ireland. By John Lowe,
M.D. London : Macmillan and Co.

MAKCH 67

conscientious verdict of Dr. Lowe; but botanists
and cold men of science cannot but be grateful to
him for setting out so clearly the evidence on which
it is founded. He starts with an examination of De
Candolle's assumption that the age of a yew may be
reckoned accurately by counting the concentric rings
of growth in the trunk, and shows how fallacious this
is, especially in a tree of the peculiar habit of the yew,
and so frequently pollarded. He next examines the
few historical records from which the exact age of
individual trees can be ascertained, and is unable to
find one which shows an age greater than two hundred
years. This is a sorry surrender of the computation
which made out the Fortingall tree, in Perthshire, with
its enormous circumference of fifty-four feet, to be from
2500 to 2700 years old, or the Clontarf yew to be the
one under which Brian Boruibh breathed his last in
1014. Tradition is positive that the yews now in
Kinglye Bottom, near Chichester, were there when
the Norsemen landed in Sussex in the ninth and
tenth centuries. 'Had it been said/ observes Dr.
Lowe drily, ' that " yews were there," the statement
would have been accurate ; but that " the yews," mean-
ing those still existing, were then in being is too large
a demand on our credulity, as there is no tree at that
place which exceeds fifteen feet four inches in girth, or
possibly about five hundred years of age.'

Yews were of national importance when, archers being
the most important part of English infantry, it was
enacted by a statute of Edward iv. that ' every English-

68 FLOWERLESS PLANTS

man, and every Irishman dwelling with Englishmen,
should have a bow of his own height, made either of
yew, wych- hazel, ash, or anulone laburnum.' But yew
was the best, and in time the demand grew beyond the
supply.

There is a craze just now for books on country
matters, and in consequence a vast amount of twaddle
is published annually. But Dr. Lowe has produced
something of sterling merit ; his statistics are so care-
fully compiled, and his descriptions so thoughtfully pre-
pared, that his work will remain probably for generations
the chief authority on the subject.

But why in the world should Dr. Lowe have con-
sulted Dr. Johnson on the etymology of yew ? It has
led him into the blunder of connecting the name
with ' ivy,' from which it is quite distinct. Moreover,
the Irish for yew cannot be written either whar or
jubar, the Celtic alphabet being destitute of both w
and j. It is iubhar, pronounced ' ewer ' or ' yure.'

XX

Of all the multitude of provinces into which natural
Fioweriess science, as it was known to Bacon, has been
split, each with its separate yet interdepen-
dent army of workers, there is none, perhaps, with less
external attraction for the amateur than the study of
cryptogams. Plants destitute of flowers and leaves
must seem wanting in the essential charm of the
vegetable kingdom. Yet there is no subdivision of

MARCH 69

knowledge in which original discovery is so likely as
that of cryptogamy, wherein Dr. Cooke has long ago
established his renown, and he has now provided a
handy guide-book to one of the counties of that
province.

This is well, because cryptogamy — the study of
ferns, mosses, lichens, algse, and fungi — has already
far outstripped the scope of a single handbook. The
marvellous multitude and variety of these humble
forms of organic life is well illustrated by the fact that
Dr. Cooke's new treatise on mycology,1 dealing ex-
clusively with fungi, introduces the student to a group
of vegetables already classified into no fewer than 40,000
species ! Nor is this group one that civilised man can
afford to neglect. Many forms of disease, both in
animals and food plants, are now known to be the
result of fungus flourishing on and destroying living
organisms. For instance, if any remedy can be found
for the destructive salmon disease, it will arise from
more light on the life history of the aquatic fungus
Saprolegnia. The rusts and smuts that attack cereal
crops used to be much more formidable before their
true nature as fungi was understood; and the steady
advance in bacteriological research is full of promise of
a more intelligent system of dealing with human ail-
ments, now that many are known, and more are
suspected, to be caused by minute fungoid organisms.

On the other hand, fuller knowledge will teach us

1 Introduction to the Study of Fungi. By M. C. Cooke, LL.D.
London : A. and C. Black.

70 FLOWERLESS PLANTS

how to multiply and cultivate those species which have
commercial or esculent value. Everybody would eat
truffles if he had the chance, but the supply is limited
by ignorance of a sure method of propagation. This
ignorance can only be dispelled by scientific study ; and
it is worth while to make the effort, because, so prolific
is this excellent little fungus by nature, that the in-
habitants of Apt, relying on haphazard and traditional
industry, send four thousand pounds weekly to market
during the season, and about thirty tons are collected
annually in the department of Vaucluse. Truffle-hunt-
ing was formally a profitable industry in the southern
counties of England, but it has well nigh expired, as the
French species possesses a finer flavour. But has any one
tried to introduce the French truffle to English soil ?

To those who adopt scientific research as a pastime,
the study of fungi may be commended as one which
holds out more hope of original discovery than most
branches of science. Dr. Cooke is too modest to repeat
a story about himself, but it is worth telling as an
illustration of the interest arising out of his chosen
pursuit. In Dr. Cooke's house there was a wall, which,
in spite of all repairs, remained persistently damp. It
was papered and varnished, but paper and varnish were
destroyed by a growth of mould. Had Dr. Cooke been
an ordinary mortal, such as a collector of snuffer-trays
or old postage-stamps, he would have told his house-
maid to scrub the mould off as fast as it grew. But
Dr. Cooke is not an ordinary mortal — he is a myco-
logist; so he carefully protected the mould patches

MARCH 71

and watched them through the microscope for many
months. And he had his reward ; for upon this wall,
within a few feet of his fireside, he identified four
species of fungi hitherto unknown to science, one of
waich constituted a new genus. It must, indeed, be
admitted that it is not every gentleman whose woman-
kind would smile on this form of chamber botany.

XXI

Few people may admit without demur the position I

im going to claim for the mole among friends

The Mole
of agriculture; even its warmest advocates

have to acknowledge that in discharge of its duties this
subterranean policeman occasions a good deal of irrita-
tion, both to the farmer and gardener. The farmer is
naturally incensed when he finds that a mole has been
running up and down under the drills of newly hoed
turnips, throwing the young plants out of the ground,
apparently in wanton mischief, for the animal does not
e*,t them ; the gardener curses the beast that disfigures
his well-kept lawns, and perhaps uproots newly planted
carnations in his borders or rows of sprouting peas.
Agreed — these habits are vexatious; but what is the
mole's object in carrying on like this ? It is one of the
most ravenous animals on the face of — more correctly,
under the face — of the earth, yet it disdains vegetable
food. It disturbs the young turnips and carnations,
because they have a peculiar attraction for the destruc-
tive wireworm — grub of the cockchafer; it disfigures

72 THE MOLE

grass pastures and lawns chiefly in pursuit of the
leather grub — the ' pout ' of the Scottish farmer — whict
is the larva of the common — too common daddy-long-
legs.

A few summers ago I was staying with a farmer in
Somersetshire, and I was amazed by the hordes of
daddy-long-legs which swarmed over his pastures. I
never saw this insect in anything like similar numbers ;
they gave the fields the appearance of being covered
with a film of mist. When I reflected that every one of
these millions had existed for three years underground
as a leather grub, devouring the roots of the sweetest
grasses, and impoverishing the pasture, I formed a faint
idea of the mischief which their presence represented,
and I looked about for traces of their natural enemy,
the mole. Not a single mole-cast was to be seen
throughout my friend's territory ! When I observed to
him that it was a pity there were no moles to combat
this formidable pest. ' Moles ! ' quoth he ; 'we dont
allow any of that vermin. Every parish in the county
employs a mole-catcher, and I think we have got rid of
them pretty well/

Now what is the obvious lesson from this? Why,
that if you object to mole-casts and mole-runs, a large
part of your crop will never reach maturity. Your
grass land will ' go back ' ; your young corn will show
large bare patches where the grubs have cut it, and
there will be numerous blanks in your turnip drills.
Better — far better — to leave the moles to their silent,
beneficent duties, and spend the money which you give

MARCH 73

to the mole-catcher in spreading the freshly turned
mole- cast, thus securing the finest possible top dressing
for your pasture. There is the greater necessity for
this, because the presence of moles is the only effective
check on leather grubs and wireworms, especially on
permanent pasture. When the land is in rotation,
indeed, rooks, starlings, and, in maritime districts, sea-
gulls, follow the plough and devour large numbers of
them ; but where the land is laid down to grass, these
pests enjoy complete immunity from any penalty which
the ingenuity of man can devise. Swallows, nightjars,
and other birds take toll of the perfect insect, but the
life of the perfect insect is brief and harmless; it is
during the three years which the larvae spend under-
ground that they carry on their depredations, summer
and winter.

Where the mole has been exterminated, as in some
highly cultivated parts of France, the local authorities
have to grapple directly with these insect pests, and pay
rewards for their destruction. We hfirve the authority
of M. Reiset for the statement that, in four years ending
in 1870, 867 million perfect cockchafers and 647
millions of their larva? were destroyed and paid for by
the authority of the Seine inferieure.

The European mole has its analogy in every quarter
of the globe — all small, soft-furred, burrowing animals,
with tiny eyes, and possessed of extraordinary strength
in proportion to their size.

Foreign moles, though resembling in habits, and
sometimes in appearance, our native Talpa, generally

74 THE MOLE

belong to families far removed from the Talpidse. The
North American moles, indeed, the star-nosed (Condy-
lura) and shrew moles (Scalops and Scapanus), are
nearly related to the European species, but the curious
golden mole of South Africa must be classed among
the Chrysochloridce, and there are moles in the eastern
Mediterranean region, in Asia and South Africa, belong-
ing to the family of rodents, and therefore related to
the beavers, guinea-pigs, rabbits, and rats. In Austral-
asia, where nearly all the placental types have their
counterpart in the marsupial or pouched forms of a
remote geological age, there has been discovered within
quite recent years the pouched mole (Notoryctes
typhlops), a little creature about six inches long, covered
with reddish fur. All these so-called moles exhibit in
their organisation a perfect adaptation of structure to
the peculiar mode of existence assigned to or adopted
by their race.

The geographical distribution of the British or
European mole is enormous, extending from England
to Japan, from the limits of frozen ground in Russia
and Scandinavia to the Mediterranean and the southern
aspect of the Himalayas, where it is actually found at
an elevation of 10,000 feet. It exists in every county
of England and Scotland, but, strange to say, it is alto-
gether absent from Ireland. Firmly convinced though I
am of its useful offices to agriculturists, I should hesitate
before risking the addition of another to the long list
of Irish grievances against Britain by introducing this
little quadruped into the Emerald Isle.

MARCH 76

Our Anglo-Saxon forefathers were very fanciful in
their leech craft ; some of their prescriptions were dis-
gustingly filthy, others were exceedingly cruel, and
some were grotesque. It is curious that the mysterious
and clandestine habits of the mole did not suggest to
them to employ it in medicine more frequently than
they did. In fact, this animal only appears once in the
principal leech book which has been preserved, namely,
in that of Alfric, written by the penman Gild in the
tenth century. Here it is recommended to one suffer-
ing from ' wamb wark,' i.e. bowel complaint, or, perhaps,
simple stomach-ache, that he watch till he sees a mole
casting up earth, then ' catch him with thy two hands
along with his casting up and say thrice: Remedium
facio ad ventris dolor em (I make this a remedy for
my stomach-ache); throw the animal away over thy
back ; take care thou look not after it/ and the pain
will depart. Perhaps the leech wrote this tongue in
cheek, well knowing how powerful is the impression
made on a patient's mind by an unusual action per-
emptorily enforced and performed in full.

Of all vertebrate creatures, the mole is probably the
most powerful in proportion to his size : so, at least, a
certain Welsh mole-catcher assured a friend of mine ;
who, suspecting that professional zeal might have led
this craftsman to form an exaggerated notion of the
qualities of his special quarry, asked him how that
could be proved. He cited his experience of an in-
teresting but rather ghastly experiment. An able-
bodied live mole, harnessed to the corpses of two of

76 A BLANK DAY'S FISHING

his brethren, dragged them about with ease ; two more
were added, with little difference in the result. Succes-
sive corpses were attached to the load, to the total of
eight, until the ninth brought the creature to a stand-
still Imagine the prodigious muscular energy enabling
an animal to drag eight times its own weight — not on
wheels, mark you, but along the ground. It is doubtful
if the strongest Clydesdale horse could drag more than
a pair of his fellows in size along a road, and an
elephant certainly could not do as much. To match
the strength of the mole one must go to the insect
kingdom.

XXII

Among the points of superiority over other field-sports
claimed for angling by the devotees of that
day's fish- ancient craft, is the fact that even a blank
day is not wholly devoid of solace. The
same may be said of fox-hunting: there is always the
'coffee-house' chatter and other sources of subsidiary
recreation — the salutary pleasure of equitation, the
opportunity for larking over unnecessary fences, the
display of the very finest specimens of horse and
hound, and perhaps, if you are in luck, and know how
to seize opportunity, a ride home in the gloaming by
the off-side ot a side-saddle. But of what other sport
can it be held that a blank day is other than a de-
pressing disaster — unmitigated by any ray of consola-
tion? Who cares to reflect on a day's deer-stalking

London. Edward Arnold. 19 00 .

MARCH 77

without a shot, and what could be more doleful than
an abortive battue? But with angling — especially
salmon angling — it is slightly different. The pursuit
of salmon leads a man into the most varied and
attractive scenery, because the beauty of every country
is invariably concentrated on the banks of its river,
and the most dismal land generally reveals some charm
by the waterside. It may be even possible to recount
the incidents of a blank day's fishing without being
tedious; at all events, it is not preposterous to make
the attempt.

The night mail set down a fugitive from London at
a wayside station in the south-west of Scotland about
half-an-hour before sunrise on a March morning. The
air was mild as May, the wet streets of the little town
were deserted ; for what should lead people abroad at
that hour if it were not to listen to the orchestra of
blackbirds and thrushes, to which every villa garden
seemed to contribute a performer? There are those
who extol the song of the mavis above that of the
merle; no doubt it is more varied, and includes a
greater compass of notes ; but surely there is nothing
in the lavish melody of the thrush to equal the rich
flute-like tones of the less voluble blackbird.

But behind and beyond the song of birds, there was
a sound in the air of more moment to the fisherman —
the low roar of the river, chafing at the 'cauld' —
Anglice, weir. There is no want of water this spring
(1897); unlike the last four seasons, this has been a
'dropping ' one ; what matter though farmers are getting

78 A BLANK DAY'S FISHING

fidgety about their seedtime, provided there is plenty of
running water to take fish into the upper reaches ? It
is the time of year when, for some privy reason, salmon
begin to leave the tide, and seek the pools where, from
immemorial time, they choose to swelter through the
summer heats. There are good tidings of them, too ;
yesterday a gamekeeper killed two springers a dozen
miles from the sea. Of a surety business will be done
to-day, for the water is in perfect trim for the fly.

The Cree is the scene of operations, which, among
other charms, possesses that of being four hundred
miles from London. It is formed by the confluence of
two streams about eight miles above the tide; the
smaller of these, the Cree proper, strained from leagues
of barren moss and moor, is dark with the gloom of a
brown Cairngorm ; the other and larger — the Minnick
— poured from lakes stored in the recesses of the
southern uplands — is pure and clear as any Hampshire
chalk stream. It was in the Minnick that the two fish
were caught yesterday, and the ' machine ' is ready at
eight o'clock to convey to its banks the sportsman,
feverishly impatient.

The drive through the still morning air is worth
coming all the way from London to enjoy. All round
the northern and eastern horizon are piled the summits
of that range which, to the indignation of certain of its
inhabitants, railway companies advertise nowadays as
'Crockett's Country.' Snow still hangs on the crests
and lingers in the corries, and the glens are filled with
the far-off sound of falling waters. The road along the

MARCH 79

east bank is a veritable switchback — now flinging itself
upon the face of a rocky bluff — now falling plump to
the level of the river beside which it runs. The
morning sun lights the oak copse into golden russet and
silver of indescribable delicacy, with delicious verdure
of velvet moss ; but there is no trace of spring there,
except, in the tasselled hazel and in the scattered
rosettes of wood hyacinth leaves, where will be a cloud
of blue blossoms in their season. Among scattered
birches by the river many blackcock are congregated,
going through the grotesque antics appropriate to the
time of courtship. Blackcocks alone — not a grey hen
is to be seen, for these only visit their lords at stated
hours. The rest of the day is spent by the cocks in
strutting, drumming, puffing themselves out ridicu-
lously, nibbling birch buds and young clover in the
sown grass, and cooing as amorously as any turtle-
dove.

There is plenty to occupy eye and ear till the chosen
scene of operations is reached, than which no salmon
fisher could desire a more lovely theatre. For more
than a mile the river runs a tumultuous course among
cliffs and boulders ; there is not a yard of still water in
the whole of it, but experience has proved the invincible
attraction for spring fish possessed by certain lodges in
this torrent. Were it not that salmon are notoriously
indifferent to their terrestrial surroundings (being as
much addicted to the most commpnplace resorts, such
as the well-known cast in the middle of the town of
Galway, as to the most romantic gorges), one would be

80 A BLANK DAY'S FISHING

tempted to assign the beauty of this part of the river
as the secret of the favour shown to it by early fish.
The amphitheatre of blue, snow-streaked hills — the
brown heath broken with grey crag and tufted with
oak, birch, and holly — the solitude — the space — the
historic associations (for here were enacted some of the
most stirring episodes in the career of Robert the
Bruce) — all these so greatly enhance the angler's
enjoyment that it is hard to believe, as one must, that
they have no attraction for the fish which resort to this
beautiful strath.

On this occasion, apparently, they have not resorted
thither. Over every yard of water in that beat which
might hold a salmon, the fly is worked diligently ; it is
a day whereon, if fish were there, they could not refuse
to rise, so perfect are the conditions of water, wind, and
sky ; not even a kelt shows, for this is no place where
kelts may loiter. Sorrowfully it is decided to fall back
on a beat in the main river, where, at least, if the sport
is not so pretty, it is more sure. The trap is sent for,
and a move is made to a certain infallible cast known
as Cunninghame's Ford. It is not a ford at all ; it gets
its name from the ignoble end of a farmer named
Cunninghame, who, having indulged too freely in
market-day potations, took the wrong road from
Newton Stewart, and found himself on the opposite
bank of the river from his own house. Full of Dutch
courage, he resolved to make a ford where ford there
was none ; he drove his horse into the water and was
drowned. For a mile above and below this celebrated

MAKCH 81

cast the river is like a huge canal, and gives no sport ;
here, with a breeze, one is pretty sure to see some-
thing. There is a lovely ripple to-day, and a good-sized
' Dandy ' is sent on its mission with a confident hand.
There ! at the third cast a good splashing rise and a
tight line. Alas ! there is also that unmistakable
'figure-of-eight' wriggle which so surely betokens the
kelt. A kelt it is; another and another follows, till
four have been returned to the wave ; but clearly there
are no sea fish here to-day.

At length, with aching back and arms, such as come
of wielding an eighteen-foot greenheart for eight hours,
the angler stands beside the last, and not the worst,
cast within his beat. A wide, strong stream pours
into a broad swirling pool of the dimensions of a little
lake. Just where the current runs into a rippling
point is one of the most ' smittle ' places for a spring
salmon in the whole of the Cree. But to get the fly
over that point requires long and difficult wading, for
the stream is strong and the bottom very rough.
Three times in succession the journey has to be made;
for three times, just as the large ' Beryl ' comes over
the right place, it is seized by a dirty kelt which has
to be dragged ashore. A fourth time the fly is taken —
hurrah ! this is a fish of the right kind ; the reel runs
merrily as he dashes down into the broad stream.
None of your figure-of-eight exercise this time, but the
solid weight and powerful digs of a strong salmon.
Never let us despair in salmon-fishing; the last hour
of daylight — how often has it proved the deadliest and

F

82 A BLANK DAY'S FISHING

saved a blank ! Such are the ecstatic reflections of the
angler as he picks his precarious way ashore; then,
standing safely on firm land, he turns to deal severely
with his captive. ' Och bubbaboo ! ' as an Irish fisher
would say, ' what 's that ? ' The fish flings itself out of
the water, revealing the unlovely proportions of a great
kelt, hooked by the outside. Down with the rod ; hand-
line the brute ashore, and you may be forgiven the use of
a short but emphatic monosyllable, provided it has not
been employed earlier in this long day of hope deferred.

Well, it has been a blank day, but it has left the
sweet memory of mountain and flood, of drifting cloud
and sighing breeze, of delicious nerve-tinglings set
astir by the pulls of fish which might have been clean ;
and all these are in pleasing contrast to the routine of
division bells and committee rooms. Besides, is there
not balm in Gilead ? Is not this Saturday night, when
all netting at the river mouth is suspended till six on
Monday morning? If the thirty-six hours of close
time do not admit some fish to the angling waters,
salmon must be passing scarce on the coast.

What a host of circumstances the salmon angler has
to contend with! Monday morning, indeed, dawns
upon a river in trim to gratify the most fastidious
wight that ever cast a fly, but a deluge of rain is
falling, and it is as certain as that the sun, which has
just risen, will set about six o'clock, that within three
or four hours ' she ' will be down in roaring spate. And
it so happens ; there is only time to fly to half-a-dozen
of the best places, haul out some ugly kelts, and — -just

MARCH 83

reward for all this terrible anxiety — extract one lovely
little springer of nine pounds from behind a rocky
ledge in the rapids, and then all is over for this day.
The flood comes tumbling down, filling the channel
from bank to brae ; there is nothing for it but to repair
to the hostelry of Newton Stewart, and fill the idle
hours till the night mail for London is due by recording
impressions of delights too pure to be committed to
oblivion.

XXIII

He that hath two cakes of bread/ quoth Mahomet,
' let him sell one of them and buy flowers of
narcissus ; for bread is but food for the body,
but narcissus is nourishment for the soul. peer
The pundits have endeavoured — with very indifferent
success, as some think — to prove that neither the flower
by which the Prophet of Islam set much store, nor
Homer's vdpKio-o-os, is to be identified with any species
of the genus named Narcissus by modern botanists.
Seeing, however, what slippery things plant names are,
how they are shifted from one flower to another in the
course of generations (what we know as wallflower was
the heart's-ease and Viola of early English writers),
little weight can be attached to the nomenclature of
different periods. Many kinds of what we know as
narcissus abound in Asia Minor, conspicuous among
all flowers both for beauty and fragrance, and more
likely than most others to have delighted both the
poet and the prophet.

84 WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER

But Lenten lilies — the glory at this season of our
lawns and cool northern pastures — though near of kin
to the Asiatic kinds, are connected with the East only
by their name. Daffodil, embroidered by Spenser into
daffadowndilly, came to us through the old French
asphodile, from the Greek acr</>6&eXo9, and here again
we are in risk of controversy as to what the asphodel
really was. Perhaps in future ages, when the flow of
English literature has been dried up, Japanese wise-
acres will puzzle their brains over the exact plant
meant by the daffodil, which has had such a fascination
for English poets from Shakespeare to Keats. Mean-
while it is ours to enjoy it as perhaps the most beautiful
of our native wild flowers.

It has other qualities besides beauty to endear it.
It 'comes before the swallows dare'; not fastidious
about soil or culture (magna euro, non indigent
narcissi, says an early English authority), it only re-
quires to be planted and left at liberty, and it enjoys
the constitution of a coltsfoot ; for, although the race
has its peculiar foe — a fly (Crioceris narcissi) of which
the maggot makes the bulb its exclusive diet — this only
prevails in hot climates and dry soils ; in our northern
latitudes it is almost unknown. Hence, though in
Britain it is probably only a true native of some of the
southern and midland counties, the common daffodil
(Narcissus pseudo-narcissus) has established itself
firmly all over the land, as far north as Caithness and
as far west as Connemara. Nowhere can it be seen in
greater profusion than in Lakeland, where Wordsworth

MARCH 85

celebrated its charms. In Westmorland there are
literally leagues of it — slender lines of skirmishers by
the waysides — clustered companies in green rocky nooks
— whole brigades in hanging oak copse.

Only in one respect does the English daffodil fail to
rival most others of the family — it is scentless.

It is a true child of the field and the wood, never to
be seen in perfection in parterres. Much used for
spring decoration of London parks, it shows to dis-
advantage there, because, owing to annual removal, it
has not time to grow into those crowded clumps which
send up such splendid wealth of gold near manors
and farmhouses. For park ornament, some of the
dashing hybrids, such as the ingenuity of florists has
produced of late years, are better suited. The best of
these quite eclipse the old daffodil in stature and
individual magnificence, and the annual show held by
the Narcissus committee of the Royal Horticultural
Society is one of the most charming entertainments
which London affords. Yet, even there, only one flower
shakes one's allegiance to the native beauty, and that,
on inquiry, turns out to be no foreigner, but a variety
of our own daffodil, larger in all its parts, and with the
outer divisions of the perianth not yellow, but snowy
white (N. pseudo-narcissus bicolor).

Most of our native 'worts' were pressed into the
service of primitive leechcraft ; yet although the name
narcissus is formed from the Greek vdp/cr), a narcotic,
an Anglo-Saxon manuscript of the tenth century con-
tains only one mention of the daffodil. The bulbs of

86 WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEEE

the 'halswort' or narcissus are to be pounded with
oil and meal, which, used as a poultice, 'healeth
wonderfully the wounds which are produced on
man.' Yet this plant must have some potent pro-
perty of which we wot not, else how comes it that
the almost omnivorous rabbit, which disdaineth not,
but greatly coveteth the kindred crocus, will not touch
the daffodil ?

One other native narcissus we may reckon, indigen-
ous to Ireland and southern England, inferior in
profusion and beauty to the other, but diffusing a
delicious fragrance — 'a sweet but stuffing scent/ says
the fastidious Parkinson. This is the twin-flowered
narcissus or 'primrose peerless' (N. biflorus), whereof
the perianth is cream-coloured and yellow.

Others there are from foreign climes which adapt
themselves bravely to our soil and climate, propagating
themselves through woodland and meadow. Of these
the nonpareil (N. incomparabilis) in almost countless
variety, single and double, begins before the common
daffodil fades, of which the double form goes by the
homely name of ' butter-and-eggs ' ; the jonquil (a corrup-
tion of its specific name juncifolius — rush-leaved) and
the campernelle (N. odorus) rival each other in fra-
grance ; until, latest of all, and perhaps most lovely of
all, cornes the poet's narcissus or pheasant eye (N.
poeticus), of spotless white with crimson or scarlet cup.
This seems to be the purple narcissus of Dioscorides
and Virgil, which modern critics have boggled over,
seeing that white and gold, not purple, are the distin-

MARCH 87

guishing livery of the family. But the allusion here is
to the carmine centre.

By the time, however, that the poet's narcissus is in
bloom, there is so much competing wealth of colour and
greenery that it scarcely gets its due tribute, and it is
the daffodil of March — the true Lenten lily — that Keats
has wedded with a praise long since threadbare : —

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,
.... and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in.

Shall I wind up this tribute to the chief glory of our
early springtide by recounting the evil deed of a
Scottish country minister. It may be done harmlessly,
both he and his wife having taken flight to the meads
of asphodel. In the manse grounds and kirkyard was
great store of daffodils — an annual delight to church-
goers. One Sabbath in a far-off March I was smitten
with dismay to find that the scythe had been busy
among the plants just about to burst into bloom.
They lay in dismal swathes upon the lawn and among
the graves. After the service I expressed my feelings
to the minister in terms of some vehemence. 'Oh,'
quoth he, ' it was done by my orders. My wife dislikes
yellow ; she considers it a vulgar colour ! '

XXIV

Field for interesting speculation is opened up by the
republication, in his admirable volume Pre- saurian
historic Problems,1 of Dr. Munro's presidential biPeds
address to the Anthropological Section of the British

1 Edinburgh : Blackwood and Sons. 1897.

88 SAUKIAN BIPEDS

Association in 1893. In this paper the learned doctor
deals with the erect posture of man, which, unique as
it is among vertebrates, he regards as being one of
the main factors in the intellectual supremacy of the
human race. No other animal, he points out, has
ever succeeded in completely divesting its anterior
limbs of their primary functions of support and loco-
motion, thereby setting them free for manipulative
and prehensile purposes. The development of the
human hand out of a fore-foot, until it became the
most perfect mechanical organ hitherto produced by
nature, stimulated, and, in turn, was quickened by,
the mental faculties. 'From the first moment,' says
Dr. Munro, ' that the being recognised the advantage
of using a club or a stone in attacking his prey, or de-
fending himself from his enemies, the direct incentives to
a higher brain-development came into existence/ The
selection of the kind of stone best adapted for cutting
purposes required a mental act just as deliberate as the
construction of a typewriter or the application of
electricity : hand and brain reacted one upon the other,
mutually stimulating each other to processes of thought
and to action, ever becoming more complex and better
sustained.

Now, this is no place to inquire closely into the
validity of Dr. Munro's proposition, involving as it
does the whole question between exoteric or inspired
intelligence and esoteric mental evolution. But a
recent visit to the Natural History Museum at Brussels,
and inspection of the skeletons of the gigantic saurians

MARCH 89

discovered in recent years in the coal measures of
Bernissart, have suggested some curious thoughts in
relation to the importance attached by Dr. Munro to
the erect attitude as the primary cause of intellectual
growth, and the consequent ascendency of man. We
owe the preservation of these mighty lizards to what
might be called irreverently a stratigraphic fluke. In
Britain, only scattered bones of the iguanodon have
been found. The beasts have been there, as their
numerous footmarks in the Sussex weald attest, but
when they perished the conditions were not favourable
to their repose ; floods, ice, and tides have dispersed the
remains far and wide. But it was otherwise at Ber-
nissart. Here a torrent of the Wealden age, having cut
a valley nearly nine hundred feet deep through the car-
boniferous rocks, afterwards, owing to some alterations
in levels or physical obstruction, took to meandering
sluggishly between oozy shores. Every animal that
perished in the stream or on its banks remained where
it died, and was wrapped in alluvium. In long process
of time this Wealden alluvium filled up the whole
valley, and became overlaid with a series of cretaceous
beds. Its contents remained undisturbed through ages,
until in the present restless century it was penetrated
by Belgian colliers, who laid bare a well-furnished
museum of the peculiar Wealden marsh fauna.

By far the most remarkable of the remains discovered
were those of the iguanodon, of which species twenty-
five individuals were found at a depth of about one
thousand feet below the present earth surface. Thanks

92 SAURIAN BIPEDS

of life, survivals of a fauna of Mesozoic type. The
lacertilian race, as we know them, have greatly de-
clined from their pristine exuberance. It is possible
that in this unique habit of Chlamydosaurus we have a
hereditary trait of a remote ancestry ; though, on the
other hand, it may have been a faculty independently
developed in a single species.

Talking of the erect attitude, has anybody ever seen
a grebe or a diver (Colymbus) in the conventional
attitude assigned to these birds by artists and taxi-
dermists? They are usually represented sitting or
standing erect on dry land like an auk or guillemot ;
but Mr. Abel Chapman declares that it would be
impossible for this attitude to be assumed in life,
owing to the peculiar formation of the tarsus and
metatarsal joints. In his recent admirable book on
Wild Norway'1 he describes how he tried in vain to
cause the feet of a newly-killed black- throated diver to
bend forward sufficiently for standing on ; and elsewhere
he mentions that Mr. Cullingford, the bird-stuffer of
Durham, always has to break the bones of the feet of
grebes and divers, in order to set them up as people
like them. Mr. Chapman believes that neither divers
nor grebes ever go ashore, except to get to their nests,
which are always very near the water, and that then
they scramble along on their breasts, with legs and
wings propelling them, after the manner of a seal.
Unless proof can be shown that they can and do sit
erect, most of the representations of birds of these two

1 London : Edward Arnold. 1897.

MARCH 93

families must be considered as absurd as an illustration
of an ostrich soaring in mid-air or a swallow swimming
across a stream. Divers and grebes do not sit up on
end like auks, not from any prejudice on their part for
a horizontal attitude, but because they cannot. When
the ancient affinity of birds and reptiles is remembered,
the importance of representing each in their true atti-
tudes will be recognised as important.

XXV

To mention big game in these days is to waken melan-
choly reflections. Mr. H. A. Bryden has

Alas! for
lately harrowed our feelings by describing the big

the extinction of some beautiful races and
foretelling the speedy extermination of others.1 For
instance, of the four species of zebra, the quagga was
the most powerful and horse-like. Half a century
ago it roamed the piains of Cape Colony, the Orange
Free State, and part of Griqualand in countless
thousands. It is now extinct, and the only memorial
of it in this country is a single battered skin in the
Natural History Museum at South Kensington.

* Never again will the traveller view its strange single-file
march silhouetted against the distant sky-line. The quagga,
that for many a thousand years decorated these primeval
wilds and untrodden deserts, has clean vanished, never to
return — recklessly destroyed by the short-sighted policy of
the skin-hunting Boers of the last generation.'

1 Nature, and Sport in South Africa. By H. A. Bryden. Chapman
and Hall.

94 ALAS ! FOK THE BIG GAME

The true or mountain zebra — the Hippotigris of
Roman writers — has become very scarce from persecu-
tion.

* Within thirty years it will probably have vanished, and
another noble form of animal life will be lost to us. ...
The zebra is invariably a picture of grace and beauty, a
perfect type of feral life.'

The bontebok or pied antelope, one of the noblest
of African game, was described by Cornwallis Harris
in 1837 as swarming south of the Vaal River in such
immense herds that ' the road made by their incessant
tramp resembled so many well-travelled highways.'
Now the race is represented by a small number pre-
served by the families of Van Breda and Van der
Byl (their names merit honourable record), and even
these, it is feared, will scarcely survive into the
twentieth century, owing to the debilitating effect of
inbreeding.1

The white rhinoceros — the largest terrestrial mammal
after the elephant, according to Mr. Bryden, who,
perhaps, excludes the hippopotamus as an amphibian
— is in the last throes of extinction. Six specimens
were shot between the Black and White Umvolosi
rivers in 1894, and it is doubtful if any remain alive.
Fifty years ago Gordon Gumming and others used
to pot sixty or eighty in a season by night at the
drinking places.

1 This was written before the outbreak of the late war, the effect of
which upon the wild animals of South Africa may be the subject of
apprehension, but not of calculation.

MARCH 95

The eland, to which hunters give the palm as the
most splendid of all antelopes, is vanishing fast. Game
laws, it is true, have been enacted for the protection
of these and other of the fauna of Bechuanaland, but
who is to enforce them in that wild country? Even
if the Bechuanas (who are worse than the Boers,
inasmuch as they slaughter game heavy with young,
or with young at foot) could be restrained, who is to
stop the inroads of hunting Namaquas ? But it is vain
to lay all the blame on the black man. The craze for
big game makes the English traveller, with his express
rifles and countless resources for traversing unwatered
regions, as murderous as the native. Saddest of all
chronicles is that of the beautiful giraffe —

'The sight of a troop of giraffes browsing peacefully in
their native acacia forelts, reaching with upstretched neck
and extended tongue at some green succuleut leafage far
up in the spreading Jcameel-doorn tree, is one of the most
beautiful things in nature. No man that has seen such a
spectacle is ever likely to forget it. ... Although I have
set eyes on many rare and beautiful things in the African
wilderness, that most fascinating revelation of wild animal
life will never fade from memory.'

Let us hope Mr. Bryden's finger did not itch for
the trigger. One doesn't quite trust him, so fondly
does he linger in the previous page over the delicacy
of giraffe marrow, in bones three feet long — 'the
greatest luxury of its kind in the world.' Well, the
world will have to go without this luxury soon, it
seems; well would it be if this were the sum of the

96 ALAS ! FOE THE BIG GAME

loss. There are so few giraffes left that one feels no
gratitude to the author for his elaborate instructions
how to ride these animals down.

The elephant has practically disappeared from Lake
Ngami. Within two years of the discovery of this
lake by Livingstone nine hundred elephants were
slaughtered on its shores. Later, some Boer hunters
drove a herd of one hundred and four into a marsh
and butchered every one of them before set of sun.
Carnage on this scale can never be repeated. II n'y
a pas de quoi. Will the British Government and the
Chartered Company not combine to make a great
sanctuary of some 100,000 acres hi Mashonaland, and
so protect us from the execration of posterity for
permitting the extirpation of some of the grandest of
living creatures ?

april

XXVI

IT suggests a sorrowful reflection on our civilisation
that, at this time of day, after ornithological
writers have been pleading the cause of the
owl for many years, it should be necessary to repel
objections to that bird and its various species being
included in the list of farmers' friends. There was
more reason for misunderstanding the true nature of
owls in the days when the systematists classed them
as a family of the order of Accipitres or Hawks; but
now that the opinion has been generally accepted that
they form a group of higher rank by themselves, their
superficial resemblance to the ill-famed hawks ought
to create no prejudice against them, or, at least, against
those species which hunt exclusively by night. But a
great deal of such prejudice remains to be overcome,
especially among game preservers and their keepers;
of which abundant evidence may be had by inspecting
the collections of ' vermin ' which are nailed up outside
the houses of many gamekeepers. There is pretty sure
to be an owl or two among the hawks, jays, and weasels.
Farmers, it is true, are not generally actively hostile

98 OWLS

to owls, but they are usually indifferent to their pre-
sence or absence. If they knew their own interests,
they would take every means in their power to en-
courage these birds, and for the following reasons : —

Owls, most of them — all of those, indeed, which
occur frequently in this country — are solitary noc-
turnal hunters, and their structure has been beautifully
specialised for that vocation. The plumage is soft and
velvety, rendering the flight noiseless, in strange con-
trast to the whirring of a cock pheasant, which warns
his harem to lie low in the presence of danger, or the
whistling wings of most of the duck tribe, the sound
of which enables a number of them flying through the
darkness to keep company with each other. On the
other hand, the ear of the owl is developed in an
extraordinary degree, so important it is that he should
hear the slightest rustle or chirp of crouching mouse.
The long-eared and short-eared owls are named, not
from their ears at all, but from the horn-like tufts of
feathers on the head ; nevertheless, their true ears are
very remarkable, the conch being enormously exagger-
ated and furnished with an operculum. But the most
extraordinary feature in the ears of these owls is that
they are not perfect pairs — the orifice opens upwards
on one side of the head and downwards on the other,
so that the smallest sound may be heard from what-
ever direction it proceeds. In some species this want
of symmetry extends inwards to several of the bones
of the head. Then the eyes afford another instance of
special adaptation for night work, the pupil being

APRIL 99

greatly dilated, so as to catch the slightest ray of light,
which causes the bird to be purblind in daylight.
Lastly, nearly all owls have a peculiarity in their outer
toes, which are reversible, and may be used either
backwards or forwards, a notable advantage in dealing
with a darting mouse.

Such being the special machinery with which this
bird of ravin is equipped, how does he use it ? Does
he prey on the farmer's young poultry or the game-
keeper's young pheasants ? I have not the slightest
doubt that if, and when, one of these comes in his
way, the owl will pounce on it and enjoy it mightily.
But young chicks are not, or ought not to be, abroad
in the night, which is the only time that most kinds of
owl can hunt ; indeed, at such times there is very little
moving abroad for him to catch except rats, mice, bats,
moles, and large beetles. So it came to pass when, a few
years ago, Dr. Altum, a German naturalist, set to work
to examine the pelts of owls (the indigestible parts of
its food which the bird has the power of disgorging
after the rest has been digested), he arrived at a result
which exactly coincides with what might have been
expected. First he reported on the tawny owl (Strix
striduld), known to everybody by his hooting — the
species which gamekeepers will tell you bears the
worst reputation of all for poaching. Of this kind
Dr. Altum examined 210 pelts, which yielded the
remains of 1 stoat (let gamekeepers set that to Strix's
credit !), 6 rats, 371 mice, 48 moles, 18 small birds, and
many beetles and cockchafers. Still more remarkable

100 OWLS

were the results of the examination of 706 pelts of the
white or barn owl (Strix flammea or Aluco flammeus),
a species equally common as the last in this country.
These were found to contain the remains of 16 bats
3 rats, 2520 mice, 1 mole, and 22 small birds.

Now 706 pelts represent less than the product of
one pair of barn owls during a year. Does any one
in his senses mean to affirm that this pair of owls did
no important service to the farmer in devouring 2520
mice in that space of time ?

' All right/ says the game preserver, c we may consent
to respect those owls which hunt only by night, but
how about the woodcock owl, which may often be seen
hawking about the open moor by day? Surely you
don't mean to tell me he is after no mischief ? '

Well, I happen to have had particular occasion to
study the habits of this bird, and I was forced to the
conclusion that, although the short-eared owl (Asio
brachyotis) is more diurnal in his habits than those
mentioned above, and therefore is more likely than
they to strike young game, his services to agriculture
are no whit inferior. His daylight excursions and
yellow iris have earned for him the name of the hawk
owl, while he is often known as the woodcock owl,
because in normal seasons the species is nearly entirely
absent from the British Isles during the breeding
season, and reappears as a migrant about the same
time as the woodcock. In 1891-92 the extensive sheep
pastures on the southern uplands of Scotland were
devastated by one of those plagues of voles (Arvicola

APRIL 101

arvalis) which have been known to recur at uncertain
intervals in various parts of the world. I was appointed
chairman of a departmental committee to inquire into
the extent and probable cause of the plague, and to
try and devise a remedy. We visited the infested
districts ; the hillsides swarmed with millions of voles (
the grass over hundreds of thousands of acres was cut
at the roots by these animals, which make shallow
runs under the surface, and withered as if it had been
seared by passing fire ; the ewes were pining, dropping
their lambs prematurely, or suffering them to perish
for lack of milk. It was a melancholy scene.

One of the first abnormal features to attract our
attention was the presence of great numbers of short-
eared owls, which at that season are hardly ever seen
in Britain, being occupied with their nests in more
northern latitudes. However, during the two years
of the vole plague these birds, attracted by the pre-
sence of multitudes of voles, remained throughout the
year to batten on them. Not only so, but they nested
in numbers, and, stimulated by the abundant diet, laid
an abnormal number of eggs, and reared several suc-
cessive broods in each season. I do not mean to affirm
that they stemmed the plague, but no doubt can exist
that they helped to check it in no small degree. As
many as fifty short-eared owls might be seen on one
hillside ; and if these devoured no more than six voles
each in a day, that means a total of 109,500 in the
course of the year.

I think I have said enough to prove what valuable

100 OWLS

were the results of the examination of 706 pelts of the
white or barn owl (Strix flammea or Aluco flammeus),
a species equally common as the last in this country.
These were found to contain the remains of 16 bats
3 rats, 2520 mice, 1 mole, and 22 small birds.

Now 706 pelts represent less than the product of
one pair of barn owls during a year. Does any one
in his senses mean to affirm that this pair of owls did
no important service to the farmer in devouring 2520
mice in that space of time ?

' All right/ says the game preserver, ' we may consent
to respect those owls which hunt only by night, but
how about the woodcock owl, which may often be seen
hawking about the open moor by day? Surely you
don't mean to tell me he is after no mischief ? '

Well, I happen to have had particular occasion to
study the habits of this bird, and I was forced to the
conclusion that, although the short-eared owl (Asio
brachyotis) is more diurnal in his habits than those
mentioned above, and therefore is more likely than
they to strike young game, his services to agriculture
are no whit inferior. His daylight excursions and
yellow iris have earned for him the name of the hawk
owl, while he is often known as the woodcock owl,
because in normal seasons the species is nearly entirely
absent from the British Isles during the breeding
season, and reappears as a migrant about the same
time as the woodcock. In 1891-92 the extensive sheep
pastures on the southern uplands of Scotland were
devastated by one of those plagues of voles (Arvicola

APRIL 101

arvalis) which have been known to recur at uncertain
intervals in various parts of the world. I was appointed
chairman of a departmental committee to inquire into
the extent and probable cause of the plague, and to
try and devise a remedy. We visited the infested
districts ; the hillsides swarmed with millions of voles t
the grass over hundreds of thousands of acres was cut
at the roots by these animals, which make shallow
runs under the surface, and withered as if it had been
seared by passing fire ; the ewes were pining, dropping
their lambs prematurely, or suffering them to perish
for lack of milk. It was a melancholy scene.

One of the first abnormal features to attract our
attention was the presence of great numbers of short-
eared owls, which at that season are hardly ever seen
in Britain, being occupied with their nests in more
northern latitudes. However, during the two years
of the vole plague these birds, attracted by the pre-
sence of multitudes of voles, remained throughout the
year to batten on them. Not only so, but they nested
hi numbers, and, stimulated by the abundant diet, laid
an abnormal number of eggs, and reared several suc-
cessive broods in each season. I do not mean to affirm
that they stemmed the plague, but no doubt can exist
that they helped to check it in no small degree. As
many as fifty short-eared owls might be seen on one
hillside ; and if these devoured no more than six voles
each in a day, that means a total of 109,500 in the
course of the year.

I think I have said enough to prove what valuable

102 WILD BIRD PROTECTION

auxiliaries to cultivators are the various species of
owls, and I can safely challenge anybody to produce
evidence of any counterbalancing injury that can be
justly laid to their charge.

XXVII

It is satisfactory to note that the International Confer-
wild Bird ence which assembled in Paris in 1895, on
Protection tke invitation of fae French Government, to

consider the best means of concerted action for the pro-
tection of birds useful to agriculture, is bearing some
fruit. The executive committee of the International
Exhibition about to open in Turin have come to the
wise decision to withhold all rewards from engines
designed for the capture of such birds. There is some
hope that a similar resolution may be adopted by the
Commissioners of the Exhibition to be held in Paris in
1900. This is well, for in no other country have insec-
tivorous birds been brought so near extinction as in
Italy and France. The Conference referred to was the
outcome of the conviction that, unless something was
done to arrest the process of extermination, insect pests
would shortly assume intolerable proportions. The
delegates, representing every country in Europe except
Turkey, where nobody thinks of slaughtering small
birds, had for its president the late Prime Minister,
M. Meline, and adopted a series of resolutions, nearly
all of which the British delegates had the gratification
of announcing as already in statutory force in these

APKIL 103

islands. But that is not enough. Owing to the migra-
tory habits of nearly all birds, they have to run the
gauntlet of alert European chasseurs before they reach
the comparative sanctuary of a land where nothing but
what Frenchmen term gibier strieux are deemed worthy
of powder and shot. The regulations fall short of perfec-
tion even in this country ; but the acts for the protection
of wild birds other than game, passed in 1880, 1881,
1894, and 1896, have been long enough in force to
afford some idea of their efficacy and general effect.
This novel class of legislation was the outcome of a
variety of circumstances. The improvement and in-
creasing use of firearms, the strictness of game preser-
vation, the zeal for natural history which takes the
form of collecting specimens both of birds and their
eggs and last but not least, the encroachment of human
population and industry on the haunts of wild-fowl,
had rendered certain interesting species of birds exceed-
ingly rare, and threatened the complete extinction of
some of them. The great auk had disappeared for ever,
not only from the British list, but from the face of the
globe. Timely legislation might have saved the race
when, during the first half of this century, a few pairs
still lingered round the islands of St. Kilda and Papa
Westra, and when, as Audubon records, thousands of
nestlings were cut up annually for bait by the New-
foundland fishermen ; but it did not occur to anybody
to interfere, and the great auk — the great awkward, as
it might have been fitly named — will never be seen
again.

104 WILD BIRD PROTECTION

When, in 1880, Sir John Lubbock (now Lord Ave-
bury) first induced the House of Commons to attend to
the grievances of our feathered fellow-creatures, he
found it far from unsympathetic. It is not on record
that any honourable member shed tears over the fate
of the great auk, but a distinct thrill ran through the
assembly when it was told that the black tern, the
avocet, the bittern, the great bustard, the black-tailed
godwit, and Savi's warbler, had already manifested
their disgust at the inhospitable treatment they had
received by ceasing to lay any eggs with us, and had
become so exceedingly rare, that individuals of these
species, alighting on their seasonal migration for ' a wash
and brush-up,' were relentlessly persecuted, and gener-
ally found their way into some local museum with an
obituary notice in the country paper. Sir John's Bill,
then, found an easy passage through all its stages, and
became the 'principal act/ of which subsequent acts
have been amendments and extensions. Appended to
it was a schedule, containing a list of wild birds for
which a close time was provided, protecting them
during the spring and summer months.

Perhaps the most notable general result of this Act
has been the increase of the common wild-duck. For-
merly, flapper-shooting — the shooting of young ducks
as soon as they are able to fly — was a recognised, though
inglorious form of sport ; and many persons persecuted
the helpless fowl for gain, finding a ready market for
them. Sir John Lubbock's close-time, extending from
March 15th to August 1st, practically put an end to

APRIL 105

this industry, and wild-fowling was restricted to seasons
when these birds are among the wariest and swiftest of
feathered creatures.

Every bird, however, has to pass through the stage
of an egg, and of eggs the original act took no account
whatever. Now eggs, or rather egg-shells, owing to
their beauty, portability, and easy preservation, have
always been favourite objects of collection. They are
sought after not only by the managers of the zoological
museums, but they vie with butterflies and moths in
the esteem of multitudes of schoolboys. Consequently,
the trade of egg-collecting has become very brisk ; the
rarer the egg, the more diligent the search for it. Not
only so, but British collectors insist on being supplied
with British laid specimens. An egg is an egg, one
might think ; but no — the egg of golden oriole or hoopoe
laid on the Continent may be had for a few pence ; it
is impossible to say how many guineas might be paid
for one certified to be taken in Britain. Regularly
organised expeditions used to set out each spring from
our great towns to visit remote places on the coast
frequented by such birds as the great skua, of which
only a limited number of pairs remained in existence.

The act of 1894, therefore, was framed to give protec-
tion to the eggs of desirable species ; but inasmuch as
certain birds, though desirable in limited numbers, might
be undesirable in multitudes, this act, unlike the original
act, did not prescribe a uniform schedule for the whole
kingdom. Taking advantage of the recently formed
county councils, it empowered these local parliaments

106 WILD BIRD PROTECTION

to make provision suitable to local circumstances, and
to obtain orders, on due reason shown, from the Secre-
tary of State, prohibiting the taking of eggs of specified
kinds of birds within their jurisdiction, or, if preferred,
the taking of all eggs within strictly defined areas.
Further elasticity was secured by provision for the
limited duration of such orders, which may be made to
run for one year or more. Power was also given to
extend the close-time provided in the act of 1880 to
any wild bird not included in the schedule thereof, and
to vary that close time to cover any part of the year, or
the whole of it.

County councils have availed themselves very exten-
sively of their optional powers under the act of 1894,
and already experience has proved the advantage of
the discretionary liberty accorded to them. In the
anxiety to protect interesting and vanishing species,
protection has been obtained for certain birds, which,
were they allowed to multiply unchecked, would become
a serious nuisance. Thus the county council of Suther-
land obtained an order prohibiting the slaughter of
golden eagles, which a few years ago had become
exceedingly rare. Already these noble birds have
increased to such an extent that sheep-farmers are
suffering loss in the matter of lambs. Had some per-
sons obtained their way in 1894, the killing of eagles
or taking their eggs would have been made penal
under an act applied n liformly to every county in the
kingdom, and until that act were repealed no redress
could have been had by those who suffered. As matters

APEIL 107

stan d, the local authority can arrange for its own needs ;
as soon as the order expires, eagles will be removed
from its protection, as well as ravens, peregrines, and
other birds of ravin, which may have become too
numerous. No reasonable person wants to have the
air darkened with destructive creatures; but most
people are interested in averting total extermination
from any bird in the British list, and the proper
machinery for this purpose seems to have been pro-
vided by Parliament.

One word as to the powers of county councils to
extend protection to any species throughout the year.
It is a power which, with one exception, ought to be
reserved for special cases, such as the hoopoe, oriole,
ruff, and reeve — beautiful birds which come to our land
each year with the intention of breeding, but are no
sooner seen than they are shot without remorse.

The exception referred to is the lapwing or peewit.
It is one of the very few species of which we cannot
have too many, because of its unflagging industry in
destroying insects and molluscs on agricultural land.
It is incapable of doing injury to anybody, and withal
it is a lovely bird, and provides us with a prodigious
harvest of delicious eggs. Among all the fowls of the
air, tnere is not one to which the farmer ought to extend
a more cordial welcome, because, feeding as it does
exclusively on worms, insects, and molluscs, the presence
of a couple of hundred lapwings in a field means very
severe discipline among creeping pests. Dr. Bowdler
Sharpe quotes Mr. Read as having counted about 8000

108 WILD BIRD PROTECTION

peewits in one field near Glasgow. Supposing each of
these took only a brace of grubs or slugs as a light
breakfast, who can estimate the value of their services ?
When they have depopulated the arable lands these
birds resort to the shore at low tide, where, if their
pursuits are not directly beneficial, they are at least
absolutely innocuous.

Besides its usefulness as a vermin catcher, the lapwing
earns our gratitude by the abundant supply of delicious
eggs which find their way to the market each spring.
Game preservers may be heard grumbling sometimes
because country folk are diligent in collecting plovers'
eggs. It is an unhandsome complaint ; one ought rather
to be glad that so many are able to make a little profit
out of a harmless industry, and vary the monotony of
their lives by an agreeable pursuit. Nothing tends to
make the game laws more unpopular than a churlish
grudge against certain occupations, such as collecting
plovers' eggs and mushrooms, on the ground that dis-
honest people may take an unfair advantage if game
or their eggs happen to lie in their way.

A third reason why the lapwing ought to be treated
with special favour may be thought a sentimental one.
It is an exceedingly beautiful and graceful bird — how
beautiful, its abundance is apt to make one forget. But
its glossy olive-green upper parts, shot with purple and
steel-blue on the scapulars and wing coverts, contrast
so brilliantly with the pure white breast and belly, and
harmonise so well with the rufous tail coverts, as to
make the peewit one of the chief ornaments of the

APRIL 109

rural landscape. Then its jaunty crest, lustrous brown
eyes, rosy feet and legs, and lively movements, combine
to render it the handsomest of all British plovers.

It may be argued that, seeing lapwings are so abund-
ant in these isles, there can be no harm in shooting
them, especially as their flesh is quite wholesome and
tolerably palatable. Well, it must be admitted that,
although already far scarcer than formerly in some
districts, there is no sign of diminution in the numbers
of this species in others. Remember what has happened
to our ruffs and reeves — not distantly related to lap-
wings. Once nesting abundantly in the eastern counties
of England, ruffs are scarcely known there now, except
as straggling passengers in autumn, so greedily have
they been persecuted. If it were desired to extirpate
a noxious kind of bird, the best way to set about it
would be to collect all the eggs possible in spring, and
shoot the parent bird during the rest of the year. This
is exactly what we are doing to the lapwings. Each
year a larger number of the adult birds are sent to the
London market, and may be seen in spring offered for
sale in the same shops with their eggs.

I write in the hope of enlisting the sympathy of
sportsmen, county council men, farmers, and all lovers
of Nature, in order that this senseless and inhuman
treatment may be stopped. It is senseless, because if
you kilh the bird that lays the plovers' eggs, where will
you get your eggs ? It is inhuman, because there is
not a single other species of wild bird of which civilised
man eats, and is allowed to offer for sale both parents

110 WILD BIED PROTECTION

and eggs. The remedy lies with county councils. Some
of these have proposed the prohibition of taking the
eggs. For the reasons given above, I should regret this.
If every egg laid hi the British Isles in March and the
first fortnight in April were taken, plenty more would
be laid in second hatches to replenish the race, and these
would be protected by the growth of grass and young
corn. But I do advocate legislative protection to the
parent birds throughout the year, and the act of 1894
gives county councils power to obtain an order to this
effect from the Secretary of State.

What has saved the lapwing from extinction in these
islands hitherto is its migratory habit. Although in
most parts of Britain lapwings may be seen at all times
of the year, the birds that are with us in winter were
bred far north in Scandinavia, while those reared in
our own fields pass far south in winter. The lapwing is
the only bird known to me of which the exact northern
limit of the winter habitat may be traced in Great
Britain. It may be seen in the Moray Firth throughout
the year, but is not known in winter to the north of
the Helmsdale watershed. While, therefore, it is classed
as one of the resident species, it is, in fact, as truly
migratory as any other birds. The cuckoo and the
swallow pass southwards out of our ken in winter ; but
although the whole body of lapwings moves southward
also, the northern fringe of it lies across the south of
the county of Caithness. Spring returns, the homing
instinct asserts itself, and each bird presses to the
northernmost limit of its annual migration to rear its

APRIL 111

young, true to that hereditary attachment to polar
regions which seems to indicate in them the cradle of
all organic life.

Migration may not prevail much longer to preserve
the lapwing. The utmost limits of the Highlands are
ransacked for eggs. Mr. Harvie Brown mentions one
village in Banffshire in which a small tradesman passed
1680 eggs to London in the spring of 1893. If the trade
in the birds themselves extends in like manner, goodbye
to our pretty peewits. It is vain to point to the large
flocks of these plover which move to and fro over the
continent of Europe, and still frequent our shores at
all seasons. Numbers are no guarantee against exter-
mination— witness the bison of North America and
the incredible herds of big game which, within living
memory, peopled the plains of Natal and the Transvaal.
The fate that has overtaken the bison and the quagga
impends over the familiar peewit.

I have observed that most of the recommendations
of the Paris Conference about the protection of birds
have been carried out under statute in this country;
but there remains one in regard to which action has
not yet been taken. Birds are subjects of no state;
they observe no political landmarks or frontiers, but
move with the seasons from realm to realm. Hence
measures taken for their protection, to be effective, must
partake of an international character. The Conference
invited the British Government to prohibit the importa-
tion of birds killed in countries which had decreed
their protection. The lapwing is a case in point. Mil-

112 A BEMAKKABLE BLUE-BOOK

lions of these birds are killed in Holland, where their
sale is prohibited at certain seasons, and these find a
ready market in this country. It is not unreasonable
to ask that Parliament should decree this traffic to be
contraband.

XXVIII

Parliamentary Blue-books seldom afford succulent
reading — do men gather grapes of thorns ? —
abie Blue- still less does one turn to them for examples
of high-class illustration. All the more agree-
able, therefore, is the surprise imparted by a Blue-book
(or whatever may be the American equivalent to a
Blue-book) lately published by the Legislature of the
State of New York, containing the first annual report
of the Commissioners of Fisheries, Game, and Forests.
This Commission, having been appointed as a per-
manent body by an act of 1895, which superseded
the old Forest Commission, explains in the preface
that its object has been to make its first report some-
thing more than commonplace — something beyond a
dry recital of statistics and an account of work
accomplished — in order ' to interest, and, in a degree,
instruct, the great mass of the people of the State in
regard to the fisheries, game, and forests.' The Com-
missioners are to be congratulated on the result of
this attempt. They have produced a volume which
is almost as interesting to naturalists and sportsmen
in the old world as to those of the new. This is

APKIL 113

specially the case in regard to the first moiety of the
book, which deals with the fresh-water fisheries. In
this country our game laws, much as they have been
vituperated, are tolerably effective, without being
oppressive. Salmon, also, have come in for a greater
share of legislation in the United Kingdom than prob-
ably has ever been directed before to any living creature
except man himself. But for the rest, how little has
been done by the State to maintain the productiveness
of our inland waters, and to encourage their improve-
ment ! Why, the trout, with which Scottish waters not
many years ago teemed in a degree that seemed to defy
exhaustion, are absolutely without any legislative close-
tune, and a small knot of Radical members have effec-
tively blocked a measure to provide one, lest, forsooth,
those tyrant landlords should derive an indirect advan-
tage therefrom. No such qualms disturb the judgment
of the legislators of New York State. They take the
view, which it is conceivable is not altogether ground-
less, that the natural resources of a country for afford-
ing recreation to a hard- working population are a proper
subject of their attention, even though some of those
who are exempt from their share of toiling and spinning
come in for a share of the benefit.

There are nine fish-hatchories maintained in New
York State at the expense of the public, whence live
supplies are distributed to proper applicants, together
with instructions as to the right way of placing fresh
stock in the various waters. Sometimes application is
made for young fish, which it would not be desirable to

H

114 A REMAEKABLE BLUE-BOOK

introduce everywhere. Several demands for mascalonge
— the American pike — were refused during 1895 ; on
the other hand, the mascalonge fisheries in the State
already produce a return of from 13,000 to 16,000 dols.
per annum ; so young fish and fry are freely supplied
where such a voracious creature may be preserved
without injury to other and more valuable species.

The extent of the operations of these hatcheries may
be estimated by the amount of fish — adults, yearlings,
or fry — distributed during 1895 : —

Salmonidce.

American brook trout (Salvelinus fontinalis), 1,901,000

European brook trout (Salmo fario), . . 850,250

Rainbow trout (Salmo irideus), . . 100,000

Lake trout (Cristivomer Namaycush [?]), . 645,000

Atlantic salmon (Salmo salar), . . . 15,000

Ouananiche ('land-locked' salmon), . . 30,000

Frost fish (Coregonus quadrilateralis), . . 1,875,000

(besides 2,000,000 ova)

Smelt (Osmerus mordax), . . . 16,192,000

Mascalonge (Lucius Masquinongy), . . 2,480,000

Black bass (Micropterus dolomieu and salmoides), 15,760

Perch (Perca Americana), . . . 750

Shad (Clupea sapidissima), . . . 7,987,000

What contrast this affords to the way we manage
our fisheries! Anglers in this country may be num-
bered by tens of thousands ; angling is a priceless boon
to the labouring classes near industrial centres. It is
true that a great deal is being done by private enter-

APRIL 116

prise to replenish our fisheries; but with what heart
can a Scottish angling club or individual undertake the
work, when protection is denied to fish during spawn-
ing-time ? In New York State the statutory close-time
for trout extends from September 1 to April 15.

This New York Legislature is not content with
supplying young fish and instructing persons how to
treat them after transport (an important matter, for
in this country millions of fry are destroyed by trans-
plantation from hard to soft, or from warm to cold, water,
or vice versa). There is also a chapter in this mar-
vellous Blue-book about the cultivation of insects and
crustaceans suitable for food. One applicant received
10,000 fresh -water shrimps (Gammarus) from the
Caledonia hatchery; May -flies (or day-flies, as they
are called in the States), alders, duns, spinners, etc.,
are all recommended for transplanting. De minimis
non curat lex is an ancient adage, but American
anglers will not estimate by the size of the insects
the benefit conferred upon themselves. One important
provision, however, must not be overlooked — namely,
that in no case are fish or insects supplied for intro-
duction into private waters, only for those in which
the public have fishing rights.

It is amusing to read in a parliamentary return an
enthusiastic description of the joys of angling, with
which the pages of this volume abound; but its peculiar
feature consists in the illustrations. Not only are there
head and tail pieces to the chapters — delicious vignettes
of sporting incidents — but a series of coloured plates

116 A KEMARKABLE BLUE-BOOK

has been added, delineating with admirable fidelity
the principal fresh- water fish and the deer and other
terrestrial animals of the State. Nothing perhaps is
so seldom rendered satisfactorily in colour printing as
trout of various kinds. Either the lustre is sacrificed
to the brilliant colour, giving a harsh and exaggerated
effect to the exquisite hues of nature, or the colour is
made too uniform and its delicate gradations lost. But
in these plates it would really be easy to believe that one
was beholding the original drawings of Mr. Denton.
They are absolutely faithful portraits both in drawing
and colour. It would be very hard to equal the litho-
graph of the smelt ; hardly possible to excel the skill
with which the pearly tones on gill- covers and scales
have been rendered. No publication occurs to mind
containing figures of fish so nearly approaching perfec-
tion as these.

There are some very interesting subjects in zoology
raised here and there throughout the book, curiously
sandwiched with extract from fishery and game laws.
The ouananiche, which is now authoritatively pro-
nounced to be specifically identified with our Atlantic
salmon (S. salar), is popularly known as the ' land-
locked ' salmon, on the supposition that some geological
convulsion has created a barrier which prevents its
descent to the sea. But the fact is, as the Commis-
sioners point out, that no such barrier could prevent
descent to the sea, however effectually it might bar
ascent from it. These salmon, in Maine, Labrador,
and Sweden, do not go to the sea simply because they

APRIL 117

find ample store of food in their inland habitat — an
important piece of evidence for ichthyologists, who
for long have been inclining to the conclusion that
salmon are naturally indigenous to fresh water, owning
a common ancestry with brook trout, and only acquired
a migratory habit from a craving for marine diet when
inland waters failed to afford enough food to support
them.

XXIX

The second issue of the Fish, Game, and Forestry
Commissioners of the State of New York is Fish and
like unto the first in abundance of excellent
reading.

*When the sail-boat is running across the wind at the
maximum of her speed, the sensation experienced by the
strike of a four or five pound fish bankrupts all description.
. . . The pleasure is largely concentrated in the strike (and
in the angler, I fancy) and the perception of a big fish 'fast.'
The watchfulness and labour involved in the subsequent
struggle border closely on the confines of pain. Brother of
the sleeve-silk and tinsel, when at last you gaze upon your
captive lying asphyxiated on the surface — a synthesis of
qualities that makes a perfect fish — when you disengage him
from the meshes of the net, and place his icy figure in your
outstretched palms, and watch the tropaeolin glow of his
awakening loves (please don't ask me to interpret this fine
passage) soften into cream tints, and the cream tints pale into
the pearl of moonstone — you will experience a peculiar thrill
that the capture neither of ouananiche nor fontinalis nor
namaycush can ever excite.'

118 FISH AND GAME PRESERVATION IN AMERICA

Supposing this to be a faithful account of the capture
of Sunapee trout (Salvelinus alpinus aureolus), a most
desirable kind of char, which runs up to twenty pounds
in weight, it is not surprising that the successful angler
should enthuse a little wildly. Nevertheless, should a
passage in the same tropical style occur in the Annual
Report of Her Majesty's Commissioners of Woods and
Forests, there might be talk of proceedings de lunatico
inquirendo, yet the quotation is from an official paper
issued by Government, which is reckoned one of the
most business-like in the world. Instead of mono-
tonous columns of print, covered in paper suggestive
of groceries, such as those the publications ' presented
to both Houses of Parliament by command of Her
Majesty/ here we have 500 quarto pages, of which about
one-fourth contain tabulated returns, the remainder
being filled with papers on sport and natural history,
profusely and beautifully illustrated, and the whole
bound in buckram boards most delicious to the touch.

The object of a public department in propagating the
love of field sports by such papers as the one quoted
from above may not be quite clear until it is understood
that the State of New York is an immense landowner,
and nearly the whole of its estates are devoted to the
preservation of game and sporting fish, which may be
pursued by the public free of charge, but under strict
regulations as to close time.

Now when we consider the haphazard, hand-to-
mouth manner in which the freshwater fishings of Great
Britain and Ireland are managed, when we remember

APRIL 119

that such magnificent streams as the Tweed and the
Shannon are made to yield every salmon that can be
taken by hook or by crook, and that artificial replenish-
ment by hand-hatching is absolutely neglected, we are
filled with envy of the skilful development of natural
sources conducted by the Government of New York
State, and the question arises why we don't attempt
something of the same sort. Well, the reply to that is
found — first, in the immense superiority in extent of
the territory owned by New York State to that of the
Crown lands in this country. The area of the Adiron-
dack preserve alone amounts to 801,473 acres, against
which our greatest Crown domain — the New Forest —
weighs in shabbily with some 65,000 acres. Next, the
New York Commission supply fish stock gratuitously
for waters outside the property of the State, subject to
a very important condition. Every private owner of
waters may apply to have them stocked from the State
hatcheries at the public expense, after which, all private
rights notwithstanding, the right of fishing in such
waters is vested in the public. In short, the State offers
to stock, and maintain the stock, in any waters, provided
that it thereby secures the right of free fishing for its
citizens. That, it will be granted, is a vastly different
affair from free fishing as contemplated by persons who
heckle candidates for Parliament on the subject in this
country, and take no thought for the maintenance of the
stock to endure the incessant drain.

How does it answer in New York State? Let Mr.
Cheney, the State fish culturist, give his experience

120 FISH AND GAME PKESEKVATION IN AMEEICA

of a pond (probably we should call it a lake) in the
Adirondack. In this water 5000 brook fry trout were
planted some years ago by the State. It did not occur
to any free fishers to cast angle in this water till one
Mr. Witherbee, lucky dog! went there one morning
and secured five beautiful frontinalis, weighing in the
aggregate 20J pounds, an average of over four pounds
— of which the lusty, shapely forms are displayed in a
photograph illustrating Mr. Cheney's paper. Of course,
Mr. Witherbee did not keep his success secret; what
angler ever does so ? Half — more than half — the joy of
fishing comes in the mollia fandi tempora after a good
day.

' The pond ' (says Mr. Cheney), ' of course, was public water,
and at once it was fished without ceasing. One trout of
over eleven pounds was taken from it — taken, too, without
regard to the ethics of fair angling ; and it is more than
suspected that even a larger trout was taken from the inlet
stream at the spawning season, a trout of thirteen pounds
three ounces.'

Touching these same Salmo fontinalis, or American
brook trout, great has been the disappointment experi-
enced in this country in attempts to naturalise them,
and it is only lately that the adverse condition — an
insuperable one, it is to be feared — has been explained
by Mr. Cheney. The fontinalis is not a true trout at
all, but a char; and, like our native char, can only
thrive in cold water. The mean temperature of most
British waters is too high for them, and the result is
that of many millions that have been reared and turned

APKIL 121

out in our lakes and streams, not one in a thousand has
been recaptured, and the rest have mysteriously dis-
appeared. Probably they would succeed well enough
in our larger and deeper lakes, some of which, like
Windermere and Ullswater, Loch Grannoch in Gallo-
way, and a few of the Welsh and Highland waters,
already contain kindred species of char. To the enter-
prising and successful Society which has undertaken the
development of the angling resources of Loch Lomond,
the fontinalis might be commended with some confid-
ence that it would thrive exceedingly in the profound
abyss of that inland sea.

Space is wanting to touch upon all the attractive
subjects in this delightful volume. Besides fish, papers
are devoted to deer, ruffed grouse, woodcock, and other
game, and statistics are given showing how the stock of
these valuable and interesting animals has stood the
annual inroads of trippers and freeshooters of all
kinds, and suggesting further precautions for their
preservation. Forestry, also, has its part in the labours
of the Commission, though it is confessed that the
present State law, which totally proscribes the use of
the axe in its preserves, greatly interferes with the right
development of its woodlands.

In short, it is long since I have come across a better
guinea's worth of reading on matters piscatorial and
venatic than in this publication. The illustrations
alone are worth the money.

122 FLY-FISHING

XXX

Should the political pendulum swing back in time to
enable Sir Edward Grey to fulfil the confident

Fly-fishing . .

anticipations of his party, his essay on Fly-
fishing1 will command an interest far beyond that
of a mere treatise on his favourite sport. Indeed, it
possesses that interest now. Even men with souls so
dead as to be insensible to the angler's infatuation
may peruse with pleasure Sir Edward Grey's memories
of early Winchester days. They may listen as he tells
with artless egoism how, arriving as a little north-
country boy in that unfamiliar southern landscape,
he wandered forth upon those meadows of wondrous
green, and beheld, in the network of channels inter-
secting them, trout of a length and circumference
undreamt of in the burns of his native Northumber-
land. They may follow him in his fruitless exercise
of the art of fly-fishing as he then understood it
until that fertile moment when the higher mystery
of the craft being revealed to him, he acquired the
knack of presenting the dry fly. They may share his
boyish worship of the man who caught more than any
one else.

* He fished nearly every day, and from watching him long
and often I became aware of certain peculiarities in his
style. . . . He dried his fly harder and more rapidly than
any one I ever saw, and brought it floating over the fish
oftener in a given space of time. His rod and line used to
make a verv busy sound in the air as he dried his fly. It

1 Fly-fishing. By Sir Edward Grey. London : Dent and Co. 1899.

APKIL 123

was not pretty fishing to watch, but when he made a cast the
line went out straight and accurate, and he once to my
knowledge landed in one day from this much-fished part of
the river seven brace of trout, all above the limit of size. . . .
He was a very silent angler, as if his business was solely
with the trout ; and what he was, besides being the best
resident fisherman at Winchester, remained unknown to me.
I was so struck by his success in fishing that it never
occurred to me to ask about anything else.'

Most of Sir Edward's book is devoted to dry fly-
fishing— the most difficult branch of the art angler's
craft — whereof he is acknowledged to be one of the most
accomplished exponents in practice. But he has a good
deal to say about salmon-fishing also, wherein he may
expect to find less uniform acceptance of all his views.
When were two salmon fishers ever in complete accord on
the problems of their pursuit ? On the varieties of salmon
flies he takes what may be termed the rational view —
namely, that these are multiplied far more for the de-
lectation of fishers than the destruction of fish. The
author's counsel of perfection is to be content with four
varieties of salmon fly in different sizes; but, being
human, he admits that such content is almost impos-
sible of attainment.

* How often have I gone into a tackle shop to make pro-
vision for a spell of fishing in Scotland, and entered it with
a fairly distinct idea of the limits, both in number and
variety, of flies that were wanted, and how often have these
limits expanded, and at last dissolved altogether under the
genial influence of the display of flies upon the counter ! The
number of seemingly indispensable patterns increases as the

124 FLY-FISHING

sheets of flies are spread before me ; so too do the seem-
ingly indispensable sizes of each pattern, and at last I
emerge, exhausted by the struggle of selection, alarmed at
the amount of my purchase, and yet uneasy for fear it should
not be large enough, and I have omitted the one thing needful
after all.'

Which of us does not recognise our own feelings
under similar circumstances ?

In this agreeable way does Sir Edward Grey dis-
course, discursive but never irrelevant, and never dull.
His book is as little of a dry treatise as can be, and (it
will scarcely be credited) I have perused it from title
to colophon without once coming upon an allusion to
the 'immortal Izaak.' Neither is Sir Edward a
butcher. There is a vast deal that contributes to his
enjoyment of a day's fishing besides the weight of his
basket. Thus in Hampshire : —

' Every sense is alert and excited, every scent and every-
thing seen or heard is noted with delight. You are grateful
for the grass on which you walk, even for the soft country
dust about your feet.

Again, in the Highlands : —

* There come times when the angler, who wanders alone
after sea trout down glens and over moors, has a sense of
physical energy and strength beyond all his experience in
ordinary life. . . . The pure act of breathing at such times
seems glorious. People talk of being a child of Nature, and
moments such as these are the times when it is possible to
feel so ; to know the full joy of animal life, to desire nothing
beyond. There are times when I have stood still for joy of
it all, on my way through the wild freedom of a Highland

APKIL 125

moor, and felt the wind, and looked upon the mountains
and water and light and sky, till I felt conscious only of the
strength of a mighty current of life, which swept away all
consciousness of self, and made me a part of all that I
beheld.

Anglers are prone to rhapsody, but it is not often
that they can express the higher hedonism so featly.

XXXI

FEW journeys of equal length afford so many agreeable
May in contrasts as that between Berlin and Copen-
Denmark hagen. For a hundred and fifty miles the
route lies through a vast, unfenced, sandy plain, barred
with belts of gloomy pines ; at Warnemiiride the dusty
corridor train is exchanged for a bright little steamer
which, in a couple of hours, runs you across the spark-
ling Ostsee to Danish Gjeddesrodde ; whence an amphi-
bious railway winds its leisurely course towards the
capital, through smiling pastures, English hedgerows,
and beechwoods beloved of Hans Andersen. Not less
surprising is the difference in the people from those you
have left behind. German officials never suffer you to
forget the ' mailed fist ' ; one feels lucky to escape from
them without incurring some frightful penalty for
breach of all-pervading military etiquette. But in
Denmark all is changed; militarism has disappeared;
the guard of the train is no longer an exaggerated
drill-sergeant, nor has the stationmaster the bear-
ing of a brigadier. The formalities of the doiwne
are carried out sympathetically — almost apologeti-

126

MAY 127

cally (do not disregard the inscription within the
Custom - House — Tobaksrygnin forbydes — that is,
'Smoking is forbidden'); the officers seem positively
shocked at the nature of the duties imposed upon
them as they request the traveller to unlock one of his
many pieces. Then you are conducted with many
smiles and bows (for this is of all countries the home
of courtesy) to a truly luxurious railway car, and are
made to feel as you take your seat therein that you are
conferring unmerited honour upon the State which
owns and works the line.

Have a care ! there is a shade of perfidy in this atten-
tion. If you are induced to seat yourself in the fore-
part of this amphibious train, you will have to leave it
at Vordingburg, some twenty miles further on, where
the hind part is run upon the steam ferry, to cross the
channel separating Laaland from Zeeland. However,
on this warm Sunday afternoon in May there is not
much hardship involved in the transfer, and waiting on
the far side is another carriage, every whit as comfort-
able as the one you are leaving. And so forward,
through a country neatly fenced with hedgerow timber,
reminding one of England; through beech forests in
exquisite new greenery, wherein groups of happy people
and children arrayed in Sunday best are strolling ; past
trim gardens surrounding comfortable farmhouses and
cottages with timbered walls. The landscape is fascinat-
ing as seen in the slanting rays, and the leisurely State
railway does not rush through it in the vulgar, com-
petitive way we are accustomed to in England.

128 MAY IN DENMARK

On the whole, perhaps, the mean speed of Danish
trains is less than those of any other country ; but it is
a narrow land, and there is always the risk of running
over the edge of it. Besides, as you cannot fail to
observe, the train officials have an immense deal of
gossip to exchange with the station officials and
bystanders. The time-tables have been arranged to suit
this requirement, and we run into Copenhagen punc-
tually to a minute. It is Sunday evening, and ex-
cursion trains are discharging crowds of trippers
returning from the country. Most of these people
carry wild flowers, and especially large sprays of beech
with new tender foliage. The beech leaves are sadly
withered, and I am disposed to pity these people for
the disappointment they have earned by carrying home
material of such transient beauty. But they know
well what they are about. Next day my business took
me into a number of houses in the town, the suburbs,
and the country ; every room seemed to contain fresh
beech boughs, which, set in water, had revived, and
formed a charming and simple decoration. As the oak
is to England, the chestnut to Lombardy, and the pine
to Switzerland, so the beech is the glory of Denmark.
Comparatively few holiday makers ever think of
Copenhagen — the 'market harbour' (just as our own
Chipping Norton is the 'market north town') — as a
place of quiet resort ; yet it possesses many agreeable
qualities not to be found in cities of wider renown
Moreover, except Italy, Denmark is perhaps the only
country in Europe where an Englishman may feel sure

MAY 129

of a hearty welcome on account of his nationality ; and
it certainly contributes to the pleasure of foreign
travel to feel that one's presence is not an offence to the
resident population.

There is a good deal to attract interest in the build-
ings of Copenhagen, though the Christiansborg Palace,
burnt down in 1794 and rebuilt, burnt down again in
1884 and not yet rebuilt, stands silent and roofless,
with grass-grown courts, in the midst of the bright,
busy town. The sentries on the present royal residence
recall by their equipment the armies of the eighteenth
century; they always pace their beats in pairs,
earnestly conversing, and each is equipped with a
sword slung in the old-fashioned shoulder belt, an
enormous antique cartridge pouch hanging from the
other shoulder, besides carrying rifle and bayonet.

But the attractions of the town are duly set forth in
many guide-books ; perhaps its chief charm is the ease
with which escape is made to a lovely country. Yes,
for it is lovely in spring, though Denmark can boast no
mountain scenery, no running water larger than a fair
water-jump. Let me not do this sweet land injustice ;
it has its alpine tract round Silkeborg in Jutland, where
the heaven-splitting Himmelbjerg rears its proud crest
to the altitude of no less than 515 feet — the highest
point in the kingdom. But nowhere can you get far
from water, either fresh lakes or salt fjords, and with
water, green fields, deep woods, and wild flowers, you
must be hard to please if beauty does not abound for
you.

130 MAY IN DENMARK

One thing the stranger may notice with surprise
in this the premier dairy country in the world.
Nowhere else has the craft of producing the very best
butter been brought to such perfection ; nowhere else
has practical instruction in the theory and essentials
of dairying been so deeply instilled into the farmers
and peasantry, as British farmers and peasants have
learned to their cost. No town in the world can boast
such a copious supply of pure cheap milk as is poured
into Copenhagen through Dr. Busck's Mcelkeforsyning
(Dairy Supply Company). Yet in all the landscape not
a cow is to be seen in the fields. No ; because it is not
yet mid- May, and it is only during four months in the
year that the herds are turned out to graze. The
remaining eight they spend in their stalls. We had
occasion to visit several herds, and very beautiful some
of them were, composed of red Zeeland cows, confined
in some cases to the number of a hundred and fifty in
a single building, scrupulously clean. Undoubtedly it
is a disadvantage that the climate makes such long
confinement necessary, a disadvantage from which the
British farmer is exempt ; yet he has allowed the Dane
a long start in dairying. He may as well give up the
competition, unless he is prepared to follow humbly in
his rival's wake, and treat the business scientifically.
It was humiliating to hear from the tenant of Rosendal
that half of his butter was consigned direct to
Manchester, the remainder going to Paris, as he
explained in the course of a picturesque middag-mad
at which he entertained us.

MAY 131

Oh, those middag-mads I how exquisite, but how far
too frequent for safety ! Mid-day meals the term
signifies, but they met us at almost every hour in the
day. The company stands round the table while the
host pours out red wine for each guest. Then there is
a general pledging and quaffing, chairs are set, and the
viands, bewildering in variety, seductive in their ex-
cellence, undergo a sustained assault. Coffee, dry
(absolutely sugarless) kummel and good cigars come in
their course, and one is expected to bring a clear head
to the business which follows.

It is charming to drive in spring from village to
village, each with its church tower like an exaggerated
dovecot ; still more charming to stop the carriage and
dive into the recesses of the beech woods. Endless
vistas of silvery trunks, and below them a carpet, partly
russet with fallen leaves, partly green with springing
grass and wood hyacinths, and gemmed all over with
purple lungwort, anemones white and yellow, and cow-
slips. Not such cowslips as may be gathered in Surrey
or Herts ; if you are a bit of a botanist you will notice
that all through Zeeland the oxlip takes the place of
cowslip and primrose, a form intermediate between
both, stalked like a cowslip, but with larger flowers. It
is a striking adornment to the meadows and woods.

Of game not much is to be seen, though the land-
owners are fond of pheasant-shooting. There are far
too many grey crows prowling around, with less
numerous magpies, to allow partridges much chance
of rearing their broods. A hen harrier (a species now

132 THE MAYFLY AND THE TROUT

nearly extinct in England) is circling far overhead, and
a buzzard sails over the neighbouring copse. But the
most conspicuous bird is the stork, associated with
memories of Hans Andersen, to whom he was so dear.
The storks have just arrived from the south to start
their domestic affairs for the season. Danish house-
holders hail their presence as bringing good luck to a
homestead, and tempt them to build by placing a cart-
wheel horizontally on the barn roof.

There is no better place to spend a quiet holiday
than among this happy, contented people, once the
scourge of English shores; and if anything else were
wanting to attract roving visitors, the quality of Danish
roads should find favour with bicyclists.

XXXII

Somewhat late the other evening, a trout, more daring
than his fellows in the winding Lea, had the
and the hardihood to seize one of a flight of large
gossamer-winged flies as it floated over his
nose. Instantly the news was circulated in subaqueous
quarters that the insect was one of unusual delicacy,
and before dark the dimples, rings, and splashes of
rising fish might be seen all over the water. Through-
out the previous week a few mayflies had been seen,
heralds of the coming swarm, but not a trout would
point his nose at one ; delicate duns and March browns
were all the fancy. But on the Saturday in question
the beautiful queen of the ephemerids came out in

MAY 133

large numbers ; fleets of mayflies had been sailing along
the gentle current for more than an hour before the
fish seemed to recognise the delicious banquet prepared
for them in such lavish abundance; indeed, the pre-
sence of so many large insects on the surface seemed
at first to scare the trout, and to put down those that
were rising at smaller flies.

This hesitation on the part of the trout to begin
their annual banquet is one of the best known, and,
at the same time, least explicable, features of the
mayfly fortnight. Trout have good memories, other-
wise they could not profit by experience and be
rendered so suspicious when much fished for. One
would say, then, that such a remarkable event in the
piscine year as the rise of the mayfly should be one
to leave a lasting impression on their recollection, and
that they would be keen to recommence the feast
which had contributed so greatly to their enjoyment in
previous summers, and also to tKeir proportions. But
it is not so. Every angler knows how suspiciously
trout regard the mayfly at first. The big fellows wait
till impetuous youngsters of half or three-quarters of
a pound have sampled the consignment. If it turns
out genuine and according to contract, they know
that for ten days or a fortnight they will simply
have to lie near the top of the water in some con-
venient lodge where the wind or current will bring
within easy reach more than the most robust digestion
can deal with. But when once these patriarchs begin,
they lose their heads and abandon themselves to

134 THE MAYFLY AND THE TROUT

gluttony. You may put one of them down by an
awkward cast, you may even hook him and lose him
in the weeds — it is no matter for mourning ; plenty
of other fish are rising steadily elsewhere ; and if you
have a special hankering after this one because of
his size, or shape, or some other quality, return to the
spot a couple of hours later, and the chances are
you will find him quite ready to do business with
you again.

In truth, it is not very delicate work this mayfly
fishing. You may use gut as stout as would utterly
wreck all prospects of success when fishing with a 00
or 000 quill ; in fact, strong gut must be used, because
this is the only time in the year when the biggest
trout cruise near the surface, and the most delicate
handling cannot avert disaster with fine tackle among
weeds, and a violent creature of five, six, or seven
pounds at the end of it. Nor does a fish after sucking
down, say, sixty succulent mayflies bestow very minute
scrutiny on the sixty-first object that comes over him,
provided it has a fair general resemblance to the others
and passes within convenient reach. There is none of
that prolonged, agonising stare which a wary customer
directs upon the artificial dun or ' fancy,' whereof the
result is so often either to make him dash away in
terror or sink out of sight in disgust. The chief diffi-
culty, indeed, in the thick of the rise is to persuade
a trout that yours is the best insect out of the scores
which are passing over his head in a continuous
stream.

MAY 135

It is well, therefore, that there should occur some
obstacles to a conquest which were otherwise all too
easy. Of these, wind is the commonest, and it has
been peculiarly aggravating this season (1898). Sad,
sad the monotony with which the banks of Hertford-
shire and Hampshire streams re-echoed to one parti-
cular English monosyllable during the last week of
May. The wind swept down every reach and swirled
round every recess of the rivers, lifting the newly-
hatched flies from the water, scattering them far over
the fields, and tossing your airy make-believe into the
least accessible branches of willow and ash. There is
a good three -pounder lying where the stream ripples
softly over a waving ledge of water ranunculus, right
in the fair channel; you wait for a lull in the blast;
you measure your cast with three or four waves of
the rod, then, just at the critical moment of delivery,
Notus, or Auster. or Boreas (for they were all on the
rampage last week), swoops shrilly down and whirls
the line into the pollard on the far side of the
stream.

When all goes smoothly one is apt to be touched
by remorse. Nobody has ever been known to hold
his hand in salmon-fishing, except by reason of sheer
bodily fatigue. But many a man must have felt
when trout are well on the mayfly orgy that he
wishes they would not be quite so simple. One
friend of mine declares that he means to fish with a
barbless hook — that he is content if he can morally
' bowl ' the big fellows. I don't feel that this puts the

136 THE MAYFLY AND THE TROUT

angler in a very dignified position. If Homo sapiens
means to match his intellect with that of some other
animal, he ought to hit upon one nearer his own intel-
lectual stature. If a quarter of a century of compulsory
education has done no more for us than to enable us
to outwit a brook trout, we have no business to waste
time in fishing. On the other hand, one cannot take
a stand on the physical basis, for how should a creature
with legs and arms, weighing some fourteen stone,
not prevail against one with neither, weighing perhaps
three pounds ?

No; if you feel disinclined for easy slaughter, and
are superior to the competitive vanity of a heavy
basket, you can always handicap yourself by looking
for fish in difficult places. There is one putting up
his nose on the far side of those trailing willow sprays ;
the fly will come nicely over him if you can only land it
in the opening above the tree, but then there is a
thorn bush on the hither bank which interferes with
free movement of the rod, It can only be done by a
horizontal cast, not too low to catch the meadow
grasses, nor too high to strike the willow boughs.
There ! — after several failures the feat is accomplished ;
the fly lands on the right spot, about three yards
above the fish. Will it ever reach him ? Will there
come that fatal drag, caused by the swifter current on
the near side, or by the line catching in one of the
willow sprays? Right! It swims down as naturally
as might be ; just at the expected spot there is the
tiniest disturbance, such as a water-beetle might create.

MAY 137

It flashes through your mind that it is only a wretched
little dace after all; but at the same moment you
strike. Woe be to you if your finger is on the line,
for the action is followed by a mighty plunge, and
away goes a heavy fish tearing up stream with the
reel spuming merrily.

'Now that/ you reflect, as five minutes later you
mark the index of your steelyard opposite the figure
4, ' that is a neat bit of work. I wish that fellow in
the club who is always bragging about his casting
had seen it. I believe most chaps would have pro-
nounced that fish impossible.'

There is another mode of handicapping the angler
which was in vogue with our grandfathers, if old
sporting illustrations may be relied on. They always
went a-fishing in top hats and stiff stocks. By reviving
this excruciating garb man would at least be giving
evidence of intelligence not greatly more powerful than
that of the fish he is trying to deceive.

XXXIII

In the north, by common usage, we talk of the

sycamore as the plane. The true plane,
•i'ii MI i -i i Concerning

which, above all other trees, has endeared tnesyca-
itself to Londoners by its admirable be-
haviour when exposed to the excessive drought and
coal smoke inseparable from this metropolis, is not
commonly planted in Scotland, although it seems to
agree equally well Trith our cool soil and moist climate,

138 CONCERNING THE SYCAMOEE

as it does with more southern conditions. The reason
for the common Scottish designation of the sycamore
must be sought in the ancient connection of Scotland
with France, which is responsible for the presence of
so many French words in Lowlands Scots. In old-
fashioned French plane signified the sycamore, and
platane the plane, both being forms of the Latin
platanus, from the Greek irKdravo^, a name bestowed
on the tree because of its broad leaves. The superficial
resemblance of the sycamore and the plane has received
scientific recognition by classifying the sycamore as
Acer pseudo-platanus — the plane-like maple or mock
plane. Such resemblances are neither rare nor per-
plexing among distinct species of the same family ; as,
for example, the so-called acacia (Robinia pseudo-
acacia), which, although botanically speaking not a
true acacia, yet belongs to the same pea-flower family
as the acacia. But when this resemblance occurs
between plants of widely separated families, the ques-
tion arises at once as to the meaning and origin of
such masquerade. When the plant is a humble one,
such as the dead nettle (Lamiv/m,), the intention seems
to be almost certainly protective — a kind of 'hands
off!' on the part of an innocuous species which has
acquired the appearance of a hurtful one. It affords a
nice problem for discussion between teleologists and
evolutionists to determine whether the controlling
influence is exoteric or esoteric. Even in certain
plants of grander stature the object is sometimes pretty
obvious. The evergreen oak — the holm, hollen, or

MAY 139

holly oak — essays an ineffective imitation of the splen-
didly successful armature of the holly, in order to
protect its lower and younger growth. But it is not
easy to see what purpose is served in the assumption
by the sycamore — a true maple — of the outward
characteristics of the plane. Maples and planes belong
to families widely separated in the natural order ; their
affinities are totally distinct. The fruit of the maple
takes the form of keys or winged nuts, that of the
plane being a globular and pendulous catkin. In this
respect there is not the slightest resemblance between
them, and it is not confined to the foliage.

I am making these random observations on the
banks of the Tay, near Dunkeld. Fishing is rendered
more futile than usual by a sudden and rapid rise in
the water; the salmon, of which there is good store,
seem to have gone temporarily off what little heads
they have; they are cutting the most ungainly and
superfluous capers ; and it is about as profitable to offer
them a fly as to hand a dish of ceufs brouilles aux
truffes to a parcel of Highlanders engaged in dancing
a reel. So I have turned my attention to a large
sycamore, which exhibits more plainly than most of its
kind that habit of casting its bark in scales which it
has borrowed from the Oriental plane. This does not
extend to the younger branches, as in the true plane,
but the bark of the trunk and main limbs is scaling
off freely in the plane's best manner. I can offer no
solution. Both trees are natives of Southern Europe,
and exotic in this country, although the sycamore has

140 SALMON FOE THE THAMES

taken so kindly to our climate and soil as to propagate
itself far more freely than our one native maple (Acer
campestre).

XXXIV

It appears that a serious attempt is about to be made
to restore salmon to the Thames. Doubts

Salmon .

for the have been expressed — first, as to the possi-
bility of this noble fish revisiting a river of
such dubious purity; and, secondly, as to the view
which Thames anglers for coarse fish will take of the
advantage of a proceeding which some of them imagine
will override their undoubted rights. Well, to take the
last objection first, there is not the slightest ground for
apprehension. The example of the Trent might carry
reassurance in that respect. Nottingham anglers are
proverbially the most skilled practitioners in coarse
fishing, and the presence of salmon in that river does
not interfere in the slightest degree either with the
abundance of coarse fish, or with the sport of those who
take them.

Then as to the condition of the river — who that
knows the Tyne at Newcastle, which in its upper
course is one of the best salmon-angling rivers in
England, can doubt that the Thames estuary is
limpidity itself compared to the sable current that
flows through the northern town? It is argued that
the tidal portion of the Thames is far longer than that
of the Tyne, and that, whereas salmon might pass
through a short course of greater pollution, they would

MAY 141

succumb to a longer passage, although through less
impurity. It is true that from Teddington to Thames
Haven is about three times further than from Ryton to
Tynemouth, but there is material for reassurance even
upon that point. The smelt (Osmerus eperlanus) is a
true salmonoid, most nearly related to the grayling, ex-
clusively estuarine in its habit. Its limits of seasonal
migration are the highest point of the tide on one
hand, where it deposits its spawn, and the lower reaches
of the estuary on the other, whither it descends in
autumn and winter. For more than half a century it
has been unknown to frequent the Thames; doubtless
in the bad old days of indiscriminate filth the waters of
the estuary were uninhabitable by such a delicate fish.
It disappeared : even the more robust eel could not get
down to the sea to spawn, nor its myriad progeny of
elvers return through the foul water. The continued
presence in the Thames of eels, which must be hatched
in the sea, can only be explained by the communication
afforded by the Severn canal into the Bristol channel.
In 1896, however, smelts appeared in numbers in the
Thames, and were caught as high as Teddington,
whence it appears plain that if the smelt is able to
reside and thrive in the tidal waters, salmon may pass
through them uninjured in their annual migration. It
may be asked, Why not leave it to the salmon to find
their way back to the Thames as the smelts have done ?
The answer is that there are no rivers now frequented
by salmon within a great distance of the mouth of the
Thames, although smelts have never ceased to inhabit

142 SALMON FOR THE THAMES

certain estuaries connected with that of the Thames.
Probably, in course of years, wandering salmon might
stray into the river mouth and work their way up to
the first impassable weir ; but why wait for such a slow
and fortuitous course of events, if there is reason to
hope for success by accelerating the process artificially ?
If salmon were reared in considerable numbers and
turned into the Thames for three or four consecutive
seasons, their well-known homing instinct would
prompt them to endeavour to return there after an
excursion to the sea. If they did not reappear, it
would be fair to conclude that some conditions still
prevail unfavourable to their existence; if they did
reappear, it would be time to take steps to make the
numerous weirs passable to the ascent of breeding
fish.

Still, physical conditions must be fairly faced; and
although there has been a vast improvement of late
years in the cleanliness of the estuary, it cannot be
denied that a formidable obstacle still exists to the free
ascent of salmon. A recent expedition (1899) by river
to the lower reaches of the estuary enabled me to realise
some truly remarkable results of the joint action of the
London County Council and the Thames Conservancy.
Those who knew the river below London Bridge
ten or fifteen years ago must have a recollection of a
malodorous dark current flowing at low tide between
exposed flats of black sludge. These flats have dis-
appeared ; the margins of the river are everywhere,

MAY 143

except where built on, bright flint gravel or clean sand.
Men may be seen on either side all the way down from
Woolwich filling barges with this sand, to be carried
away and sold for building purposes. A few years ago
these men might as well have washed for gold as dug
for sand. The current is still turbid, as all water must
be in a sandy estuary ; but so far as regards suspended
matter, there is nothing in its present condition to
injure fish life. Proof of that is afforded by the recent
return of sprats to the reaches about Barking and
Tilbury in such numbers that the Conservancy are now
considering the application of fishermen to be allowed
to erect fixed nets for their capture, the objection to
these being that they catch so many other kinds of
fish. The condition of the water was tested by the
nose at various points in the channel, and betrayed no
more perceptible odour than always accompanies
brackish water. Indeed, at one place, immediately
below the outfall from the sewage works at Barking,
two of the party, not content with olfactory evidence,
had the hardihood to fill their mouths with the fluid,
and declared they could taste nothing but salt. The
improvement has been effected by the rigid precautions
of the Conservancy in prohibiting all impurity being
cast or drained into the river above bridges, and by
dredging the channel below ; and also by the scrupulous
care of the County Council in removing all solid and
flocculent deposit from the sewage to the extent of
many million tons per annum, and carrying it out to
sea in hoppers.

144 SALMON FOR THE THAMES

In short, the obstacle to the ascent of the Thames by
salmon and the descent of their young is no longer to
be looked for in the condition of the estuary water in
early summer when there is an abundant flow of land
water. The trouble comes later, when the volume of
the river, shrinking with the seasonal influence, is
further unduly diminished by the abstractions of the
water companies. If the minimum recommended by
Lord Balfour's Commission, 200,000,000 gallons a day,
were kept flowing at all times over Teddington Weir,
there would not be much doubt that the Thames could
be restored as a salmon river. Unfortunately, the
water companies are not provided with proper storage;
London must drink, and wash, and water her streets;
in September, 1898, the daily average at Teddington was
reduced by abstraction to 76,000,000 gallons. Such a
current has no weight to force its way seawards, still
less to carry before it the effluent from Barking works,
which, though purified by precipitation and de-odorised,
has also been totally de-oxygenated. Consequently, in
times of drought, a column of water, several miles long,
and destitute of that oxygen upon which animal life
depends, works to and fro with the tide, and certainly
does effectually bar the mouth of the river to the
passage of fish. Until this state of matters is remedied
no salmon could pass up or down, say, during two
months — August and September. But the same is the
case, owing to sheer want of water, in many excellent
salmon rivers. Belief comes in October, the wettest
month in the year ; and if it should prove the 6ase, as

MAY 145

my impression is it will, that the Thames is already
accessible during ten months for salmon as high as
Teddington Weir, then the time is at hand when action
may be taken hopefully; subject, of course, to the
understanding that the Conservancy see their way to
providing passes over the weirs.

Meanwhile, salmon or no salmon, the whole com-
munity owe the conservators and the County Council
a deep debt of gratitude for the example they have set
to other administrative bodies in restoring the purity
of the river. What has been effected in the Thames,
loaded with a population of five or six millions, may
surely be undertaken in the Clyde, the Mersey, and
the shamefully polluted rivers of Yorkshire.

XXXV

' Any duffer can catch a salmon/ one hears the super-
cilious chalk-stream artist observe with some-
thing approaching a sneer, and the truth of
the observation could not be called in question if
' may ' were substituted for ' can/ For, whereas a man
might as hopefully set out to catch a London sparrow
with his hands in the street as to attempt, without
some practice hi the craft, to beguile a two-pound trout
in the Itchen with the dry fly, every salmon-fisher
knows by what flukes salmon are sometimes brought
to their doom. For instance, a certain well-experienced
angling friend of mine, coming towards the close of a
long day, during which he had carefully and fruitlessly

146 HAULING

combed that excellent beat which is numbered Seven
on the Thurso, laid down his rod in despair at the
tail of the Sauce Pool after fishing it six times over.
Leaving the line trailing in the water, he bade his
gillie take down the gear and prepare for home. The
gillie, without lifting the rod, began drawing in the line
hand over hand ; at that moment a salmon seized the
fly — the angler the rod — and, in a few minutes, a
sixteen-pound spring fish was gasping on the bank.

In spite of this and similar incidents that may come
to anybody's inind, salmon-fishing is an art, and the
greater plunder will fall to the rod of the best artist.
But there is one branch of salmon-fishing, known as
'harling/ wherein all grades of proficients and tiros
are brought to a common level, so far, at least, as
concerns raising and hooking fish. Up to that point
the only skill and knowledge necessary are displayed
by the boatmen.

Harling, then, is a method of angling to which no
sportsman who wants to get the keenest pleasure out of
the capture of salmon will resort unless he is driven to
it, and the only conditions which drive him to it are the
volume and weight of a river too mighty for casting.
In Scotland there is, practically, only one river on such
a scale — the Tay, to wit, where harling had its origin
and is still practised, though not nearly to such an
extent as formerly. Men prefer casting the fly where
cast it may be, because it is only in casting that
the most exquisite sensation in salmon-fishing can be
experienced — namely, that caused by a fish rising and

MAY 147

taking hold. Voluptuaries of a philosophic turn, who
have been at pains to analyse and compare the quality
of various forms of pleasure at the moment of fruition,
have been known to declare that there is no thrill so
delicious as that conveyed to the angler at the instant
a salmon closes his mouth on the fly. It happens, then,
that, inasmuch as this supreme moment is eliminated
by the process of harling, some profess they would
rather not fish at all than go a-harling.

Howbeit, harling is a pastime not devoid of excite-
ment and more placid merits, and in some moods, and
at certain parts, of a great river recourse must be had
to it, or fishing be left alone. Nobody knows what a
really great river is, the rush and the swirl of it, till he
is embarked on its surface. It rolls along between
towering cliffs, here receiving the waters of one great
affluent and there those of another, which have no
more apparent effect on its volume than the tribute of
a conquered province or two have on the outward
splendour of a great ruler. Your two boatmen (one
pair of oars could not hold a boat on such a flood)
receive you at the top of a long reach. You have
brought three rods with you, which, being duly set
up and a choice fly attached to each line — a Dusty
Miller, say, and a Black Dog and a Smith — you seat
yourself facing the stern, and launch forth into the
deep. You let out thirty or forty yards of line from
each reel, and arrange the rods, the ends of the butts
inserted in holes, on the floor of the boat below your
thwart — one rod pointing directly over the stern, the

148 HAULING

other two directed outwards at an easy angle, while the
flies trail away in the current, and receive a lifelike
motion from the boat. A bight of each line is pulled
out from the reel, laid on the thwart, and kept in
position by a flat pebble. You have no further concern
with rods or flies ; all lies with the boatmen now, who
direct their course across the stream, and return again,
dropping a few feet lower in each transit. It is cold
work in wintry weather ; snarling winds lash you with
wisps of sleet or stinging thongs of rain; but the
deadliest work is often done in the least kindly
weather. If there are fish about, they are pretty sure
to be astir, and the excitement keeps the circulation
going.

Far otherwise it often is in jocund May, when the
sun blazes bravely in the blue lift. Fish are apt to
turn sluggish then ; you may tack and tack again over
the likeliest lies, and it may be long before you get a
pull. Your eyes and thoughts wander to the enchanting
scene around. High on either hand tower well-clad
cliffs ; here — ridge upon ridge of oaks, the fat buds just
bursting from the bronzy boughs; there — groves of
lance-like larches, feathered with fringes of delicate,
exquisite verdure. Riverside lawns there are, too,
like that below venerable Stobhall, steeply sloping,
starred with myriad primroses, and shaded with great
sycamores.

It is very hot now. It is only awe of your boatmen
that restrains you from exchanging your hard thwart
for an easier seat on the broad boat-bottom. Besides,

MAY 149

it is difficult enough to keep awake as it is. The
rocking of the boat, the drowsy lapping of the waves,
the soft air, the hot sun — all dispose almost irresistibly
to slumber. Perish the thought ! what lasting remorse
if a fish rose while the fisher slept ! Ah ! you were
very nearly over that time, nodding heavily forward.
You cannot keep your eyes open, you say, in this
glare.

Suddenly one of the pebbles springs off the seat, and
falls with a loud rattle on the boards. You are alert
on the instant, grasp the bending rod, and, though you
have lost the excitement of the rise, you are fast in a
heavy fish which is ploughing steadily through the
torrent fifty yards away. The boat is paddled into the
slack water, the stroke oarsman winds in the lines on
the other two rods, and, after the first force of the
salmon is spent, you step ashore and play him to the
death.

Such is harling. You are a little conscious of having
played a very minor part in the drama ; and so soon as
the river shall have run down to such a level as permits
you to discern the various lodges of fish in pool and
stream, you will revert to casting, still using the boat
as your platform, because, in rivers on this scale, it is
only in select spots where the depth of the water per-
mits you to cover the likely places from the shore or
by wading. Harling, if only second best, is not a bad
second at times, by reason of the superior weight of
salmon killed in that way.

150 DO SALMON FEED IN FKESH WATER?

XXXVI

This is a question of perennial argument among anglers,
DO salmon an(^ both they and naturalists have received
Fresh11 much food for thought in the parliamentary
water? Blue-book lately published by the Scottish
Fishery Board, containing the report of a committee of
the Edinburgh College of Physicians and Mr. Walter
Archer on investigations into the life history of the
salmon,1 has attracted much attention both from
naturalists and anglers. It is a severe and impartial
examination of the habits of the fish and of the
physical changes to which its most important organs
are subject during the passage to and from salt and
fresh water. Those who are conversant with the
methods of science and the scrupulous accuracy which
must always distinguish the work of scientific men
from the observations of ordinary lovers of nature, will
not hesitate to accept the finding of this Edinburgh
committee, especially as it coincides on practically
every point with the results obtained by Dr. Miescher
Russ from the independent study of Rhine salmon.
But there is one part of the report which has proved
beyond the digestive powers of many good anglers.
This is the opinion arrived at on microscopic and
biological evidence, that salmon do not and cannot
feed during their sojourn in fresh water, because
leaving the salt water when, and not before, their
tissues are gorged with the nutrition which the fish

1 Blue-book C.— 8787, 1898. Her Majesty's Stationery Office.

MAY 151

went to the sea to obtain, the salmon loses the power of
assimilating food, owing to rapid degeneration and
sloughing of the epithelial cells on the whole of the
digestive tract, whereby the whole stomach becomes
absolutely functionless.

Dr. J. Kingston Barton has written in the Journal
of Anatomy and Physiology (vol. xxxiv.) throwing
doubt upon some of the conclusions arrived at by the
Edinburgh committee. He maintains that the slough-
ing and desquamative catarrh is not apparent in the
stomachs of salmon freshly caught ; that the epithelium
remains perfectly normal in living salmon, even up to
the very eve of spawning; and that the Edinburgh
physicians were deceived by post-mortem changes
which proceed more rapidly in fish than in more
highly organised vertebrates. Dr. Barton adduces the
result of the microscopic examination of the internal
organs of a red male salmon caught in the Fowey in
November with the milt ' within a very few weeks of
full growth.' He found the epithelium and digestive
tract to be perfectly normal, and maintains that this is
' really conclusive of a serious fault in the preparations
of the Edinburgh laboratory, and indicates an error in
the deduction drawn from them/ But this error does
not, in Dr. Barton's opinion, in the least affect the
question as it concerns the angler. Dr. Barton is as
firmly convinced as Dr. Noel Paton that salmon do
not feed in fresh water, but undergo a 'prolonged
physiological fast.' Neither does he differ from the
explanation offered by the Edinburgh committee of the

152 DO SALMON FEED IN FRESH WATER?

functional derangement undergone by the salmon on
entering upon this period of abstinence. This derange-
ment seems to be caused by the diversion of the blood
stream from the digestive to the generative organs,
of which the first outward effect is manifest in that
well-known discoloration which begins to tarnish the
brilliant coat of a salmon as soon as he enters a river.
Hitherto this has been popularly attributed to the
oxydising properties of fresh water ; but that explan-
ation leaves out of account the remarkable restoration
of lustre which takes place in the scales of kelts soon
after spawning and before returning to the sea. This
is now shown to be the consequence of the reversion
of the circulation to its normal course, the consequent
restoration of the stomach, gall, and liver to functional
activity, renewing appetite for food, and causing the
salmon to hasten back to the sea, where alone its
hereditary intuition informs it that a good store of
provender can be obtained.

' Yes,' argues the incredulous angler, ' but if kelts do
not feed regularly in fresh water, how can you account
for well-mended kelts — fish which were miserably attenu-
ated immediately after spawning, and yet recover in
girth and shape before re-entering the sea ? '

To this puzzle, also, the Edinburgh committee have
supplied a solution. They do not deny that regenera-
tion may proceed so far, especially in kelts that are
hindered from getting back to the sea, that the fish may
take what food is offered to it, although it is contrary
to the known habits of the kelt salmon to rove in

MAY 153

search of food. When he gets hungry, he sets off for
the sea, where he knows there is good store of pro-
vender. But they show that the recovery of a kelt in
vigour and shape is due to a fact not previously made
known. In almost every female salmon, it seems, a
greater or less number of ova remain unshed in the
abdomen after spawning. As the stomach begins to
recover its proper functions, these ova are gradually
digested, and the nourishment they contain goes to
restore the bodily vigour of the fish.

Such, briefly, are the chief points on which this
remarkable Blue-book throws light, confirming the
conclusion to which many salmon-anglers have been
driven of late years, namely, that salmon do not feed
in fresh water. But against the scientific evidence
many practical angers advance the undoubted fact
that salmon in fresh water do take and swallow worms,
minnows, and other edible objects. They will take a
natural boiled prawn, and reject the closest imitation.
A few weeks ago, I had practical experience of this.
Having, with five others, secured a long lease of the
river Cree for angling purposes, and having rented and
put an end to all netting, I was fishing one of the
upper beats on a fine May morning. The water was
very heavy — too heavy for fly — but I secured four nice
salmon. The opposite bank upon this beat was still
under lease, which would not expire till Whitsunday,
and upon that bank was the tenant of the fishing.
He was dangling a huge bunch of worms in a quiet
corner of a rocky cauldron, and, under my very nose,

154 DO SALMON FEED IN FRESH WATER ?

as it were, pulled out eight spring fish What do they
take them for if not to eat ? Well, it must be confessed
that there is a difficulty in explaining this ; but I do
not consider the two facts — the inability to digest, and
the capricious readiness to swallow — at all irreconcil-
able. They cannot, indeed, be irreconcilable, because
they co-exist. The simplest solution is probably the
true one — namely, that even a physiological fast is
compatible with occasional and irregular impulses of
appetite, which exactly corresponds with the well-
known capriciousness of salmon in taking any lure;
that the loss of digestive power does not necessarily
imply suspension of the senses of smell and taste, thus
accounting for the preference of a real prawn to a
sham one ; and that such digestible substances as greed,
spasms of appetite, or predatory habit cause the salmon
to swallow objects which cannot be digested in the
existing state of the stomach, and must be rejected.

Incidentally Dr. Kingston Barton brings out one very
interesting fact in the habits of the salmon. In the
course of 1899 he examined nearly two hundred salmon,
and the contents of their stomachs. In one of these
he found the stomach distended with six full-grown
herrings. That nearest the mouth had scarcely changed
in appearance, the others were in a graduated state of
digestion down to the sixth, of which only the spinal
column remained. The remarkable feature is to be
noted that all these fish had been swallowed tail fore-
most!

MAY 165

XXXVII

A correspondent, a watchful observer of wild life,
asks me whether there is any cause known Nightin-
for the preference shown by nightingales for gales
oak woods as compared with beech. He has noticed
that the song of nightingales is never heard among
the beech groves near his residence in Surrey, but
that they abound among the oaks there. Probably
in food supply, the dominant motive in all bird move-
ments, is to be found the true reason. Nightingales
are wholly insectivorous, picking up most of their food
on the ground, and are believed to feed their young
entirely on caterpillars; moreover, there is very little
undergrowth in a beech wood. Oaks, on the other
hand, are the favourite nurseries of numerous larvae,
and their shade is not hurtful to plants of humbler
growth, which afford food for caterpillars of various
species. It does not seem difficult, therefore, to solve
the mystery of the attraction which oaks possess for
nightingales.

3Iune

XXXVIII

IT would be very difficult to improve on foreign guide-
books ; Murray, Baedeker, and Joanne — there

Tlirougli J

Touraine is very little to choose between them, and
the amount of historical and topographical
information stowed into a pocketful is nothing short
of encyclopaedic. Nevertheless, there are some things
which, though it would be unreasonable to expect
them in a guide-book, become of moment directly the
railway is exchanged for the highway and the bicycle.
In such a hackneyed district as the valley of the lower
Loire — say between Orleans and Saumur — it matters
not whether the railway traveller begins to explore it
from the east or the west. But to the cyclist it makes
all the difference in the world. He must begin in the
west and work up-stream ; thereby securing the favour
of that steady, gentle wind which, in May and June,
almost incessantly blows in from the Atlantic. With
this precaution, perhaps, there is no land which so
completely fulfils the cyclist's ideal three R's — roads,
ruins, and restaurants — as Touraine, where the high
roads have a surface as of brown holland or fawn satin,

150

JUNE 157

chateaux are as thickly strewn as castles on the Rhine,
and good wine flows as freely as it did for the monks
of Thelema or the Three Musketeers.

There are two seasons when Touraine is at its fairest —
early summer and mid summer. At Whitsuntide one
cannot expect the feast of colour, the mellow skies,
the animated movement of the vintage ; but in their
place, there are pure, cool mornings, all-pervading
verdure, and infinite variety of flowering trees, shrubs,
and herbs. Our own county councils might take a
leaf from the books of certain French departments and
communes which display good judgment in their
choice of wayside trees. Take, for example, the road
from Tours to Azay-le-Rideau, by way of Ballan. Ten
miles of it lie across a monotonous plateau of corn
and vine land ; but on each side of the road elms have
been planted, with a crimson horse chestnut after every
ninth elm. The lovely blossoms of these trees are
greater favourites in Touraine than the white-flowered
species which prevails in England; and another exquisite
tree is the rose-coloured Robinia, or, as we call it,
Acacia, which, though quite hardy in Britain, is very
rarely seen there. The Wistaria is past its best by the
end of May, but the glorious Paulonia repeats the same
tint and provides pyramids of delicate lavender hue,
deliciously scented. It is only after a mild winter like
last (1897-8) that this tree (which grows, but scarcely
flowers, in England) can furnish a display. The flower-
buds are put forth in autumn, and severe frost destroys
them.

158 THROUGH TOURAINE ON TYRES

Of the chateaux on the Loire and its tributaries
there is little purpose in writing ; the visitors' books in
each bear witness to the steady stream of English and
Americans which pass their portals year by year.
Perhaps Chauinont is the one which is least often
visited, yet many will be found to give it the palm
among them all. It lacks the sensuous languor of
Chenonceaux and Azay-le-Kideau, is without the blood-
curdling associations of Amboise and Blois, has none of
the colossal ineptitude of Chambord, and does not
cumber the ground with vast ruins like Chinon. Built
on a towering cliff on the left bank of the Loire, just
where the river sweeps widely from south to west, this
fine structure of Philibert de 1'Orme very closely
resembles in plan the Scottish Caerlaverock. There
are, for instance, the same pair of jumelle gate towers
with drawbridge and portcullis between, behind which
is the ample triangular courtyard, with ample round
corner towers, the windows of the dwelling rooms
giving full upon the sunny enclosure. Formerly the
triangle was complete, as at Caerlaverock, but in 1739
the proprietor pulled down the western face furthest
from the entrance ; and thus, by securing a magnificent
prospect of the river and rich champaign and forest
beyond it, rendered Chaumout one of the most charm-
ing country houses that could be imagined.

Here, as elsewhere, in this land of noble dwell-
ings, the hand of the renovator has been over- busy,
scraping away the lovely ptarmigan grey which the
splendid stone of the district assumes with age, and

JUNE 159

restoring its original surface of dazzling ivory. Some
of the tapestries which hang within doors at Chaumont
may scarcely be rivalled elsewhere, notably those in
Catherine de' Medici's bedroom, with marvellous shades
of red, rose, and pink — the hues most seldom preserved
in perfection in ancient fabrics and tissues.

But this is venturing upon the province of guide-
books. Let me rather make mention of matters they
make no note of — the living beauties of the field and
wood and roadside. Birds, so sorely persecuted in
winter, abound along the Loire in summer. During
a ride on the left bank from Amboise to Blois, I
reckoned that for several miles there was one nightin-
gale singing in every hundred yards. The brightest of
the finches — the goldfinch — was pretty frequent, a pair
of hoopoes displayed their quaint attire, a redbacked
shrike sat on the telegraph wire, deeply depressed by
pangs of guilty conscience; blackbirds and thrushes
sang in the oak copse ; magpies, jays, a sparrowhawk, and
a solitary carrion crow represented the criminal classes,
while elegant little terns and vivacious ringed plover
flitted about the sand banks in the river. Further on,
near Beaugency, a remarkable company of six lesser
grey shrikes were busy among the poplars, where, no
doubt, they found good store of puss and kitten cater-
pillars. Crowds of bullfrogs, with tepid water awash
upon their backs, croaked their content with matters
in general, viewed from a marshy standpoint, and
exactly expressed the cyclist's sentiments as, with a
strong westerly breeze astern and a bright sun over-

160 THROUGH TOURAINE ON TYRES

head, he sped along this consummate highway, enjoy-
ing the best imitation of flight which apterous biped
can ever realise.

Not the least advantage of cycling over railroad
travel is the power to stop when you will. Many a
village has a church worth looking into, generally
wholly or in part of Norman work, such as would make
a whole English county famous in antiquarian or
architectural circles ; and, of course, all the churches are
open. Why is this not so in England ? Are we ashamed
of their ugliness ? or have we more reason to suspect
'Arry of felonious intent than Antoine or Auguste ?

In one respect we are entitled to claim advantage
over our French neighbours. Whitsuntide trippers
greatly favour the bicycle — in France as much as in
England. But our lady cyclists rarely disfigure them-
selves by the atrocious knickerbockers which French-
women seem to think indispensable. The knicker-
bocker or Zouave unmentionable might be rendered
picturesque or even graceful if it were brought as high
on the body as the male wears his trousers; but to
preserve a long-pinched waist with bifurcated attire
is only to ensure the disastrous effect of a huge
unwinged insect.

It was gratifying to hear this impression confirmed
by a withered old woman wearing the ordinary blue
cotton gown and white cap of the peasantry. Standing
in the street of an out-of-the-way village as an English
lady rode by with well-cut petticoats, she observed to
her gossip, 'Mille fois plus joli $a que le pantalon/

JUNE 161

XXXIX

The researches of the Spanish physiologist, Ramon

of Cajal, have lately elucidated the structure of a cer-
tain May-
of the human brain, a marvellously minute fly

and complicated machinery, whereby every experience
is converted into a reminiscence. Death or disease
alone can destroy the impression. It is there, and the
effort of memory consists merely in directing a force,
probably a streamlet of blood, to the spot where the
impression is stored; forgetting is the inability to
distinguish that spot amid myriads of others. A
mayfly — Ephemera — the creature of a summer day
— a single image amid countless companies of its
fellows — is perhaps an object less calculated to make a
lasting impression than most others in this crowded
world. Even a midge — so it plants its proboscis in
the right place — may raise its own monument, and be
remembered beyond the setting of many suns ; but a
mayfly might surely flutter past, innocuous and un-
noticed, and never obtain place in the recollections of a
wayfarer. Yet has an individual of this race — type of
all that is light and fleeting — fixed itself more firmly in
my memory than many other things which it would be
more profitable to bear in mind.

The vine-dressers of the Loire were losing all heart
about their prospects. May had been miserable ; June
had opened joyless; the vines were not pushing in at
all satisfactory form. All morning ragged rain-clouds
had swept from the west over the grey town of Blois ;

L

162 OF A CERTAIN MAYFLY

it was latish in the afternoon before the wind veered a
little, the rain abated, and the sun shone out. We rode
out to explore the forest of Blois, not, like John Evelyn,
' to see if we could meete any wolves, which are here in
such numbers that they often come and take children
out of the very streetes ; yet will not the Duke, who is
soveraigne here, permite them to be destroy'd': nor,
like Evelyn and his companions, on stout hackneys,
but on humble 'bikes/ as English travellers now do
most wisely use. The forest is like many another in
France — pleasing as an example of skilful woodcraft,
whereby, owing to the value of firewood, no chip or
fallen stick is permitted to rot where it falls — disap-
pointing by reason of the number and breadth of
street-like roads driven through it. But it is all of
oak, beloved of nightingales, which sing all day in
green twilight of the aisles.

After paying our respects to the tree called Louis
xiv., fondly revered by the B16sois as the largest oak
in France, though there are certainly greater ones in
Fontainebleau, we rode forward to the western verge of
the forest. Here the land falls sharply away into the
valley of the Cisson, the road descending in a series of
long gradients, engineered, one would say, for the
special behoof of ' coasting ' cyclists. A lovely vale it
is : flowery meadows — too flowery, perhaps, to produce
a high quality of hay — lined off with rows of rustling
aspens, their satiny, eau-de-Nil bark in delicious,
subdued contrast to the green, velvet prairie; here a
hamlet clustering round a Norman church tower

JUNE 163

with added fleche of the Flamboyant age; there an
immemorial mill, squat, moss-grown, and so crazy
that it is a marvel its perpetual ' clack- clack ' does
not shake it to pieces; again a gentleman's maison
de campagne, white-shuttered, shaggy-lawned, with a
glorious Paulonia strewing its purple blossoms on
the red gravel drive, and filling all the grove with
fragrance.

Set children at liberty in any place, and if there is
pond or running brook at hand, it is by the side thereof
that you will find them when you want them. So the
cyclist — not the scorcher or the record-breaker, mark
you, but the leisurely loiterer whom these contemn — will
inevitably dismount on every bridge he crosses, to peer
into the current. If the said cyclist is, in his worthier
aspect, also a trout-fisher, I defy him to come to such
a stream as the Cisson without emotion. A lucid,
brimming current, of the volume of the Itchen at
Chilland, tarrying here in placid reaches among the
bending flowers, hurrying there noiselessly with long
tresses of water-crowfoot waving in its liberal bosom;
no tumult, no violence, nor any stagnation, exactly the
varying, moderate speed of which the dry-fisher knows
so well how to make use. A rise ! yonder, beside that
bunch of yellow rattle — just the little dimple that a
good trout makes in sipping at a floating fly. 0 ! for
my trusty splitcane, far away in over-fished England.
There ! he rises again, and another — higher up. What
fly are they taking ?

At that moment a mayfly — a veritable green drake,

164 THE HOLLY

more yellow, it seems, than his British cousins — fluttered
down upon the stream a few yards above the bridge.
Its voyage was short ; just as it floated over a little ripple
above a cushion of weed, a dark, shining nose broke
the surface, Ephemera disappeared, and a broad yellow
gleam shone through the flood. O Tantalus! what
pangs were mine! For many kilometres we followed
that fair stream, nor saw a single fisher, fair or foul,
though trout were rising in every reach. Near London
such a brook would command a rent of £100 a mile :
the Blesois, it seems, have yet to learn what foolish
folks will pay as the price of their folly.

De minimis — John Evelyn, in a robuster age, brought
home from Blois forest the remembrance of ' a gentle-
man, who was resting himselfe under a tree, with his
horse grazing by him, who told us that, halfe an houre
before, two wolves had set upon his horse, and had in
probability devour'd him, but for a dog which lay by
him/ I, closing my eyes, behold, as the chief event of
a day in the same forest, a fragile fly, a trout's nose,
and a gleam of gold in the fleeting Cisson.

XL

The flowers of the holly are individually incon-
spicuous, and are seldom produced in such
The Holly

abundance as to attract much notice collec-
tively ; but this year (1899) they have formed quite a
notable feature in the landscape. Hollies are naturally
abundant in Hertfordshire, and many fine ones adorn
the field and roadside hedges near St. Albans. A few

JUNE 165

weeks ago some of these were hoary with innumerable
small white blossoms. It will be interesting to note
whether these are followed by an unusually heavy crop
of berries,1 or whether, like other fruits, they have been
destroyed by the unseasonable cold of early June. Of
course, as most people know, the holly is a dioecious
plant, bearing flowers of different sexes on separate
trees, and that it is only on trees of the feminine
gender that the berries appear. As in the case of the
aucuba, one male plant suffices to fertilise the ovaries
of a number of females planted near it, the pollen being
wind- wafted from one to the others; but, unlike the
aucuba, there is no means of distinguishing the sex of
the holly before the flowers appear ; planting, therefore,
has to be done at haphazard. The female aucuba was
known in this country in the variegated form for a
century before the male was imported; many people
will remember the agreeable surprise which was the
result of introducing the latter. The male plants bear
plentiful racemes of pollen-bearing flowers. It is only
necessary to plant a diminutive male in the vicinity of
a group of hitherto uninteresting females to induce
these to produce an abundant crop of scarlet berries as
large as small olives. The case was just the reverse
with the well-known garden shrub Garrya elliptica.
In this the male is the more ornamental, from its
profusion of tassel-like catkins. It has been long culti-
vated in this country, but the female is an introduction
of recent years, and I have never met her.

1 They were not. The crop of berries was not more than average.

166 THE HOLLY

The disappearance of the holly from the woods and
natural wilds of many parts of these islands is part of
the penalty we have to pay for the presence of the
accursed rabbit. The holly sows itself freely, growing
vigorously under the drip and shade of other trees, even
of the surface-rooting beech, which stifles almost every
other kind of undergrowth; but it possesses an irre-
sistible attraction for rabbits; seedlings and young
plants are devoured bodily ; mature trees even of three
and four feet in girth are liable to be barked and killed ;
and thus one of the most exquisite ornaments of our
woodlands has well nigh passed from us, except where
laborious means are adopted to protect the plants. John
Evelyn waxed enthusiastic over the holly, so abundant
in his day on the Surrey hills : —

' But, above all the natural Greens, which enrich our home-
lorn store, there is none certainly to be compar'd to our
Holly, insomuch as I have often wonder'd at our curiosity
after forreign Plants, and expensive difficulties, to the neglect
of the culture of this vulgar but incomparable tree. Is there
under Heaven a more glorious and refreshing object of the
kind than an impregnable Hedge of near three hundred foot
in length, nine foot high, and five in diameter', which I can
show in my poor Gardens at any time of the year, glitt'ring
with its arm'd and vernished leaves 1 the taller Standards at
orderly distances, blushing with their natural Coi'al'

The hedge alluded to was not at Wotton, but at
Evelyn's other place, Sales Court, Deptford ; and it is
on record how it was injured and almost destroyed by
the Tsar, Peter the Great, who, when he became tenant

JUNE 167

of Sales Court, used to amuse himself by trundling
his courtiers in barrows down a steep hill into the
hedge.

XLI

For many years past scandal has been busy with the
character of one who has been the friend of

The Rook

most of us from childhood — the common upon MS
rook — and now the charges against him have
been formulated ; he has been put upon his trial, and,
sad to tell, a verdict of guilty on all the counts has
been returned in the court of first instance. The
defence set up before the Galashiels Farmers' Club in
1897 was that the number of rooks in the country had
increased so vastly of late years that the supply of
their natural food — grubs and hurtful insects — was no
longer sufficient for their maintenance; further, that
an inferior bird to the rook, the starling, had been
allowed to multiply out of all proportion to its merits,
and grievously interfered with the privileges of the
rook, by its incessant diligence in pursuit of creeping
things. A conviction was obtained, and the rooks of
Galashiels were sentenced to undergo the extreme
penalty of the law ; but, being a sagacious community,
they moved to lands where the writ of Galashiels
farmers does not run — to Peebles, for instance, and
other pleasure resorts. This year (1899), however, pro-
ceedings have been taken against the whole race of
rooks in Scotland on an extended scale. The farmers

168 THE BOOK UPON HIS TEIAL

have roused the sporting interest, adducing damning
evidence of ravages upon the eggs of game-birds,
especially grouse and blackgame. The Border Union
Agricultural Society proclaimed a crusade to last for a
month ; and within that period, besides harrying nests
and destroying eggs and nestlings, 4400 rooks were
killed and paid for at the rate of threepence per
head. Other agriculture societies have taken up
the matter; next spring will probably be one of
exemplary vengeance over the greater part of the
Lowlands, and already one fancies that there is an
additional note of anxiety in Chaucer's * crow with
voice of care/

The most devoted lover of birds must admit that the
time has come when it is necessary to adopt some
repressive measures. The excessive increase of the
rook population, to the detriment of other wild species,
has been the subject of growing solicitude on the part
of those who care for country things ; now that farmers
and sportsmen have joined with naturalists in de-
manding a check, something effective is pretty sure to
be done, and not a moment too soon. Nobody wants
to extirpate the rook; English landscape could not
afford to part with its cawing colonies ; but it must be
as colonists, and not an army of occupation, that rooks
receive their welcome among us.

The results of some careful experiments conducted
by Sir John Gilmour of Montrave, a well-known
Scottish agriculturist, have been published lately. Sir
John, wishing to ascertain the relative advantage and

JUNE 163

detriment to farmers in the presence of woodpigeons,
starlings, and rooks, undertook a careful and im-
partial analysis of their diet at all seasons of the year.
Beginning on March 1, 1894, by February 28, 1895
he had examined the contents of: —

Males. Females. Total.

Woodpigeons, . . 143 122 265

Rooks, ... 167 188 355

Starlings, ... 114 76 190

424 386 810

Of the woodpigeons, the crops of nineteen were
empty, and one was diseased, leaving 245 for examina-
tion, which showed : —

Cereal grains, . . . .33 per cent.

Leaves, . ^ »• . . . . 27'5 „

Fruits arid seeds, , . , .23 „

Boots, . . A. ' . . . 8*5 „

Flowers, ... . < 8 „

100

Inasmuch as the leaves were chiefly those of clover
and turnips, it is clear that the mischief done by these
woodpigeons to crops far outweighed any benefit
conferred by the destruction of weeds. Of the 190

170 THE ROOK UPON HIS TEIAL

starlings examined, 15 were empty. The remaining
175 showed: —

Grubs and insects, . . . .70 per cent.
Grain, ... . 22 „
Miscellaneous, 8 „

100

Three hundred and fifty-five rooks were found to
contain : —

Grubs and insects, . . . .23 per cent.

Grain, 58 „

Miscellaneous, 12 „

Roots, 7 „

100

Most farmers will concur in Professor M'Alpine's
finding upon this evidence (Field, May 16, 1896) : ' Of
the woodpigeon, it may be said that he is an unmiti-
gated scoundrel; of the rook, that he is a cunning
rogue ; but of the starling, we can say with truth that
he is our natural friend by habit and instinct.'

XLII

South-country trout streams present a sorry prospect
water to ^e angler this season (1898). Recent
supply rajn nas £one nothing to replenish the

reservoirs whence they are drawn, though it has sent a

JUNE 171

passing surface flush down the channel. Chalk streams
flow from sources deep in the bosom of the downs,
where the rain and melted snow of winter are stored up,
to be discharged evenly and slowly through the summer.
It is this that gives a chalk stream valley its peculiar
charm — the contrast of a brimming channel bordered
with vigorous growth and unflagging verdure amid the
baked and withered uplands on either hand. A chalk
stream generally runs brink-high throughout the sum-
mer heats ; but this year, be the summer what it may,
there can be no generous gush over waving tangle of
water plants ; only, in many streams, an oily and
scanty meander among mounds of weed and tracts of
unlovely mud. The north-country scheme of hydrau-
lics is different. Only yesterday, a ' snell ' south-easter
drove heavy rain-clouds in from the North Sea, and the
burden they discharged upon the Grampians is hurry-
ing eastward again to-day under the keel of my boat
as I sit ' harling ' on the Tay. But feeding a Hampshire
chalk stream not one-hundredth part of the Tay in
volume is a far more deliberate process. The supplies
of Itchen and Test have to be laid down, like wine, long
before they may be enjoyed ; it is the shortage during
the last two winters which makes the outlook so serious
for the present season.

In some streams, indeed, the evil is of a more
permanent nature. Men multiply so fast that they are
drinking up all the water within reach. The Hertford-
shire Lea and the Surrey Tillingbourne have been per-
manently diminished in volume by the persistent tapping

172 WATER SUPPLY

of deep springs in the downs to supply the growing
wants of towns.

Well, there is plenty of water in Scotland still,
though we have played, and are going to play, some
unhandsome tricks with it. Glasgow proudly bears
on her shield St. Mungo's salmon, which certainly
was caught in the Clyde, but she and her grown-
up daughters have so effectually defiled that lovely
river that no salmon can pass up to Cora Linn and
live. When Colonel Thornton visited the Linn in
1786, hundreds of salmon were leaping at that im-
passable barrier. Glasgow knows better than to drink
the Clyde: she possesses an unrivalled reservoir in
Loch Katrine ; and her people being, as all men know,
mostly temperance folk, drink so much water and so fast
that, even now, works are in progress to raise the level
of the loch by further five feet, which is tantamount
to lowering Ben Yenue by so much. Many an acre of
purple moorland and silver-stemmed birches will be
submerged; Ellen's Isle will be reduced to a mere
pimple on the bosom of the lake, and the famous
Silver Strand will disappear for ever. Edinburgh, on
the other hand, having lapped up every drop in her
own watershed, is about to cross the Pentlands and tap
the sources of the Tweed.

Scribbling these notes while seated, as I have
explained, in a boat with a couple of rods dragging
about enormous flies, 1 am tempted to wish Glasgow
and Edinburgh would temporarily absorb some of the
superfluous moisture that renders all modes of fishing

JUNE 173

except ' barling,' out of the question. Rusticus expectatf
Horace was no salmon-fisher, but how bis verse keeps
running in one's head while waiting and watching, day
after day, for the waters to abate to fair fishing size.
In a river on the scale of the Tay it is little use
putting up marks to see if * she ' is waxing or falling.
In smaller streams a few hours will make all the
difference, but the Tay rolls on day after day with
scarcely perceptible change. It is surprising to note
how little apparent increase in volume is caused even
by the influx of what would be considered by many
fishermen a large river. The Isla, an important tribu-
tary, deep withal, and so wide that it is spanned
by a bridge of five large arches, flows in, and is
swallowed by the mother stream, which lumbers along,
as if nothing had happened. A couple of miles lower,
at the Linn of Campsie, rocks divide the Tay into three
or four channels, each of tham not inferior in scale
to many a famous salmon-stream.

Well, 'she's ower big the day, and she's a bad
colour, forbye.' There is not much chance of a fish,
but there are many less delightful ways of spending
a day in Montgomerie's festival of ' the cherrie and the
slae ' than being paddled about on the broad expanse of
this grand river : —

1 " Behold the Tiber ! " the vain Eoman cried,
Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side.
But where Js the Scot who could the vaunt repay,
And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay?'

The month of May can be much the reverse of

174 WATEE SUPPLY

jocund in these latitudes — has been so, in fact, for
the last week, dealing ugly buffets from the east, and
splashing viciously with icy rain ; but to-day she is all
smiles, argent and azure aloft, vert and or dominant
in her heraldry below. Towering cliffs rise on either
shore, sombre still for the most part, being clad chiefly
with oak ; but there are breadths of larch wood too, of
tenderest green, frosty display of blackthorn with milky
splendour of wild cherries, and here and there a
stately sycamore by the waterside, well-leaved and in
full flower. Nor is it a flower to be despised, though,
being green like the leaves, it is not particularly
decorative.

It is doubtful whether a blind man could always

J

discern the exact season by the odours afloat; but
of these there are two which, above all others, con-
tribute to the indescribable scent of spring, which
we all know and rejoice in. The source of one
of these is in the open — gorse-blossom to wit.
Nobody standing on an English common when the
gorse is in bloom could fail, however blind he were, to
perceive that spring had come. The other fragrance
is of the woodland, and is breathed from the myriad
tassels of the sycamore — the plane, as we call it incor-
rectly in the north. Being from the north myself,
I never can associate the plane of London streets
and squares — the true plane — with Arthur Clough's
beautiful lines on the coming of spring. He surely
meant our plane and your sycamore, but sycamore
wouldn't scan : —

JUNE 175

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,

East winds and cold are safely gone,
With radiant suns and gentle rain

The summer comes serenely on.
December days were dark and chill,

The winds of March were wild and drear ;
Aye nearing, aye receding still,

Spring never would, we thought, be here.'

Thus much memory afloat ; were I ashore and within
reach of reference there were less risk of misquotation.

Talking of gorse, Bentham, most precise of botanical
writers, observes that it is 'rare in the Highlands/
This is scarcely correct; for in some places, notably
along the Tay, it abounds, and so right away to John o'
Groats and Cape Wrath. But it is true that over large
districts in the north its place is taken by the broom,
forerunner of the rose as the royal badge of England.
Its blossom is more fleeting than the gorse, but it is
even more profuse while it lasts.

Gardeners and garden lovers seem slow to realise the
singular beauty of a variety of the common broom
which has lately come into the market under the name
Cytism scoparius Andrewsii. In this lovely shrub the
standards, or upright petals, are dyed a deep crimson
or maroon, contrasting vividly with the rest of the
golden corolla. It is as easily grown and as hardy
as the common type, and may also be forced into
bloom a couple of months before it is due to flower in
the open. It makes a brave show in the conservatory,
and so little are people acquainted with it that visitors
almost invariably ask, * What is that beautiful exotic ? '

XLIII

THE unwritten edict, surely the most tyrannical and
Town irrational to which suffering man ever bent

^i^ nis neck> which decrees that well-to-do folk
might be. W]1O h^Q spacious country homes shall desert
them for at least three of the fairest months in the
year, and immure themselves in costly and narrow
town quarters — that edict, I say, seems so immutable,
that it is wisest to accept it, and render it as endurable
as possible.

Nothing less than the precession of the equinoxes
can ever render London an open-air city. That Queen's
weather, which made the Jubilee summers of 1887
and 1897 memorable among decades of fitful or
adverse seasons, would enable us, could we count on
it, to give ourselves al fresco airs, to line our
pavements with cafe chairs, to dine and sup under the
stars, and use our houses only for work or sleep ; but, as
things are, we have to pay the penalty of disregarding
the obvious lesson of Nature ; so long as we persist in
swarming into London when it is least habitable, instead

176

JULY 177

of putting off our work and amusement there till
winter, when coal fires make the town comfortable.

The first hot days, and we are quoting graceful Mr.
Lang :—

* Friend, with the fops while we dawdle here,
Then comes in the sweet o' the year !
And the summer runs out like grains of sand,
When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand.'

Ebbene ! if we can't end it we might surely mend it,
by importing summer finery in more liberal measure
into our streets. Window boxes — why are they so few ?
Partly because people who take a house for a few weeks
or months often grudge the expense of furnishing such
boxes. The mode prescribes table decoration on a
liberal and costly scale; many a dinner-table is deco-
rated at a price that would fill every window of the street
front with flowers ; flowers, too, that would give pleasure,
not for a couple of hours to a score of indifferent guests,
who care more for the plats than the parterre, but to
every dweller in the house and to every passer-by in
the street; flowers that would not wither in a night,
and add to the morning's mass of decaying refuse, but
living flowers that would flourish till the autumn frosts,
each green leaf doing its work in sweetening the atmo-
sphere for a million pairs of lungs. Be it far from any
one to discourage the flower trade : may it long flourish
pretty and prosperous! Only, if there is money to
spend on it, shall it all be on flowers for a night, and
not part of it on flowers for a season ? From my writing-
table I have view of about twenty-four homes across

M

178 TOWN GARDENING— AS IT MIGHT BE

my flowerless sill, in some of which I have partaken
of liberal hospitality at tables laden with lovely flowers.
But only two out of these two dozen houses display
growing flowers in the windows. Fashion is con-
veniently impersonal ; let us lay the blame on her, and
reflect if we could not get more lasting enjoyment out
of our flower bills — for ourselves and, less selfishly, for
the man in the street.

Much as may be got out of window gardening, there
is still more to be made out of our areas. In window-
boxes the plants are popped out in full flower, and the
wayfarer cannot mark his calendar by burgeoning bud
and lengthening spray. It is the exception to see any
of the green things of the earth trained against the
dreary leagues of brick and stucco of western London,
unless it be the American mock-vine — Ampelopsis or
Virginian creeper. That vigorous climber is certainly
something to be grateful for, so bravely does it thrive
in the alternation of torrid drought and noxious vapour
which constitutes London climate; in autumn, when
all the gay people have fled, it veils with its long tresses
many an ugly object. But it is very late in habit;
often, as happened this year (1898), the last sands of
leafy June are running out before the mock- vine spreads
its green mantle. There are other good things, hardly
less patient of London air, for training on house fronts,
which one very seldom sees. Roses, honeysuckle, even
ivy, must be despaired of; these, and many other fair
things, cannot endure the scorching of the sun refracted
from walls and pavement. Here and there, indeed,

JULY 179

ivy may succeed, but, as a rule, all evergreens are
hopeless.

But if you want unfailing summer verdure, plant a
fig-tree in your area ; the hotter the summer, the fresher
spread the splendid leaves, purifying the air for many
yards around — the best of all Cockney trees of lowly
growth. The common laburnum, too, is a charming
wall shrub for a town ; two only I know of in London —
one in Belgrave Square, another in Grosvenor Square —
and though I have not the privilege of acquaintance
with their owners, year after year, as regularly as May
comes round, I bless them for these pretty trees.

Magnolias — most magnificent of flowering trees —
seem not to have been tried, but there is little doubt,
seeing how well they flourish as standards in Hyde
Park, at Kew, Syon House, and elsewhere near the
metropolis, that they would lend themselves to wall
decoration. Only it must not be the evergreen species,
M. grandiflora, but such deciduous kinds as Exo-
niensis, with chalice of ivory-white; purple-stained
Soulangeana, or the myriad blooming parviflora. The
Persian lilac is a good area plant, though I have only
seen it once grown in that position — again in Grosvenor
Square. The scientific name of the lilac is Syringa,
but among the shrubs we commonly call syringa in
English — the white-flowered Philadelphus — are some
species which it is almost certain would thrive in
town, as they do in suburban gardens. The rarer and
more robust species should be chosen — Philadelphia
grandiflorus and Qordonmnus — which are simply

180 TOWN GARDENING-AS IT MIGHT BE

splendid at midsummer in their wreaths of fragrant,
waxy bloom.

Of the effect of town life on the worthier species of
clematis I cannot speak with confidence. There is a
very large plant of some kind of clematis, apparently
the white-flowered, odorous G. montana, on the side of
Dover House facing the Horse Guards Parade ; but it is
pruned so closely every year that it never flowers, and
this is a kind that flowers only upon the growth of the
previous year — an important characteristic to remember
in dealing with flowering shrubs of that nature. Many
a fine Banksia rose I have seen defrauded of its display
of blossom, simply because it has been tightly pruned
like a hybrid- perpetual, which flowers on the young
shoot. The common white jasmine is another climber
which should never feel the knife, save to thin out, not
to shorten, the stems.

The white acacia, more correctly Eobinia pseud-
acacia, one of the best and surest trees for street
planting, might be used with good effect for training
on the wall of a town house. None has more lovely
foliage, none bears greater abundance of flowers, nor
carries them for a longer period. The rose-coloured
species (Robinia hispida) is even freer to blossom, and
is a very beautiful plant, but I fancy the sticky hairs
which cover the young shoots would get clogged with
smuts to the injury of its vigour.

The most beautiful area plant of all is one that
unluckily flowers too late to decorate London streets
during the season ; but if anybody wants to realise the

JULY 181

extraordinary beauty of Hibiscus Syriacus (also called
Althcea frutex), let him wander down Cheyne Walk
some September evening. Needless to mention the
number of the house ; afar off he will see a cascade of
lovely blossom — a shrub some seven feet high, bearing
on every twig large flowers, white, with a claret satin
on every petal. This is only one variety of this choice
mallow- wort, which revels in all the sunbake it can
get; you can have it, if such be your pleasure, with
delicate lavender flowers, or pure white, or rose-
coloured.

In the same neighbourhood, to wit, within the lately
renovated Apothecaries' Physic Garden in Chelsea, may
be seen a magnificent specimen of the Wistaria sinensis,
showing how nobly this magnificent climber will thrive,
even in the climate of London. Yet of all the myriad
house fronts within the radius of a mile of this spot, I
can only point to one, besides my own, upon which a
Wistaria has been planted.

The last wall plant that I shall mention as suitable
for London is, strange to say, a conifer. Strange,
because one might attempt to grow pineapples in Franz
Josef Land or mangoes in Labrador as hopefully as any
of the fir tribe in London, except the Salisburia. It is
a deciduous pine with leaves like a gigantic maidenhair
fern. It wants the protection of a wall in London, for
the upper branches die back poisoned when grown as
a standard — witness the specimen which stretches over
the wall of the Apothecaries' Garden, or another, equally
tall, beside the main street of malodorous Brentford

182 ON A HIGHLAND LOCH

Trained on a wall, the quaint Salisburia affords a cover-
ing as interesting as it is beautiful, and, unlike every
other resinous plant, does not seem to resent ce fa-
meux fog londonien, qu'on ne coupe pas precisdment
d'un couteau, mais qu'on pent prendre a la cuiller.

XLIV

Physical enjoyment owes much of its zest to contrast
on a High- — ^he transition from humdrum to lively-
land Loch from appetite to gratification — from crowd to
solitude — from wood-pavement to heather or meadow-
grass. The mildew of monotony destroys the keenest
pleasure ; in no respect has civilisation wrought more
potent effect than in rendering easy sudden change of
environment. Thus it came to pass one sweltering after-
noon in July that, elbowing my way through the throng
of Cheapside, I was buoyed by the almost incredible
certainty that within four-and-twenty hours I should
be seven hundred miles away, in the great archipelago
of the West — the realm of the Lord of the Isles.
London folk were fussing at the prospect of a water
famine; nevertheless, I packed my fishing-gear that
afternoon in serene confidence born of long acquaint-
ance with West Highland skies, which are wont to
drop fatness in no niggardly measure. One of the
chief merits of an infatuation for angling is the intense
interest it imparts to meteorological prospects.

Sure enough, a welcome signal hung from the hill-
brow as the yacht steamed steadily through the

JULY 183

narrows and opened the long vista of Loch Nevis. In
a dark, rocky cleft scarring the green mountain,
gleamed a silver thread, sure token this, that in the
glen five hundred feet below, the river was in fishing
trim. There had been rain, then; and here rain in
July means grilse and sea-trout for all whom it may
concern, and a ' happening fish ' — an odd salmon or two.

It was half-past six before we picked up our moor-
ings ; a boat was going ashore at once, and there was
time to secure a fish course for dinner on board. By
seven o'clock I stood beside the Cruive Pool — where in
the old bad days the fish were intercepted in their run
— threading the line with trembling fingers along the
trusty split-cane. The summer spate was well nigh
spent, but there was ' a drop in her ' still, and trout
were rising in the dark run under the alders.

How little people understand the charm of Scottish
climate who defer their visit till August or September,
when the evenings shorten apace and grow chill ! The
true sweet o' the year comes in the mid-months of
summer, when the light lingers long in the northern
sky, when the deep meadow grass is full of humming
things and starred with pink-and-white orchis, golden
bog asphodel, globe-flower, and forget-me-not. The air
is brisk, but warm; plant growth is just at the
crescendo which preludes maturity and decay ; and as
for sea-trout fishing, nobody knows that delicate sport
who has not practised it in July, because it is in that
month only that the big fellows, from two to six
pounds, pass up the rivers, and may be taken in the

184 ON A HIGHLAND LOCH

prime lustre of their silvery mail. Later you may
overtake a few of them in the upper reaches and
inland lochs, but their brilliancy is then tarnished, and
the dark skin seems to belong to a different species
from the fairy-like creature which left the tide.

To-night, in the short hour at my disposal, nothing
noteworthy occurs. In this pool, the nearest in the
river to the sea, the big fellows have not tarried ; it is
tenanted by a shoal of finnocks — herlings, as they are
called further south — the grilse stage of the sea-trout,
lovely bright little fish averaging half a pound; and
half-a-dozen of these reappear a little later as a savoury
fry on the dinner- table of the yacht. To-morrow —
ah ! who shall tell about the morrow ? The river runs
out very fast; without more rain little will be done
there to-morrow, and the sky to west and north wears
an undesirably serene aspect.

When the morrow came the signal cascade had dis-
appeared from the hill, whereby I knew that the river
was too low for much sport. To my bow, however,
there were two strings. The river runs out of a loch,
on the loch is a boat, and in the loch store of salmon
and sea- trout. Thither I wended my way, four miles
up the glen.

Ah! such a glen. On either side tower the great
hills, those on the south side still draped with gracious
woodland, planted by no human hand. There is not a
house in sight, nor sign of human creature, save the
bridle path, and here and there a wooden bridge across
the river. Yet there is never silence there — always the

JULY 185

sound of falling water from a hundred streams hurry-
ing to the sea. To-day the wood resounds with a
querulous cry ; an eaglet, which has just left the eyrie
on a crag among the birch-trees, yelps impatiently for
food, and presently one of his broad-winged parents
soars circling round the summit, a mere speck against
the azure. It stoops lower and lower, till, with a final
swoop, it alights near the nestling, and the cry is
stilled. As far, however, as I can make out through the
glass, the old eagle brought nothing but its own presence
to satisfy the impatience of its offspring.

Now loch-fishing, to be practised in perfection, should
be done from the bank or by wading. The rush of the
good fish from the shallow to the deep water loses half
its hazard, and therefore half its excitement, when the
angler can follow it in a boat. I was resolved, there-
fore, to trust to my legs, and, in starting, alluded dis-
paragingly to 'any duffer' who cared to fish from a
boat. But four miles on this blazing morning seemed
to carry one to a different standpoint. It is not re-
freshing to bury perspiring limbs in stuffy waders ; the
water rippled attractively against the side of the boat ;
suppose I were to try a drift first, and take to wading
later when I had got cool.

There was very little wind : just a light draught from
the east down the glen ; enough, and no more, to turn
part of the dark mirror to frosted silver. Our first
drift took us from the boat-house to the point where
the river leaves the loch through a rocky gorge.
Nothing happened for the first half-hour; I was on

186 ON A HIGHLAND LOCH

the point of observing to the gillie that the breeze was
too light and the sun too bright, when there was a
sudden commotion of the surface near the flies. A
good fish, but he had missed ; I cast over him again ;
this time there was no mistake ; he fastened firmly and
spun away into the deep, dragging the top of the little
ten-footer into the water. Luckily, I had a boat ; had I
been fixed on shore, he must have run me out at once,
for the casting line was very fine, and ' holding on ' was
out of the question. The game goes on so long and so
deep that I begin to suspect I am into something of the
nature of ' a fish.' ' Likely enough,' mutters some
Sassenach, who honours me by reading these lines:
' what does a fellow who goes a-fishing expect to catch
but a fish?' Much, I reply; sea-trout, for instance,
which in Northern parlance are not fish — a term of dis-
tinction reserved for Salmo salar. Presently all doubt
was settled by this fish springing high in the air at the
end of a dangerously long line, and revealing himself a
small salmon of six pounds, clean run from the sea.
As he made one of his final runs, a foolish little yellow
trout seized the bob fly, and gave me the satisfaction of
landing, for the first time in my life, a salmon and a
trout on the same cast.

After this the breeze freshened, and sea-trout began
to look up; but even a three-pounder, fighting for
liberty and life in the headlong, untiring way that only
a sea-trout can, seemed tame compared with the digni-
fied, masterful manner of the salmon. I longed for
another tilt with the nobler quarry. The chance came,

JULY 187

but it brought gnashing of teeth with it. It was at
the opposite end of the loch, where the principal
feeder comes down the mountains and enters the loch
in a broad bay with many sand-bars. Here a salmon
rolled up, and like the other, missing the first time,
took firmly the second, and was fast. Alas ! ' we only
met to learn how hard it was to part.' Something
happened ; the rod sprang up ; half the cast with one
fly, instead of three, dangled loose in the breeze.

I have sounded all the depths of woe within reach of
an ordinary existence : believe me, there is no anguish
like that which follows the loss of a fish by fracture.
For every breach of the Decalogue the common sinner
may be shriven ; but for the clumsiness or carelessness
which allows a fish to break tackle in clear, deep water,
there is endless penance of self-reproach, and there is
never absolution.

august

XLV

EVERY solitude in these islands has been searched,
Tke every corner pried into, every yard of its

Lo°c^ster °f surface ransacked by busy specialists ; there
Arkaig remains very little of that mystery which it
is the pride of science to dispel. I confess that in the
past I have been superciliously incredulous in regard
to a shadowy monster known as the lake-horse that is
reported to exist in certain sheets of water in the High-
lands. The Celt is famous for his agile imagination.
It is interesting to listen to the yarns of stalkers and
fishermen ; but stories of the Witch of Ben-y-gloe, of
water-kelpies and bogles, of fairies, dreams and warn-
ings, appeal but feebly to the coldly calculating Saxon.
Viewing the lone waters of a Highland loch, the southern
traveller is far more apt to speculate on the best pattern
of fly or minnow wherewith to capture the trout in its
depths, or to calculate the water power available for
the creation of electric instalments, than to ponder on
the legends of abnormal creatures peopling its depths.
Nevertheless, a friend of my own, far above suspicion
of exaggeration, whether intentional or unconscious,

fcs

AUGUST 189

having borne testimony to the apparition of an animal
one evening lately in Loch Arkaig, the question pro-
pounded itself whether there may not exist, in that
profound abyss and others similar to it, living things
of which the nature cannot be precisely defined.

Loch Arkaig lies in one of the loveliest solitudes of
Lochaber, an expanse of water some thirteen miles in
length, winding from east to west among the mountains
composing Lochiel Forest, and connected with Loch
Lochy by the brief and tumultuous torrent of the
Arkaig river. For several miles the steep, south shore,
shadowed by the crests of Beinn Bhan and Gulvain
(3224 feet), is dark with the native pinewood, one of
the few shreds remaining of the forests which once
covered ancient Alban from sea to sea. On the north
shore, where Glasbheinn (the Green Hill) and Beinn
Chraoibh (the Tree Hill) slope fair to the sun, a broad
belt of oak and hazel, planted by no human hands,
reflects its changing beauties in the lake. There is
no landscape in all the Highlands known to me — not
even the much-frequented Trossachs — which combines
more perfectly loveliness and grandeur, or displays
more lavishly the charm of mountain, waters, and
woodland.

Well, in this loch is good store of trouts, both lively
fellows of one pound and two pounds to keep the fly-
fisher alert, and those overgrown specimens of their
race which were in old time dignified by specific rank
under the title of Salmo ferox. I have known one of
these taken on the minnow of the weight of twenty-

190 THE MONSTER OF LOCH ARKAIG

three pounds, and to my own rod has fallen one of
the respectable figure of seventeen pounds and a half.
Pike also there be, reputed of important size, but of
these the fastidious angler takes little heed, mai guarda
e passa. Beyond and besides these, which might build
the reputation of any vulgar lake, the few dwellers on
these shores profess to have knowledge of a monster,
rarely seen, of dread proportions and mysterious powers
— the each-locha or lake-horse.

The account given by my friend of what he saw is as
follows (and let me repeat, he is an old friend, and of that
nature, character, and unemotional temperament that no
degree of scepsis scientifica affects implicit belief in what
he says). It is as though I had seen the thing myself.

Well, on a fine evening lately he was returning down
the loch in a steam launch. Not a breath was stirring,
the water was perfectly calm, when, on the starboard
bow, about ten yards out of the boat's course, he saw
a creature come to the surface, struggling, apparently,
with something which was not visible to him.

1 What 's that ? ' he asked two persons who were be-
side him; they saw the object distinctly, but could not
answer his inquiry. He then called to his host, the
tenant of the forest, who crossed from the port side just
as the boat came abreast of the animal. He did not
see it, for at that moment it disappeared beneath the
surface, but he saw the waves caused by its movement,
which crossed those caused by the launch.

That is the whole story ; but I submit that, having in
mind the unimpeachable character of the narrator, his

AUGUST 191

long and intimate acquaintance with Scottish sport and
wild nature, it is worth putting upon record, if it were
only as a warning against the subjectivity of ocular
evidence. The each-locha is a current tradition on the
shores of Loch Arkaig ; there are several persons living
reputed to have seen it ; therefore, when a middle-aged
gentleman familiar with country sights and creatures,
suddenly sees, in the very haunts of the monster, a
large animal which he does not recognise, the inference
does not seem strained that he has beheld what the
natives call the each-locha. Mark you, he did not tell
me that he had seen the genuine monster; he only
described to me the impression made upon his eyes by
what he did see — that of a large, unknown animal. I
have received from an Irish gentleman a minute dis-
cription of a living toad which he saw taken out of a
block of solid stone in a quarry. Nothing was further
from my suspicion than any attempt at gammon upon
his part ; he simply told what he believed he saw, but
I didn't believe for a moment that the toad had really
come out of the stone. But in the Loch Arkaig case, I
confess to having leant to the belief that there might
be some reality in the water-horse after all However,
the pleasing illusion was created only to be dispelled. A
certain stalker was on deck at the time and saw the
animal. He is a Highlander, and lives on the shore
of the loch; if any one might be found to take a
sensational view of the occurrence, here was the man.
Questioned about it several weeks afterwards, he replied
in perfect matter-of-fact : —

192 IN HIGHLAND WATEKS

'It was an otter. I saw the beast long before the
gentleman did.'

'But didn't you hear him describing it afterwards
and wondering what it could be ? '

' Certainly I did ; he thought it was the loch-eacha'
* Then why did you not tell him what it was ? '
' Oh, just because he never asked my opinion.'
The incident is disappointing, but it is useful; show-
ing how largely the psychical element must be taken
into account in weighing ocular evidence.

XL VI

Were I asked where summer could be seen at its
fairest, I should name the West Highland

In High-

land Archipelago. A Scotsman's prejudice, does

some one say ? Yes, but though a Scotsman,
pray remember I am no Highlander, but an unmiti-
gated Saisneach, which is the Highlander's name for
anybody who lives south of the Highland line, and
implies much the same degree of contempt as Tippoo
Sahib threw into his memorable aphorism — ' A dog, a
pig, and an Englishman are brothers of the same
family.'

Of course, summer is not exactly a synonym for fine
weather hi the West Highlands; there is sometimes
what the natives call a ' wecht o' weet ' to be got rid of,
a transaction which may take hours, days, or even
weeks, and most people postpone their visit till a
period of the season when there are accumulated

AUGUST 193

arrears of wet to be liquidated. But a spell of such
weather as carried us through last July (1898), it would
be impossible to beat — hard to match anywhere. I have
never been to the West Indies, but I have sampled
the climate of Athens, next to which I commend the
Italian Riviera east of Genoa (far more delicately limpid
than the western Riviera) ; the ah* of the Engadine
is exhilarating, that of Norway in June is divine, and
early summer on the Loire is not amiss ; but for down-
right loveliness — for dewy sparkling mornings — for
basking noons which parch not — for long-drawn gloam-
ings lingering into the brief lucid night of the north
— give me, in July, the western land pierced with long
winding inlets from the ocean, the mountain purple with
heather on its seaward face; on its landward aspect
falling sharply among green lawns and grey cliffs,
feathered with birches, into the secret glen.

These — were there nothing to boot — these, the mem-
ory and the love of them — were enough to make
any one who has not tasted their delights spurn London
as men fled of old from the cities of the plain —
enough to nerve any one to encounter that intolerable
jumble of tides off Ardnamurchan — so he might reach
the Happy Isles where letters come but thrice a week
in fine weather, and in foul weather not at all.

But there is more than these. Believing, as I must
and do, that the only worthy, blameless, and altogether
honourable ambition of man is the capture of salmon
and trout with the artificial fly, and seeing that the
West Highlands abound in streams and lochs greatly

N

194 IN HIGHLAND WATERS

frequented by these fish, how much to be blamed were
I if any minor considerations of mere business prevailed
to delay my access to the land of the Gael ? Never-
theless, a fisherman's notion of fine weather is not
exactly identical with that of a lover or a landscape
painter. The cloudless skies of July and the wide
mirrors of the lakes do not perfectly fulfil his ideal.
He sighs for the cloud low on the hill, the sough of the
south-west wind on the shore, the burns racing in
milky garlands through a hundred little glens.

The last sun of July sank in splendour behind the
steepled crests of Rum. Waking on August 1st, my
ears were full of sound, the silence of many weeks was
broken. The mountain opposite the window was
blotted from view; in the foreground the ash- trees
waved their arms and whimpered in the breeze. It
was raining — not heavily, but steadily. My plan was
perfected in three minutes, two of which were spent in
such hesitation as the donkey feels between two bundles
of hay. There was a river within a quarter of a mile
of my bedside — a river which had tinkled trivially
among its shingle for a month past, but one which four
hours of good rain would put in fishing trim ; a river
from which, even during the drought, I had extracted
sundry lovely sea-trout ; a river in which I had descried
many salmon sulkily sheltering from the heat.
Throughout the whole of July this stream had swollen
but once: 'A wee bit o' a spate,' as the head stalker
gloomily observed, * just snappit up by the Sabbath/
The sensible course would have been to breakfast

AUGUST 196

leisurely, and then stroll down to this river. But when
an angler scents a spate, he ceases (at least, this one
does) to be a reasonable creature. The unknown — the
unknowable — lies before him. He packs up about
four times as much tackle as he can possibly require,
eats about half as much breakfast as he ought, twice
as fast as he ought, and goes forth to encounter fate.
Even so, he may fare prosperously; but woe! woe!
unto him if he has two rivers to choose between.

On this occasion, as I have indicated, one river
flowed close at hand. Past experience was there to
testify to its excellence; anybody but a born fool
would have been content with it. ' 0, Pigg ! hambition
is a fearful, a dreadful thing,' exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks
to his huntsman at the crisis of his fate, and it was
ambition that led ine into misfortune on this first of
August. Parallel with this near river, of which I knew
every pool and cast, four or five miles across the hill
there runs another river, which, until this day, I had
never fished. Keport ran that it was marvellously
prolific, and that its fish, which seldom saw a fly, were
of childlike simplicity in the matter of rising when
they got the chance. The Evil One was at hand ; he
always is on such occasions — at least, one likes to think
it is not innate stupidity which sends one wrong.
'Look here!' he whispered, 'don't you go and throw
away this chance. Don't be deluded into wasting a
day on the Amhuinn Aoidh. Be a man ! Never mind
the four mile walk out and in; off you go to the
Guseran, and you won't repent the extra fatigued

196 IN HIGHLAND WATEKS

Well, I went there. I trudged across that steep
four miles (four! — I believe if the kinks were pulled
out of them they would be nearer fourteen) with that
burning impatience which makes one's boots feel like
4-inch guns. At las't I stood beside the vaunted
Guseran. ' She ' was still small — contemptibly, ridicul-
ously small — not having quickened, as yet, to the
rainfall; but there are some deep, black pots among
the rocks, where salmon and sea-trout harbour in the
lowest water. My gillie recommended a ' Popham ' or
a 'Jock Scott' of the smallest size. See how that
schoolmaster has been at work! Thirty years ago,
when I first knew Highland streams, had any profane
Southerner offered to exhibit such meretricious lures,
he would have been made to learn his place, and been
looked on as a likely candidate for a berth in the
county asylum if he had put up anything more gay
than a brown mallard or dun turkey wing. Now the
local authorities are just as dogmatic in the other
direction : nothing will attract £ our fish ' but the most
vivid confections of scarlet, blue, and gold.

With exemplary docility, I mounted a tiny Jock
Scott, with a Pennell hackle as a dropper. Here and
there a sea-trout flashed up as if to frighten the intru-
der; presently a fellow of about a pound, turning
sharply from the dropper, impaled himself on the
double hooks of the Jock Scott, dashed about the rocks
in fine style, and was landed. Then the river was seen
to be swelling ; it had been strange if it did not, seeing
that a close sheet of warm rain had been falling since

AUGUST 197

early morning. Black streaks of rock on the hillsides
became hissing cascades.

'If this ram continue to fall/ said my gillie in the
elaborate language of the English-speaking Gael, 'she
will fish properly in about an hour, whatever.'

He underrated the sensitiveness of the Guseran. I
was perched on a rock full five-and-twenty feet above
the largest pool on the river, where the current, chafing
through a dark narrow channel, broadens suddenly and
spreads with gleams of amber and silver to fill an ample
basin, bordered with steep cliffs fringed with alder and
mountain ash. Upwards of thirty sea- trout must have
turned in succession at the flies as they twirled about
in the eddies. I managed to land half-a-dozen of them,
the largest being under two pounds; but I had my
eye all the time on the foot of the pool, where the
water draws into a steady flow, the very spot for a new-
run salmon. I ought to have gone there at once.
While wasting time with the small sea-trout at the
top, I became aware of a rising turmoil among the
rocks above. Presently the pool itself began to seethe ;
the spate was upon us. In ten minutes there was not
a yard of fishing water within view; all was a tawny
waste of angry, lashing waves.

Such has been my first experience of the Guseran — a
paltry half-dozen of sea- trout ; while my two compan-
ions who stayed at home to fish the Amhuinn Aoidh
— well, comparisons are odious, and there is no need to
emphasise my discomfiture by giving details of their
success. It is bad enough to remember that the take

198 THE PUEPLE WATERHEN

of each of them had to be reckoned in stones avoir-
dupois.

XLVII

The purple waterhen (Porphyrio cceruleus) was
The Purple admitted by the late Lord Lilford to his
Wateriien gallerv of British bird portraits on evidence
which satisfied him that the species had bred in a state
of liberty in Norfolk. Ornithologists in general, how-
ever, decline to regard this gallinule as more than an
escape from captivity ; but although it is a native of the
Mediterranean region and the Persian Gulf, the fine
bird seems to take kindly to our cooler climate, and
probably requires little encouragement to become
thoroughly acclimatised. It is a really desirable addi-
tion to our avifauna ; its plumage, chiefly of rich violet
with blue-and-green reflections, contrasts vividly with
the carmine bill and legs ; and its habits, by no means
retiring, render it a conspicuous ornament on suitable
sheets of water. But it is a voracious feeder ; no small
pond or brook would supply enough suitable food, and
its manner of feeding is peculiar. One morning lately
I watched a pair of them through the glass on our lake
sanctuary, where they have made themselves quite at
home since early spring. They have made their haunt
in an extensive bed of Scirpus lacustris, that dark
green, smooth rush, which in Scotland is erroneously
termed bulrush, and a pretty mess they have made of
it. They have beaten and broken down rushes to
enable them to wade on a floating mass ; standing on

AUGUST 199

this as a platform, Porphyrio thrusts his head below
water, seizes one of the rushes in his powerful beak,
and tugs at it till it comes up from the root. Now
this is a very remarkable performance. To test the
strength required, I attached a cord to one of these
rushes, and hooked a steelyard to the cord. At a
pull of ten pounds the rush broke at the cord, but the
root part remained firm. This happened repeatedly;
it seems difficult to believe that a bird not so large
as a guinea-fowl standing on an insecure float-
ing platform of rushes, can pull a weight of ten
pounds, yet Porphyrio and his mate pulled up
fifty of these rushes in my presence with a peculiar
jerking motion. Well, having dragged it up, the
bird passes it rapidly along with his beak till he
arrive at the white succulent end ; then seizing the rush,
parrot-like, in one of his enormous red feet, he holds
it up and nips away at the pith, eating very fast, and
with as much relish, apparently, as unfeathered bipeds
devour asparagus. The devastation of the rushes is
appalling, and what these birds will turn to when they
have exhausted the supply remains to be seen. Theii
flight is powerful, and the danger is that they may
leave us and fall before the gun of some booby who
shoots every bird that he does not recognise. Scirpus
lacustris is not a common rush in the north, and
possibly Porphyrio may have to put up with some
inferior delicacy till the beds of that plant have
recovered. Meanwhile these gallinules, with a bed of
Monsieur Marliac's rose-coloured water-lilies floating

200 WATER GARDENING

in the bay behind them, form quite a sub -tropical
group, and make the native waterhen, itself a smart
little bird, look quite dingy and insignificant by com-
parison.1

XL VIII

On the subject of these Marliac hybrid water-lilies —
water we nave nad l°ng enough experience of them
Gardening now to pronounce them an important supple-
ment to our hardy flora. Personally, I am of Perdita's
mind, and prefer natural species to showy hybrids —
'nature's bastards' — and none of these glowing or
faintly tinted novelties exceed in beauty the common
white water-lily, although some of them do so in size.
But human fancy — ' taste/ as we fondly call it in matters
aesthetic — is capricious above all things. If the normal
colour of a flower is pink, like heather, then we search
diligently till we find an abnormal specimen with white
flowers, and it does not seem to occur to us how dull
the Highland hills would be if, at this season, instead of
glowing with purple and rose, they were sheeted with
white heather. So, although Nature has bestowed upon
us our native water-lily, matchless in purity of hue and
refinement of sculpture, we rest not till we have stained

1 The subsequent fate of this pair of Porphyrio was grievous.
After a happy summer-tide spent in the sanctuary, they seemed to
scent the harvest fields beyond the woods. They flew out to the
stubbles, and there they were malignantly catapulted to death by
school-boys. I am thinking of consulting my solicitors whether there
is anything in the Statute Book to prevent me turning a selection of
she-bears into the woods for the repression of these school-boys. It is
not on record that any proceedings were taken against Elisha.

AUGUST 201

its petals with an admixture of foreign blood. They
are undoubtedly attractive, these new hybrids, the
blossoms varying from pale rose to crimson, sulphur
colour to flaming orange. Where there is plenty of
room it is certainly worth while giving the best varieties
a bay to spread in, and nobody has realised their beauty
till he has seen them in an ample, natural sheet of
water. I received several kinds in the autumn of 1893
from M. Marliac's establishment at Temple-sur-Lot ;
they were kept in large pots sunk in tubs in a cool
house till the spring, when the tubs were put in the
open air, and in the autumn of 1894 they were sunk,
pots and all, in about three feet of water in the lake.
The memorable frost of that winter — the most severe
we are likely ever to experience in this country —
put them to the test of hardiness. Some succumbed
— partly, I fancy, because they were sunk in too deep
water — but the rest are flourishing and spreading fast.
Some of these new varieties prolong the flowering
season long after the common white water-lily is past.

A great deal may be done — much has been done in
many places — to supplement our native aquatic and
waterside herbage. No lover of the country but looks
forward to the month of the iris — our native yellow
flag. I saw lately its American counterpart, Iris vir-
ginica, used with charming effect as a contrast to it in
Mr. Chamberlain's garden at Highbury. This also is a
water-loving species, and spreads as freely as our own ;
but its flowers, instead of golden, are violet and purple.
Would that somebody with leisure and means were

202 WATER GARDENING

inspired to prepare a monograph of the iris, such as
Major Elwes has done for the lilies, and Mr. Han bury
is doing for the hawk weeds. It would form a gorgeous
volume, for the blossoms of the different species are all
beautiful, delicately coloured, and gracefully formed.
It is, moreover, a peculiarly interesting section, on
account of its wide distribution in both Old and New
Worlds, its bewildering variety, and the peculiar adapta-
tion of the various species to extremes of temperature
and of wet and dry. In Britain we possess only two
species — the yellow marsh iris above-mentioned, and the
wood iris or gladdon, called also the roast-beef plant,
because the leaves when bruised are supposed to
smell like cold beef. This peculiarity hardly justified
Linnaeus in naming the plant Iris fatidissima, an
evil title for a herb that only smells when crushed,
and then not offensively. A far more striking feature
of the gladdon is the seed-vessel, which, splitting open
in autumn, displays beaded rows of bright orange
seeds as large as a pea. Londoners have reason to
value the iris : the species germanica and tuberosa are
among the few flowering plants that take care of them-
selves in the glare and dust of town gardens. Year
after year masses of purple blossom are displayed in
neglected corners, or make the squares gay with a fleet-
ing glory.

Bamboos also supply infinite grace and luxuriance
for the decoration of water margins, not, like the iris,
to be planted actually in the water or marsh, but on a
well- drained bank whence the roots may spread to the

AUGUST 203

moisture near at hand. It is curious how long it was
before we discovered the hardiness of many bamboos in
our climate. Mr. Freeman-Mitford's book, published
only two years ago, came as an apocalypse to most
gardeners, containing directions for the cultivation of
upwards of one hundred species, nearly all as hardy as
their relative, the common couchgrass. Of one condi-
tion all the bamboos are alike impatient — they cannot
endure wind. Woodlovers by nature, they must have
the shelter of trees around, yet a clear space overhead.
When these are provided they take care of themselves ;
but there is one precaution insisted on by Mr. Mitford —
in receiving young plants from the nursery, don't plant
them out in the open at once. The roots are very
sensitive and brittle ; they are sure to have been bruised
and broken hi removal. Plant your purchase in large
pots of good loam, and keep them for six months in a
cool greenhouse. At the end of that time the pots
will be found full of new roots ; the plants should be
planted out in May in the positions they are to occupy
permanently, and will grow ahead without a check;
whereas, if they had been planted out on arriving from
the nursery, they would certainly have hung fire for a
year or so, and perhaps never have recovered at all.
The same consideration extended to many other exotics,
notably the hybrid water-lilies, would save an immense
amount of loss and disappointment. Thousands of
costly plants are cruelly sacrificed every year for want
of judicious treatment before they are committed to the
open ground.

204 SEA-TROUT

XLIX

The spell of halcyon weather which lay over the
western coast of Scotland for three weeks at

Sea-trout

the end of July and beginning of August
broke with violent salvoes of electric artillery and
prodigious deluge. The Scottish harvest not being so
imminent as to suffer materially from wind and wet,
we anglers rejoiced with clear conscience over a
change which revived hope long deferred, and we
watched the rising waters with feverish impatience for
one of the liveliest phases of the fisher's craft.

'Soolky August' is the worst month in the salmon-
angler's calendar. The Lammas floods often bring up
great numbers of fish, but in most rivers they are very
languid about rising to the fly until the cooler breath
of September sets them in a brisker mood. But
August is only inferior to a wet July as the sea-trout
fishers' carnival. The chief run of heavy sea-trout
generally takes place in June or July ; this is succeeded
in August by a multitude of smaller fish, averaging,
say, half a pound in weight — corresponding to the
grilse of salmon, and known in various districts as
herlings, finnocks, whitlings, or sprods. So that in
August you have the chance of mature fish up to
five pounds or more, with the certainty of plenty of
herlings — delicious fellows on the table — to keep you
on the qui vive.

But to enjoy this sport in perfection a succession of
good spates is necessary. Night-fishing with fly,

AUGUST 205

indeed, may be practised with profit even when the
water is dead low — 'a choice way/ as Izaak Walton
observed of night-fishing in general, 'but . . . void of
the pleasures that such days as these, that we two now
enjoy, afford the angler.' Izaak was right. The cream
of fly-fishing — the psychological moment — is the rise,
and that is invisible in the dark. Nevertheless, the
night hath charms of its own; especially a northern
summer night, when the twilight, long lingering, almost
joins hands with the dawn. Its beauty is less varied,
but hardly less delicious than the day. On such a
night there is nothing unfair or unsportsmanlike to take
toll of the silvery shoals which work up with the tide
into the lower pools, though the sport has a degree of
sameness which makes it far inferior to daylight
angling. On such a night lately, before the floods came,
I bicycled over to the mouth of the Luce, a west coast
stream much frequented by sea-trout. Arriving at
seven, I was at least two hours too soon, for nothing
can be done in the low water till the shadows have
deepened on the scene. The river was but a dribble,
meandering between great tracts of shingle, with here
and there a still expanse denoting a salmon pool. I
went down to the lowest pool, which is entered by the
sea at high tide. What a tantalising scene ! The water
was alive with springing fish — big fellows of three pounds
and four pounds — and lots of herling, while from time
to time a salmon threw himself out and fell back
with resounding splash. More than once I saw five
fish in the air at the same moment. It seemed impos-

206 SEA-TROUT

sible that out of this multitude there were not a few
that could be induced to take a fly, if it were only out
of sheer malice. But no ! for two hours I plied them
with all the resources of civilisation ; result — a single
deluded herling of half a pound. I got tired of it;
wound up and returned to the watcher's cottage about
a mile up the river, where I had left my bicycle. He
was not surprised at my ill-success, knowing that
hardly a fish will take before dark in dead low water.
It was quite dark by this time, and he said I could
catch as many as I liked if I tried the pool in front
of his house.

There was not much art required. I cast my flies
over the inky waters — a plunge, a short scream from
the reel, and a wild dashing about the pool ; my tackle
was stout, and I held on firmly, and presently a two-
pounder was scooped out, with the starlight glittering
on his silvery coat. No need to change my position ;
sea-trout creep up in the lowest water into the pools.
I could hear them rippling over the shallows. The
sport goes on all the hours of darkness, ceasing about
two in the morning. But it soon palls, and one longs
for a tumbling spate to have the perfection of sea-trout
angling.

A fortnight later I returned to the same place.
What an altered scene ! There had been a five-foot
flood the day before, and the narrow, glassy puddle
from which I had filled my basket under cloud of
night was a broad, swift reach of foam-flecked, tossing
water. I had two rods with me — an eighteen-foot green-

AUGUST 207

heart and a ten-foot split-cane. Neither was suitable,
for a light fifteen-footer is the proper tool for Salmo
trutta. But the water was big, and just as I was
hesitating which to use, up jumped a clean-run
salmon and decided me in favour of the big rod. The
sun was intensely bright, so I selected two of the
smaller grilse flies in my case — a so-called 'sun-fly/ with
black silk body, and wing entirely of golden pheasant
crest feathers, with a gay blue hackle at the throat,
and for a tail fly a brilliant gold-bodied affair with a
crimson hackle.

The first try over the pool was disappointing. No
salmon or grilse looked up ; several sea- trout flashed at
the flies and turned away ; only one of a pound came
to bank. So, being at the tail of the pool, I resorted to
a device which has often proved of avail when fish
came short — I backed it up. It is such a useful
wrinkle that, at the risk of imparting stale news, I
venture to describe the process, because, strange to
say, few anglers seem to resort to it. Standing at the
foot of the stream or pool, you must draw out a long
line, fling it to the far side, and step backwards very
slowly up the bank, making a fresh cast as soon as the
flies come to the near side. One advantage is that the
line is thus kept without a belly in it, which is of much
advantage in striking a fish. Then there seems to be
some attraction to fish hi moving objects which come
over them from behind. At all events, I have often
killed salmon in this way, which would not look at
a fly coming down to meet them.

208 SEA-TKOUT

Well, these tactics succeeded. Three or four good
sea-trout were in the bag by the time I stood again at
the top of the cast — brilliant fellows, up to two pounds
and a half, just out of the tide. But the salmon were
dour ; they kept rolling about, never giving an offer at
the daintiest lures. ' Soolky August,' think I to myself,
and exchange the heavy rod for the light one, for it
must be confessed that sea-trout show a poor fight on
a powerful salmon-rod. With a light ten-footer they
fight splendidly, buzzing out the line and jumping
repeatedly. But, after taking half-a-dozen more of
them with the delicate gear, the temptation of giving
the salmon a fair chance overpowered me, and for
two or three hours I thrashed away in momentary
expectation of the majestic summons of a 'fush.' It
never came. At three o'clock I caused the gillie to
turn out the contents of the bag. Exactly a score of
sea-trout, weighing twenty-five pounds, was the tally.

Just then a farmer friend, who had been fishing
above me, came down the water, and reported having
raised a salmon twice, without accounting for it further.
He told me my flies were too big for sea- trout, seeing
that the river (which is one of those sensitive streams,
all over the place to-day and dwindling into a thread
to-morrow) had fallen nearly a foot since the morning.
I told him to try his smaller flies over a lovely stream
I had just been fishing. At the very first cast up
came a grilse, fastened bravely, and in five minutes
was hanging on the scale with the index at five pounds.
' Shall I try for his neighbour ? ' (good Scots for

AUGUST 209

' comrade ') he asked. ' Certainly/ quoth I ; ' and there
he is ! ' I added, as a stout pull and vigorous splashing
ensued in the sharp stream. However, it was not the
true ' neighbour,' but a good sea- trout of two pounds.

One word to brother-anglers in conclusion. Don't
let laziness or greed or anxiety to display a showy
bag to your admiring home-circle prevent you from
distributing your fish with a liberal hand. People
who dwell on the banks of a river without the right
of fishing in it appreciate a little attention of this sort,
and you will be no sufferer by keeping them in good
humour. Even if you are a stranger in the land,
remember that in most of the homesteads that you
pass the daily fare is humble and monotonous. A
fresh-run sea- trout is no contemptible contribution to
the poor man's table.

OF all the days of this memorable summer and autumn
The great (1899) — the last to be recorded to the credit
Lake Trout of faQ eighteen hundreds — none has been
more delicious than one I have just spent upon one
of the loveliest and least known of Highland lochs.
This loch must be nameless, because, greatly solicitous
though every one ought to be for the wellbeing of his
fellows, a man hesitates to point the way to the few
solitudes that are left in our land, lest some enter-
prising engineer should conspire with the sparse
inhabitants — who seem to the lover of nature so
seldom to know when they are well off and how to
leave that well alone — and a light railway be the
result. Be it enough, therefore, to indicate that this
little inland sea runs, sinuous and profound, for some
thirteen miles through the heart of a Highland deer-
forest — one that fulfils more exactly the conventional
idea of forest than the bleak wastes where the red deer
must be usually sought, inasmuch as a goodly breadth
of the primeval Caledonian woodland still clothes the
mountain flanks on either shore. The north side, lying

210

SEPTEMBER 211

fair to the sun, carries a gracious mantle of oaks, to the
height of between two and three hundred feet up the
slopes ; the south side, darker by reason of the shadow-
ing mountain mass and steeper than the other, bears
a great pinewood whereof the glades are lightsome
with birch, rowan, and holly — the crags fired with the
soft glow of blooming heather.

The long drought had given way ; much and welcome
rain had fallen ; a hundred streams were hurrying down
the heights on either hand in milky cascades, but the
storm had cleared off; the kindly sun shared the
heavens with the retreating clouds; and as I steered
the little screw launch towards a point some three
miles up the loch, where my companion was to be
landed for stalking, methought that never had human
eyes feasted on a more perfect scene of wood and water,
towering hill, and falling stream. My own quest this
day was not the deer, but a creature which many hours
of vain pursuit have tempted faint-hearted anglers to
pronounce mythical. All the scaly race — notably
salmon and ordinary trout — are capricious enough,
heaven knows, and subject to prolonged fits of inertia ;
but for sheerly unaccountable and perverse disregard
of the choicest lures, commend me to the great lake
trout. Once he was regarded as a species per se,
and dignified by the title of Salmo ferox] better
acquaintance with him, however, has convinced most
anglers and naturalists that he is no more than a brook
trout favoured by circumstance, sea-room, and an un-
scrupulous appetite till he attains abnormal proportions.

212 THE GREAT LAKE TROUT

There is no better bait for these monsters than one
of their own younger brethren ; but on this occasion I
had provided some beautiful dace and gudgeon, such
as you may procure, perfectly preserved in formalin,
from any good tackle-maker. One of each of these
tempting morsels, duly fixed on Archer flights, was
soon spinning forty yards astern of the launch, and
decks were cleared for action. They ought to be so
cleared, because when Master Ferox makes up his mind
he leaves no doubt in yours as to his intentions. He
means to have your fishlet, and when he finds it won't
come off the hooks, 'By gum!' says he, 'but I'll just
read this beggar a lesson. I'll run out a hundred
yards of his line and then 111 smash him — see if I
don't ! ' And down he dives into the amazing pro-
fundity of a Highland loch. Woe, woe unto him who
hath a flaw in his tackle or an untimely kink in his
line ! He shall carry with him to the end of his days
a weight of misery which only an angler knows ; for is
there any anguish so poignant and so enduring as the
loss of a big fish ?

And here the narrative of this day's fishing might
be brought to a close. In spite of untiring diligence
sustained for nine mortal hours — in spite of favouring
wind and changeful sky — conditions which could not
have been improved to order — not a single ferox
thumped out his life on the bottom of our craft. It
required the memory of bygone triumphs to assure me
that the aristocracy of this loch were neither few nor
small. Nine small trout, averaging not more than a

SEPTEMBER 213

pound apiece, were dragged in remorselessly on the
strong tackle, but once only did the stone placed on a
bight of the line fly off sharply and the whirring reel
betoken something important at the other end. This
happened when least expected. We were crossing the
loch to try a favourite bay on the south side ; and when
half-way across, where the great depth rendered such
an incident most unlikely, a fish struck, engines were
reversed, and the play began. The play was not amiss ;
it was lively, but it was not the dogged violence of
ferox. It was but a grilse of six pounds newly run,
which paid the penalty of an inquisitive disposition;
good enough for the pot; far better indeed than the
most corpulent ferox, but unsatisfying to nerves strung
for a more heroic encounter.

Nevertheless, in spite of failure, that day will live in
memory long after some of more solid results have
faded. It was something to have been alternately
steeped in sunshine and slashed with innocent showers ;
something to have persevered in cruising at the rate
of three or four miles an hour without having to con-
sider the aching arms and backs of a labouring crew ;
something, when the shades began to fall and my
host's dinner- table was twelve miles distant, to reel up
the lines, turn on full steam, and race home at ten
miles an hour through the fragrant twilight. Then I
had landed occasionally to explore tempting bits of
woodland. The ospreys, immemorially domiciled on
an island at one end of the loch, have lately established
a new colony near the other end. They have made a

214 IN CORROUR FOREST

strange choice of an eyrie. Instead of building on one
the great and ancient pines in the heart of the wood
seven miles long, these fish falcons have selected a
couple of puny, wind- warped young trees on the most
exposed headland projecting into the loch. Here are
two eyries, constructed on stems hardly fit to bear
their weight. The birds have left the strath for the
season, as is their custom in winter ; but if they escape
the myriad boobies who, gun in hand, infest our land,
they will return without fail to the haunts where they
have nested since a time before history began to be
written.

LI

A forest — yes, but not such a scene as the term con-
in corrour jures in the mind of a southerner. From
where I lie in the September sunshine, high
on the shoulder of Beinn Bhreach, some 3000 feet
above sea-level, my eyes travel over a vast range of
crests, ridges, peaks — the brown moor of Rannoch
seamed with silver streams and set with gleaming
lochs — a range that extends from the cone of Schie-
hallion on the south to the dome of Ben Nevis on the
north. Much of this district — by far the greater part
of it indeed — is ' forest ' in a Highland sense ; yet, from
this point, at least, not a single tree may be discerned,
be it not a few stunted birch and rowan, clinging to the
scarped hill on the far shore of Loch Ossian. * Forest/
in short, means ground reserved for the noblest of

SEPTEMBER 215

British wild animals — the red deer. No doubt most
of the ground in view was once forest in the sense of
woodland. The whole of the soil far up the hillsides
is full of sylvan wreckage — roots, stems, and boughs,
chiefly of Scots pine (for we are too high here for oak),
lying continuously for many, many miles as they fell ;
not rotting, because of the antiseptic properties of peat,
still full of resin, and affording excellent fuel. Why
did they die ? or, rather, why did these trees leave no
posterity ? It is one of the most obscure problems of
natural history, this disappearance of the Highland
forest, and it would take too long even to recapitulate
the theories started to account for it. The one, the
only, thing that is clear is the result — namely, that of
the dark evergreen mantle that once wrapped the great
Moor of Rannoch and surrounding mountains not a rag
remains, except in the wood of Ball ; everywhere else
the Scots pine is as completely extinct as the bears,
wolves, and Caledonian white cattle which once har-
boured in the pristine woods.

It has cost me some pains to attain my present
exalted point of view — literally, pains — physical suffer-
ing— such as those who must confess, not to old age —
perish the ugly thought ? but, let us say, to approach-
ing maturity — such as those, in short, who have turned
their half-hundred must encounter when they leave the
streets and high roads (ay, and the luncheons and
dinners) of civilisation and take to the wilderness.
The couple of thousand feet or so which we have
ascended since, some six hours ago, I left my pony

216 IN CORROUR FOREST

at the foot of the hill by no means represents the
aggregate of ' foot pounds ' which I have had to lift in
the interval. First of all, the wind being south or
thereby, we crossed a mile or so of about the roughest
'peat hags' I ever encountered, and then, profusely
perspiring already, began ascending the eastern limb of
the mountain, then worked along the comb of the ridge
which runs between a corrie on the left hand and the
northern face of the hill, falling steeply away on the
right. The corrie was tenantless, but half-way down
the eastern face, five hundred feet or so below us, we
detected two good stags, and made a wide detour to
approach them. But the wind played the traitor.
Blowing steadily on the height, on the lee side of the
hill, it was gusty and uncertain ; a wandering flaw
puffed up behind, and carried our scent — the hateful
scent of man — to the grazing stags, still four hundred
yards distant; their heads were up in a minute, and
they went off at score.

Nowhere as in the forest does a man feel how in-
appropriate is the scientific definition of his species as
Homo sapiens — Man the Wise. The stalker, if you
like, is omniscient — Homo omnisciens — in his own
domain, but for the mere sportsman who is committed
to his care the only proper title is Homo humilissimus.
He is led about on the steep ground, often without the
slightest understanding of the plan of campaign, told
when to stoop — to crawl — to run; the only responsi-
bility upon him comes at the crucial moment of firing.
A terrible moment of suffering it often is. A long

SEPTEMBER 217

crawl down hill with head much lower than his heels,
through bog and burn, till there is not a dry stitch on
him, may bring him to the desired range ; the rifle is
thrust into his hands ; he receives a hoarsely- whispered
injunction to 'take him' (i.e. the stag) 'NOW!' With
throbbing temples and swimming eyes he struggles
into the nearest approach to a firing position which he
can assume on ground sloping at an angle of forty
degrees ; and if he manages to hit the dusky form,
one hundred or one hundred and fifty yards away,
nobody is so much surprised as himself.

But other ch&ices occur in which all the odds are in
favour of the marksman, and such was the case on this
day. About one o'clock we found a party of fifteen
stags and a lot of hinds far below us on the western
side of the hill, and spent about an hour stalking them.
There was only one ' shootable ' beast among them, but
he was a very grand stag, and deep was my chagrin that
long before we got near them something moved the
herd, and they went off at a trot round the flank of
the hill. Up the steep again we climbed ; but we had
not been travelling another hour before we saw the
same deer, having taken up their position on the crest
of a kind of pass between two hills. It was about as
bad a place to approach unseen as could be. The
ground fell sharply away on the only side which the
wind would permit to be taken, very smooth, with no
friendly gully or shelter.

What was to be done ?

Well, my stalker said we must remain as we were till

218 IN CORROUR FOREST

the deer fed over the ridge ; but, instead of feeding, they
all lay down, so that plan failed. Scanning the ground
anxiously, Homo omnisciens detected a slight wrinkle
on the far side of the smooth slope below the deer. If we
could only reach that, it led up to a small knoll within
range. His mind was soon made up. The wrinkle
could only be reached by descending the hill almost
to its base, say fifteen hundred feet from where we lay,
passing under a cliff to the other side of the smooth
ground, and climbing to the same elevation on the far
side. It seems easy enough on paper, but it involved
a journey not less in distance than from St. Paul's
Cathedral, by the Embankment, to Westminster, thence
to the Marble Arch, and back by Holborn to St. Martin's-
le-Grand — plus a descent and ascent of fifteen hundred
feet.

It took us the best part of two hours, and the last
quarter of a mile was the worst, for it was on all fours
— an attitude which adult human beings now find it as
difficult to maintain for long as their quadrumanous
ancestors once found it was to abandon. Oh ! those
redundant luncheons — those superfluous entrees — that
unnecessary nutrition assimilated in the sleepy south-
how one repents of them in moments like these ! How-
ever, all goes well, and here I am, inditing these lines
within one hundred and forty yards of the big stag,
waiting till it shall please his majesty to rise and give
me a chance at his broadside. Through a pair of Zeiss
reflectors I can read his very expression, the lazy con-
tent with which he lolls his well-antlered crest upon his

SEPTEMBER fi!9

side, half asleep, yet half inclined to rise and begin his
evening meal, as some of the smaller beasts have done.

It is very pleasant lying here before the westering
sun. Of all moods of womanhood, I am assured (I
speak not from personal experience) that none is
so captivating as that of a shrew in good humour.
Highland weather is often shrewish enough, Heaven
knows — shrilly scolding in horrid blasts, and weeping
profusely ; but there is none like it when it is fine.

What a bloodthirsty, treacherous brute I am, lying in
wait for that noble beast out there ! Why can't I leave
him to enjoy this peaceful evening ? After all, if there
were no such sport as stalking, red deer would long since
have vanished from these hills ; their lot is easier than
that of most beasts of the chase; carefully preserved
during ten months in the year, they are only persecuted
during two.

At this point the big beast began to stir. Ah, drat
those hinds moving before him !

Now he is clear — he rises and stretches himself
broadside on. One hundred and thirty yards, I think,
rather up hill — yet must I take a fine sight, for the
Express throws high — crack !

Forty animals start together with one bound, and
set off along the ridge, my stag among them. I have
missed ! No, he staggers — rears, striking the air with
his forelegs — falls backwards, and in ten seconds is
stone dead.

'You have got the best beast on the hill to-day,
whatever/ observes Homo omnisciens, as he strips
himself for the ' gralloch.'

220 ANOTHER DAY ON THE HILL

LII

The first glance across my window-sill this morning
Another Day (September 29) revealed a changed world,
on the Hill gaid win(}ow-sill is the respectable height of
1250 feet above the sea, but all around tower hills 2000
feet higher. Last night, when the sun set upon them,
their summer verdure was altered no whit, the heather
still carried a roseate flush; but this morning every-
thing above the level of 2500 feet is white with thick
snow. Presents itself, therefore, the ever-recurring
problem, what clothes to wear in stalking — whether is
it most endurable to suffer from too thick garments
or to shiver in too thin ? The problem, indeed, has
been shorn of much of its complexity by that
admirable invention, the 'aqua-scutum.' Light — it
adds nothing perceptible to one's load; long, wind
and water proof — it can be slipped over all or shaken
off in a moment; soft — it has none of the hateful
clamminess of the macintosh ; in short, every hillman
has pronounced the ' aqua-scutum ' indispensable ; and
considering how much discomfort it has warded off, I
should be wanting in common decency if my tribute to
its merits were short of heart-whole. I left mine in
a hansom one day last summer, and had to repair to
the police Bastille upon the Victoria Embankment to
recover it. On being asked, as usual, to declare the
value of the article, ' Two pounds,' quoth I, not without
compunction, well knowing that whatever were its
price, its value was beyond rubies. The constable

SEPTEMBER 221

shook it out of its folds — wrinkled, shabby, sub-fuse —
it certainly looked a mean enough article. ' Full value,
sir ! ' was his laconic comment as he handed it across
the counter in exchange for the ransom of five shillings,
which I paid with a light heart.

This morning, then, despite the snow, I trusted to the
aqua-scutum, and donned clothes of medium weight.
It was a right decision, as it turned out, for the clouds
dispersed, and the September sun shone out in the fore-
noon with quite enough force to make me sob as we
climbed along the steep face of Faich-chaol. It was
blowing a whole gale on the top, but nothing except
flaws and puffs reached us under the broad shoulder
of Carndearg. Rendered into English, Faich-chaol
signifies the narrow strath — not so narrow, however, but
that the whole of Bloomsbury and Bayswater, with
Hyde Park and Knightsbridge thrown in as a depen-
dance, might be stowed upon its ample slopes. As it is,
once you have penetrated a mile into its recess and
shut out from view the stalkers' house at the entrance
— with its patch of precarious corn and its peat-stack
beside the loch — not a sign of human presence or
handiwork may be seen. Nothing but mountains, with
brown sides and hoary crests, and far below — for we
have risen a thousand feet— the loops and links of the
torrent, winding among countless little meadows of
vivid green.

Oh, those blessed moments of respite, when your
stalker stops to spy ! Oh, the gratitude with which you
fling yourself beside him on the heather, trying your

222 ANOTHER DAY ON THE HILL

utmost — yet, as you feel, without the faintest success —
to look as if your temples were not throbbing as though
they would burst, and as though your chest were not
compressed with a band of adamant !

This time he spies to some purpose. Be still, 0
bumping heart ! be steady, quivering hands ! cease to
flow, O eyes, not with tears, but with the sweat of my
brow! and let me get the glass on these objects like
insects on the mountain flank, a mile and a half in
front of us.

Five — eight — fifteen deer, some grazing, some lying,
below a grey crag in the full sunshine. There are two
good stags there, so the stalker tells me, and in such
cases I never dream of forming my own opinion. Many
seasons have been added to the past— more than it
would serve any agreeable purpose to reckon — since
first I drew bead upon a warrantable hart, yet am I no
nearer now to the power of discriminating between ' a
good body ' and a poor one. The quality of the head,
of course, is obvious to any duffer who can squint through
a glass, but to reckon stones avoirdupois at any distance
greater than arm's-length transcends any perception
that I have at command.

They are in a critical place, these deer. The only
mode of approach is from above, and the air is flying in
such capricious gusts on this lee side of the hill that it
will be wonderful luck if they do not get our wind.
But the attempt has to be made; we climb five hundred
feet higher, above the snow level, then strike along the
hill face again, and in half an hour are lying, not in

SEPTEMBER 223

sight of the deer, but at a point well above them. The
ground is very steep and rough here, and we begin
slipping down feet foremost through the snow, careful
above everything not to dislodge any loose stones. A
small pack of ghost-like ptarmigan rise close at hand,
the old cock uttering his peculiar note between a purr,
a chuckle, and a crow. It is well they are not grouse,
which would have flown down the hill, and the game
would probably have been at an end. The ptarmigan
wheel upwards, and no harm is done ; when we arrive at
a convenient ledge and peer over, there are the beasts
still, about three hundred yards distant. The rifle is
withdrawn from the cover, and the downward crawl is
resumed ; far more cautiously now and by inches at a
time, because we can only trust to avoiding detection
by means of the closeness in hue of our garments to
the ground, and by reason that deer always keep a
sharper lookout below and around than they do above
them. Fifty yards is traversed in safety; suddenly a
little squall of wind puffs up behind us ; in an instant
every deer's head is in the air ; they draw together in
a clump, looking anxiously around, then begin to file at
a trot along the mountain side. The stalker thrusts
the rifle into my hands.

'Put up the 200 yards sight,' says he hoarsely.
* There, take him, the second one — ah, he 's covered ! '

An officious hind has interposed her carcase between
me and her antlered lord; the herd turns down the
hill, offering nothing but a lot of bobbing sterns, then
suddenly wheel to the left, and lengthen out into a

224 ANOTHER DAY ON THE HILL

string. They are cantering now, at a distance of fully
250 yards ; the chosen stag offers a fair broadside, but
so small that the foresight shuts him out of view as I
press the trigger. I see nothing for the smoke — only
hear the stalker rapturously exclaim, 'Well done, by
! You 're the right man in the right place, sir/

Surprise, I candidly admit, was uppermost and first
in my mind, and it was not till I stood beside a ten-
pointer, shot fairly through the spine, that it yielded
permanent place to pride; for it was a difficult shot,
and, after all, one argues in such circumstances, although
success feels uncommonly like a fluke, it cannot be
entirely set down to that score.

Well, out of respect to ultra-humanitarians, I will not
recount how, after crossing the ridge in the teeth of the
gale, and lying for half-an-hour upon snow, and under
fierce blasts of sleet and rain, a second stag, heavier and
better than the first, was laid low ; but I ask them to
look on another scene, perhaps more to their fancy. My
homeward path lay along the boundary of the sanctuary
— a vast hill, whereon no foot of stalker ever comes, nor
sound of rifle is heard.

After two hours of tempest, the sun had shone out
once more and sent its level rays into a great corrie,
wherein, through the glass, I could detect two herds,
numbering in all several hundred deer. They were
browsing peacefully or lying down, some of the young
stags indulging in mock combats, the calves gambolling
round their dams. What an aggregate of happy life, yet,
had some people their way, field sports would be cried

SEPTEMBER 225

down as disgraceful indulgence of the worst passions —
there would be no more stalking, no sanctuary, no red
deer on our hills at all. Wherein lies the offence ? I sup-
pose I saw six hundred deer of sorts that day ; of these
I shot two — a fair toll to take in return for the care
bestowed by man upon these wild animals, which,
moreover, he has delivered from their hereditary
enemies, the wolves.

LIII

For weeks Highland weather has been at its fairest :
morning after morning the mists had rolled The First

Breath of

away on the breeze or melted before the face winter
of Phoabus, leaving that delicious briskness in the air
suggestive of gentle effervescence. One had almost for-
gotten the feeling of being soaked and blown upon.
* Crawling ' — a stratagem inseparable from stalking —
had ceased to be more than agreeable exercise over a
fragrant surface as dry and soft as a drawing-room
carpet ; what wind there was we courted as a refresh-
ment, instead of cowering before it as a chastisement.

But the change came at last. Kising one morning
early — it was the eve of S. Michael and All Angels —
my eyes were greeted with streaming panes, my ears by
the whistling of a mighty wind among the chimney-pots.
My beat for the day was a high one, rising 2500 feet
above the lodge, which, it should be indicated, stands
1200 feet above the sea. Yet it was not perceptibly
colder, and a stranger might have been beguiled out in

p

226 THE FIRST BREATH OF WINTER

summer clothing. It takes a little experience of
Highland sport to adjust dress to remind one that
if there is any wind stirring, it is always most violent
on the tops ; that temperature falls one degree for
every three hundred feet of altitude, and that it is high
up that the longest lying-in-wait generally has to be
done. On the other hand, there is the danger of over-
clothing : it is difficult to say which invites the severest
suffering — too many clothes and too thick, or too
few and thin. Luckily, as it turned out, I recognised
the change of the season, and sought out a good
old flannel-lined suit which had not done duty since
last winter.

We took the hill in pelting rain. Our course lay up
the bank of a stream, lately harnessed to the servile
duty of providing electric light for the lodge, already
swollen by the night's rain into an indignant torrent.
A mile of ascent, and we were out of sight of dynamo,
turbine, workshop, and all apparatus of man ; massive
mountains rose in front and on either hand ; nor house,
nor path, nor fence offended the eye ; the crowing of an
old grouse cock was the only sound save the rushing of
the stream. Another mile — we had risen a thousand
feet now — and we were spying a great corrie. Far up,
just below the mist that drove along the mountain top,
was a large company of deer feeding on a grassy slope.

Directly deer are spied the sportsman is reminded of
his inferiority to the official stalker. Up to that point he
may have maintained a degree of self-respect. He may
have successfully veiled his distress in climbing inter-

SEPTEMBER 227

minable steeps ; he may have aped the careless confid-
ence with which his guide examines fen and corrie,
hill-face and crag — as familiar to the guardian of the
beat as the chambers of a mansion to its housekeeper ;
he may even be as quick in detecting deer as the other ;
but as soon as they are detected, he falls into his place ;
he ceases to be an individual and becomes ' a rifle ' — an
automaton to be set in motion by the master of the craft.

After a prolonged inspection through his glass of the
dusky objects a mile distant in the corrie, Donald pro-
nounces three out of the fifty or so to be good beasts and
'shootable.' I am filled with marvel, as usual, at the
power of discernment, little short of superhuman, it
seems to me, which enables a man to pronounce the
weight and age of a creature so distant that it looks
like an undersized house-fly. I can tell a good head
afar off; but if I say anything about it, I am generally
told that it is accompanied by a poor body, and must
not be shot. So I have learned not only to be dumb
on such occasions, but to refrain from entertaining any
independent opinion whatever.

Well, Donald, having decided that the beasts were
worth stalking, set off on a detour of two or three miles,
to arrive within business range of them. Hitherto it
had been wet indeed — very wet — but the hill had given
shelter from the blast ; now, as we climbed the comb of
the ridge, it battered us to some purpose. Bitter, bitter
cold ; as we mounted higher the rain changed to sleet,
then to soft snow. Nothing to complain of, this, while
moving briskly; the trial came when we reached the

228 THE FIRST BREATH OF WINTER

upper rim of the corrie. The ground here was covered
with loose shingle, boulders, and wan moss, scant cover
for three hundred yards of crawling on hands and knees,
which brought us again within sight of the deer ; after
that came a hundred yards — c on thy belly shalt thou
go,' commanded Donald in effect, by doing so himself
and wriggling along serpent-wise. To all his move-
ments I conformed, with my nose close to his hob-nails.
We were full in view of the deer now; the slightest
irregular movement on our part and some vigilant hind
would ' pick us up ' ; two hours ' labour would have been
wasted.

At last we came to a limit beyond which we could
not venture. Donald whispered that we must wait till
they fed within range. Now to wait thus in warm, dry
heather — in sunshine — is by no means the least lux-
urious part of hill work. But here to-day, plastered
prone on soaking moss, with a sharp stone digging into
the pit of one's stomach, snow driving into and melting
in one's ears, the wind piercing through wet tweed
and flannel as though it had been mousseline-de-laine
— the question presented itself, ' Is this fun ? ' to be
answered only in the words quoted by Whyte-Mel-
viile, ' It may be sport, but I 'm d — d if you can call
it pleasure ! '

A pair of ptarmigan, indeed, strutting about among
the rocks, purred their contentment with matters mete-
orological and otherwise ; but who ever saw a dissatisfied
ptarmigan? it is the very Mark Tapley among birds.
More sympathetic seemed a small wisp of golden plover

SEPTEMBER 229

which flitted past among the falling flakes ; of all bird
voices, their pipe is the most melancholy; but they
went their way and left us flattened on unhappy
stomachs. Still the deer lingered, moving forward but
by inches.

I was beginning to wonder what might be the limits
of human endurance short of congelation, when Donald,
looking round, beckoned me with his eyelids to draw
up alongside of him. Slipping the rifle into my frozen
hands, he bid me take ' that beast — the dark one behind
the four hinds/ My eyes were full of water born of
sheer physical misery; I saw nothing but indistinct
grey forms among grey boulders. At last, but with
difficulty, I recognised the stag he meant — a fine, thick-
necked fellow, broadside on, about one hundred and
twenty yards off. I endeavoured to aim as I lay.
Impossible ! By no contortionist device could I attain a
posture which did not completely prevent every chance
of hitting the mark. Slowly I raised my numbed frame
into a sitting attitude; before I could draw the bead
they saw me; the good stag turned to fly, leaving
nothing to shoot at but his haunches ; but he had not
increased the distance between us by a score of yards
before the other deer, hitherto out of sight, came up out
of the corrie and turned him. Now was my chance, and a
fair one, could I only make use of it in my frozen state.

A steady aim at the stag's shoulder— a pressure of
the trigger — and a miss ! * Make sure of him now/
whispered Donald, and certainly a fairer mark was
never offered. Crack! I saw the bullet strike the

230 CREATURES OF PREY

rocks in a way that showed me it had passed under the
stag's belly.

He was gone ! I had doubly bungled, but worse was
to follow.

More deer were coming up the pass. 'There, take
that one/ hissed Donald, cramming in a third cartridge
as a noble stag ambled by. It was hardly such an easy
shot as the first ; still, it was one which there was no
shadow of excuse for missing; nevertheless, missed
it was.

Drenched and dispirited, I descended the hill, con-
firmed in my boding that deer-stalking is not all plums
— an impression which a successful stalk and neatly
killed stag in the evening has not entirely dispelled.

LIV

During a fortnight spent last year in Knoydart I
creatures devoted some inquiry into the survival of
of Prey. certain of the rarer British mammals in that
wild region. Knoydart is the western moiety of Glen-
garry's ancient territory, which was once so finely
explained to an English lord by the chief's stalker,
Alastair Dubh, as they sat together on the summit
of Corrie Glas. ' All that you see,' he said, waving his
hands around, 'is Glengarry's'; but, of course, the
crowded hill-crests concealed a great deal of the
property, so he added, 'and all that you do not see,
that is Glengarry's also ! ' There are Macdonalds still
in the lonely Knoydart glens, though the soil has

SEPTEMBEE 231

passed into the power of the Saisneach. Among them
there are those who still can tell of that day of sorrow,
half a century ago, when the great chief, hopelessly in-
solvent, yielded up his vast possessions and passed
forth an exile, or at least an emigrant, with three
families of his clan, to cross the great water and seek
subsistence in the new world. The chief died, and his
line has failed; but many of his people prosper and
multiply exceedingly beyond the sea.

After that the land was parcelled out in great sheep
farms; the native woods, already sorely displenished
by their needy owners, shrank still further up the
steep ground, and the heather on many a hill paled
away before the spreading grass. But soon the time
came when sheep ceased to pay, and now great tracts
are given up to deer, to the mighty indignation of those
who would prefer a starving, compulsorily indolent
population of crofters to the well-housed, well-clad,
well-paid stalkers, gillies, and yacht hands who now
occupy the holdings.

These successive changes, added to the development
of grouse-shooting, which became popular during the
second quarter of the present century, have told with
marked effect on the wild life of the Highlands. Some
species have been displaced, brought to the verge of ex-
termination, while others have multiplied enormously.
At the end of the century we are able to strike the
balance of loss and gain from the point of view of
sportsman and naturalist, and it is not so disap-
pointing as some believe.

232 CREATURES OF PREY

Before the days of sheep-farming on a large scale
there was no inducement to destroy predatory beasts
and birds — those animals which the gamekeeper classes
as vermin. It is true that the right qualification for
the title of sportsman was held in the Highlands of
old to consist in having killed a royal stag, an eagle,
an otter, and a salmon ; but no systematic trapping or
shooting went on except for the larder. Inasmuch,
however, as foxes, wild cats, eagles, and ravens have a
distinct partiality for tender lamb, it became part of
the duty of shepherds to wage relentless war against
these interesting animals. Then came the grouse pre-
server, whose keepers extended the list of proscription
to include every creature of which the habits were open
to the slightest suspicion. The trap, especially the
cruel pole-trap, and gun were set to work on a scheme
of extermination. In his interesting little sketch of
Glengarry lately published, Mr. Edward Ellice gives the
following list of 'vermin' trapped in the first-named
glen between 1837 and 1840 :—

*11 Foxes. *27 White-tailed eagles,

*198 Wild cats. 18 Ospreys.

*78 House cats (going wild). *98 Blue hawks (sparrow-

*246 Martens. hawks).

*106 Polecats. *7 Orange-legged falcons

*301 Stoats and weasels. (? peregrines).

67 Badgers *11 Hobbies.

*48 Otters. *275 Kites.

*15 Golden eagles. *5 Marsh harriers.

SEPTEMBER 233

*63 Goshawks. *9 Ash - coloured hawks

285 Common buzzards. (Montagu's harrier).

371 Rough-legged buzzards.*1431 Hooded crows.
3 Honey buzzards. 475 Ravens.

462 Kestrels. 35 Horned owls (? short-eared

78 Merlins. owl).

*63 Hen harriers. 71 Fern owls (goatsuckers).

*6 Jerfalcons. 3 Golden owls (? barn owl).

*8 Magpies.

Now in this truly remarkable list those species which
may be properly classed as injurious to game are
marked with an asterisk ; perhaps the raven should be
starred also. I have not found it in my heart to in-
clude the osprey ; for, although he preys on fish, what
sportsman can grudge this gallant bird the quarry he
takes in such chivalrous fashion, swooping from the
cloud to the flood ? Buzzards, kestrels, merlins, owls —
it is not too late to plead for them even now; and
although they do occasionally learn vicious ways near
the crowded pheasant pens, surely we know enough of
their habits by this time to pronounce them absolutely
harmless on grouse ground. Then the unlucky fern-
owls, damned in the past by a series of misleading and
injurious synonyms — goatsucker, night-hawk, fern-owl
— it is only by rubbing in the truth, in season and out
of season, that Cimmerian ignorance can be brought to
understand that Caprimulgus is neither hawk nor owl,
nor sucks the milk of any living creature, but is, in
fact, nothing more terrible than a nocturnal swallow,

234 CREATURES OF PREY

most beautiful and useful withal, seeing that he preys
solely on flying insects, chafers, and the like. The
stoat and the weasel are bracketed together; but
if the former be handed over justly to the executioner,
it is base ingratitude to forget the services of the latter,
which is by profession mouse- and vole-hunter. Gold-
en eagles may be reckoned out of danger. In many
deer forests they are now strictly preserved; for
although they do occasionally drive a hind or her calf
over a precipice, striking at her with their mighty
wings, there is plenty of provender for these noble
birds as long as ptarmigan and blue hares abound.
Moreover, they have not a stomach too proud for
carrion. The white-tailed sea-eagles have not fared
so well. They are more apt to fix an eyrie on a sea
cliff, open to all who have nerve and a rope, and this
species is far less common now than the golden eagle.
Perhaps the most notable features in the Glengarry list
are the jerfalcons, goshawks, and kites. The goshawk
bred in Strathspey when Colonel Thornton was there
in 1786, but the occurrence in North Britain of a single
specimen of any of these three birds of ravin is now
among the rarest of events.

Vanishing land mammals formed the subject of a
recent paper in the Edinburgh Review (1898), the
writer indicating wild cats and polecats as the next
animals to follow bears, wolves, and wild swine to
extermination in Britain. I believe them to be in
less peril than they were before the extension of deer
forests. These great solitudes, especially those which

SEPTEMBER 235

contain fragments of the old woodland or tracts of
modern plantation, afford harbour for ' vermin ' which,
in a deer forest, it is nobody's interest to destroy. Small
game, such as grouse and hares, are not encouraged on
stalking ground, neither is it desirable to disturb such
ground by the operations of trapping. Hence, both the
true wild cat and the marten are actually increasing
in Knoydart, which abounds in steep, shaggy hillsides,
clothed for miles with indigenous birch, alder, and a
few pines. It is only accidentally that a marten
occasionally gets into a trap set for rabbits or others ; no
man knows how many there may be, for instance, in that
wild thicket, the Bachd-an-vich-tosaich (wood of the
chiefs son), which runs to the height of over a thousand
feet on the pass between Loch Hourn and Loch Nevis.
Last winter only one chanced to fall a victim, for the
stalker told me he was at pains to avoid killing martens,
and the beautiful fur of this one suggested wonder that
no Highland proprietor has adopted the suggestion for
a fur farm, which was thrown out a couple of years
ago by a writer hi the Spectator. The prodigious price
given in open market for marten skins ought to ensure
a profitable return on the outlay of fencing and tending
the animals, which require no more elaborate diet than
their cousin the ferret. Polecats or foumarts appear to
have become really extinct in this region, though they
still linger in others less wild and remote ; but as the
polecat is identical with the domestic ferret, no difficulty
need be experienced in restoring the species if desired.
The albino variety of polecat is usually preferred as a

236 CREATURES OF PREY

ferret by gamekeepers; the wild type is the brindled
kind.

As for wild cats, I examined the skins of six which
were taken during last winter (1897-98). They were all
of young animals, nearly full grown, kittled in a wood
not far from the lodge, but could scarcely be mistaken for
domestic cats gone wild. The short, dense tail, closely
ringed with black, and the beautifully 'tabby' fur,
warmed with russet inside the flanks, combined with
the great size of the skins, seemed to indicate that they
belonged to the true Felis catus, and that if any cross
had taken place with Felis domestica (itself only a
mongrel descendant of the wild cat), the foreign strain
had been completely worked out, and reversion to the
original type completed. Unluckily, these fine skins
were swarming with moths, and were utterly ruined.
Moreover, the heads unluckily had been removed from
these six skins ; and as none of the bones had been
preserved, all that it was possible to affirm upon the
evidence was the probability that in this remote wilder-
ness, extending from Morar to Loch Hourn, the true
wild cat was still to be found. It is well known to
British naturalists that Dr. Edward Hamilton has
entered very closely into the evidence bearing on the
survival of this beast of prey in our islands, and has
expressed an opinion that none remain unadulterated
with greater or lesser strain of the domestic cat. On
the other hand, it is equally well known that cats
exist in certain parts of the Highlands, exhibiting
all the signs in size, colour, and shape or tail of our

SEPTEMBEE 237

native catamountain, showing that the admixture of
Felis domestica, if it ever existed in this race, has been
bred out, and a complete reversion effected to the feral
type.

Well, on leaving Knoydart I straitly charged the
head stalker to let me hear of the first wild cat he
should get. These animals are not trapped in the
forest, which in Knoydart approaches more nearly to
the southron's apprehension of that term than it does
when used to express the ordinary deer ground of the
Highlands; for Knoydart contains many leagues of
shaggy hillside clad with birch, Scots pine, and other
trees. It is only when a cat descends to the plantations
near the lodge, or is taken hi a trap set for otters, that
a capture is effected. It was vastly agreeable to receive
one night lately a telegram from my friend the stalker :
'Wild cat secured: please forward instructions/ and
soon the reply was flashing back that it was to be sent
to the Director of the Natural History Department of
the British Museum. It is true that I was not without
some qualms. Was the beast alive or dead ? If alive,
would he prove a welcome morning visitor in South
Kensington ? However, all turned out right ; the poor
catamountain would never scrunch the neck of another
blue hare, seeing that its own skull proved to have been
irretrievably smashed. This was unfortunate, because
the bones of the head are important for the right
identification of species ; but doubtless it is a difficult
matter to deal delicately with a tiger — even a British
tiger — in a trap. I have received Dr. Oldfield Thomas's

238 DECENTLY AND IN OKDER,

report upon this animal, a fine adult male, as well as
upon another, a young male subsequently secured, and
both are pronounced to be indistinguishable from pure
Felis catus. These skins are now safely lodged in the
Museum at South Kensington.

LV

On a wet September afternoon lately, it was my lot
to attend a funeral in a remote part of the
and in west of Scotland. Most of us, I think, must
feel that in the ceremony of sepulture we
have reached less near perfection than in any other
social rite. It is associated in memory with a fussy
undertaker — with rusty mutes like waiters suddenly
turned out of a third-class restaurant into open day —
with a hideous hearse, tawdry in everything but colour
— and with a crowd clad in the ugliest garments that
centuries of civilisation have evolved from the primeval
fig-leaves. It may be thought that a Scottish funeral
is even less satisfactory than others. Suffering as
much as an English one from the barbarities of the
undertaker's craft, it is also stripped of the solemnity
of ancient ritual; earth is committed to earth in a
silence that would seem heartless had it not a peculiar
pathos of its own. Once upon a time the Church of
Scotland was shaken to its foundations by violent
disputes about the right way of shaving priests — from
ear to ear over the pate, as Columba prescribed, or in
a patch on the crown only, as was the practice of Rome,

SEPTEMBER 239

But for three hundred and fifty years the Reformed
Kirk of Scotland has enjoyed immunity from the
miserable squabbling about prayers and vestments,
postures, and lights, which at this day so deeply vex
the children of her English sister — children who seem
to be wasting half their playtime in disputes about
the rules of the game. For that immunity the Kirk
has to thank John Knox. When his flock at Frankfort-
on- Maine fell to quarrelling about the rules of the game
— surplices, audible responses, kneeling at Communion,
and so on — and would not play according to his rules,
he left them. Returning to Scotland, he took care
that, however many and warm might be the disputes
on questions of doctrine, there should be none within
his fold on these external ceremonies, and he swept
them all away. Clear and chill his stamp remains on
the national worship to this hour. What though there
be traced in populous places some timid renascence of
ceremonial — display of gay university hood on sombre
gown, praiseworthy intolerance of bad music? Did
you want to realise the effect of Knox's work — the
shuddering recoil from all semblance of sacerdotalism
— you should have stood beside me on that September
afternoon.

It was in grey Galloway — not grey, then, so much as
green, for there, during all the months you in the south
had been gasping for rain, the clouds had been dropping
fatness; while your pastures were shrivelled to the
colour and texture of bast matting, ours were lush
and dank with herbage; while the tongues of East

240 DECENTLY AND IN ORDER

Londoners clave to the roofs of their mouths, millions
upon millions of gallons were rolling through our
thousand glens, driving an amber stain across the azure
of the firth.

There had been a death in the ' big hoose ' — not one
of the laird's own blood, but the nearest thing to it —
the death of the aged housekeeper, who had seen three
lairds in succession. By no social alchemy can such
ties be woven as linked this venerable dame to the
house she served for half a century, any more than
flesh and blood can be built in a mould by nice com-
mixture of phosphates, nitrates, cellular tissue, and what
not. Served — yes, her sphere was service, but of that
kind which acquires a strong blend of authority. The
accident of primogeniture caused a boy born in such a
house to become its master ; but he would as soon have
thought of cutting down his ' dule tree ' — the im-
memorial ash standing beside the courtyard, symbol of
the obsolete baronial right of pit and gallows — as of
discharging the stately regent of ' the room.' Though
not specified in his charters, she was as much part of
his inheritance as hill and dale, pasture and cornland,
woods and plains, moors, marshes, turbaries, water-
mills, multures and minerals, hawkings, huntings, and
fishings, liberties and easements, parts and pendicles —
tarn non nominata quam nominata, tarn sub terra
quam supra terram, tarn procul quam prope. Surer
fixity of tenure it were not in the power of the legis-
lature to bestow ; but just as the 'dule tree' may yield
to the gale some winter's night, so the old housekeeper

SEPTEMBER 241

has gone down under the power before which all
mortals must bow. No more the maids shall tremble
under her rebuke; no more her stiff' silk shall rustle
in the long passages; no more shall she reckon her
legions of white jars in which it was her pride to store
the fruit of so many summers and autumns. She has
died at her post, with the keys of office in her hand,
and they are about to bring her out of the front door
to her burial.

The scene is grimly simple. On the gravel sweep
before the house are gathered a hundred or so of sable
figures ; all men, of course, according to the ancient but
unwritten law which keeps women behind drawn blinds
on these occasions. The laird is there, and some of his
tenants, a few tradesmen from the village, and the
fellow-servants of the departed. The fair park stretches
away to the sloping woods, among which lies the lake
— a broad silver shield — beneath drifting clouds. On
the lawn, just behind the mourners, my eye rests on a
suggestive, though inanimate, group of two. A tall
grey pillar-stone, one of those disc-headed crosses of
the early Celtic Church, covered with intricate orna-
ment on every inch of surface, seems to repeat the
message intrusted to it by pious hands a thousand
years ago — the message of peace on earth and goodwill
towards men. Close beside it is a very different object,
charged with another message. This also is orna-
mented : it bears the Kussian eagle, for it once formed
part of the armament of the Great Redan of Sebastopol,
peace and goodwill among men being scarcely the

Q

242 DECENTLY AND IN ORDER

cause of its transportation to this distant island.
What a space of centuries is covered by these two
memorials ! Has the message of the first been a
failure ? If not, how explain the scale of our annual
war estimates ? What connection with either has the
Tsar's pacific rescript of yesterday or President Kruger's
bold defiance to-day ?

This train of vague musing is interrupted by the
appearance of the minister on the steps, bible in hand.
He wears no gown ; and though his white head is bare,
we remain covered while he reads a chapter from the
Old Testament and another from the New ; but when
he closes the book, we all doff our hats while he offers
an unwritten prayer. We have no ritual in Scotland —
we are inclined to plume ourselves on that — but not
the less are we scrupulous to conform to etiquette,
custom, or whatever it is that prescribes exactly what
to do at each part of the ceremony.

The prayer over, we get into carriages of various
kinds — 'machines' we call them here — and, forming
an unpretentious procession, wind slowly down the
approach, out among the recent stubbles, through the
little seaport town, where flags drop at half-mast on
the few craft in harbour, and so for some miles to the
solitary kirk with its green fold under the sighing ash-
trees. Green and grey — those are the dominant tones
in the landscape ; and so we lay the grey hairs under
the green turf, and part, with no more said.

©ctofiet

LVI

THERE can be no true lover of nature — no sportsman
in the right sense of the term — whose heart -p^p
has not bled for the suffering inflicted upon reform
wild creatures by traps. Of all the sights which one
encounters in a woodland walk, there is none more
pitiable than that of a rabbit writhing in anguish, with
crushed limb and bleeding flesh, in the jaws of an iron
trap, or crouching low in the terror that overpowers
all other torment. Trapping is a dire necessity: it
is the only permanently effective way of keeping
rabbits within reasonable numbers. Snaring with wire
nooses is more merciful, for the creature is generally
throttled outright, and it answers very well for a while ;
but after a few days it scares the rabbits from their
runs, and the game is up. The invention of a painless
trap has long been the dream of many owners of game
preserves; and Colonel Coulson of Newbrough, Four-
stones- on-Tyne, has sent me a sample of one, invented
by himself, which goes a long way to realise what is
desired. This trap is the same in every respect as the
ordinary one, save that it has no teeth. Instead of

243

244 TRAP REFORM

teeth there is riveted inside each of the jaws a stout
strip or pad of corrugated rubber which gives quite as
secure a grip as teeth, without lacerating the skin or
smashing the bones.

The next thing is to persuade gamekeepers (a most
conservative race) and trappers to use it. Some of
them are sure to find objections to it; but others, it
is certain, will gladly adopt an invention which rids the
business of a trapper from some of its most unpleasant
features. John Newbiggin writes as follows : —

' For thirty-six years I have been gamekeeper at Nunwick
to the Allgood family, and have trapped more rabbits pro-
bably than any man in Northumberland. I have tried
Colonel Coulson's rabbit- trap for nearly three weeks. I
never thought it possible that such a trap could have been
arrived at. It holds firmly without piercing the skin. I
laid out rabbits that had been caught in it and the old ugin."
In the former there were no marks, while those caught by
the " gin " had broken and pierced legs. I consider this trap a
thoroughly humane invention, and am much taken with it.'

My own gamekeeper, whom I desired to test one of
these traps, reports : ' I have now caught over a dozen
rabbits in the new trap without one of them having a
broken leg; and even the skin of the leg was not
broken/ These are expert opinions, and ought to put
the old and barbarous gin out of use in all establish-
ments where there is the slightest pretence to humanity.
It is not likely, indeed, that trapping will be rendered
thereby absolutely painless to rabbits. Probably it is
the anguish of terror which inflicts the keenest suffering

OCTOBER 245

on a wild animal suddenly trapped. It is known that
human beings who have been mangled by lions and
tigers have declared afterwards that they were uncon-
scious of physical pain at the moment. But at least
Colonel Coulson's trap inflicts no traumatic injury ; the
animals are captured in better condition for the market
or the larder than by the common gin; and, if the
inventor cannot expect much gratitude from the
immediate objects of his consideration, he deserves to
receive it from dog owners, who, when their favourites
accidentally get caught, will have no more smashed
bones and bleeding feet to mourn over. I hope that
Colonel Coulson's trap will receive the attention it
deserves, and get a fair trial.1

LVII

Autumn is upon us, and among the many familiar
harbingers of cooler days and lengthening Autumn
nights may be noticed one visitor which used Flowers
to be reckoned exceptional, and has always been
capricious in its appearance. The clouded yellow
butterfly (Colias edusa) was formerly reported at long
and uncertain intervals, suddenly appearing in the
autumn of certain seasons in considerable numbers.
It is believed that none of the chrysalids survive the
winter of these islands, and that these occasional autumn

1 The makers are Messrs. Tinsley and Co., Old Hill, Staffordshire,
and the traps cost about fivepence each more than the ordinary
toothed gins.

246 AUTUMN FLOWEKS

flights are the progeny of parents blown hither from
the Continent in spring. But the visits of the clouded
yellow seem to be getting more frequent : we had this
fine insect in abundance all over Britain in 1892, again
in 1895, last year in smaller numbers, and now once
more, in 1897, it is dancing over the turnip fields in
the west of Scotland. Is it possible that it has come
to stay, and may hereafter be reckoned among our
resident species ?

More obvious to casual observers than the signs of
departing summer offered by insects are those apparent
in the annual movement of the bird population. The
cuckoos and nightjars have departed; but just now the
land is full of innumerable wheatears leisurely moving
south. Every cyclist must surely have noticed those
charming birds, flitting among the roadside fence,
perching in front of him, whisking off with a flourish of
gleaming white tails at his approach, to alight again only
to repeat tte same manoeuvre times without number.
Here, in Scotland, the wheatear has nothing to fear
from man ; a nation of farmers ought to be only too glad
to welcome flocks of this beneficent insect-eater, but I
am afraid a heavy toll is taken when the flight reaches
lower latitudes. The shepherds of the South Downs
snare hundreds of them for the market. Yarrell quotes
the Linnean Society as authority for the statement
that upwards of a thousand have been taken in a single
day by one shepherd, and in Pennant's time the annual
bag near Eastbourne was reckoned at twelve thousand.
Still, it cannot be said that there is any apparent

OCTOBER 247

diminution in the numbers passing through the island,
and this year these seem to be even greater than
usual.

In the garden no season is more charming than the
present. Spring flowers may be fairer and more pre-
cious, summer blossoms more lavish, but none more
varied or more richly coloured than those of autumn.
Perhaps our gardeners are at special pains to prepare a
feast of colour for those who choose to forgo the
delights of the country life till summer is past. This
was the excuse for the bedding-out furore while it
lasted ; but now that this, happily, has worn itself out,
it is found that the once despised 'herbaceous stuff' is
quite as capable as the other of affording a brilliant
display in September. The post brings plenty of
nursery and florist catalogues just now, and the man
with an eye to future seasons may do worse than take
one of these in his hand and compare the descriptions
given with the actual effect in the borders.

The most gorgeous blossoms in the autumn borders
are undoubtedly those of the Japanese golden-rayed
lily, and it is right to recruit the stock of these each
year ; for no amateur known to me, save Mr. G. F. Wilson,
in his wonderful garden at Weybridge, can reckon on
more than ten per cent, of the bulbs remaining vigorous
after flowering. Mr. Wilson's secret — or is it his soil
— or a combination of both ? — enables him to grow and
propagate these splendid lilies as abundantly as a
common man might grow hawkweed; he has many
imitators, but no rivals in success. Only this — try and

248 AUTUMN FLOWERS

get homegrown bulbs, even if they cost you twice as
much as imported ones, and insist on having the robust
variety known as Lilium auratum platypJiyllum.

Torch lilies (commonly called ' red-hot pokers ') are
of many species, and by careful selection the flowering
season may be arranged to extend from August to the
first hard frost. Strange that a native of Africa should
be as much at home under our cloudy skies as any
common flag. The blossoms of all the torch lilies have
a strong family likeness, varying slightly in fiery tones.
For some recondite reason it has been decreed at Kew
that the whole genus hitherto known by the easy title
of Tritoma, shall in future answer to the awkward
name of Knifophia or Kniphofia\ but as I have
forgotten how to spell the new name, I must continue
to use the old one for the present. The dwarf
Tritoma Macowani — a charming species — has flowers
of soft red; the largest kind, T. nobilis, is also the
latest to flower, and should have a warm, sunny
border under a wall, so as to coax it forward. The
handsomest in foliage is T. caulescens, with a yucca-
like crop of glaucous leaves growing from the top of a
thick stem, and flowering earlier than the rest of the
family. Talking of yuccas, how much too seldom are
they grown. Yucca gloriosa is an aggravating plant,
remaining sullenly flowerless for half a lifetime, then
suddenly sending up a fountain of thousands of creamy
bells. But Y. filamentosa is much more free, and a
group of a dozen of these may be reckoned on giving
an average of three fine spikes each year.

OCTOBER 249

Turning from the giants of the border to the dwarfs,
there is no more constant friend in autumn than the
Colchicum, known to young ladies (erroneously) as the
autumn crocus, and to boys (vulgar ones, of course) as
'naked ladies.' But the prince of colchicums is seldom
seen, though quite as easily grown as the common sorts.
This is C. speciosum twice or thrice the size of any
other, and most desirable for its beautiful chalice of
clear rose. Of the true autumn crocus, by far the best
is Crocus speciosus, which grows like any weed, and
sends up crowds of veined cups of violet hue, contrast-
ing admirably with the brilliant orange stigmata.

The heaths are too well known to need mention, but
one of the family flowering at this season is not so
often seen as it deserves to be. This is the shrub
Clethra loaded with spikes of white May-scented bloom.
Of three or four species, Clethra arborea is the best,
and alnifolia next.

A splendid addition has been made lately to yellow
autumn flowers in the shape of Rudbeckia maxima, a
really noble plant bearing large yellow solitary flowers,
with conical centres of maroon, on stems four feet high,
rising out of broad glaucous leaves. Another notable
yellow is a shrubby St. John's wort (Hypericum oppo-
sitifolium), rarer and far more choice than H. Patulum
which nurserymen are prone to substitute for it, and
unsurpassed even by the new hybrid H. Mozerianum,
though that is a fine thing too. Among blue flowers,
Veronica subsessilis is conspicuous in this month, with
solid spikes of deep lapis-lazuli colour. The vast variety

250 AUTUMN FLOWERS

of Gladiolus is apt to debauch the judgment for shades
of red; but the glowing Monarda didyma, known as
' bee balm ' in its native North America, and first cousin
of the bergamot often seen in old-fashioned parterres,
pleases the eye with its rich velvety tone. Don't forget
the so-called purple groundsel (Senecio pulcher), which
bears an uncommon shade of rosy lilac on its spreading
rays. Then there are two pink flowers, of which almost
every visitor is sure to ask the name : one is the truly
exquisite Sparaxis pulcherrima, with large airy bells
dancing on arching, wiry stalks four feet high. The
other is a large stonecrop, Sedum spectabile (see you
get the true, bright rose variety), of which the broad,
crowded corymbs have a never-failing attraction for
wagtails by reason of the flies which gather round
them, and for red admirals and humming-bird moths,
by reason of the honey they contain.

Of white flowers there is abundance. Hydrangea
paniculata is perhaps the most showy, with its great
drifts of cream-tinted plumes; but for perfect grace
and beauty there is nothing to compare to the white
Japanese windflower ( Anemone Japonica var. Honorine
Joubert). Blessed be Mr. William Robinson for bringing
this flower to common knowledge about a quarter
of a century ago ! The cult of the aesthetes is ex-
tinct, but while they were with us nothing excited their
withering wrath more surely than a display of white
and gold. Yet in what combination does Nature take
more delight from the trivial daisy to such master-
pieces as the magnolia, the water-lily, and the Madonna

OCTOBER 251

lily ? And in no blossom are they painted more purely
than in this autumn windflower.

These and an innumerable host of other autumn
jewellery are at our disposal to furnish our gardens
withal, yet will they fail of half their charm unless the
setting is worthy of them. Straight borders of uniform
width are well enough for a mere collection, but far
more is wanted for a right floral gallery. If one re-
commends a background of shrubs, it is too apt to
suggest a dreary waste of that kind of plum which we
fondly call laurels (Prunus pseudo-cerasus) or a still
more dismal thicket of another plum which we distin-
guish as Portugal laurel. If your climate suffers the
true laurel — the sweet bay, the meed of heroes — to grow,
it is well with you ; but if not, what an array of lovely
things there is to choose from — the frosted silver of
Retinospora squarrosa, the emerald sheen of Choisya
ternata and Griselinia littoralis (we have no English
names for these recent acquisitions — the first from
Brazil, the second from Japan), the feathery grace of
Indigofera, the upright forms of Lawson's cypress, the
roseate mist of Venetian sumach, and the boldly pinnate
sculpture and intense colour of the stag's-horn sumach.
Then there is the curious Desfontainea spinosa, which
pretends, with some success, to be a holly during the
early months, till one fine morning in August you find
it studded with scarlet and yellow trumpets three inches
long. Another surprise is Rhus toxicodendron, the
poison oak of the States, a meek, green leafy thing all
summer, blazing into matchless scarlet and yellow in

252 WHEEE TWO KINGDOMS MEET

autumn. It is usually sold under the harmless title of
Ampelopsis japonica, but beware ! it is a Rhus, and
dangerously, violently poisonous.

Half-a-dozen words must be spoken about choice
weeds, which, if you scatter the seeds thereof once, will
come up in all kinds of unexpected places for ever
after. Of such is the little Alpine toadflax (Linaria
alpina), with purple and orange clusters, another
toadflax (L. tristis) pied with maroon and yellow, a
third (L. crassifolia) with violet and white blooms, to
which may be added our native ivy-leaved toadflax
(L. cymbalaria) to drape old walls withal. The annual
species of Silene, as well as the Shirley poppy and its
cousins, Papaver alpinum and P. umbrosum, respond
generously to this kind ot neglect.

LVIII

The whole firmament is looped and waved with

wru delicate grey cloud, save where, on the south,

Where two J

kingdoms a low band of pale yellow throws the horizon
meet . r ....

into relief. Although it is within an hour of

noon, a kind of twilight, peculiar to a northern ' back-
end/ renders even the near landscape indistinct; but
the oaks of Carhain, sloping to the stream, burn like
red gold, and the river reach in the foreground gleams
like beaten silver. Every hill and hollow, every crag
and shaw, is full of historic meaning; for history is
made up of strife, and nowhere do people strive so
fiercely — nowhere do they hate each other so bitterly

OCTOBER 253

— as on the banks of a great river. 'That fellow on
the other side!' — why, the old meaning of rivalis, a
dweller on a rivus or river bank, is quite forgotten
in our use of the modern term ' rival/ Such a position
implies fighting just as surely as loitering at crossways —
trivia — engenders gossip — what is ' trivial/ This Tweed
is a river of rivers, across which for three centuries was
hurtled to and fro warfare of that woful, wasteful sort
that only brothers can wage. These brothers have
made up their quarrel now, and look back wondering
what on earth it was made them fall out.

The birthplace of the great dispute is close at hand —
only a couple of fields off. Those few grey roofs, scat-
tered on yonder green ridge, are all that mark the site
of once famous Birgham-on- Tweed, where, on July 18th,
1290, the four guardians of Scotland, forty-four ecclesi-
astics, twelve earls, and forty-seven barons set their
seals to the treaty defining the relations which should
exist between their country and England after the
approaching marriage of Edward of Carnarvon, first
Prince of Wales, to Margaret, the child-Queen of Scot-
land— the Maid of Norway. Even at the distance of
six centuries it is difficult to reflect without chagrin
on the shattering of this fair project by the untimely
death of the Maid. Fighting, doubtless, there would
have been in any case, so many were the facilities for
that pastime afforded by the feudal system, but not
three hundred years of butchery between people of
the same race and language. When Alexander in.
died, in 1285, the best king that ever sat on the

254 WHERE TWO KINGDOMS MEET

throne of Scotland, he left his realm rich, his subjects
busy and prosperous, and in perfect amity with the
subjects of his nephew, Edward i. When, in 1603,
James vi. assumed the crown of both kingdoms, three
centuries of perpetual warfare had strained and drained
the resources of his northern realm to such a pitch
that the name of Scot had passed into a byword for
poverty among all the nations of the earth.

How different it all might have been — sua si bona
norint ; and yet, morals and economics apart, who that
knows and loves the borders would have it otherwise —
would exchange for ages of cumulative prosperity the
store of legend and ballad which consecrates the valley
of the Tweed ? Who can bring himself to deplore the
stern, sharp schooling which has left such lasting traces
on the character, physical and intellectual, of its
people ?

It is one of the chief charms of angling — especially for
salmon — that, in the intervals of action, one's thoughts
are free to gather up all that the neighbourhood has
to impart of its story; and so this morning, as the
boatman, standing afar on the Scottish bank, allows
me at the end of his rope to drop foot by foot down
one of the most renowned casts in Tweed, and the
wavelets tinkle drowsily against the coble, my mind is
full of far-off days. I am in Scotland, but the building
on the further side of the bank is not a kirk, but an
English parish church. Every cast that I make sends
my fly across the frontier where two kingdoms meet —
a line in mid-current as imaginary as that which once

OCTOBER 255

so sharply severed people of the same race and speech'
Does it not seem — ? My thoughts are smartly switched
off upon another course. As the fly sweeps round
the stream there is a sudden stoppage, the rod is
quickly raised, the good greenheart bends like a strip
of steel, and the reel plays out slowly as a heavy fish
dives among the rocks of the Kirkend.

There is no rush or flurry ; imagination has a good
deal to do with the description anglers are so fond
of giving of the racing and desperate struggles of
heavy fish. Truth to tell, these late autumn fish play
sluggishly, though with considerable vis inertice. At
nearly all times the speed of a salmon on the line
depends very much on the strength of the current;
an eight-pound fish in a swift stream will afford his
captor far more excitement than an eight-and-twenty
pounder in still, deeper water. The current here is
no more than moderate, and the contest consists of a
series of resolute journeys to the deep water, followed
by reluctant yielding to the merciless pressure of good
silkworm gut. The water, however, is very shallow on
the Scottish shore, and the fish — a heavy kipper —
manifests a strong objection to daylight; each time he
feels the gravel he puts on steam, and plunges heavily
back to the depths. At last, a broad gleam shows
beneath the wave ; he is on his broad side — a sure sign
of exhaustion. Three minutes more and the boatman,
wading in to mid-leg, deftly passes the net under him,
and scoops out my first victim— a thick-set, shapely
fish of exactly four-and-twenty pounds.

256 WHERE TWO KINGDOMS MEET

Once more the boat glides out at the rope's end, and
the fly — a gay ' Kate ' with carmine bodice and golden
ruff — is sent on its mission. ' A yard or two more line,
sir/ calls the boatman from the bank. ' He lies pretty
far over there.' Hardly is the command obeyed, when
a vigorous tug under water preludes another struggle
similar in all respects to the first, except that this
time the index of the steelyard only touches seventeen
pounds.

I have arrived now at the part of the cast known as
'the Kitchen/ where the current slackens and the
river widens into a tranquil pool. Several fish are
showing there, but, alas ! there is not a breath stirring ;
the surface is glassy, and, save a single indolent roll at
the lure without effect, not a salmon of them all will
take the slightest notice of 'Kate.' So we make up
our minds to invade England : the boat is drawn up to
the top of the stream and rowed across ; operations are
begun from the right bank. By the time the foot of
the cast is reached another brace of salmon lie in the
boat, twenty and seventeen pounds. A short interval
for lunch follows, and we go off to try two other casts
in succession; but 'Flummie' — a swirling, strong torrent
— is too heavy to-day ; nothing looks up there. Down,
then, half a mile to the ' Three Stanes/ a famous place
for big fish. The current is held up here by a ' cauld '
or weir, and rolls sullen and dark under a high cliff
on the Scottish shore, gorgeous with the leafy livery
of autumn. Oh, for a puff of wind ! It is distressingly
calm ; the line falls on the surface like a cart rope.

OCTOBER 257

' Come on ! ' it seems to say to that fine fellow who
has just glided up, head and tail, as stiff as a board in
mid-current; 'come on! here is something he wants
you to believe is dainty fare. Don't you believe a
word of it: it is not a fly, or a shrimp, or a fish, or
anything good to eat at all ; but just a bundle of fur
and feather, with a well-tempered double hook, and
here am I behind it to drag you ashore, if you are
such a fool as to bite at it.'

Cast I never so delicately, the same explicit warning
is repeated again and again, with the effect that,
although the 'Sir Richard,' which I have substituted
for dainty 'Kate/ probably floats over the heads of
half a hundred fish, they only wink at it (or would
wink if they had the eyelids to wink withal), and
lie low.

There is not an hour of daylight left, just time for
another trial of the rippling Kirkend. Fishing down
the Scottish side, I hold a fish for a moment or two,
and he is off. Over to England again ; perhaps the
gloaming has brought some of the fish out of the
kitchen into the brisker water. Ha ! there he is, sure
enough ; marry ! the heaviest fish I have felt to-day.
He runs strong and deep, perhaps it is that forty-
pounder which I have been toiling after for nearly
as many years. It is almost dark when the question
is decided, and it is a little disappointing to find he
is only another twenty-pounder. Had I lost him,
he would have figured in this chronicle of far more
formidable weight.

R

258 POCHARDS AND TUFTED DUCK

The day is done, and as I wend iny way home
through the shadows disappointment has no share in
my reflections, for many good fishing days produce
less than ninety-eight pounds of salmon.

LIX

For some years it has been evident that pochards and
tufted ducks are extending their breeding
and Tufted range in this country, and I am able for the
first time to certify that both these species
nest in Wigtownshire. The presence of odd pairs of
these birds during the summer, and the early appear-
ance of young ones, for many years past had given me
a pretty strong notion that they had not travelled very
far. This year a neighbour of mine obtained from a
keeper on Lord Bute's moors two lots of young ducks,
which turned out on inspection to be pochards and
tufted duck. There are seven lochs, some of them
pretty extensive and studded with islets, in the upper
part of this parish, and here, it seems, has been the
regular breeding-place of several pairs. Moreover, I
have a moral certainty that the scaup breeds there also,
though it is usually reckoned a marine duck. I saw
two pairs of scaup on my sanctuary lake in the middle
of April. When I returned in the first week of
August there were nine.

Scaup, pochard, and tufted duck are all diving ducks,
not only nearly akin to each other, but associating
together habitually in the most friendly way. They

OCTOBER 259

frequent the same feeding grounds, and eat the same
food ; but it is a remarkable thing that while the flesh
of scaup and tufted duck is rank and, if not uneatable,
next door to it, very unpalatable, the pochard, or dun-
bird, is one of the most excellent of ducks on the table.
It is the only diving duck known to me which is worth
powder and shot.

It is a curious thing that mallard, shoveller, widgeon,
and teal — surface-feeding ducks — have never learned to
dive for food. The accomplishment would be useful to
them ; for one may often see them poking their heads
and shoulders far under water in search of food, with
their tails sticking aloft in a very unbecoming manner.
Perhaps it is not considered good form in high aquatic
circles to dive under the table for victuals ; that surface
ducks can dive let any one testify who has pursued a
wounded mallard in the water. But in society they
don't do it, though they are not above gobbling up
the floating fragments dislodged from the bottom by
the diligence of their diving associates.

LX

A lovely object is before my eyes as I write. It is
only a common spindle tree (JSuonymus
europceus) about twelve feet high, but every
spray of it weighed down with its curious four-lobed
berries of a peculiar shade, which it would be hard to
match in other fruits. They are not crimson, like
haws, nor scarlet, like hips and holly berries, nor orange-

260 BEKEIES

red, like the pyracanthus, but exactly the hue and
quality of rosy coral. Were the spindle a rare exotic
we should rave about it; standing in clear sunshine,
which turns its leafless boughs to silver, it gleams
against a dark background of yew with an effect of
marvellous beauty. Yet it is a native British shrub,
abundant enough in some English and Irish districts,
and establishing itself freely when introduced into
Scotland, although it seldom occurs to anybody as
worth planting. We cram our woodwalks and shrub-
beries with common rhododendrons and so-called
laurels, which are not laurels at all, but evergreen
plums (Prunus lauro-cerasus), till a wearisome mono-
tony makes one place resemble another as nearly as
possible. There are plenty of innocent persons who
believe this evergreen plum to have furnished the
original meed of heroes. Of course, it is not the true
triumphal laurel; that is the sweet bay (Laurus
nobilis), belonging to a widely distant order — the
Lauracece — the mock laurel being a member of the
rose tribe. Japan sends us plenty of evergreen spindles
aiso; you may see nearly half a mile of seawall at
Brighton planted with Euonymus japonicus, which has
an advantage over the British species in being ever-
green, but vastly inferior to it in producing no lovely
fruit. The common spindle rejoices in one notable
attribute, that of holding a place in the very limited
list of ornamental shrubs that withstand the attacks of
rabbits.

Another British shrub at present very attractive by

OCTOBER 261

reason of its fruit is the sea-buckthorn, or sallow-thorn
(Hippophce rhamnoides). It is a dioecious shrub, the
sexes being on separate plants, and the females only
bearing berries ; but these are thickly studded on every
twig with clusters of orange-yellow berries, contrasting
charmingly with the silvery foliage. Some varieties
bear brown berries, but such ought to be rigidly sup-
pressed. The popular name, sea-buckthorii, is rather
misleading, and arises from the fact that in England
the plant is only found wild on waste land near the sea,
but its real home is in Central Asia and Eastern Europe,
and it will be found to make itself quite at home in
inland places.

Of more vivid orange are the seeds of the gladdon,
or woodland iris (Iris fcetidissima), now displayed in
many a south-country hedgerow by the opening of the
large triple capsule containing them. This is a herb
which is well worth planting in those parts of the
country where it does not come spontaneously ; it takes
care of itself in waste places under trees ; and as for the
uncomplimentary title bestowed upon it by men of
science, why, the worst that can be alleged against it is
that the leaves when bruised give out an odour of cold
roast beef. If that is unpleasant to you, don't bruise
the leaves.

One of the most curious, and at the same time most
showy, British berries is the fruit of the butcher's
broom (Ruscus aculeatus). It is borne abundantly in
the southern counties, but will not ripen beyond the
northern limits of the nightingale, though the plant

262 BEEEIES

itself grows freely enough when planted in Scotland.
It is a paradoxical little shrub, something like a stunted
holly in aspect, but being in reality a kind of lily.
Its true leaves have wasted into minute scales under-
neath leaf-like branches, each ending in a stout prickle.
In the middle of the sham leaf appears in spring a tiny,
whitish flower, to be followed in autumn by a relatively
immense scarlet berry.

It is rather a crying mischief at present, the prevail-
ing neglect of native plants. As Mr. Cornish has
pointed out lately in his charming book, Wild England
of To-day, a well-marked tract of country consisting of
sand formation, stretching from Dorking and Ascot to
Bournemouth, has suddenly been recognised as ' eligible
building property,' and is being converted rapidly
'into one immense residential suburb, composed of
houses graded to suit all incomes from £500 a year
upwards/ Now the characteristic vegetation of this
district consists of heather and pines, fern and furze.
The speculative builder's first care is to efface these, to
lay out ' grounds ' which it is the seeduian's business to
provide with lawn, inasmuch as heather is incompatible
with croquet and lawn tennis, and the nurseryman's to
furnish with shrubberies. Naturally, the nurseryman
dumps down whatever he happens to have in stock, of
which rhododendrons, mock-laurels, and that most
dismal of all shrubs, the Portugal laurel (also a plum),
are sure to be most plentiful. There will also be a
variety of the newer conifers, wholly irrespective of
whether they be dwarf Retinospora, suitable in stature

OCTOBER 263

for a modest garden, or Californian Abies, which start
with the intention of soaring to eight score of feet.
Things like these take such vigorous hold and grow so
strongly that it requires a regular siege-train to dis-
lodge them ; meanwhile, the native flora, which consti-
tuted the chief attraction of the place, have been
expelled for ever or relegated to an ever-narrowing
hinterland.

Reflecting upon the divine summer just gone by (1899),
what a variety of beautiful berries one may call to
mind ! Among the earliest of these is the cloudberry
(Rubus chammceorus) of the Highland hills, delicate in
form and flavour, the whole plant not six inches high,
balancing, on the windy moor, its large amber-hued
fruit among ample, lobed leaves. Not less dainty is its
relative, also affecting northern latitudes, the stone-
berry (R. saxatilis) with bright red fruit. Of duskier
crimson and less transparent is the wood raspberry
(R. idceus), the fruit of Mount Ida, to appreciate
which, you should spend a day on the hill, and descend-
ing in the evening faint and leg-weary, refresh your-
selves with the delicious subacid of the wild plant.
The rowan, which yields the proper jelly to eat with
venison, will not be forgotten, nor yet a host of little
mountain and wood fruits, the purple blaeberry or
whortleberry, the jetty crowberry — a veritable little
mountain grape — and the cranberry, cowberry, and
bearberry, all red. But the most brilliant and curious
fruit among our British wild plants is not a berry at all,
in botanical language, but a drupe, and a remarkably

264 BERRIES

tasteless one too; as you will find if you expect some-
thing succulent. This is produced by the eccentric
dwarf cornel (Cornus suecica), found in this country
on the Scottish mountains and in a few places in
Northumberland and Yorkshire. This curious and
beautiful little herb belongs to the dogwood family, and
has many aristocratic and important relatives, such as
our native dogwood, the Japanese aucuba and others.
Its small, dark purple flowers are gathered into a flat
cushion surrounded by four snowy-white, petal-like
bracts, making up a very showy inflorescence, which
has a strangely exotic effect in the mountain solitudes.
The fruit which follows is of the intense scarlet of
sealing-wax, and delights the deerstalker, if he has eyes
for anything besides his quarry, by the brilliancy with
which its lowly clusters light up grey rocks and brown
heath.

Most beautiful of all British shrubs, if you take
foliage, flower, and leaf into account, is the arbutus of
Killarney. Alas! that it should be tender in less
favoured parts of our islands, and, alas ! that even in
those seaside places where it thrives, it is not more
commonly planted. Its pendulous fruit has a deli-
ciously edible appearance, but the botanists have well
named it Arbutus unedo (unum edo), inasmuch as he
who tries one will not hanker for more.

Among exotic berry-bearers let me name one which
deserves special favour from landscape-gardener —
namely, the tree cotoneaster (C. frigidus). Its large
leaves are semi-evergreen, and the scarlet fruit hangs in

OCTOBER 265

festoons among them till after Christmas, birds pre-
ferring the haws and holly berries as long as they last.
It grows twenty feet high, very different in appearance
from the cotoneasters used as wall plants, and is per-
fectly hardy and rabbit-proof.

LXl

THE Royal Commission on Tweed and Solway salmon-
Autumn on fishings, which reported in 1896, unanimously
the Tweed en^Orsed the recommendation which the
Fishery Boards of England and Scotland have repeatedly
made. Salmon can only spawn, they point out, and
anglers can only ply their art, in fresh water ; netting,
therefore, which means the wholesale destruction of fish
entering the rivers to spawn, should be restricted to
tidal waters and the open sea. A fair proportion of
every run of fish throughout the season should be
allowed to escape, to ensure the maintenance of the
race, and to prevent salmon-fishing becoming the exclu-
sive privilege of very rich men, who can afford to buy
off the nets.

'After all/ says the pedantic political economist,
'angling is only an amusement, and is of no importance
compared with the commercial business of food supply.
So long as the nets catch plenty of salmon, the Legislature
need not interfere.'

Yes, but suppose, as Scotch lairds are beginning to
realise, that angling rights command a better rent than

NOVEMBER 267

netting, do not the protection and development of the
former assume commercial importance ?

Meanwhile, except in a few large rivers like the
Aberdeenshire Dee and the Welsh Usk, where well-
organised associations have taken spirited action, and
in some small ones which are let at high ransoms to
wealthy sportsmen, it is hardly worth casting a fly
between seedtime and harvest. In the Tweed, for
example, once prolific in salmon and trout beyond any
other British river, a few fish may be taken with rod in
the lower reaches — fish that have run up before the
nets begin their deadly work, or that have managed to
run the gauntlet in the floods of February Fill-dyke.
A summer flood, that used to bring William Scrope
to his beloved Craigover as surely as it sent Tom
Stoddart with tremulous ardour to Maxwheel at Kelso
Bridge or the Laird's Cast at Makerstoun, now runs
away without anybody thinking it worth while to take
his rod from the rack. The river runs as sweetly as
ever through the Haly Weil at Bemersyde, the Burnfoot
at Dryburgh, the Bloody Breeks at Mertoun, the Dark
Shore at Makerstoun — all famous summer casts of yore,
but now tenantless till the ' back end/ all the fish that
would seek these immemorial resting-places having been
gobbled up by the relentless nets. The indescribable
thrill of the rise, the tightening line, the struggle, must be
postponed till the days shorten and the leaves turn sere.

Such as we have it, we must not despise autumn
angling. The salmon that defers till October his return
to his native river is inferior, indeed, in everything but

268 AUTUMN ON THE TWEED

weight to early running fish. In many small rivers
autumn fish are not worth taking ; their silvered mail
is turned to rusty brown or blotchy grey ; their outline,
once a perfect model for strength and speed, is marred
by lengthening snout and swelling paunch. In the
Tweed, however, there is always a fair proportion of
well-shaped, well-coloured fish — at least, till well on
in November, and their greater average size makes
amends. In March and April clean-run fish most
commonly run from eight to ten pounds, and show a
poor fight on heavy tackle such as is commonly used
in those months, especially when these fish are wearied
by a long ascent through strong water. In autumn
the case is altered. The fish which quit the sea in
September and October were probably only eight or ten
pounds in the spring, like their brethren who preceded
them ; but three or four months of sea fare have added
prodigiously to their proportions, and most of them
scale from fifteen to twenty pounds.

Besides these, there are the veterans which have sur-
vived the perils of several seasons, comparatively few
in number, but weighing from thirty pounds to fifty
pounds each. These sockdolagers are deliberate in
migration; they require the whole summer to stuff
their mighty carcases with sea provender sufficient to
carry them through the cares of matrimony in the
lean winter months, and seldom show in the river till
towards the end of the season. Their presence con-
tributes immensely to the excitement of autumn fishing,
and the sport is enhanced through means of the small

NOVEMBER 269

flies and delicate tackle it is often necessary to display
in water refined by the first frosts.

Every angler on Tweedside cherishes the secret hope
that a flash of good fortune may befall him similar to
that which came one November gloaming to a friend
of mine. He was fishing the cast called Jock Sure, just
above the Monk's Ford, at Dryburgh, when he beheld a
mighty form roll dolphin-wise above the glassy surface
a few yards below his fly. No splash or flurry — just a
silent ' head- and- tail ' rise, such as the experienced
fisherman loves to see as the light begins to fail.

My friend was alone, fishing off the shore ; his tackle
was fine and his fly small, for the river was not far
above summer size. There was a fair current flowing
hi Jock Sure, though the surface was smooth. Steadily
he plied his lure, working down to the spot where the
monster had shown himself, scarcely daring to hope
that it would notice the insignificant bundle of fur and
feather dancing overhead.

' That 's about the place now/ thought he to himself,
and at that moment the line stopped — the rod was
smartly raised and bent in a goodly curve — the reel gave
a short shriek — then, click — click — click, paid out the
line by inches as the great fish moved slowly into
deeper water. Nine fish out of ten closely resemble
each other in their tactics when hooked. Shoal water
or a swift current sometimes adds to the excitement,
but in this instance there was neither; the muckle fish
just sailed up and down the deep channel till he was
tired, and his captor began to coax him ashora

270 AUTUMN ON THE TWEED

The light was far gone now ; the fisher had neither
net nor gaff — the latter being tabu on the Tweed after
the netting season. It was a tedious process to tow
such a heavy salmon aground. As often as he felt the
gravel, a sweep of broad tail launched him into the
deep again, and the work had to be done over again.
At last he lay on his broadside, glimmering 'like a
great soo' in the twilight. Lucky for my friend that
he had a grip like a vice ; it required it all to hold on
to the thick 'small' of that tail to draw his quarry
ashore, and to carry him up the wooded bank, never
more to steer a course beneath the ocean billows or
stem the streams of Tweed. Forty-two pounds honest
avoirdupois! Single gut, Limerick steel, and skilful
handling had won a memorable victory.

A single lifetime cannot compass many triumphs
such as this ; but there are other episodes over which a
man delights to brood when his rod is on the rack and
his feet on the fender. Much of the Tweed fishing is a
trifle tame ; the size of the stream demands the use of
a boat in most places ; and the ' dubs ' — those long, deep
slow reaches where big autumn fish are most likely to
be met — necessitate a peculiar style of fishing which
is irksome to men accustomed to brisker streams.
Nevertheless there is one bit of really wild water on
the Tweed — that between Old Melrose and Bemersyde
— which it would be hard to beat on any river. After
lingering lovingly under the leafy heights of Gladswood,
and creeping slowly through salmon-haunted Cromwell,
the river wakes up to the necessity of a rough and rapid

NOVEMBER 271

descent. Spreading wide, it roars and rushes down
along a rocky channel under the beetling Gateheugh
for half a mile. A stranger would pass by this reach
without suspicion that there was a yard of fishing water
hi the whole of it. The boatman knows better. Row-
ing into mid -stream at the foot of Cromweil, he drops
overboard, and, wading up to his armpits, slowly
descends down the very centre of the rapids, guiding
the boat to which he clings, and directing the angler
where to cast — into a pot here, an eddy there.

The descent can only be accomplished in certain
states of the water ; but the salmon dearly love these
mysterious resting-places in the tumult, and rise very
freely. So sure as you hook one, there will be sport.
Most likely he will be swept out of the little refuge
whence he rose, and go careering down the torrent,
while the reel spins merrily. You realise then how
much the ' wildness ' of a fish depends on the strength
of the stream. In fact, if you hook a log in a Norway
river, it will run harder than any salmon, for the log
descends unresisting, whereas a salmon hates being
carried down, and keeps his head up stream. So
if anybody sneers in your hearing at Tweed salmon
for their tameness, ask him if he has ever passed down
the tossing Gateheugh with a tight line, and landed his
twenty-pounder among the rocks under the towering
Gled's Nest, where the jackdaws wheel and chatter.

So much for the bright side of the subject : now for
the seamy one.

The salmon-angling season ends on most Scottish

272 AUTUMN ON THE TWEED

waters on October 31st On a few northern streams
the close season begins in September; October 15th is
the date fixed for the Tay, and in a few of the Solway
streams angling is allowed to continue till November
15th. On the Tweed alone the season is extended till
November 30th, a concession intended to compensate
sportsmen for the excessive havoc wrought by improved
netting machinery in the tidal and lower reaches,
whereby the spring and summer fish, which used to
give excellent sport not many years ago, have been all
but exterminated. Immense rents are paid by rod-
fishers for the best casts on the Tweed, but hardly
any one thinks it worth while to cast a fly before the
nets are taken off in September. It makes one's heart
sore to see a noble river so greedily used, and one longs
for the enactment of the recommendation of the Koyal
Commission, that the weekly close time for nets be
extended to forty-eight hours, that no netting be allowed
above the tideway, and that rod-fishing shall cease on
November 15th. But all this will avail little unless the
foul fishing in the upper waters be put an end to. At
present, almost every fish that makes its way into the
shallow streams about Innerleithen is doomed to die by
the gaff, the leister, or the still more nefarious stroke-
haul. Ghastly objects they are, poor things, swollen
and discoloured, with milt or spawn running from them
as they are dragged from the spawning beds. Wasteful
and disgusting as the practice is, it will require a strong
effort to check it, for poaching has been instilled into
the very blood of the ' braw lads o' Gala Water,' and for

NOVEMBER 273

three centuries it was the policy for the legislature of
both Scotland and England to permit the utmost havoc
to be wrought on fish swimming in streams with
both Scottish and English banks. That is the reason
why to this day Tweed and Solway have each their
special Acts of Parliament, distinct from the rest of
Scotland.

There will be some grumbling among lessors and
lessees of rod-fishing if the close time for rods is ex-
tended as proposed, for the nets will still reap the chief
benefit. But that must be so always ; and most candid
sportsmen will admit that the majority of the fish
taken after the middle of November, even as low down
as Sprouston and Birgham, are in a condition to be
treated with mercy. It is true that Tweed salmon
differ from those of most rivers in respect that many
of them, even in an advanced gravid state, retain their
silvery coats until they are actually on the spawning
' redds ' ; a boat-load of November fish does not present
the unsightly appearance which those of any river
except the Tweed would do. It is true, also, that the
heaviest fish leave the sea latest, and there is a better
chance for the angler to immortalise himself by the
capture of a forty or fifty pounder in November than
in any other month. But sportsmen can afford to be
generous; and when they compare the dull, sluggish
movements of a November salmon with the gallant
resistance offered earlier in the season, when fish are in
fighting trim, surely most of them will be content to
exercise a chivalrous forbearance.

274 AUTUMN ON THE TWEED

The Tweed flows with a singularly gentle force
among obstacles of which very little displacement
would be the cause of formidable cataracts. In all its
course from Abbotsford to Wark there is not a barrier
which need cause a moment's hesitation to a bold fish
ascending the stream. In various places, as at the
Gateheugh above mentioned, or at Craigover in the
Mertoun water, celebrated by Scrope, the flood is
turned at right angles with some roar and chafing, but
the general character of the casts is an alternation of
sweeping stream and spreading pool.

But the 'big days' on the Tweed are generally
enacted on what are known as the ' dubs/ long stretches
of deep, dead water, such as are known on the Thurso
as linns, held back by a cauld or weir. A salmon,
though reputed to be meticulous in the matter of flies,
has no eye for the picturesque ; so long as he can find
shelter, he cares not whether it be under a grey crag,
feathered with birch, crowned with oak and rich with
associations of Border fray, or in a ' dub ' as dull as a
canal, with a turnip field on one side and a highroad
on the other. Consequently, as the ' dubs ' afford easy
lying and good shelter, the fish are wont to congregate
in them in great numbers, and afford a fine prospect as
they roll to the top from time to time, flashing their
silvery sides, or, plunging heavily, plough up the water
like round shot. But to fish a ' dub,' you must have a
breeze. Why, it is not easy to explain, for trout, far
more wary than any salmon, may be taken in Test or
Itchen, in dead calm under blazing sunshine. Brt on

NOVEMBER 275

those placid autumn days which sometimes follow each
other in long procession — the angler's despair — though
the salmon roll and splash as freely as under a weeping
sky, you shall not delude one of them to seize the
lure. Not at least till sundown — and then, perchance,
in the ' fool's half-hour/ you may get a heavy pull
at a small White-wing or Silver-grey, and so save a
blank.

But, given a steady wind and a good grey cloud, the
lot which sends you to one of the ' dubs ' is not one to be
despised. Very likely there lies a hard day's work
before you. If you value peace, you will quench any
partiality you may entertain for certain flies. Tweed
boatmen are terribly autocratic, and it is best to avoid
friction by showing ready acquiescence in the dogma
which prescribes a Wilkinson because there is frost in
her (i.e. the river), or a Ranger because there is a
whiteness in her, or a Greenwell because there is 'a
kind o' a blackness ' in her. Put on whatever you are
told to use and learn to fling your line right athwart
the channel, allowing it to swing slowly round with the
current as the boat is paddled slowly up-stream, with
the rod low and at right angles to the boat. Dub-
fishing is an art of itself; the fish lie deep and rise
slow ; do not work the fly in the lively way you have
learned is attractive in shallower waters ; to do so is not
only to lessen the chances of success, but a waste of
strength. Energy, indeed, should be husbanded in
dub-fishing, for it may fall to any one's lot to rival the
great day of the late Mr. Liddell, sometime vicar of

276 THE OSMANTHUS

St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, who a few years ago, being
then more than threescore and ten, did encounter and
overcome eighteen heavy salmon in the compass of a
single day on Birgharn Dub. The largest of them
scaled, if I remember right, thirty-five pounds, and
their aggregate weight was somewhere about 350
pounds. Such a performance is a test to the endurance
of anybody's back and arms.

So, as you allow your fly to circle slowly round in
the rippling water, you may suddenly see the line
drawn taut and feel that vigorous snatch, followed by
a mighty pulling and a whirring reel, which tells that a
good fish has been deceived. You have gone afloat
with disdain at heart for a stream that looks more
like the haunt of barbel than of salmon, but, perhaps,
you may wind up in the dusk repeating after Mr.
Andrew Lang : —

' Unseen, Eurotas, southwards steal ;

Unknown, Alpheus, westward glide ;
You never heard the ringing reel,
The music of the waterside.'

LXII

Among the few shrubs in full flower at this late
The season there is one which is not so often seen

osmantnus ag -fc <jeserves to j^ Qsmanthus ilicifolius.

It is well named osmavithus — flower of fragrance —
ilicifolius, holly-leaved — for its small clustered flowers
of pure white smell deliciously, superlatively sweet, and

NOVEMBER 277

the leaves of young plants and the lower branches of old
ones are exceedingly like those of the holly — leathery,
varnished, spined, and evergreen. It possesses, too, the
strange property of the holly in arming with prickles
those leaves which are within browsing reach, while
those on the upper branches are as smooth as those of
a camellia. A native of Japan, it is quite hardy in our
climate, and is a common ornament of gardens in
Rome, though you shall not see it in one British
shrubbery out of a thousand. It belongs to a family —
the Oleacece — which furnishes us with many favourites
— the privet, phillyrea, flowering ash, forsythia, and
lilac.

L.XIII

What has become of the old durmast oak, the
noblest variety (some botanists make it a The best
separate species) of the British oak? It Of0aks-
is the native oak of the Lake district, of Wales, and
part of Scotland, and is distinguished from the oak of
Southern England by having footstalks to the leaves
and none to the acorns, whence its specific name
sessiliflora ; the southern form (Quercus pedunculata)
has footstalks to the flowers and acorns and none to the
leaves. Besides these characteristics, the northern oak
has a bolder, freer growth, and more beautiful foliage ;
the timber is of equal value to that of pedunculata ;
and in damp or cold districts it ripens its young wood
far more regularly. This makes it a much more
valuable tree for the forester than the southern

278 THE BEST OF OAKS

variety; yet nurserymen have ceased to supply it.
Unluckily, two leading authorities on forestry, Messrs
Brown and Michie, have written in favour of what they
call the English oak — that is, Q. pedunculata — and
their opinion has driven out the other and better tree.

It is a mistake to suppose that the southern form is
exclusively the true English oak. Shakespeare's oaks —
the ' Warwickshire weed ' — is the durmast or northern
form, as any one may see by inspecting the old trees in
the Forest of Arden, where by the by, blown trees are
being replaced by the inferior variety. The greater
beauty of the durmast is very apparent at this season,
when the foliage has assumed its autumn gold. This
contrast may be well observed in Knole Park, near
Sevenoaks, where the oaks scattered through the park
are of the southern variety, but there is a double avenue
of splendid durmast leading up to the house. The boles
and limbs of these trees are clean grown and shapely,
unlike the gnarled and fantastic forms assumed by
the other variety, the predominance of which in the
south I am inclined to attribute partly to the heavier
drafts made upon the durmast to supply the wants of
the navy at the close of the eighteenth century and
beginning of the nineteenth.

Decent 6er

LXIV

THREE hours before sunrise, on a winter morning of late,
a veteran marauder came to a bloody end. AHill
It was in the very heart of Mr. Crockett's ***&**
'raiders' land' — the grey Galloway hills. The old
fellow was making for his home in the fastnesses of
Cairnsmore: there was a price on his head; he had
many miles to travel, and he cared not to be out after
dawn, lest some officious hill shepherd or keeper should
mark his retreat and summon the scattered neighbours
to his destruction. The Fleet was in heavy spate,
rolling an inky torrent between him and his native
mountain. A few seasons ago and he would have
plunged into the flood and dried his jacket in the wind
as he ran ; but he had been conscious of late of a stiff-
ness in the joints and loins which inclined him to short
cuts and easy slopes ; a mile or so of detour across the
rnoor would land him at one end of the long and lofty
viaduct which carries the Portpatrick Railway over the
river. The outlaw had often used it, when not pressed
for time, after former nights of misdoing, so off he set

879

280 A HILL TKAGEDY

at his brigand trot, and had scarcely set foot on the
bridge when a distant roar struck his ear.

'Ha/ thought he, 'the boat-express for Stranraer;
most exemplary punctuality. Keally,' he muttered, as
he picked his footsteps between the rails, ' these railway
engineers are most thoughtful, though I doubt if they
were thinking much of my convenience when they
built this nice bridge. That water would have been
most disagreeable this gusty morning.'
* The roar grew louder in the gloom behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Todd, for that was the
outlaw's name, saw the lights of the express tearing
towards him. In a moment it flashed upon him that
he would be overtaken on the single line. It was too
late to turn back; had he time to dash forward and
gain the other side, fully three hundred yards distant ?
He started to run ; age and stiffness were forgotten ; he
was as fleet of foot as of yore ; terror added wings to
his heels, for life was sweet, oh ! so sweet, among those
Galloway hills.

The end came within fifty yards of safety ; painless,
probably, because so violent — silent certainly, because
none of his race were ever known to utter a sound in
the death struggle. A surfaceman passing at sunrise
found his body on the line, not sorely mangled, but
stiff and cold — a fine old hill fox, who thus paid the
penalty for a long career of crime.

DECEMBER 281

LXV

Within a few miles of the scene of this tragedy an-
other mournful episode falls to be chronicled. .^Q Age of
Six-and-forty summers ago, in days when tlieEasle
the white-tailed eagles still bred on Cairnsmore, an
eaglet was taken from the eyrie, and has since endured
life-long captivity, chained by the leg to a granite
boulder. A few seasons after its birth, in 1858, the last
pair of his race in Galloway were trapped on the far side
of the Ayrshire boundary. Since then the captive has
scanned the heavens daily with angry, eager eyes, yet
never have they been gladdened by the sight of one of
his soaring kin ; and now the light in them is quenched
for ever. He lives, but he is totally blind.

An eagle is the very type of freedom, yet I hesitate
to affirm that the life of this captive has been an
unhappy one. The wants of a wild animal probably
are simpler and fewer than we are inclined to reckon
them. Food supply, security from attack, and the
connubial instinct perhaps comprise all the sources of
disquiet. The Cairnsmore eagle has lacked nothing in
the first two respects ; in the last, indeed, he has been
hardly used, yet there are not wanting cynics who
declare that celibacy is a safeguard against many ills.
To have his lamb and rabbits regularly served without
the trouble of hunting the wastes in the worst of
weathers may be a cause of greater gratitude in the
bosom of this fine bird than the harshness of his voice
and the unsympathetic cast of his countenance permit

282 A VANISHING FOOD FISH

him to express. Anyhow, he is in fine plumage, and
continues to take his meals regularly, whereas the loss
of eyesight would have condemned him, had he sur-
vived to his present age in a state of liberty, to a
lingering death by starvation.

* Twice the life of a horse, once the life of a man ;
Twice the life of a man, once the life of a stag ;
Twice the life of a stag, once the life of an eagle.'

So runs the old Highland saw, though I forget whether
the stag or the eagle is credited with the longer exist-
ence. Anyhow, no insurance company ought to accept
risks according to this table ; for the Cairnsmore eagle
offers, perhaps, the only datum for fixing ' expectation
of life' in his kind, and, at what a man reckons but
middle age, this bird is only kept alive by the daily
ministration of his attendant.

P.S. — Since this note was written, the Cairnsmore
eagle — last of an immemorial race — has passed away,
in May 1900, at the ripe age of eight-and-forty.

LXVI

The salmon-fishing seasons of 1898 and 1899 must be
reckoned of culminating leanness among a

A vanish- _ ., T r

ing Food number of lean years. In fact, our goose

of the golden eggs seems to be approaching its

last gasp. Except in a few rivers like the Usk, the Aber-

DECEMBER 283

deenshire Dee, and some of the smaller streams in the far
north, where proprietors have realised the superior har-
vest to be reaped by preserving their waters for angling,
instead of letting them, at competitive rents, to netters,
the combined greed and ingenuity of man is on the point
of overcoming the extraordinary fecundity of the finest
of our food fishes, the noblest of our sporting ones.
Would we avert the fate impending on our salmon
fisheries, there is no course open to us but to follow the
recommendations of the Royal Commission on Tweed
and Solway. These two estuaries, naturally more pro-
ductive of salmon than almost any others, have fared
worse than any, owing to causes connected with a
historical source. In the long centuries of Border
warfare, each country encouraged its people to inflict
the utmost damage on the fishings of the other. The
Scots had no inclination to preserve salmon hi the
upper waters of the Tweed and Esk for the advantage
of English nets at Berwick and Netherby. Hence, not
only have the rivers of these districts remained to this
day, as above mentioned, under statutes distinct from
those affecting the rest of the two kingdoms, but the
inhabitants, especially on the eastern watershed, have
inherited an incorrigible aptitude for illegal fishing.
The statutory close time for nets in the Tweed begins
three weeks later than on nearly all the other rivers ;
no sooner are the legal nets off than the estuary is
harried by poachers plying the deadly hang-net, and
the autumn run of spawning fish is intercepted on its
way to the upper waters. Those that do escape find

284 MISTLETOE UPON THE OAK

small mercy when they reach the best spawning grounds,
where the leister, the gaff, and the * snatching ' hook are
plied almost with impunity. When the pollution poured
from scores of woollen mills is taken into account also,
and that no effort is made to replenish the waters by
artificial hatching, the wonder is, not that salmon are
more scarce than of old, but that all these adverse con-
ditions have not prevailed to exterminate the breed alto-
gether. In the Teviot, the most important tributary of
the Tweed, and, in the golden age of Scrope, a famous
salmon river, a very near approach to extermination
seems to have been attained, seeing that the whole
result of the past angling season consisted of one
salmon and one grilse! The Royal Commission re-
ported nearly two years ago, and no action has been
taken by the legislature; but indeed the question
remains, What is the use of making new laws if the
existing ones are allowed to be set at nought ?

LXVII

Elsewhere I have ventured to express doubts about

Mistletoe the existence in Britain of mistletoe at the

upon the _ _.

Oak present day upon the oak. These doubts

arose from repeated failure to obtain specific evidence
of a single instance. Moreover, I have searched through
thousands of oak trees in such districts as Surrey and
the Loire valley, where oaks abound, and where mistletoe
grows abundantly upon poplars, apples, limes, robinia,
and hawthorn, and have never been lucky enough to

DECEMBER 285

light upon an example. Now, however (1900), my
scepticism is dispelled. Oaks bearing living mistletoe
are growing at Stoulton in Worcestershire, and Eastnor
Park in Herefordshire. Other instances are reported
from Sherwood Forest, Kichmond Park, and Windsor
Forest, but I have not been able to ascertain whether
these remain at the present day.

LXVIII

Mine — if it be not straining the possessive pronoun
to apply it to a collection of which I am a .

ff * My Eook-

joint owner with thirty and odd millions of shelves,
other taxpayers; mine — although the title to use and
consult these books may be reckoned precarious,
depending on the popularis aura which has wafted
my name hitherto to the top of the poll in successive
elections. For, although the owners be legion, the
warning — ' For Members only ' — renders the readers in
our library at the House of Commons a company
numerically select, if somewhat transitory.

There is, however, little of an ephemeral character in
some fifty thousand volumes which people its walls.
It is perhaps unique among libraries which profess to
be general, in the proportion which" fiction bears to
other subjects. Gentle Sidney's turgid sentimentality
may be studied in his Arcadia] among Goldsmith's
graver works, The Vicar of Wakefield offers an ever-
verdant oasis ; but I have not yet discovered any later
prose romance ; there is no Fielding, no Scott ; we do

MY BOOKSHELVES

not recognise Dickens or Thackeray ; and as to living
novelists, we seem to share the opinion of —

1 . . . The young person of Delhi
Who couldn't read Crockett's " Cleg Kelly " ;

When they said— "It's the fashion,"

He exclaimed in a passion —
" I know ! but so's Marie Corelli."'

Nevertheless, there is some refreshment in these
shelves for those who have learned where to look for
it. There are a few bindings which it is good to
handle ; the dark-blue calf containing the MS. Journals
of Cromwell's Parliament, with its significant erasures
and mutilations; or Derome's crimson morocco, of
which a century and a half has not quenched the
superb glow; others, not of resthetic merit, but pos-
sessing a pathetic interest, and telling by their bruised
and water-stained sides of that autumn morning sixty-
six years ago, when the Houses of Parliament were
consumed by fire, and, of the books in the library, only
a few were thrown out of window on the terrace and
saved. The present collection has been got together
since then. In 1835 the Standing Committee reported
the almost total destruction of the former collection;
twenty years later 20,000 volumes had been purchased,
and in the following year this number had increased to
30,000. No clear principle, save the rigid exclusion of
works of fiction, seems to have guided the Committee
in their choice of books; one is a little disposed to
grudge £236 which they spent on Cuvier's works, out

DECEMBER 287

of one of the very few legacies they have ever had to
dispose of in the purchase of books.

The general furniture of these shelves has some
analogy in geology — a vast and uniform sedimentary
formation, represented by the steady accretion of
Parliamentary papers and debates, with erratic blocks
of nobler material and unexpected ' pockets ' of precious
metal. The choicest ' claims ' are situated in the room
third and last to the east of the Oriel room which gives
entrance to the suite. This is pretty rich in poetry and
classics, remarkably so in county histories and topo-
graphy. There is not much temptation to loiter in the
first two rooms, unless your taste lies in heraldry, of
which noble science there is a choice little collection of
authorities in the corner nearest the fireplace of the
second room. Even should the jargon of blazon be an
unknown tongue to you, it is worth pulling out a fine
morocco-bound folio of Milles's Catalogue of Honor, to
note the tiny, girlish hand in which Thomas Gray, the
poet, besprinkled it with marginalia. Among the
works of reference, also, are included at least two of
scantly senatorial character — namely, a fine copy of
Grose's Blackguardiana (1785), and the Glossarium
eroticum Linguae Latince (Paris, 1824). Who was the
wag on the Standing Committee who directed the
purchase of these for the edification of members ?

For the rest, the contents of the shelves hi rooms
A and B, though furnishing with their serried backs
the very best kind of mural decoration, are only
digestible by very earnest politicians. Yonder is one

288 MY BOOKSHELVES

of that kind, you see, ransacking back numbers of
Hansard, intent upon feathering with a plume from the
adversaries' wing the shaft he is about to aim at his
front ; in other words, to cripple him with a quotation
from one of his own speeches. Considering how ugly
are the wounds inflicted in this manner, it is astonish-
ing how seldom they prove fatal.

Passing through the last pair of swing doors, you
stand in Room C, the only ono of these five great
apartments which offers promise of reposeful reading.
True, dozens of pens are squeaking, for here, as in the
other rooms, long writing tables are filled with busy
scribblers; but there are spacious corners with easy
chairs worthy of their name. In a curtained recess at
the end stands the marble effigy of the late Sir Thomas
Erskine May, highest of all authorities on Parliamentary
procedure, most fitly enshrined as the genius of that
assembly to which he devoted his whole life. His
grave eye seems to rest on the bookcase opposite;
follow its direction and you will find, not works in Sir
Thomas's peculiar province, but a fairly varied collec-
tion of French literature. Not novels, of course, but
much that stirs the imagination as powerfully as any
novel. Take the first that comes to hand — Mirabeau's
Lettres ecrites du donjon de Vincennes. Of all the
sorrowful documents that were ever penned, this series
is perhaps the most humbling. Sophie de Monnier, it
may be remembered, was the wife of one whose
hospitality Mirabeau repaid by seducing her. They
fled to Switzerland, but Mirabeau was handed over to

DECEMBER 289

the French authorities, condemned to death for rapt et
vol, which sentence was commuted to one of imprison-
ment at Vincennes. Having suborned the secretary of
the governor, he was enabled to carry on a correspon-
dence with Sophie for more than three years. The
tender regrets, the unreserve, the undying constancy
they breathe — redeemed from mawkishness by the
powerful intellect which gave them birth — the feverish
impatience for liberty, only with the object of rejoining
Sophie — render these letters most fascinating, could
one but forget the shameful end. When he obtained
his release, Mirabeau found that the real Sophie was
not the ideal he had cherished during his long con-
finement. He deserted her and her child, and after
some miserable vicissitudes, she perished by her own
hand.

Replace the book and see if there be nothing near
at hand that will leave a sweeter impression of human
nature? Sure, here is Michel de Montaigne, and no
one is to be pitied who has his company for an hour
or two. Luckily, this copy of the famous essays is a
good folio of the seventeenth century. To render them
in anything but the old typography is all but as cruel
as Lamb considered Lord Braybrooke's edition of
Burton's Anatomy. Threadbare though he be from
over- quotation, he is inexhaustible in quaint reflection,
gentle scepticism, kindly advice, irrelevant anecdote,
illogical conclusion. Above all, how delicate and vivid
are the glimpses which he allows into French society
at a time when the revival of learning was beginning

T

290 . MY BOOKSHELVES

to convince people that there was more to be got out
of life than by the hollow unreality of chivalry and the
clumsy machinery of feudalism. How he loved to
escape from the din and display, from the mummery
and massacre, to the little library he has depicted so
minutely in the third story of his tower, of which the
basement contained a chapel and the second floor his
bedroom. One can enjoy the very view from his window
in Pe"rigord.

' le suis sur I'entre'e, et vois sous moy mon iardin, ma basse-
cour, ma cour, et dans la plupart des membres do ma maison.
. . . La ie feuillette a cette heure vn liure, a cette heure un
autre, sans ordre et sans dessein, a pieces descousues. Tan-
tost ie resue, tantost i'enregistre et dicte, en me promenant,
mes songes que voycy.'

For five centuries these * songes ' have been the source
of perennial delight to successive generations. Scores
of later essayists and diarists have amused and in-
terested us; Samuel Pepys may be more minutely
frank; Rousseau more conscientious; Addison more
elevating; Lamb more jocund; but not one of the
whole tribe has ever excelled or, as I think, equalled
Montaigne in the charm created by delicately handling
grave matters with levity, and trivial things with
gravity. In the most agonizing spasms of a deadly
disease, he had still the spirit to discuss affairs most
remote from his own circumstances : —

1 Quand on me tient le plus atterre, et que les assistants
m'espargnent, i'essaye souvent ines forces, et leur entame

DECEMBER 291

moy mesme des propos les plus eloignez de mon eetat. . . .
Estant cheu tout a coup d'une tresdoulce condition de vie
et tresheureuse, a la plus douloureuse et penible qui se
puisse imaginer . . . ie maintiens toutes fois, iusques &
cette heure, mon esprit en telle assiette, que pourveu que
i'y puisse apporter de la Constance, ie me trouve en assez
meilleure condition de vie que mille avltres, qui n'ont ny
fiebvre ny mal que celuy qu'ils se donnent eulx mesmes par
la faute de leurs discours.

This is the kind of sweet philosopher for a prisoner
of the Whips to take with him to one of those low
green-backed chairs of a summer afternoon. The sun
is off the river front; air flows in through the open
windows; soothing sounds come off the water; the
frou-frou of many visitors ; the tinkle of tea-cups and
the murmur of many voices are heard on the terrace.
Scenes of old France flit before you as you turn the
pages — the France of the last of the Valois, of the
religious wars, of Catherine's escadron volant. The
better to realise the misty groups, perhaps you close
your eyes; presently you are in the presence of the
smiling sage himself, clad in his accustomed black
velvet and lace, for he has explained how he never
could be bothered by conforming to the polychrome
motley of his countrymen (Francois accoustumez d nous
bigarrer). You are just about to ask him how it was
possible for him and Konsard and Jodelle, and the rest
of a select little literary society, to keep their spirits
serene amid the constant purposeless slaughter and
unlovely debauchery of the times, when — Trrrr, trrrr,
trrrr — a detestable bell awakens you with a start : you

292 MY BOOKSHELVES

rush off to take part in a division, voting ay or no,
you care not which, on some question, you know not
what — perhaps a reduction moved on the salary of
the President of the Local Government Board because
the Parish Council of Muddlepuddleton have removed
their medical inspector from office.

THE END

APPENDIX

RABBIT-PROOF PLANTS

An asterisk indicates those species which require protection during
the first season or two after planting.

Azalea . . ^
Rhododendron . /
Honeysuckle . .
Fly Honeysuckle
Box . . , .
Butcher's broom

"^Spanish broom . .

*Mexican orange .
Cotoneaster , ^ •
Hardy fuchsia .
Tree pseonies . *
Lilac (all species)
Syringa (all species) .
Snow berry .

Spurge laurel
Mezereon .
St. John's wort (all

species) .
Spindlewood
Guelder rose . »
Wayfaring tree .

*Laurustinus
Hawthorn (all species)

SHRUBS.
all species and varieties.

both the native species.

Lonicera xylosteum, and others.

Buxus sempermrens.

Ruscus aculeatus.

Spartium junceum.

Choysia ternata.

all species.

Fuchsia Eiccartoni and globosa.

Syringa Persica, etc.

Philadelphus coronarius.

Symphoricarpus racemosus.

Daphne laureola.

Daphne mezereum.

Hypericum calycinum, arietinum,

patulum, etc.

Euonymus ev/ropceus and latifolius.
Vibwrnim opulus.
Viburnum lantana.
Viburnum tinus.
Cratcegus oxyacantha, etc.

293

294

APPENDIX

Dogwood .

Sea buckthorn

Roses

Spiraea

Deutzia

Ribes

*Arbutus .
*Berberis .
*Escallonia .
^Partridge berry

Cassinia

Cornus sanguinea.

Hippophae rhamnoides.

all species.

all species.

Deutzia scabra, etc.

all species.

all species.

all species.

Escallonia macrantha and rubra.

Gaultheria Shallon.

Cassinia (Diplopappus) fulvida.

Snowdrops
Snowflakes.
Daffodils .
Star of Bethlehem
Tulips

Dog's-tooth violet
Solomon's seal .
Asphodel .
Lilies (some species) .
Torch lilies
Lily of the valley
*Day lilies .
Saffron

Squills (most species)
Primrose (some spe-
cies)

Flags. . . }

Windflowers
Crowfoot and butter-
cup

HERBS.

Galanthus rivalis and varieties.

Leucojum vernum, etc.

all species.

Ornithogalum umbellatum, nutans, etc.

all species and varieties.

Erythronium dens-canis.

Polygonatum multiflorum.

Asphodehis ramosus, etc.

Lilium umbellatum^ dalmaticum, etc.

Tritoma uvaria, etc.

Convallaria majalis.

ffemerocallis fulva, etc.

Colchicum autumnale, and others.

Scilla campanulata, verna, etc.

Primula veris, Japonica, but none of

the Auricula section.
Iris pseudacorus, fwtidissima and all

the ' flag ' section.
Anemone (probably all species).
Ranunculus (many species, but not
the pretty white R. ampkxicaulis).

APPENDIX

295

Globe flower .
Spirsea . .

London pride

*Lungwort .
Periwinkle
Monkshood $ .
Winter aconite .

Harebell .
New Zealand flax
*Bamboos .

Pampas grass
Arundo . .
Zebra grass .
Knotweed .
Violet
Foxgloves (biennial)

Geranium . •,,{

Mullein
Orchids

Trollius europceus, etc.

all species.

Saxifraga umbrosa, and several other

saxifrages, but not the Crassifolia

section.

Pulmonaria mollis, etc.
Tinea major and minor.
Aconitum Napellus.
Eranthis hyemalis.
Campanula (many species, especially

the giant harebell, 0. grandis).
Phormium tenax.
probably all species of Bambusa,

Arundinaria, and Phyllosiachys.
Gynerium argenteum.
A. donax and conspicw.
Eulalia zebrina.

Polygonum cuspidatum, Sieboldii, etc.
Viola odorata.

Digitalis purpurea and varieties.
Geranium pratense, Armeniacum, and

many others.

Verlascum thapsus and others,
all hardy terrestrial species.

N.B. — Most of the composite family (including asters,
Michaelmas daisies, etc., are safe), but none of the
equally numerous crucifers.

'Edinburgh : Printed by T. and A. CONSTA»I.K.

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