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MY LIFE
AS A NATURALIST

BY

W. PERGIVAL WESTELL, F.L.S.

Exhibitioner of the Royal Society
Bronze Medallist, Society of Acclimatization of France

AUTHOR OF

'NATURE'S WONDERLAND,' 'THE BOY'S OWN NATURE BOOK'
' THE YOUNG OBSERVER'S HANDBOOK '

ETC. ETC.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

THE EARL OF LYTTON.

' PUCK'S SONG '
BY KIND PERMISSION OF MR RUDYARD KIPLING

PHOTO FRONTISPIECE, AND ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY

NED BRYANT

LONDON

CECIL PALMER & HAYWARD
OAKLEY HOUSE, BLOOMSBURY ST., W.C.I

FIRST
EDITION
1918
COPY-
RIGHT

Printed in Great Britain
by Turnbitll&> Shears, Edinburgh

TO

THE DOWAGER COUNTESS OF LYTTON

AS
A TOKEN

OF
AFFECTION AND REGARD

A look — and lo, our natures meet !

A word — our minds make one reply !
A touch — our hearts have but one beat !
And, if we walk together — why

The same thought guides our feet."

(From " Friend and Friend,
by Owen Meredith.)

44C738

TO NATURE

' IT may indeed be phantasy when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings ;
And trace the leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be ; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, to me it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only, God ! and Thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice."

S. T. COLERIDGE

INTRODUCTION BY
THE EARL OF LYTTON

THOREAU once wrote of Friendship that all that could be said
of it was as botany to flowers. He meant the contrast to be
sharp. Botany and flowers — how wide the difference ! A
study of the structure of plants no more produces a love of
Nature than the study of anatomy leads to a love of mankind.
For one person who studies Nature after the manner of the
Naturalist, there are probably thousands who love Nature after
the manner of the poet. The one is an affair of the brain, the
other of the heart. But if there be any who think that the
Naturalist cannot at the same time be a nature lover, the author
of this book is a witness who will convict them of error. Mr
Westell has the rare combination of head and heart which makes
him the sympathetic interpreter of Nature to the uninitiated.
Those who have only read his books cannot, perhaps, realise
to what extent this is true. But to hear him lecture, and, still
more, to have him as a companion for a day in the country, at
any season of the year, is a delightful experience for anyone who
is capable of appreciating the romance and fascination of the
countryside.

There is much talk in these days of the problem of rural de-
population, and of how to bring people back to the land. Those
who have attempted to deal with the problem are always con-
fronted with the difficulty that, to those who have once felt the
attractions of a great city, the country is a dull place.

The town dweller is glad enough to seek a short rest during
a holiday in the country, but fields and woods can never per-
manently compensate him for the loss of the excitement which
he derives from the crowded thoroughfares, the lighted shops, the
places of entertainment, and the busy companionship of fellow-
men. I am disposed to despair of ever reclaiming the man who
has once been captured by the attraction of a city life. But
I am no less strongly convinced that it ought to be possible, if
rightly attempted, to keep alive in those who have been born
and brought up in the country, a love of Nature which would
resist any temptation to emigrate into the town. The first step

viii MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

in this direction is surely to create the interest which comes
from knowledge. Nature is fascinating at every season to those
who have the power to understand the life which surrounds
them. But in the intercourse with Nature, as in human inter-
course, a sympathetic interpreter is required.

Is it not true of the vast majority of those who live in the
country that they have eyes and see not, ears also and hear
not ? As a rule, it is only the kind of idler for whom Stevenson
wrote an apology, or perhaps the sportsman who hunts for
pleasure, that can distinguish the songs of birds, or note the
little dramas of plant and insect life that are enacted daily before
their eyes.

To my mind the study of bird life is an inexhaustible fund of
wonder and delight. The mystery of their migration, the
interest of their nesting habits, and, above all, the beauty of
their individual songs, renew their fascination with every year.
Much of the pleasure which I derive from watching them, and
listening to them, I owe to Mr Westell, who first taught me
to distinguish their notes, and pointed out to me many of their
habits which I had not noticed for myself.

If a Naturalist of this order could be found in every village,
I think the towrns would be robbed of many of their recruits,
and the countryside would be clothed with new and hitherto
undreamed of attractions.

It is for this reason that I am glad to welcome the publication
of this book, and to express my own obligations to its author.

LYTTON
KNEBWORTH, January 1918

INTRODUCTION BY THE RIGHT HON. THE ...

EAKL OF LYTTON . . . . vii

"PUCK'S SONG," BY RUDYARD KIPLING . xv
" THE SONG I SING," BY CYRIL STANLEY

FRETHEY xvii

CHAP. I. How I BECAME A NATURALIST . 1

II. IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN 23

III. NATURE STUDY, THE TEACHER, AND

THE CHILD .... 32

IV. RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS . 48
V. MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS . . 73

VI. SOME BIRD PROBLEMS ... 85

VII. MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED . . 101

VIII. INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED . . HO

IX. TREES AND FLOWERS . . • 120

X. THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS . .138

XI. HIGHLAND MEMORIES . . . 153

XII. ALONG THE COAST, AND ELSEWHERE 167

XIII. HOMEWOOD I88

XIV. THE WILDERNESS .... 196
XV. ROUND HOUSK AND GARDEN . . 205

x MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

CHAP. pAt.E

XVI. MY COUNTRY STUDY ........ 216

XVII. WITH ROD AND LINE 223

XVIII. MY DOG, AND ANOTHER . . . . • . . . 231

XIX. YOUNG NATURALISTS IN THE MAKING .... 235

XX. THE NEW DOMESDAY 241

•

APPENDIX: LIST OF THE AUTHOR'S MORE IMPORTANT

BOOKS 256

INDEX 257

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG. PAGE

THE AUTHOR ....... Frontispiece

BURNET ROSE ix

DORMOUSE AND NEST 1

1. BIRCH IN WINTER ........ 3

2. DRAGON-FLY ON WING ....... 7

3. PRIMROSES . . . . . . . . . — . 9

4. PERCH 10

5. THE STREAM IN SPRING . . . . . . . 12

6. SONG THRUSH 14

7. SKYLARK 16

8. THE MERE IN SPRING . . . . . . . .21

9. ST ALBANS ABBEY FROM THE SITE OF VERULAM ... 24

10. ST ALBANS GRAMMAR SCHOOL . . . . . . 27

11. WHITE CAMPION ......... 33

12. NATURE'S MIRROR ........ 36

13. WILD GUELDER ROSE 42

14. WHITE DEAD NETTLE . . . . 45

15. " DAISIES ARE — DAISIES " . . . . . . 46

16. MEADOW PIPIT AND YOUNG CUCKOO 49

17. HIDDEN DEPTHS 51

18. GREAT TIT AT NESTING Box 52

19. NEST AND EGGS OF MOORHEN ...... 55

20. YOUNG FLYCATCHERS 57

21. LAPWING IN FLIGHT 58

22. GREAT SPOTTED WOODPECKER ...... 59

23. WOODPECKER ON BOY'S HEAD ...... 60

24. WATER RAIL 61

25. KESTREL SCOLDING SPARROWS ...... 62

26. COMMON REDSTART ... 63

xii MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

FIO. PAGE

27. JAY . . 04

28. ROOK 65

29. YOUNG LONG -BAKED OWLS 06

30. HERON 07

31. YOUNG SWIFT 08

32. AFRICAN CROWNED CRANE 0(J

33. YOUNG STONE CURLEW 70

34. YOUNG SPARROW HAWK ....... 71

35. SPOTTED FLYCATCHER ....... 74

30. NIGHTINGALE 79

37. NEST AND EGGS OF BLACKBIRD 83

38. FEMALE ROOK ARRIVING AT NEST 80

39. MALE ROOK LEAVING NEST ....... 80

40. YOUNG BLUE TITS 89

41. STONECHAT 93

42. HARVEST MOUSE , .102

43. STOAT 103

44. HEDGEHOG ........ N 105

45. HEAD OF HAKE . 106

46. Fox 107

47. RED DEER 108

48. OIL BEETLE Ill

49. HONEY BEES: A. DRONE, B. QUEEN, C. WORKER . . 113

50. LARVA OF PRIVET HAWK MOTH 114

51. TIGER MOTH . .115

52. STAG BEETLE 116

53. GREAT WATER BEETLE 117

54. WATER SCORPION 117

55. DRAGON FLY EMERGING 118

50. BLACK POPLAR LEAF AND CATKINS 122

57. COLTSFOOT 124

58. WHITE VIOLETS . . . ... 125

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii

FIG. PACiK

59. GREATER STITCHWOBT \'2<)

60. Cow PARSNIP 131

61. BRAMBLE . . .133

62. BEE ORCHID 136

63. ARROW HEAD 137

64. SHEEP AND LAMBS . . . . . . . .139

65. FROG . . • 141

66. COMMON LIZARD . . .144

67. COCKCHAFER .... . . . . _ . 147

68. MAYFLY . . . . . . . .149

69. A COLONY OF Cow PARSNIP . . . . . . 150

70. OAK APPLES - .152

71. THE TUMBLING BURN 160

72. JELLYFISH 168

73. REDSHANK .171

74. BLACK-HEADED GULL . . . . . . . .173

75. CORMORANT . . . . . . . . .179

76. TERN IN FLIGHT 180

77. HERMIT CRAB IN WHELK SHELL . . . . . .182

78. EGGS OF LAPWING 189

79. NEST AND EGGS OF TURTLE DOVE . ... 192

80. TAWNY OWL 194

81. TURTLE DOVE . . . . ' . . . . .199

82. WILD RABBIT 200

83. GOLDFINCH 201

84. PLAN OF GARDEN 209

85. YOUNG YELLOW BUNTING 210

86. LONG-EARED OWL . . . . . . . .211

87. LONG-TAILED FIELD MOUSE 212

88. LONG-EARED BAT * . . 213

89. RED ADMIRAL BUTTERFLY ... .214

90. GARDEN WHITE BUTTERFLY 215

xiv MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

FIG- PAGE

91. RUDD 224

92. TROUT . 225

93. ROACH ... 226

94. DACE 228

95. GUDGEON . . . . , . . 228

96. MINNOW .... 229

97. MUTE SWAN AND CYGNETS. . . . 230

98. MY DOG, PETER . . ' . . . 232

99. JUMMIE . 004

• • • . ^O4*

100. FOSSIL AMMONITE 236

STRANDED (Tailpiece) Igy

PEKINESE PUPPIES (Tailpiece) . 195

PUCK'S SONG BY
RUDYARD KIPLING

PUCK'S SONG, included by Mr Rudyard Kipling in his
famous " Puck of Pook's Hill," is so much after my own
heart, as certain sections of my " Life " herein recorded will
show, that, with the famous writer's kind permission, I am
enabled to preface my own chapters with it here.

It seems to me that Mr Kipling has set out in a few brief
lines, as only he could do, an ingenious narration of the whole
history of England. Its intelligent reading quickens the
senses, and stirs one's finer feelings to their utmost depths.

Here is Puck's wonderful oration : —

" See you the dimpled track that runs,

All hollow through the wheat ?
O that was where they hauled the guns
That smote King Philip's fleet.

See you our little mill that clacks

So busy by the brook ?
She has ground her corn and paid her tax

Ever since Domesday Book.

See you our stilly woods of oak,

And the dread ditch beside ?
0 that was where the Saxons broke,

On the day that Harold died.

See you the windy levels spread

About the gates of Rye ?
O that was where the Northmen fled,

When Alfred's ships came by.

And see you, after rain, the trace

Of mound and ditch and wall ?
0 that was a Legion's camping-place,

When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

And see you marks that show and fade,

Like shadows on the Downs ?
O they are the lines the Flint Men made,

To guard their wondrous towns.

xvi MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Trackway and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh where now is corn ;

Old Wars, Old Peace, Old Arts thai cease.
And so was England born !

She is not any common Earth,

Water or wood or air ;
But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,

Where you and I will fare."

THE SONG I SING

N. B. — The author of the following lines, a new west country
poet of striking originality, has so lovingly sung my own
heart -song that I feel impelled to take advantage of his grace-
ful permission to include his verses in the forefront of this
volume.

" I SING the song of the torrent stream,
And the rippling, pebbled brook,
Of its flower-decked bank, where I sit and dream,
Near a festooned, shady nook.
I sing the song of the Summer sun,
With its filmy, cloud-flecked sky,
The August cornfields' sun-tann'd gold,
And the wild birds' minstrelsy.

I sing the song of the flaming flower,

Of the pastures' rolling green,

Of the scented grasses' dew-spray shower,

And the glistening raindrops' sheen.

I sing the song of the tinted fall,

Of the wild briar's scented spray,

Of the brookside willow catkin's chrome,

And the milk-white bloom jof May,

I sing the song of the purple bloom,

Of the wild, free, open heath,

Where the bee sucks heather, nectar food,

And the partridge nests beneath.

I sing the song of the wander life,

The song of the wild, lone trail,

The song of the scented, evening breath,

And the dew-mists' bridal veil.

I sing the song of the pirate bird,

Of the swift and hovering flight :

Of the vagrant nightjar's vibrant note,

And the prowlers of the night.

I sing, with a tuneful cadence lilt,

The song of the passing breeze,

The bass of the Viking Ocean's roar,

And the ' swish ' of the leafless trees.

xviii MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

I sing the doom of the itching palm,

And grabbing lust of greed,

I hail the dawn, with a lyric ode,

Of an all-embracing creed.

AU hail ! with the bluebell's silvery peal,

With the blackbird's boxwood fife !

I drink from the nectar'd floral cups,

The toast of ' The Wine of Life ' !

I sing of the seasons' grand parade,

With a lilting, full-soul'd lay ;

The Springtide's green, with studs of gold,

And the Summer's rich brocade.

Of Autumn's glory gold I sing —

The leaf -tints' sunset fall —

Of grim old Winter's crystal snows,

And a hopeful dawn for all.

I sing the song of the old camp fire,

With its red-flamed, evening glow,

Of the fragrant weed, of the tuneful lyre,

Of the sign of the bended bow.

I sing the song of the hopeful heart,

In a tuneful, lilting strain ;

The storm-clouds gather, and the night is dark,

But the sun will shine again."

CYRIL STANLEY FRETHEY

CHAPTER I

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST

Bard of the Busy Bee,
Bard of the Meads,
Laureate of Woodside blooms,
Lover of Weeds.

ANON.

I WAS born some forty-three years ago
on the shortest day of the year at the
historic city of England's proto- martyr,
Saint Alban, in Charles Lamb's " hearty,
homely, loving Hertfordshire."

I seem to have inherited a love for
Nature and outdoor life from my saintly
grandmother and noble -hearted grand-
father. To the latter I owe a debt
which I can never hope to repay, for he
—William Westell — acted as my Nature
guide and interpreter during my earlier
years. It is probable that, under such benign influence, seeds
were sown which have germinated, through protoplasmic force,
until such time as the young sapling gathered strength and
courage on the way, and was able to take its place among its
companions of the forest.

i

DORMOUSE AND NEST.

•2 -MY T-TFE AS A NATURALIST

It may here be mentioned that the etymology of my surname,
Westell, or Westall, appears to be local of the West Hall from
residence thereby or therein, the name Westall dating back to
the reign of Edward I. (1301), when I find reference to Kichard
atte Westhalle, alias Westall de Ancotes, Lincolnshire. In the
Subsidy Rolls for Hertfordshire, Hundred of Broad water, the
name of Westall appears in 1546, and in the Register of New
College, Oxford, 1564-5, there is mention of one, Owen Westall.
Further, in a Marriage Register at Westminster, 1569-70, there
is an entry of the marriage of Jerome Westall with Margaret
Lewes. In another London Register, dated 1793, there is also
an entry of the marriage of James Flintoft with one Martha
Westall, at St George's, Hanover Square. The Oxford entry
is especially interesting as my family migrated from the Uni-
versity city to St Albans about a century ago. The present
Town Clerk of Oxford informs me that my name is still a familiar
one there.

The matter of inherited character is directly traceable to my
grandfather aforesaid, and also to two great-uncles, Richard
and William Westall. Both the last-named were born at the
county town of Hertford, the former in 1765, the latter in 1781.

Richard Westall was a poet as well as historical painter. He
wrote " A Day in Spring and Other Poems," an honoured volume
in my library which is full of Nature lore. Richard was a poor
boy, and was bound as an apprentice to an engraver of heraldry
on silver in Gutter Lane, Cheapside, London. Whilst serving
his apprenticeship, Westall attended evening lectures at the
Royal Academy, as he evidently had a bent for art. He there
met Mr, afterwards Sir, Thomas Lawrence, and, when Richard
Westall had finished his apprenticeship in Gutter Lane, Sir Thomas
and he became such great friends that they took a joint house
together in Greek Street, Soho.

Richard is best known as an illustrator of British poetry. His
work, we are told, was prone to elegance, grace, and refinement,
though a large amount of affectation was introduced. He
sketched love and love scenes under every possible type and
symbol, many of his subjects being devoted to ancient mythology.

The first production which called public attention to his art
was a picture exhibited in 1785 representing a scene from Chaucer's
" January and May," but his first great work consisted of illus-
trations from the writings of Milton and Shakespeare which he
was commissioned to execute by Alderman Boydell, founder of

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 3

the Shakespearean Gallery. Westall is said to have achieved
in art what Thomas Haynes Bayley did in poetry. He soon
became one of the most popular book illustrators of the day, and
was much sought after by publishers. He was made a Royal
Acadamecian in 1794, the same year in which Lawrence and
Stothard were elected. He taught Queen Victoria painting, and

FIG. 1. — BIRCH IN WINTER.

we are informed that his distinguished royal pupil did honour
to his powers as an instructor. Incidentally, I may here put on
record that Queen Mary has written to me to say that there are
one or two pictures by my great-uncle at Windsor Castle. His
most famous canvas is " The Harvest Storm." Richard Westall
made a handsome fortune, but eventually his riches were dissi-
pated as he was imposed upon by dishonest picture dealers, who
faked copies of the old masters and sold them to him as originals.
In view of this the Royal Academy granted him a pension, and
he died on December 4th, 1836, at the age of seventy.

From the dedication page of " A Day in Spring and Other

4 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Poems," published in 1808 by John Murray and A. Constable
& Co., I cull the following interesting announcement :—

" The Author submits the following Poems to the Public with
the same deference to their opinion, the same hopes, and the
same apprehensions which invariably accompany the exhibition
of his productions in another and a sister art."

As showing Richard WestalPs passionate love for Nature I
quote a few fines from his " Day in Spring," which occupies the
first thirty-nine pages of his volume under review. He sings in
Stanza IV :—

Now I seek the quiet grove,

Where the Ring Dove woos his love ;

Where, beneath each spreading tree

Clust'ring grows the Strawberry

And the tangling underwood,

Frequent twines the devious road,

Till a sloping lawn I cross,

Girt with Oak, and soft with Moss,

Whose deep bosom thick is set

With the purple Violet,

And the Orchis rears his head

Spiral from its velvet bed.

A further quotation may be given from " On the Approach of
Winter " :—

How chang'd, how silent is the grove,
Late the gay haunt of youth and love !
Its tangling branches now are shorn
Of leafy honours, and upborne
By their close tops, the snow hath made
Beneath a strange and solemn shade.
Here oft with careless ease I lay
On the green lap of genial May ;
Dear was the stream, whose bottom shone
With fragments rude of scupltured stone,
Which from yon Abbey's ivy'd wall,
Shook by the wind, would often fall ;
Dear was the sound its waters made,
As down the pebbled slope they play'd.
I hear not now its mimic roar, .
Seiz'd by the frost it sounds no more ;
But dreary, mute, and sad it stands,
Torpid, beneath chill Winter's hands.

Four further lines from " A Day in Spring " may be given, as

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 5

to which Westall himself writes : " The gentleman alluded to
in this passage is William Ayton, Esq., late of Macclesfield. It
was written with the strongest sentiments of gratitude and
affection for the paternal regard which he had ever shown me,
from my early days, when his advice, his assistance, and pro-
tection were of the highest importance to me. Unfortunately
for me, and for his family, he is now dead. The feelings, in which
the passage originated, and which cannot cease but with my
existence, have induced me to suffer it to remain as it was during
his life. What was addressed to him in the moments of joy
stands now, conjunctly with this note, a weak tribute to his
memory ; but soothing to myself, and not unpleasing to those of
my dear hereditary friends who survive him."
Here are the lines :

Thou, my dear, my early friend,
Thou shalt read, and we'll attend,
Till each soul, impassion'd wears
Joy for joy, and grief for tears.

A short note concerning Kichard's brother, William, may well
conclude these ancestral details. The latter was a landscape
painter, and, as such, would of course be brought into intimate
touch with the beauties of outdoor life. I have before me a fine
quarto volume of engravings and notes entitled " Great Britain
Illustrated," containing about fifty reproductions of William
WestalPs pictures, this tome having recently been purchased by
me at a local second-hand bookseller's for a few pence. The
subjects mainly consist of notable houses, churches, and water-
ways of the period, and it is interesting to note that there is one
of Oxford as viewed from the meadows. Many of the places
illustrated I have myself visited, unconscious of the fact that
my great -uncle preceded me about a century ago, and I have
particularly noted his presentations of Berry Pomeroy Castle,
near Totnes, Devon ; Canterbury Cathedral ; Christchurch
Priory, Hampshire ; St John's College, Cambridge ; the Eden
Bridge at Carlisle ; the Entrance to Newmarket ; Melrose Abbey ;
Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh ; Scarborough Castle ; the Stone
Bridge at Newcastle ; Hastings ; Liverpool Docks ; Abbotsford,
the residence of Sir Walter Scott ; Nottingham Castle ; Arthur's
Seat, Edinburgh ; Whitby ; Manchester ; Brighton ; Durham
Cathedral ; Winchester ; Eaton Hall, Cheshire ; and Lincoln
Cathedral.

6 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

But William Westall not only travelled extensively in England,
Scotland, and Ireland for subjects to put upon his canvases, as
in 1801-3 he accompanied the distinguished English navigator,
Captain Matthew Flinders, as draughtsman on his voyage of
discovery to Australia. He was elected an Associate of the
Eoyal Academy in 1813, and died on January 22nd, 1850. It is
probable that, with other members of the expedition, William
Westall was, on arrival at the Isle of France, made a prisoner of
war. Flinders was detained there as a prisoner for six years, and
presumably Westall would be likewise disposed.

Several of my more recent relatives — notably the late John
Westall, my grandfather's brother — also achieved success as
landscape painters, and one of my sisters, Beatrice Daisy, has
inherited artistic tendencies in a marked degree, and is, like
myself, a passionate lover of the country.

My great-grandfather, whom I remember quite well, was a
Herald writer, and he also drove the Koyal Mail between Hatfield
and St Albans for many years. Twice in my life there have been
four generations of my family living at one time.

Franklin, we are told, was a misfit in his father's candle shop,
as Darwin was as an undergraduate at Glasgow University.
Both eventually stumbled upon a vocation capable of inciting in
them a passionate enthusiasm, though Darwin's father once pre-
dicted mournfully: "You care "for nothing but shooting, dogs,
and rat-catching, and you will be a disgrace to yourself and all
your family." First it was intended that Charles Darwin
should be a physician, later a clergyman, but, fortunately,
when at Cambridge he came under the direct influence of an
eminent and enlightened scholar, Professor Henslow, when he
entered the latter's Natural History Class. Thus was the
apprenticeship of Darwin in the School of Natural Science
entered into.

Now I do not know that it was ever my painful duty to be
chastised by a parent after the manner of Charles Darwin, as,
living in the country, amidst the pleasant environs of a city
famous throughout the whole world for the part it has played in
English history, undoubtedly made a great impression upon my
young life, added to which my family wisely recognised the
manifold delights of outdoor life.

As I have already indicated, there was also at hand the assist-
ance and encouragement of a self-educated grandparent — William
Westell — and this, together with a suitable environment, meant

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 7

everything in the opening chapter of my career. Even thus
early I could fully appreciate, as I do now, the answer to the
question : What is the value of a Dragon-Fly's wings ? I quote
an unknown writer, " Mome Rath," from the Saturday West-
minster thus : "It depends who is estimating. To some they
are worth nothing. Others count them false treasure, as a syren's
voice, or the glimmer of Will-o'-the-Wisp, or the iridescence upon
foul water. To me they are more precious than the Tate Gallery,
of equal value with a dew-hung Spider's web at dawn, and not
as valuable as laughter."

FIG. 2.— DRAGON-FLY ON WING.

It seems as regards myself that my Nature christening took
place within sight of the mossy cradle and bright blue eggs of
that Mark Tapley among birds, the homely Hedge Accentor.
I must have been at least six years of age when I was held aloft
to peep inside the snug family nursery of the bird just mentioned,
and, since that auspicious hedgerow incident, I have gone steadily
forward with a stout heart and an incessant craving for intimacy
with living things.

As a boy I was taken into the woods and fields, primrosing,
cowsliping, and daffy-down-dillying, and I hope and believe that,

8 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

unlike Wordsworth's tyro, to whom

A Primrose by the river's brim
A yellow Primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more,

to me that sulphur-tinted flower, Shakespeare's

First-born child of Ver,
Merrie Springtime's harbinger,

was something more than a pretty flower.

It at once bequeathed to my childish fancy an indefinable
charm. Its little life was to me a fund of wonder and delight.
Its coming and going were both magical and mysterious. I
watched the chaste blossoms peeping from their cosy woodland
bed in the glad days of smiling April year after year. I wit-
nessed the beneficent sunlight caressing the open heart of the
flower and infusing it with energy. Old associations became
securely anchored in the garden of my mind, and I was entranced
thus early with the modest flower's awakening at the budding
coronal of Spring. The birds sang to me as a child as they do
now, but in those earlier days it was a muddled medley, an out-
burst of feathered song, decidedly orchestral, difficult to in-
dividualise. Now, the soloists are more distinctive, their notes
have a personal touch, and their sweet minstrelsy is the more
acceptable, for, as Emily Ridgway has written : —

" Experience teaches that discipline and hard training, which
someone has called ' the scourge-sticks of heaven,' are essentials
for making the sweetest music."

And in studying Nature, with a view to acquiring any measure
of success, discipline and hard training are very necessary essentials.

My Nature experiences up to, and including, my teens, were
made all the more memorable because my father and grand-
father were faithful disciples of Izaak Walton, and also great
cricketers. William Westell, playing against All-England, took
all ten wickets in the second innings. He was considered one
of the straightest ' bowlers of his day, and was never known to
bowl a wide. In 1884 my father scored 188 against Essex, 138
against Abbots Langley, and 129 against Kickmans worth in
three successive innings on successive days, at a time when such
a feat was more highly recognised than it is to-day. At the time
of writing he has 49 centuries to his credit. I have myself been
a keen cricketer all my life, and one of my happiest memories is
that, when about fourteen, I made a famous " stand " with

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 9

Lockwood, the Surrey bowler, on Bernard's Heath, St Albans,
and was rewarded for my juvenile efforts with a pocketful of
gooseberries. Twice in my own career I have scored a century.
Up to the age of twenty-one I was also an ardent footballer, and I
am a devotee of cycling for both convenience and pleasure. These
cricket reminiscences are included here to show the association
of my family with our national Summer pastime, and how it
undoubtedly influenced my own regard for outdoor life. Cricket-
ing and fishing pursuits took my parents and myself continually
into the open air, under the blue sky, and many an empty creel
has been compensated for by the streamside, watching the Water
Vole performing its ablutions, the dandy Dragon-Fly toying upon
the wing, or, maybe, I caressed the blue Forget-me-not which so
richly ornamented the fringe of the water.

FIG. 3.— PRIMROSES.

I used, I remember, to steal cautiously out of the old home at
daybreak to spend the long Summer hours by some enchanted
stream, to listen to the seductive call of the wandering Cuckoo,
the bleating of placid Sheep, and the busy hum of winged
creatures. I watched the rise of the Mayfly, the flight of the
swift-winged Swallow as it skimmed across the lush meadows,
the hovering of a Kestrel Hawk, the pleasing gait of Nature's
little feathered gentleman, the trim Wagtail, the shoals of silvery
Minnows shimmering in the sunlit water, or the banded Perch
in the deep recesses, where the sunshine played hide-and-seek,
or cast light and shade, across the bosom of the stream.

10 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

These sights and sounds interested me. Contact with them
cemented the inherited love I possessed for outdoor recreation.
Mr R. J. Campbell has, in his recent autobiography, conveyed
an impression of my own youthful feelings when he writes : —

" I had a perfect passion for Nature in all its moods, and a
sort of mystic feeling about it. I never felt less alone than when
in communion with the holy presence of which I was conscious
everywhere in those habitual retreats. I knew what Words-
worth's Nature -worship meant long before I knewT Wordsworth :
it was exactly my own. I used to feel that the whole landscape
was mysteriously alive, and every minutest object in it, every
tiny flower and brook, became to my naive perceptions instinct
with Heaven. Nor have I lost this entirely. It gave me a view
of life which I can only call sacramental, and which has remained
with me all through my maturer years."

FIG. 4. — PERCH.

Those boyish angling experiences, and whole days in quiet wood-
land and meadow, afforded me pleasant hours of quiet medita-
tion. It was a relief to get away from the work-a-day world,
to be alone with Nature. They were not idle hours, for they gave
constant opportunity for meditation, which, as has been well
said, is " the science of the Saints."

Quiet meditation, and the acquirement of self-knowledge, telf-
respect, self-restraint, go hand-in-hand with the study of Nature,
and is preferable to the dictum of the taxi-cab driver who delivered
the following eloquent little treatise on driving in the dark :
" If we hear a smash we know we have hit something, and if we
don't we know it is all right." The study of Nature must not
be left to such a chance as this. So, what with rambling, angling,
gardening, and cricketing, life was very full to me in those earlier
days, and, truth to tell, my scholastic studies at St Albans
Grammar School made little impression upon a youthful mind

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 11

engrossed with the wonders of the outdoor world. In process
of time this wonder grew to very joy, and, in after life, an im-
mense blessing. In 1911 it saved me from a permanent mental
breakdown. As G. K. Chesterton has written in " The Priest
of Spring " : " When I look across the sun-struck fields I know
in my inmost bones that my joy is not solely in the Spring ; for
Spring alone, being always returning, would be always sad.
There is somebody, or something, walking there, to be crowned
with flowers ; and my pleasure is in some promise yet possible,
and in the resurrection of the dead."

*The country meant everything to me right from the beginning,
it was, as it remains, my Alpha and Omega, though (and perhaps
fortunately) all do not experience alike. Some of my neighbours
and acquaintances find the country a dull place indeed. Nature's
workshop is of little, if any, interest to them.

At first, and for many years afterwards, birds made a great
appeal to me. I was fascinated with their winning ways and
passionate outbursts of song, by their wonderful homesteads
and callow fledglings. I yearned to be able to know them one
by one, and the more I came to love them so did my knowledge
extend. I had no place in my life for a colourless existence.
Learning, I soon realised, was the fruit of effort ; prosperity, I
discovered, only takes root in continuous and painstaking labour.
As Kaufman, in his witty, epigrammatic way, has pointed out,
efficiency isn't a birthright, but an education. This world is
our legacy. Our portion is only bounded by our own ability
and zeal. Our title is clear to anything which we can honestly
reach. Resolution is a mint. With a sound constitution, and
an alert mind, we may all become capitalists, and thus invest —
ourselves !

The years rolled by. Season succeeded season. As Richard
Jefferies would say, I loved to watch the effect of the rising sap
up, up the living staircase of the Spring, towards the great gallery
of Summer, and the more I studied Nature in all her aspects,
under all conditions, even in the restricted domain of my own
parish, I was awed, amazed, electrified, bewildered, with the
immense scheme of existence.

I started business at the age of fourteen in the greatest city of
the world, within earshot of Bow Bells, where my great-uncle,
Richard Westall, also spent his apprenticeship days as already
narrated. I used to spend my luncheon hour in the high-railed
garden of Finsbury Circus feeding the Sparrows and Pigeons,

12

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

and my evening hours in the country. But a city life, even with
a good deal of leisure, was an uncongenial occupation for one
steeped in a love of the unkempt countryside, though the experi-
ence gained of routine and business acumen has proved of im-
mense assistance in after years, more especially in regard to my
literary activities, of which it is hardly possible for me to write

FIG. 5. — THE STREAM IN SPRING.

on the present occasion. Suffice it to say that at the age of four-
teen my first published article appeared in the old Hertfordshire
Standard, and not long since I celebrated my literary jubilee by
the publication of my fiftieth book !

As a boy I had little access to books of reference. White's
" Natural History of Selborne " was my constant companion,
and, together with Knight's " Pictorial Museum of Animated
Nature " (still, happily, in my possession), constituted the only
volumes I was able to consult.

An original edition of Culpepper's quaint " Herbal," I recollect,

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 13

was a volume of which, my grandfather was immensely proud,
but, for want of pocket money, I must here confess that one day
the old favourite was missing from the book-case, having found
a resting place with a second-hand bookseller in Alban's City
at the modest purchase price of half a crown. But, as I have
pointed out earlier on, my grandfather was for several of my
youthful years my chaperone, and together we explored furze
field and green lane, wood and dell, streamside and copse, in
homely Hertfordshire, and discovered, for the seeking, treasures
untold. We listened hand-in-hand, and heart-in-heart, to the
lyrics of a soul-inspiring Thrush, and could sing with Muriel
Stuart, as does she in " Christ in Carnival " : —

" But with each step I took the morning grew
Gayer and younger, a full-throated Thrush
Woke, and from hidden bush
Dimpled a note or two,
Set the wood's side a -shake, as if it knew
Answer to impudent jest ; already Bees
Sought the dell's bosom all a -heave into blue,
And girdled with the goldenest Primroses.
From every fold

The young Lamb's cough came softly down the lane ;
The Cuckoo told

His first few notes — as miser tells his gold,
And counted them again."

And, in later years, listening to a Thrush perched on a stately
Elm, among the tufts of early crimson flowers, I was myself con-
strained to write thus : —

Hark ! to the singing Thrush

On the bare bough,
Voicing its lilting strain

In England now.
Sweet songster of the grove,

Gay thou dost sing,
Like to a chorister,

Joy -bird of Spring.

What means this song of thine ?

Tell me, dear Thrush ;
Sing me a vesper sweet

T'wards evening's hush.

14

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

" I love you, I love you,"

Thus thou dost sing,
" Come again, come again,

Beautiful Spring."

Hark ! to the singing Thrush

On the bare bough,
Voicing its lilting strain

In England now.
Song-bird of hill and dale,

I make my vow,
I love you best of all

In England now.

FIG. 6. — SONG THRUSH.

I have long since come to recognise a close association between
Poetry and Nature. We need a greater measure of poetry in
our national life. The song of the Thrush is full of poetry. Long
before we ourselves have sufficient courage to realise that Spring
is well under weigh, this large-hearted songster puts his thoughts
into clear warblings of hope. Birds never lose faith in the Spring
that is to be, and, as James Douglas says : " The Thrush is the
poet who can transform his diet of worms into golden melody."
His is the super-song among those uttered by our resident birds
early in the year, for it is full of optimism at a time when we
humans are doubtful of the glad days to come.

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 15

A love of Nature breeds poetry within one's soul, for -the whole
arena of outdoor life is one great poem of comedy and tragedy,
humour and pathos, sunshine and storm. The difficulty is that,
although we all feel this magic touch of poetry in our contact
with Nature, we cannot adequately express it. It is something
that can be inwardly digested, but not outwardly demonstrated.
Once I listened to an ascending Lark, and the thoughts that
occurred to me then I wrote down thus : —

Hark ! to the joyous Lark !

On buoyant wing,
Voicing his raptured lays —

Pagans of Spring.

Pearl of the feathered race ;

Prince of the air ;
Full-throated Alauda ;

Songster so fair.

Cleaving the ether blue,

I hear thee sing
Love-songs of welcome

For Earth's blossoming.

Bird of the meadowland ;

Speck of the sky ;
Earth's gay ambassador,

Soaring on high.

Snow, wind, and rain may come,

Naught dost thou care ;
Still soar and sing aloud,

Prince of the air.

Spirit of blithesomeness,

Happy and gay !
Love-flights of gladsomeness,

Day after day.

Why dost thou scorn the ground
Why mount the cloud ?

Sending back lullabies,
Rich, long, and loud.

1C

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Joy-bird of early Spring ;

Compass in feathers ;
Head to the breeze thou soarest

High in all weathers.

Bird-sprite of lilting lay ;

Laureate of glee ;
Lone minstrel of the air,

Happy and free.

Sing thou again to me,

Through ram or shine,
Shimmering bridal-songs ;

Minstrel divine !

Brown bird of Happy-land,

Sing, ever sing —
Call Earth from her slumber,

Thou Herald of Spring.

FIG. 7. — SKYLARK.

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 17

Soon after the advent of these verses in a local paper there
appeared the following rejoinder, signed " An Admirer" : —

" To a ' Sweet Spring Poet,'
Hark to his lilting lay !
Hark ! hear him go it !

Vieing with the joyous Lark.

Never mind about the metre,

Never mind about the rhyme ;
The muse is his, and if he beat her,

It's her fate each sweet Springtime.

Prince of the golden tongue,

Prince of the hair ;
Full-throated Sappho's son,

Songster so fair.

Dodging the hackneyed themes,

Boldly dost sing
Love-songs of welcome

For Earth's blossoming.

Bard of the busy Bee,

Bard of the meads,
Laureate of woodside blooms,

Lover of Weeds.

Thou dost not scorn the ground,

Like gleeful Lark ;
Thy heart is with the flowers,

Down in the dark.

Snow, wind, and rain may come

Naught dost thou care ;
Shivering birdy songs

Sing'st from thy lair.

Sing thou again to me

One little song ;
Sing thy sweet lullabies

Eleven stanzas long.

Then when thy song is done,

If not before,
I shall be slumbering,

Dreading no more."

Homely Hertfordshire has inspired many poets, and it may
here be mentioned that among a few of the better known singers
of my native county there are included Francis Bacon, Richard

B

18 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Burton, George Chapman, William Cowper, Gerald Massey,
Bulwer Lytton, Owen Meredith (Robert, first Earl of Lytton),
Henry Peacham, and many others too numerous to mention.

Dr Young resided for many years quite close to my home at
Letch worth, and there wrote his famous " Night Thoughts " ;
Charles and Mary Lamb knew the county intimately ; and Izaak
Walton has immortalised the country around Hoddesdon in his
memorable classic concerning his brothers of the angle.

Earlier on, I mentioned that for many years birds appealed
strongly to me, and, as a matter of fact, the study of these win-
some creatures in the field mostly occupied the first twenty-six
years of my life, but about the year 1900 I found that a know-
ledge of mammals, fishes, insects, reptiles, pond dwellers, the
seashore, plants, geology, and a little elementary astronomy and
microscopy, were necessary to afford me a connected idea of the
relationship which, I was gradually being convinced, existed in
the animal, plant, and mineral worlds. I became automatically,
as it were, interested in, nay, enraptured with, Nature Study, a
willing convert to the fascinating pursuit of Ecology, which
Haeckel has defined as the science treating of the reciprocal
relations of organisms and the external world. Now, after thirty-
seven years' continuous study, I find that it is difficult to consider
any creature individually, for it has a collective and co-operative
relationship with other sentient beings. Everything that lives
I have long since determined has its use in the economy of Nature,
each unit, as it were, dovetails into something equally important
and arresting.

I have always tried to hand on any acquired knowledge to
others who were interested, and, whilst endeavouring to be
scientific, to so impart information in my classes, lectures, and
books as to be fully understood by the tiniest child, or the merest
tyro. Whilst recognising the importance of technical terms and
dry-as-dust lore, I have tried to steer clear of, or amplify and make
lucid, such statements for the readier acceptance of the multitude,
who would be unwilling, for example, to accept such a dictum as
I recently came across in one of my scientific journals as follows : —
, " The stem is protostelic, with parenchyma among the
tfacheides ; the peripheral xylem-strands and leaf-traces are
mesarch ; the meta-xylem and secondary tracheides have multi-
seriate bordered pits. There are plates of sclereides in the cortex,
and the hypoderma consists of alternating radial bands of fibres
and parenchyma.'1

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 19

Fortunately for the present generation, our scientific men and
women are beginning to recognise the interest shown by the
common people in things that count, and it is one of the most
pleasing signs of the times to realise the hall-mark of simplicity
with which our learned fellows are now framing their studies,
so as to be understood by the man-in-the-street.

Skipping several years of my life as a Naturalist, during which
I industriously pursued my outdoor observations, brings me to
the point when, several years ago, I was, of necessity, compelled
to devote my whole energies to the sublime prosecution of my
hobby. These later years have proved to be the happiest of
all, and my experience among men and things has broadened
my outlook upon life, and brought me into touch with pleasant
associations which I had always fondly striven to create. As
an unknown writer has well said : —

" All men in their skeletons look alike. There are cultured
men in the tents of India ; there are savage men in Parliament.
The fabric of life is woven with warp and woof. The *varp is
made up of the long strands that keep us altogether, and that
reach back far into the past. The woof is 'made of the short
strands made by the opinions and events of to-day. The warp
is the immortal part, and the woof is the passing show. The warp
means Shakespeare, and Columbus, and Napoleon, and Crom-
well, and Lincoln, and the Bible, and the Magna Charta. The
woof is the news of the day as we read it in magazines and news-
papers. He who forgets the warp of life becomes a shallow trifler,
blown here and there like a fallen leaf by every chance wind of
opinion."

I have long since become an optimist, like the tuneful Thrush.
An optimist !

" They found a lot of courage that simmered in the sun ;
They blended it with patience, and just a spice of fun ;
They poured in hope and laughter, and then, with sudden twist,
They stirred it all together, and made — an optimist ! "

The faculty of wonder which so completely differentiates us
from the brutes has always been uppermost in my mind. Man
is, and shall remain, the animal with the up ward 'look. A friend
of mine erected a welcome resting-place on the site of fair Hitchin
Hill, and upon it had inscribed these blessed words : —

Look up ! Better ahead.

20 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Nature, Art, Poetry, Science, Literature, Music, Crafts, Healthy
Eecreation, and all the rest of the things that count in human
existence, means the enlargement of both our individual and
collective horizons. All these are the common possession of the
race. The Nature soul is bound to feel the thrill of transcendental
mysteries, or it would not be itself. Beauty of form, colour, life,
is eternal, for ever thrusting through into the temporal, and
always elusive. He who sees Beauty, sees God.

As Browning has it in " The Guardian Angel " :—

" 0 World, as God has made it ! All is beauty :
And knowing this is love, and love is duty,
What further may be sought for or declared ? "

Surely we must sooner or later realise that a nation cannot
altogether exist as a commercial undertaking. The masses
cannot with impunity persist in despising Art, Science, Literature,
Nature, and Compassion, and concentrating their souls on pence.

The Arising generation yearn for knowledge of the world in which
they live. They simply revel in every budding hedgerow, every
flower-decked meadow. Every fairy forest, enchanted copse,
or yayside pond they soon begin to realise is aglow with the
glory of life. All Science testifies to its truth — matter is inde-
structible ; energy is unquenchable. Shall a meaner fate assail
the soul of man ? And so the years — my years — speed merrily
on. Nature has reciprocated the attention I have lovingly de-
voted to her children by giving me the outward appearance of
perpetual youth. I seem to have discovered the great secret,
i and discerned the compelling vision.

The love of young people everywhere for Nature, for a know-
ledge of our past history and our future inheritance, is, to my
mind, a hopeful solution of present-day problems. They — and
those who humbly point the way to them — should be encouraged
in every possible direction. This Nature -lore helps to create
and to cement the greatest asset in human existence — Friendship.
Quiet, meditative souls who revel in simple country delights
know the real joy of existence, of old associations, old-loved spots,
old friends and faces. My own experience has been fragrant
with never-to-be-forgotten memories which the hand of Time
cannot possibly efface.

It has been written that

" No flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air,"

HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST

21

and, I may parenthetically add, no true friendship is made which
does not help one along life's oscillating highway. Every moment
instructs, elevates, refines, ennobles. Our knowledge, even after
a lifetime of devotion, may not be encyclopaedic ; our philosophy
may, perchance, be of the simplest, but there are certain maxims

FIG. 8. — THE MERE IN SPRING.

that may well be taken to heart. Sir George Birdwood has
succinctly stated a few of these, thus : —

" Cultivate kindness ; be lavish of your praise, and sparing
with your blame. If you cannot praise a thing, or a man, leave
it — or him — alone. Keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and
ears open. Go out of your way to say a kind thing ; shun the
devil of temptation to be smart or unkind at the expense of a
friend, or even an enemy, and sooner or later you will find your
reward. Eat what you like, and drink what you like — in modera-
tion, and you will never regret it."

And as time goes on we may all cultivate these maxims. We
may seek to learn something even of ;fche past and present history
of our own parish, for a local survey helps to build up a system
for the nation.

22 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

We can all play our part loyally in the great and glorious
world in which we share a common heritage. Nature ennobles
and refines the emotions, and to-day, as a result of my life as
a Naturalist, I see reason, design, intelligence, beauty, grace,
dignity, use, wherever I go. The very ground over which I
tread teaches me something of the footprints of antiquity. Life
without a refining influence would be shallow indeed ; one must
always be ready to look into the mirror of knowledge. Much
has, of necessity, been left unwritten. I have merely endeavoured
to set down a general analysis of my impressions and experiences,
and, as a benediction, I may repeat with Morley Roberts :—

" In the Great Play that's never done
I have my part, a splendid one.

No one can take this part from me,
'Twas cast at my nativity.

For only Death who taketh all
Can end my hour majestical.

What if I die and drift away ?
What if I weep ? 'Tis in the Play.

I might have owned no garden sweet ;
No grass to cool my burning feet.

I might have lived a lampless one.
Who lit no candle at the sun.

And so I'll play the part I'm given,

And for my hour thank Earth and Heaven."

CHAPTER II

IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN

ONE can well imagine that living at St Albans, in the very heart
of such an historic city, and belonging to a family so well known,
and so long resident in the town, every nook and corner of it
is to me linked up with the graphic past, and full of personal
reminiscences.

Quite early in my career the fascinating story of the proto-
martyr made a strong appeal to me, and the site of Verulam is,
and remains, one of my natural playgrounds. Every stone up-
turned, even after so long a time, may reveal some epitaph of
the bygone, every step one takes is within hail of the footprints
of the immortal Saint.

I walk along the old British Causeway this glad May morning,
when Nature, all a-burst, is looking at her best. The Spring
season thus viewed means a pertinent awakening, but, in spite
of such a living survey, I cannot seem to shake off the memories
of never-to-be-forgotten centuries. The things around me; the
tall stately Poplars by the river Ver, the Swallows dipping in
the water, the little Pipistrelle Bat fresh from its hybernating
quarters, now flying about in bright sunshine ; the plaintive
madrigal of a gay- vested Redbreast — all interest and instruct as
I reverently pace the same Causeway which Alban trod on his
way to martyrdom, but I cannot dismiss from my mind the scene
that was enacted here somewhere about sixteen hundred and
fourteen years ago.

Historical details crowd one on the other in a most bewilder-
ing way, for, if the truth be told, it means that we have at
Verulam, and its successor, St Albans, an epitome of the history
of England. We note, as we walk towards the site of Verulam,
the steep slope on either side, and, in the low-lying meadow
beneath, the bed of what was at one time a Roman lake, since
drained by the Saxon Abbot Allfric I. in A.D. 970.

Upon reaching the present end of the Causeway we may still
inspect a block of masonry on our right, a remnant of the wall

24 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

which once enclosed the Roman capital of Southern Britain.
Verulamium was 190 acres in extent, Pompeii was 160 acres,
so that the former rivalled the latter in size as well as grandeur.
Close to this block of wrall the Pageant of 1907 was held, when
my old science master, Mr Charles H. Ashdown, mapped out for
presentation eight of the chief episodes connected with Verulam
and St Albans. It will be interesting to have a permanent

FIG. 9.— ST ALBANS ABBEY PROM THE SITE OP VERULAM.

record here of these episodes in the order in which they were
presented, thus : —

I. Julius Caesar and Cassivelaunus. Monday, September 10, 54 B.C.

II. Boadicea. A.D. 61.

III. The Martyrdom of Saint Alban. Sunday, June 22, A.D. 303.

IV. King Off a founding the Monastery. August 1, A.D. 793.
V. The Queen Eleanor Procession. December 13, A.D. 1290.

VI. The Peasants' Revolt. 1381.

VII. The Second Battle of St Albans. February 17, 1461.
VIII. Queen Elizabeth at Gorhambury. July, 1572.

Standing upon the central site of Verulam to-day, where corn
crops will soon be hastening towards the harvest, it is difficult
for the infrequent visitor to conjecture these great episodes of
bygone times. It is, however, to the student a continuous story

IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN 25

of our national history, our national Christianity, and our
national liberties, an unbroken sequence through many genera-
tions proving our ancient heritage.

Steeped in a love for his native place, small wonder, perhaps,
that one, such as myself, should be so enraptured with even
casual reflection upon these magic happenings of the past.

Seated upon the old stile over which I vaulted in sheer delight
as a boy, I look across the sunstruck fields this May morning,
and completely lose myself in visions of the past. Immediately
before me is the site of a Roman city of great magnificence and
splendour ; on the slopes of Holmhurst hill yonder I discern the
more modern (and yet ancient) city named after the Saint, with
the square Norman tower of the Cathedral a silent witness of
the prowess of our ancestors from across the Channel. My
sister, who is with me, mentions in a whisper the magic names
of "Caesar, Cassivelaunus, Boadicea, Alban ! " Here, we are in
the midst of surroundings which few, if any, places in England
can eclipse, and, as an old Albanian, I am naturally proud of
this ancient connection with the earliest recorded history of our
land. In Roman times Verulam was one of the two Municipia,
or free cities, of Britain, York being the only other place thus
dignified. Verulam was granted the first Charter of Britain in
A.D. 42, York followed some thirty-six years later. London was
in those far-off days a place of little importance. My sister has
left me seated, looking, longing, and loving. She has commenced
exploring for any remnants of Roman occupation. First she
discovers a small fragment of the beautiful glazed Samian ware,
later, a rusty nail ! Every object is worthy of examination, for,
in the footprints of Saint Alban, one never knows what treasure
may be disclosed. I am still soliloquising on the old stile when
a great shout rents the air. The sudden incursion rudely dis-
turbs my peace of mind. It seemed, for the moment, as if
Boadicea herself had come from her resting-place to proclaim
in person the law of right over might on the very spot where she,
heroic Queen, had given her life so many years ago.

But the cause of the mighty shout is now manifest, for, stand-
ing by my side, my sister displays a magnificent Roman fibula
which she had just unearthed, a notable addition to the honoured
cabinet of remains gathered together with loving hands by one
who shares with myself the glories of a past age in the environs
of my native place.

I look across the undulating fields, and I hear anew a soul-

26 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

inspired Blackcap in the little copse on my left, the progeny,
may be, of one that sang in days gone by to brave Cassivelaunus,
or all-conquering Caesar, when Roman rule held undisputed sway
at the spot where I write these lines. Then, I look through the
tall trees towards the valley of the Ver, and witness, as if kine-
matographed, the stately entry of the Druids during the 1907
Pageant, and seem to hear again the weird music (the wail, or
dirge, of the Roman women), composed by my old schoolfellow,
W. H. Bell. I see Caesar on his charger handing his ring to
Cassivelaunus, the British chief, the latter having sued for peace.
I perceive Alban, some three centuries later, bidding farewell to
Saint Amphibalus near the city walls, and refusing to worship
the Roman deities. Thus is my native city for ever associated
with primitive Christianity, the martyrdom occurring within
three hundred years of the crucifixion of Christ. Moreover, the
English Christianity of to-day is inseparably linked up with
the Christianity which converted the Roman world.

There now flashes across my mind the scene enacted by King
Offa, who, guided, we are told, by a brilliant star in the heavens,
is believed to have discovered the bones of the blessed Saint.
Offa was king of Mercia. He had a palace at Offley, near my
present home in the north of Hertfordshire, and may be desig-
nated father of modern English Independence, and, as has been
well said, no matter what our personal opinions may be, he was the
first of that line of politicians who utilised religion in the service
of the State.

To this desire on the part of Offa to find the relics of the Saint,
and to erect an edifice on the site of the martyrdom, the present
city of St Albans owes its inception. The foundation of the
Monastery brought into being the new town which rapidly sprang
up around the monastic buildings, so that to-day we look from
Verulam's fields and woods towards the newer city on the hill
beyond. Thus does St Albans itself present to us a fairly con-
tinuous story of England from the time when, in 793, King Offa
founded a monastery, though it should be stated that a Church
was erected on the spot now occupied by the Cathedral as early
as 313.

We cannot enter the sacred precincts now, so brimful of histori-
cal interest ; suffice it to say that in History, Art, Printing, Music,
Philosophy, Religion, Sacrifice, and other epochs in national life,
we are here in close touch with individual and collective evidences
of bygone England. British, Roman, Early English, and

IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN 27

Mediaeval times are all represented in and around St Albans,
and one's pulse is quickened at every turn when treading
in Alban's footprints, which even the hand of Time has not
altogether effaced.

We halt at the only other monastic building remaining, the
Great Gateway, dating from 1365. An earlier building was
blown down about 1361. It was here that the storming of the
Gateway took place during the Peasants' Kevolt in 1381. Wat
Tyler had come hot afoot from London town to lead the city's

FIG. 10.— ST ALBANS GRAMMAR SCHOOL.

inhabitants in fierce revolt against the tyranny of the Abbot
and his satellites. Richard III. appeared with his army in person,
won the day, and held a Court in the courtyard, which was situ-
ated near the broken ground now transformed into a verdant
meadow, where placid sheep are quietly grazing. This historic
monastic building now serves as a Grammar School, and I
remember how, as a schoolboy there, I was keen upon climbing
the dizzy heights of the ivy-covered walls on the south side,
shown in the accompanying sketch, for the purpose of discover-
ing the nests of Sparrow and Starling. Previously, my old school
was housed in what is now the Lady Chapel of the Cathedral.
It was removed to its present position in 1870, and was, in all
probability, founded during the Saxon period in the reign of

28 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

King Edred. It may here be mentioned that Albanians claim
Verulam as the first place recorded in authentic English history
under a specific name, my old school as the oldest school in
England, and St Albans Cricket Club as the first one established
in this country. I am proud to have been brought into touch
with all three of these institutions. Near this Great Gateway
George Tankerfield was burnt at the stake in 1555.

On our way back from the site of Verulam, retracing our steps
along the Causeway which Alban trod on his way to martyrdom,
I omitted to point out the old hostelry on the right, facetiously
dubbed " The Fighting Cocks." It was in olden days the
boathouse of the Monastery, and is reputed to be the oldest
inhabited house in England. It has not lacked a tenant for over
a thousand years.

From the higher ground there can be seen the ruins of Sopwell
Nunnery, founded in 1140 by Geoffrey de Gorham, sixteenth
Abbot of St Albans. In the Chapel Henry VIII. is said to have
been married to Anne Boleyn. It is more interesting to note
that here resided Dame Juliana Berners, who wrote the first of
a long line of English sporting works, " The Book of St Albans."
This was printed at the Monastery Gateway by John Insomuch,
and was published in 1486. Many a time when a boy I have
explored the flint masonry of this ancient structure of Sopwell,
and, in the pool adjoining, remains no doubt of the old fish-
pond, angled unsuccessfully. At one time my father and grand-
father rented this particular piece of water for angling, but
with what result I was never able to discover !

Leaving the Great Gateway and ascending the steep hill of
George Street, once the old coach road, the spacious High Street
comes into view. The Waxen Gate, where the pilgrims to the
shrine of Saint Alban lighted their candles, is still to be seen,
and, hard by, the Clock Tower, the tower of which was erected
between 1402-1410 in order to ring the Curfew. It contains a
bell known as Great Gabriel. Where the fountain now stands
there previously existed an Eleanor Cross, erected by Edward I.
to mark one of the resting-places (the Abbey) for the night of
the bier of his dead consort, Queen Eleanor, when being borne
to Westminster in June 1292.*

Near here the redoubtable Cromwell arrested Thomas Con-
ingsby in 1643 ; along quaint old French Row, occupied by
French prisoners in 12l6, are the remains of ancient hostelries,
at one of which, the " Old Christopher," David Garrick stayed

IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN 29

when visiting St Albans with his friend Quin in 1765. Garrick,
it may be remarked, composed during his visit some facetious
lines anent the remains of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, whose
tomb at the Cathedral is the only royal monument it contains.

The old Moot Hall is not far away, where, in 1581, the great
John Ball and other insurgents were tried before Chief-Justice
Tressilian. Henry VI. held a Council of War here upon the
opening day of the first battle of St Albans in 1455. Along
this thoroughfare William Bedhead did penance in 1427 as
punishment for promulgating the Lollard doctrine, and on our
left, a little farther up than the Moot Hall, is to be noted a fine
old Tudor dwelling with a wrought-iron balcony. In the reign
of Charles II. it was the residence of Lady Alicia Jennings, and
it was from this house that Queen Elizabeth was presented with-
an address of welcome, on her way to Gorhambury to visit Sir
Nicholas Bacon, father of the Philosopher.

The Bull Ring, for bull-baiting, once occupied a site close by,
and the wide expanse of St Peter's Street, flanked with lime
trees on either side of the road, was, it is believed, a Roman
cursus, or racecourse, when Verulam flourished, and was also
the chief scene of the famous Wars of the Roses.

As a boy I always used to very politely raise my hat to a dear
old lady, Miss Lydekker, who then lived at Hall Place, opposite
Pemberton's almshouses. The former has now been demolished.
It is stated that Henry VI. slept at Hall Place on the night of
the first battle on May 23, 1455.

It is market day as I write, and the Market Place, and a part
of St Peter's Street, has still its complement of wooden stalls
with canvas awnings, a dying remnant of Old England. The
streets are crowded with pedestrians, the snorting motor-buses
are carrying living freights to and from the town, but few there
be who appear to have any interest in the historical associations
of the place. The Cathedral, of course, is the Mecca of many
visitors, and, in spite of its being rather out of the way, so is the
most excellent County Museum of natural and human exhibits ;
but, as I watch the devotee of the fragrant weed entering the
tobacconist's shop at the corner of Victoria Street, near the
very ugly Town Hall erected in 1829-30, I wonder whether he
realises that, in the first battle of St Albans, the Duke of Somerset
was slain upon the door-step of a previous building here known
as the Castle Inn ? It is said that Duke Somerset had been
warned by a wizard to " beware of a castle," and, in consequence,

30 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

always lived in a humble house. Shakespeare refers to this in
the first part of Henry VI., Act v., Scene ii. : —

Rich. So, lie them there ; —

For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,

The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset

Hath made the wizard famous in his death. . . .

It was, then, in this broad thoroughfare of St Peter's Street that
the famous battlefields of 1455 and 1461 were situate, and I
remember how, as a youngster, I used to think about all these
incidents when I went to a farm early each morning to fetch a
can of milk. The Borough Gate end of the thoroughfare is
crowned with the Church of Saint Peter ; this, as with Saint
-Michael's and Saint Stephen's at the other extremities of the
town, having originally been built by Abbot Ulsinus in 948. The
Roman Forum was close to St Michael's, and there is a fine
tomb to the imperishable memory of Francis Bacon, who died
in 1626. He lived for many years at Gorhambury, the seat of
his successor, the present Earl of Verulam, and there wrote his
famous Essays. Reading one of these recently I came across
these appropriate words :—

" I hold every man a debtor to his profession, from the which,
as men do, of course, seek to receive countenance and profit, so
ought they of duty to endeavour themselves, by way of amends,
to be a help and an ornament thereunto."

There is also a Crusader's tomb of about the fourteenth century
at St Michael's, and several other items of interest.

At my old school I gained a great deal of local information
as a result of Mr Ashdown's personal influence. He was in those
days a new-comer to St Albans, but has long since proved
its loving historian. I cannot stay to mention the long line
of illustrious scholars who were educated there, but may refer
to a few pre- Reformation worthies, such as Alexander Nequam,
foster-brother to Richard Coeur de Lion, who became a Master
there, and was buried in the Abbey in 1217 ; Matthew Paris, to
whom, as an historiographer, the Monastery owes a great deal ;
Sir John Mandeville, the famous traveller ; and Nicholas Break-
spear, who, as Adrian IV., was the only Englishman to become
Pope of Rome. It is worthy of notice that, on completing his
studies at the old school, Breakspear sought, but was refused,
admission to the Monastery on the ground of insufficiency of
learning.

IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF SAINT ALBAN 31

We have, during this little pilgrimage together, gained much
information concerning Verulam and St Albans. We have
trodden, as it were, in the footprints of Saint Alban, and have
followed the footsteps of William the Conqueror, Paul de Caen
being the first Norman Abbot of the Monastery.

Every square yard of this ground is historic, and to an intelli-
gent resident or visitor there is opened up a broad vista of the
mighty past. The pity of it is that so few seem sufficiently
interested to avail themselves of this stirring story of bygone
England, and it is largely left for visitors from afar to appreciate
what remains exist, and to help extend our knowledge concerning
same.

I realise, as I renew acquaintance with these scenes of my
youth, the supreme importance of knowing something of one's
homeland, even, as I hinted in my opening chapter, of one's
own little parish. Each parish should have its own monographer,
the man (or woman) who is able and willing to study the evolu-
tion of the human race, as it were, upon the spot. With such
fragrant memories as I myself possess of St Albans, both historical
and picturesque, I am convinced that life is made fuller and
sweeter by knowing, feeling, and realising that one is treading
day by day upon hallowed ground, where great thoughts may
arise from even trifling things, for, as Ruskin says : —

" What fairy palaces we may make of beautiful thoughts,
bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful say-
ings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care
cannot disturb nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away
from us — houses built without hands, for our souls to live in ! "

CHAPTER III

NATURE STUDY, THE TEACHER, AND THE CHILD

I. Nature Study. — The study of Nature is, if rightly interpreted,
the gospel of LIFE. Its importance to-day is recognised in both
Week-day and Sunday Schools. Its fostering and inculcation
will mean a great deal to young England of the moment, and
grown-up England of years to come. The leaves of this great
outdoor book are always open for inspection by those who care
to consult them.

We ourselves — we humans — occupy a prominent place in
Nature's great and wondrous scheme of existence, in the vast
web of life. Never was there greater need than there is to-day
for expounding the wonders of Nature, a study which embraces
earth, air, and sea, and all pulsating life that is on and in them.
Knowledge is especially called for to-day in an age when unreal
pleasure is so prevalent, when frivolous amusements invite —
and often allure — us at every street corner, when it is important
for us to recognise some of the saner things of life, things that
matter. This whole subject of Nature Study, rightly inter-
preted, should be treated and received with both reverence and
sympathy, and I am one of the growing band of scientific men
who firmly believe in the reconciliation of Science and Religion.

Probing into Nature's secrets has existed from the time when
man first set his foot in the primeval forest. The Greeks of old
even worshipped trees. They saw a Dryad in every one of them.
Perhaps Solomon was the first Naturalist. " He spake of trees,
from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that
springeth out of the wall ; he spake also of beasts, and of fowl,
and of creeping things, and of fishes."

After Solomon came the famous Greek philosopher Aristotle,
who lived in 384-322 B.C., probably the greatest scientific man
the world has ever produced. Aristotle had to wrestle with a
subject of which the world knew little, for, as far as we know,
only Solomon, the wise man, had preceded him in Natural History
study. It speaks much for Aristotle that it was not until 1492

32

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 33

that any further practical work was done in adding to the famous
Grecian's monumental discoveries. The nineteenth and twentieth
centuries, however, saw a perfect invasion of men of science, all
seeking for knowledge, all seeking for truth. Now scientific
research and study have received a temporary check ; but when
all our thoughts are transferred to more peaceful things, to more
peaceful occupations, to the better employment of leisure hours,
more knowledge-seeking, more intelligent pur-
suits and pleasures, then many will turn to the
country for solace and delight. The study of
Nature is the birthright of everybody. It has
made slow, but sure, progress throughout the
ages. It has been handed down to us from
generation to generation. It is no " preserve "
of the learned, it may become the precious
possession of all, young and old, rich and poor.
Nature Study is one of the most fascinating
of the sciences because it deals with living, and,
let us hope, happy creatures, by whom we
humans are surrounded, creatures — both animals
and plants — who pass their daily lives with us
and around us, under our own eyes as it were.
Yet people are mostly blind and unresponsive
to the manifold delights which are to be found
in the outdoor world. We are all of us, men,
women, and children, birds, insects, flowers, part
and parcel of the great scheme of life. Recogni-
tion of this inter-relatedness, as I may call it,
seems to me to be one of the chief solutions
of social problems to-day. We must go to
Nature for prompting as to how best to act.
creation is such that the idea of more co-relation among human
folk becomes pertinently manifest to all those who follow the
story of the country -side. I have proved many times during
my own earthly pilgrimage how influence passes all unconsciously
from A to Z, although Z may be quite unaware of A and vice versa.
A student of Nature, of living creatures in their own homes, is
always coming up against, and marvelling at, this wonderful web
of life, this natural and well-designed dove-tailing as I may
christen it. The humblest investigator may, by diligence, find
sufficient even in his, or her, back garden to amply repay, nay,
overpay, not merely the study of an hour, but the devotion of a

FIG. 11.
WHITE CAMPION.

The web of

34 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

lifetime. Charles Darwin's recipe might well become the heart-
engraved motto of all those who would successfully enter the
threshold of Nature : " It's dogged that does it."

When I think, as I so often do, of man's triumphal emergence
from the forest ; when I think of the heaving bosom of our
great Mother Nature once entirely hidden by the deep dark
waters of aeons ago ; when I think of a one-time flowerless and
birdless world ; when I think of the bright and beautiful world
in which we live to-day, of the great strides in human existence,
human thought and deed, then, as Coulson Kernahan says, even
the heart of the tiny wayside flower seems to portray to me the
likeness of an all- wise Creator, and I must for very joy of life
cry aloud, " I believe."

Believing, then, that the study of Nature is something worth
pursuing, that it is a subject fit for old and young alike, and not
merely for the Kindergarten, or the Nursery, as so many seem to
consider, it at least teaches me to be tolerant in all things.
Nature knowledge has been proved over and over again to be
of value to the individual, and can be so applied by the pains-
taking and zealous investigator as to be of welfare to the com-
munity, and even to the State. But, perhaps, above and beyond
all, the chief value of Nature Study is its priceless value to the
character and inner life of the individual.

Nature is prodigious, but she is not wasteful. Civilised man
has been wickedly wasteful since he emerged from the forest
ages ago. Earth's treasures, animals, plants, rocks, minerals,
have been granted to us for our support, our comfort, and our
improvement. Some of them are usable within reason for the
benefit of humanity, but the wilful slaughter of harmless animals,
the destruction of plants, the neglect of forests, the misuse of
crops, and all short-sighted and ignorant waste should stop.
But the greatest of all values to the individual is the cultivation
of a love of the beautiful. Nature is tne greatest and truest
Art Mistress in the world. Her masterpieces attract, impress,
educate, and inspire. One who studies her wisely and well cannot
fail to see what is beautiful, or hear what is harmonious. The
ear is very receptive, for one can read the music score of the
bird orchestra ; and even the sighing of the wind, patter of rain,
gurgle of the brook, gentle stirring of the trees in leafy June,
monotone of winged creatures, drowsy hum of busy Bees, should
be noted and loved, and the mind enriched thereby.

We often speak glibly of our senses of sight, hearing, feeling.

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 35

Nature makes us use all these in a more quickened way. Ob-
servation, and a sense of the wonderful in Nature, make us quick
witted, keen to perceive, receptive, and retentive. Nature helps
to lead the mind, upon which the glory of the sunrise of the soul
has not yet risen, up to Nature's God. There is no need to be
great explorers, to have a splendidly-equipped laboratory, nor
costly instruments. Nature Study is one of the cheapest hobbies
in existence, though it cannot be purchased in penny packets.

I am a great believer in common things, and the common
people. This reminds me of an anecdote related in a recent
book concerning President Lincoln. A diary note in his book
reads as follows : " The President to-night (Dec. 23rd, 1863)
had a dream ; he was in a party of plain people, and as it became
known who he was, they began to comment on his appearance.
One of them said : ' He is a very common-looking man.' The
President replied : ' The Lord prefers common-looking people.
That is the reason he makes so many of them.' " Lincoln un-
doubtedly struck the right note. This living lore of Nature
appeals to the soldier upon the battlefield, for the rich dulcet
notes of the soul-inspired Nightingale help him to forget the
thunder of the guns, and it fortifies the intrepid explorer during
his Arctic solitude. I read in my paper that an article, " Leaning
on a Gate," brought a letter to the writer from the trenches
thus : " Continue to breathe out these pantheistic prayers for
us. ... It is because this war has taken place in the open air
that I still live. Could it conceivably be carried on indoors I
should perish utterly. Sunrising — sunsetting — song of birds —
wind in the trees — on these I thrive. . . ." There you have it.

My mind wanders to the Arctic wonderland. I think of brave
Captain Scott and his comrades of imperishable memory. When
writing his last memorable words to his wife Scott said : " Make
the boy interested in Natural History if you can ; it is better
than games; they encourage it at some schools. I know you
will keep him in the open air." I venture to submit that no
greater testimony was ever borne to the value of Nature Study
than these never-to-be-forgotten words, penned by Scott just
before he passed over the horizon to the Great Unknown. Let
us hope that very soon now men, women, and children will
remember that intellectual pursuits do count in this life, and that
too much frivolity is no tonic for the soul. The eternal work
of God is in every form of creation. In Nature you meet the
Creator face to face, yet, how few, alas, come to make His

36

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

acquaintance. Our girls and boys are, be it noted, keen to know
something of the great world in which they live, move, and have
their being. And it is up to those of us who are grown up, let
us hope in the light of good deeds and noble aspirations, to assist
and direct them as far as lies in our power. Everybody has a
touch of Nature in his or her make-up, a little bit of the gospel I
preach, but it is something that should be cultivated, for each
step into the forest makes us pause and consider. One must

£">, Y-

FIG. 12. — NATURE'S MIRROR.

walk with a stout heart ; and the healing sunlight will bleach
many an ugly secret. The magic of the country-side will work
wonders untold, and reveal marvels worth their weight in gold.
Go out into .the great world of Nature, and listen to the mighty
chorus. Somewhere you will assuredly find the heart and love
of the Creator, for everywhere in Nature the Almighty is housed
in His handiwork, and lives in His creation. Get into touch
with the Infinite. There you will find beauty, design, intelligence,
solicitude, and love. There, in Nature, is the palpitant beauty
and pulsing song of existence. The Grecian Poet Euripides, the
friend of Socrates, who lived some 2400 years ago, must have
been intimate with the thesis I have propounded, and his teach-
ing may well be taken to heart. Euripides wrote : " Study the

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 37

book of Nature that God hath spread out before thee ; so thou
wilt store up knowledge within thy brain, and peace within thy
heart."

II. The Teacher. — Having given a very brief resume, as it
were, of- Nature Study, we now come to the crux of the whole
matter, and one finds it difficult to convey in written form an
accurate idea of what it is most essential should be made known.
Perhaps if I write as I feel, and as I should speak if I was address-
ing a gathering of teachers themselves, the difficulty will be best
met. With the teacher lies success, or failure. Upon him, or her,
everything depends. The children look up to the teacher for
guidance, encouragement, appreciation, and the marshalling of
knowledge. The Nature teacher, or, if you will, the loving
interpreter of Earth's secrets, has, it must be admitted, an unique
opportunity of doing real, good work, but there are pitfalls
galore, especially for those who, desirous of acting as interpreters,
know little, or nothing, of the subject before them. This applies
with equal force to Day and Sunday School teachers, and I
have myself come across pitiable examples of the former during
the course of my wanderings. To me as a born-in-the-cradle-
naturalist, as a lifelong student of Nature's children, birds,
beasts, fishes, insects, flowers, and the. rest, I know, appreciate,
feel, and can to an extent reveal, or, should I not rather say,
humbly point the way, to the enquiring and receptive mind. I can,
in a measure, advise the teacher who is desirous of instilling Nature
lore into the minds of children, what I consider, as a result of my
own actual experience, the best method to adopt. I can relate,
or write down, apt illustrations that I have myself culled from
the great and ever-open book that, as the old chronicler says,
lies expansed before the eyes of all. There is nothing egotistical
about this personal experience. It is the birthright of every-
body, but few there be who appear to take full advantage of it.
Some who live in towns and crowded cities state that they lack
opportunity for being brought into contact with Nature, that
they have the desire, but no means of carrying same into practice ;
others who live in the heart of the country, within the very joy-
wheel of Nature's Wonderland, find it, they tell me plainly,
excessively dull and uninteresting !

There is no doubt that things of the country interest people
more to-day than ever before in the history of the world, but a
very small percentage of our population is thus impressed, and
there is much spade work to be done before we are out of the

38 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

trenches. The great hope lies with the children, the great onus
is upon the teacher.

I am a great believer in heredity. Practical proof is the best
witness, and I have it in my own case. The seed was there. All
that was required was a suitable environment in which the
precious seed might germinate. That, fortunately, was forth-
coming. There has been no set-back, no lack of opportunity,
no lack of enthusiasm, no lack of encouragement. There have
been a few unforeseen disappointments, but, in spite of these,
often in spite of myself, I have gone forward with my studies
in the sure and constant faith that it was ordained I should,
during my earthly pilgrimage, undertake and carry out the
work for which I appear most fitted, and, what is most important
of all, which I most like. At times, as in other walks of life,
discouragement and disappointment comes even to the student
of Nature. That is the Great Mother's test as to the true love one
has for her countless children. Then, if there be lack of know-
ledge and of opportunity, and yet a desire to know, foster, inculcate,
and reveal, what is the remedy for the teacher who courageously
confesses his, or her, ignorance of the great world of life ?

Books are a useful, and indeed indispensable, vade-mecum, a
sheet-anchor of inestimable service. They are essential for
reference, for imparting information, for gaining inspiration, for
mind training. All teachers anxious to deal with this subject
of Nature Study among their young charges should have a select
library of volumes near at hand by means of which they may
be guided and inspired, but the only sure and satisfactory way of
gaining first-hand and lasting impressions, brimful of personal
knowledge, coupled with crisp anecdote and experience, of being
best able to point a moral and adorn a tale, is for the teacher to
become a zealous and painstaking Nature student himself. This
does not imply that, under such circumstances, books should be
eschewed. We all use them, or should do so, but even those
with limited time at disposal may take a walk in the park, or
country, and find, as a result, that such an expedition may be
made a constant source of joy and pleasure, a scientific exhibition.
Granted the full use of eye, ear, and mind, sufficient information
may be acquired from even a few moments' intercourse with
Nature as will serve many useful lessons. The teacher who
commences seeking for Nature knowledge when grown up will,
at first, find it much more difficult to become an apt pupil at
Nature's School than if he, or she, had been on the roll-call when

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 39

in infancy, or, at latest, before reaching the teens. I have, how-
ever, had some rather remarkable experiences among grown-up
converts, and feel sure that perseverance will accomplish a great
deal, when it is realised that, both personally and collectively,
this Nature seeking is worth following up, especially in an age
when the stimulating influence of the country has such a marked
effect for good upon those who keenly feel the necessity for
solace, change of scene and occupation, and who possess a genuine
desire to know something of the world of life by which they are
surrounded.

One's own experience from childhood upwards presents at all
times, and in all walks of life, an interesting retrospect, and this
is particularly true with regard to Nature Study. A whole
sermon might well be preached to a countless congregation on
the subject of Initiation. I am led to write thus because of a
remarkable set of lines that appeared under this title in a weekly
contemporary. I cannot quote them in extenso, but may give
the opening and closing lines, thus :—

"I remember now (Dear God, with tears of joy !)
When I was but a little curious boy,
I wandered in the sparkle of the Spring ;
Oh ! I remember raindrops glittering
Close to the earth in primrose goblets new,
And tiny ants that crept, and birds that flew
Swift past my ears. ..."

This stimulating poet (I know not the author) goes on to write
of the awe experienced by the little boy in the mighty fastness,
in the great arena of Nature ; of meeting " Fear," and then,
sighting a Squirrel leaping high in the pine-tree tops, terror left
that little boy, for the gay wood-sprite, " that nut-brown elf,"
had won his tiny heart. Afterwards, dread of the great secret
came unto him. He fought it for a time, but it was all in vain.
" Don't Care " ventured across his path, until the voice of a
lonely Cuckoo was heard filtering through the dell, and there-
upon the mystery again appalled him. He could not read these
wondrous signs of Nature, these footprints of creation, and tore
in terror from the woods, though, as he says, so close to Heaven's
shore ! And then this Nature interpreter concludes :—

" But afterwards, and sometimes now, I please
To wander with the winds among those trees ;
No awe enthralls me now, although alone
I am in heaven ; nay, almost at God's throne ! "

40 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

What a beautiful parable, what a remarkable conception ! I,
too, have run from the woods in very terror, for I could not
understand, or fully appreciate, the vastness of creation. I per-
ceived the tiny insect crawling underfoot, and straightway my
eyes sighted the giant tree of the forest towering above me. I
am no longer awed, but thrilled, with the marvels of the Universe,
and teachers, who wish for success with their young charges, must
undergo similar experience to attain any real measure of success.
Build up a lesson for the children on this fascinating story. They
revel in fairy tales of Nature. They glory in the radiating
romance of the country-side. I like those closing words " almost
at God's throne," for a Nature lover and student cannot possibly
be a sceptic. A master mind is portrayed in every flower that
blows, in every creature that cleaves the air, or scampers on the
earth beneath. I heard of a man recently who began life as an
atheist, and who died a spiritualist, a transformation indeed.
A Nature interpreter must be reverential, he must believe in
some All-wise, All-powerful, All-supreme power, planning, design-
ing, bringing into being, and controlling everything that lives.
I met a little boy the other day. He was from the slums of
London. He was not awed, nor terror-stricken, he did not
meet " Don't Care," or " Fear." True, he could not tell me the
colour of Grass, his senses were inalert, undeveloped, his mind
was only partly receptive to sight and sound. But he loved the
change from the squalor of Plaistow to the pleasant environment
of a Garden City. He shouted for very joy ; he suddenly realised
the meaning of liberty and life. I shall never forget that way-
ward little face, nor his simple benediction at the close of our
little country expedition together : " Please, Sir, will Heaven
be anything like this ? " Thus does Nature inspire and elevate,
both in thought and deed. What She has done to inspire men
and women in various departments of life — Art, Science, Litera-
ture and the rest — will probably never be told It is an un-
written story.

Alexander Irvine was a half-starved Irish youth. One day,
when in the country he looked at the sunset, and had a vision.
Tears began to flow. Struggles ensued, bitter disappointment,
troubles unexpected cropped up. He became a soldier and the
evangel of his regiment, and eventually God's Good Man, for,
as a missionary among the Bowery Lodging Houses, under the
benign influence of the Y.M.C.A., he carried out a noble work
which will ever be remembered. Thus was his vision fulfilled,

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 41

as a direct result of the sunset, which, in Irvine's case, meant
on the morrow the sunrising of good and heroic deeds, of a life
well spent in the cause of his fellows. Such visions and inspira-
tions are stimulated, fostered, and brought into being, as a result
of contact with Nature. He who walks with Her may read,
and every teacher, desirous of" obtaining the best lessons for
handing on to the child, should become a practical student in
the interests of posterity. An hour well spent in the country
alone, or with a kindred spirit, is worth all the book learning in
the world. Sights and sounds are more focussed upon the eye
and ear, they become more impressionable, more lasting. Do
not be discouraged at the labyrinth of Nature. To the inexperi-
enced, and the beginner, it is a veritable maze, but " Nature never
did betray the Heart that loved Her," as Wordsworth sings,
and many there be who have proved the truthfulness of the
Poet's message. It is not an easy path to tread. Much patience
is required, and, as I have already written, boundless enthusiasm.
If life in the country drags, or becomes a bore, one must give it
up. Nature cannot be MADE to appeal, unless there is an incentive
to learn, unless there is a very real desire to become intimately
acquainted with the wonderland by which we are surrounded.
It is a case of response to stimulus as I have over and over again
proved, and, knowing of the response that will assuredly come,
as a result of any effort which tends to promote the common
good, I have no hesitation in recommending the teacher who
reads these lines to take up the subject with all the enthusiasm
and love at command.

III. The Child. — We now come to the third section of our
story, and have to consider the all-important subject of the
Child. Whilst the choice of subject for a lesson in Day or Sunday
School demands close consideration, and the qualifications of
the teacher must, of necessity, be earnestly borne in mind, the
question of the Child is, after all, most important. Children
vary so much in character and temperament that it is difficult,
nay, almost impossible, to lay down any hard-and-fast rule. One
must endeavour, as it were, to strike a happy medium, and so
apply the lesson that it shall make some sort of appeal to all
concerned. My own experience teaches me that, with very few
exceptions, every child is, when carefully approached, fostered,
and nurtured, ready and willing to receive any information
which is imparted in a crisp, anecdotal, and refreshing way.
The child has the mysterious future before it. It has a sense of

42

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

the wonderful and beautiful engrained upon its. soul. It is eager
to know something of the great world of life round and about
its own little orbit, and it is up to the teacher in charge to en-
deavour to 'point the way. The child is full of day-dreams, and
very often night-dreams as well. It desires to feel, and to realise,
things that are. It is continually seeking for first-hand informa-
tion, asking How, Why, When, and Where, and the teacher must
see to it that he, or she, is so accommodated as to be able to satisfy
all demands. This is a tall order as I have long since discovered.
One must be prepared for emergencies of almost every kind.
There is, as I have already indicated, no rule of thumb, and it is

a good and blessed thing that
Nature Study lends itself to so
much elasticity. To a very large
extent one must be guided by
local conditions and circum-
stances. The teacher may perhaps
map out, prepare, and even com-
mence, a well-thought-out lesson
on such a topic as the beauty
of Flowers, and, by mere chance,
the whole subject of the lesson
may be changed quite suddenly,
and all unconsciously, and the
lesson may more than likely con-
clude with a dissertation on the
Donkey ! One important factor
to be considered is to deal with things known by sight, or
sound, to the children, things they see, or hear, every day. It is
necessary they should familiarise themselves with these, and
the teacher would do well to set them to work on their own
account. Wherever possible, too, let the subject treated of be
of a seasonable character. In the glad days of Spring, for
example, it is a good idea to draw attention to the resurrection of
plant life, such as the coming of the modest Snowdrop, or that
brave herald, the dear, dancing Daffodil. The first bird's nest
will conjure up wonders untold, the mysteries of bird migration
will evolve many points of immense interest, and one might
suggest also at such a time the remarkable hibernation of Butter-
flies and other animals which have been asleep throughout the
lone Winter days. The fascinating life-story of a Butterfly,
Moth, Beetle, or other insect, may be related, and will, I venture

FIG. 13. — WILD GUELDER ROSE.

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 43

to predict, provide a fund of interest and wonder as the various
stages in its existence (each, mark you, more beautiful than the
last) are unfolded. The pollination and fertilisation of flowers,
the songs of newly-mated birds, the wondrous wealth of life in
the nearest pond, the crowning of the Blackthorn bush with
milk-white blossom, the staircase of the Spring, the great gallery
of Summer, the magic of an Autumn day, the " marking time "
of King Winter, might all with advantage receive wrapt atten-
tion. Let the children know and jed that the animals and plants
by whom they are surrounded, with whom they live their daily
lives and share a common heritage, have a right to exist, have
wonderful life stories to unfold. Point out how, in various
directions and in diverse ways, these creatures of the wild are
useful in the great economy of Nature, in different departments
of the immense world of life. Let them realise how, as plant
succeeds plant, various insects, birds and other animals are closely
associated, and co-related, so as to show a connected interest in
the fascinating story. From the simplest, or most familiar,
animal or plant, lessons may be culled of use, beauty, design,
intelligence, and in the case of many, if not most, animals, lessons
of love, patience, solicitude, unselfishness, care, affection. Teach
the children to be kind and considerate to all wild creatures.
Some of the boys and girls have, alas, a desire to collect, or
destroy. It may not be wilful, but rather thoughtless, destruc-
tion, but it undoubtedly exists, and should be dealt with in a firm
manner, tempered with kindness. In a word, they should be
taught to be just and merciful. Bear in mind how important
it is to recognise that it is our boys and girls who will hand on
to posterity the teaching of the grown-ups of to-day. Some of
the children will have little garden plots to tend, either at home
or school. Here is an opportunity not to be missed, for each
garden flower, or wild tenant, has a wondrous story to unfold, if
looked at and considered aright. Encourage personal observa-
tion and application. Let the young people feel that they have
a hand in the lesson, that they themselves are helping to build
up the story revealed. Make an appeal to their powers of im-
agination, but stick to concrete facts. Work in a little physical
geography, and local history. It is remarkable to notice how a
well-told tale of bygone Britain appeals to them, and how, when
put to the test sometime afterwards, so much of the information
has remained. The teacher should be prepared with a wealth
of good stories, and personal experiences. Let there be bound-

44 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

less good humour in the lesson. Make the children laugh, almost
make them cry. Make a bold appeal to their finer senses, but
do not overload, or overdo, it. Otherwise, disaster will surely
follow. Be sentimental, but not over-sensitive. It doesn't do.
Go straight to the heart, but do not bore with too much sermon-
ising. Sow, to the best of your ability, the seed of the great
Mother Nature through the senses, so that it may eventually
germinate, and bear fruit, in the garden of the mind.

Children are always keenly interested in learning elementary
lessons respecting the production of living things, and it is a
capital plan to conduct a series of talks upon the story of the
seed. For preference, have ready for class use a small packet
of the seed of a familiar plant, such as Mignonette or Nasturtium,
and, if the living plant can be shown at the same time, it will
greatly help to drive the story home. Young people, I find,
invariably insist upon having some (and very often much) direct
evidence brought before them, although they evince a wholesome
respect for the experience of the instructor who shows an
intimate knowledge of his subject. Having shown the hard seed
— inactive, apparently void of energy, or life — build up the story
gradually. Children cannot take in too much at one gulp, and
a little at a time is all they can manage. If an acorn is brought
into class, much material will be available as it is a well-known
fruit the children are familiar with, and every girl and boy
recognises at sight an Oak tree in Summer, even if its identity
puzzles them (and older folk) in Winter. Show how, once the
tiny seed has been planted in the garden of Nature, the stored-up
energy within the hard covering begins to assert itself ; how, in
a word, it responds to stimulus. Information can be given of
the first stages of germination, of the chemical action of the
soil, and then, when the seedling plant appears above ground,
the methods that are adopted by the tiny wildling for pushing
its way through the soil without being injured. Many, if not
most, plants have a wonderful way of producing a living green
dagger to enable them to do this successfully, and, once the idea
lays hold of one's pupils, they, on their part, will begin to search
on their own account, and many are the things they themselves
will discover in which they will very naturally take an especial
pride. Encourage them to do this, and, although an object may
be quite commonplace, do not tell them so, as a word of encourage-
ment when one is young goes a mighty long way, as we who are
now grown up know full well. The life-giving influence of the

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 45

sun, the action of the rain, snow, and frost, the chemical agents
in Mother Earth, may all be dealt with in quite a simple way,
but it will be as well to point out also that there is something
beyond what we grown-ups call protoplasmic force, namely,
the magic and mystery of the producer of the thing called Life.
Then follow on with the story of the seedling. If it is an acorn
that is being studied, relate
the early struggles for exist-
ence of the tiny sapling, how
it manages to obtain for itself
a place in the great world of
life. Let it be fully realised
how patient and persevering
plants are. They are content
to build up their various parts,
little by little, step by step.
Time is of vast importance
to them, and the perseverance
they display may well serve
as an object-lesson of how we
ourselves may, by diligence
and ambition, contrive to be-
come stronger and better as
the years roll by.

Get to know these wild and
garden treasures for yourselves.
Experience is a wise foster-
parent, and one never knows
how useful such may prove
when coming into contact with
others desirous of learning, and
anxious to know. The child interested in Nature lore simply
yearns for information pleasantly imparted, and there is no
telling what vision may be conjured up which will, per-
chance, mature in after-life. The late Lord Avebury first
became attracted, as a boy, to the wonderful life story of the
common White Dead Nettle, which grows in most country
districts, and blossoms almost throughout the whole year. There
is no telling what magnetic influence that first sight of the way-
side flower had upon young Lubbock's life, comparable, if you
will, with the sunset that Alexander Irvine witnessed, as I have
already related. In the one case it was something infinitely

14.— WHITE DEAD NETTLE.

46 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

small, in the other it was the vast expanse of the setting sun
that produced such magnificent results.

Read poetry and prose about Nature to the young folk, and,
better still, let them read it aloud in class or home. They like
and appreciate poetry, and poetry is a good tonic for the soul.
Sir Robert Ball has written that a whole life -time devoted to
the study of the common Daisy would be insufficient to reveal
all the mysteries of its life. How true a statement this is coming
from a man of world-wide fame, whose illuminating discourses
upon the wonders of the Heavens have charmed so many people
within the last decade. This great astronomer, this lovable
man, has passed hence, but his life's work, and, what is equally
important, his influence for good, remain behind.

FIG. 15.—" DAISIES ARE— DAISIES."

I close with a beautiful quotation from Algernon Blackwood's
" The Extra Day," as showing what inspiring thoughts such a
common plant as the Daisy may bring forth. On page after
page of this book one may find some intimation of immortality,
some material fact heightened into a symbol by the imagination
that plays about it, or transfigures it in the medium of the child's
mind. Blackwood writes thus : —

" No flowers lie closer to the soil, or bring the smell of earth
more sweetly to the mind ; upon the lips and cheeks they are
soft as a kitten's fur, and He against the skin closer than tired
eyelids. They are the common people of the flower world, yet
have, in virtue of that fact, the beauty and simplicity of the
common people. Tljey own a subdued and unostentatious

NATURE STUDY, TEACHER, AND CHILD 47

strength, are humble and ignored, are walked upon, unnoticed,
rarely thought about, and never praised ; they are cut off in
early youth by mowing machines ; yet their pain in fading is
unreported, their little sufferings unsung. They cling to earth,
and never aspire to climb, but they hold the sweetest dew, and
nurse the tiniest little winds, imaginable. Their patience is
divine. They are proud to be the carpet for all walking, running
things, and in their universal service is their strength. The rain
stays longer with them than with grander flowers, and the best
sunlight goes to sleep among them in great pools of fragrant
and delicious heat. . . . They know, it is said, the thoughts of
Painted Ladies and Clouded Brimstones, as well as the intentions
of the disappearing Golden Flies ; why wind often runs close to
the ground when the tree-tops are without a single breath ; but,
also, they know what is going on below the surface. They live,
moreover, in every country of the globe, and their system of
intercommunication is so perfect that even birds and flying things
can learn from it. They prove their breeding by their perfect
taste in dress, the well-bred ever being inconspicuous ; and
their simplicity conceals enormous, undecipherable wonder. One
Daisy out of doors is worth a hundred shelves of text-books in
the house. . . . Daisies, in a word, are — Daisies."

CHAPTER IV

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

BIRDS having first attracted my youthful attention, they occupy
pride of place among my natural history experiences. A con-
tinuous and loving study of the feathered population for a period
of over thirty-seven years has proved one of the most pleasant
and profitable of outdoor recreations, and, whilst I am now a
field naturalist, intensely occupied in surveying everything that
crosses my path, I make no secret of the fact that birds still
make a strong appeal to my finer senses.

In the chapter that follows I have recorded my impressions
of the songs of birds, so that I am relieved at this part of my
story from relating my red-letter days so far as they concern
the minstrelsy of my feathered companions of field and
hedgerow.

Among birds, the Nuthatch is, as its name implies, a lover
of nuts, and I have frequently watched this interesting arboreal
species collecting nuts, and storing them up for Winter use. The
Nuthatch is a small, orange-and-grey coloured bird, found in
woods, parks, and large gardens. It is the owner of a bayonet-
like bill, and, by means of this, it is well able to drill a hole in the
shell of the nut, and extract the kernel. For Winter use, it places
the nuts in the hole of a tree, between branches, or in the crevices
of bark. It seems to have a liking for favourite feeding-places,
and a certain oak tree I have known for many years always con-
tains a good supply of hazel nuts during the Winter, all of which
are placed in the crevices of the bark by this industrious bird.
A hole is ingeniously drilkd in the hard, brown shell, the latter
not being split asunder as one might suppose.

For many years I have studied in some detail the life story of
the Cuckoo, and, as each Spring comes round, the reader will
probably be aware of the unfailing regularity with which our
newspapers report this harbinger's arrival upon our shores.

For years I have written and announced in public that these
wonderful early Cuckoos should be regarded with grave suspicion,

48

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

49

and in my annual bird reports I have often drawn prominent
attention to same.

The fact is that a Museum naturalist is not qualified to recog-
nise sights and sounds out-of-doors in the wild greenwood, any
more than the field naturalist is able to dissect a bird, or any
other animal, and to name and piece together the various parts
of which it is made up.

To recognise a bird by its voice, and upon the wing, requires
years of patient and persevering toil, and I am not in the least
surprised that a Harpenden labourer should have successfully
lured the late Mr Eichard Lydekker into the belief that he (the
last-named) had heard the Cuckoo as early as Feburary in the
year 1913.

FIG. 16.— MEADOW PIPIT AND YOUNG CUCKOO.

Why Mr Lydekker should have sent a hasty note chronicling
the " fact " to the Press, without making further observation
and inquiry, I do not know. If he had stayed his hand for a
few days, perchance the secret of the February Cuckoo would
have leaked out !

f£ I can well understand the desire on the part of any recognised
authority to let the ornithological world know of the appearance
of Cuculus canorus in the foggy days of February fill-the-dyke,
but surely before such was chronicled it would have been advis-
able (as it afterwards proved) to make further inquiries.

The pity of it is that other scientists, taking Mr Lydekker at

50 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

his word, fell into the trap, and, as a contemporary very per-
tinently says : " Learned persons have written learnedly, and
scientific bodies have discussed scientifically (to the utter demoral-
isation of Gilbert White, Markwick, and the rest of the accepted
naturalists), the raison d'etre of the Harpenden Cuckoo. And
Mr King, the labourer, has been doing it all the time ! "

I always regard these early records of our feathered harbingers
with suspicion, for the simple reason that those of us whose
pleasure it is to chronicle the arrival of Spring, Summer, Autumn,
and Winter migrant birds, almost invariably fail to note these
phenomenal appearances. But Tom, Dick and Harry, year after
year, with unfailing regularity, record the arrival of the Cuckoo,
the Swallow, the Nightingale, and other birds long before field
naturalists, gamekeepers, farmers, and others, who are more or
less always out of doors, hear or see them, and, whilst there are
undoubtedly some genuine early arrivals among us, one should
almost always receive with suspicion records sent in to the papers
by unknown persons.

In my own experience, the Cuckoo rarely gives voice before
April has been ushered in for some days. For one thing, this
insectivorous bird would find it difficult to obtain a sufficient food
supply so early in the season, as it feeds chiefly on hairy cater-
pillars, which do not make their appearance much before April
has arrived, and it is largely a question of food supply which
regulates, and controls, the movements of these Summer bird
visitors to our shores.

Whilst in an early season the enthusiastic observer of outdoor
life may be tempted into the belief that an extra early arrival
of a particular species may be expected, I have found during
thirty-seven years' experience of bird- watching that there is almost
always a distinct lull before our Summer migrants appear among
us, even if the season is congenial and ready for their coming.
As a matter of fact, our migratory birds do not vary to any great
extent in the date of arrival upon our shores, as my own and
other bird calendars amply demonstrate. In 1902 I conducted
an extensive campaign in all parts of the British Isles as to the
dates of arrival of our Summer bird migrants (some forty species
in all), and, so far as concerns the subject of these notes, the
Cuckoo, April was the earliest time when it made its welcome
appearance.

In its babyhood the young Cuckoo has caused me much in-
terest, both in and out of the nest in which it was born. In

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

51

May 1905 I had the honour of exhibiting a series of photos before
the Royal Society. The Daily News headline the following day
read : " Scientists at Play. The Whirl of the Atoms . . . Crimes
of the Baby Cuckoo," whilst the Daily Graphic had : " Science
at Burlington House. Royal Society's Soiree. The Fate of
Baby Bunting." I have watched the solicitous Meadow Pipit
on the Northern moorlands feeding its foster-child, and wondered
many times why so much patience and parental affection should
be exercised by another species of bird upon such a callous
Philistine as the young Cuckoo is known to be. When it is out
of the nest, lazily perched on a neighbouring tree branch, it per-
sistently cries aloud for food, and, like Oliver Twist, is always
asking for more. As it increases in size, as a result of the cargoes
of hairy larvae that are delivered, the small foster parents, no
larger than Sparrows, find it difficult to reach the gaping orifice,
and the illustration (Fig. 17) shows the Meadow Pipit actually
perched on the " shoulder " of its ungainly charge, in its untiring
efforts to satisfy the voracious cravings of the feathered parasite
Nature has entrusted to its care.

//

FIG. 17. — HIDDEN DEPTHS.

The various species of Titmice in North Hertfordshire have
had a wonderful time this Spring and Summer (1917), and there
is little doubt, I think, that the two hundred nesting boxes which
have been erected at Letch worth, are partly responsible.

Four nesting-boxes I had under observation contained no less
than fifty -three young birds, an average of thirteen per nest !

52

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

In view of the foregoing, I was somewhat prepared for the in-
formation recently given to me by a gamekeeper of my acquaint-
ance. One day he counted a mixed flock of forty-five Blue and
Long-tailed Tits, but a few days afterwards even this respectable
assemblage of feathered folk was hopelessly eclipsed by the
appearance of a flock of eighty-seven of these birds, evidently
made up of troops of family parties. The two species represented
were identical with those seen a few days previous, and as each
individual bird flew directly over the keeper's head, as he was
seated in his hut, there is no doubt whatever as to the accuracy
of this information.

FIG. 18.— GREAT TIT AT NESTING Box.

The birds were crossing a somewhat wide grass-strewn track,
and alighted in a row of beech trees so as to commence foraging
for insect food.

The Long-tailed Tit does not, of course, take possession of a
nesting box, as it always makes an exposed nest, and is a much
better architect than any of its cousins, building a wonderful
oval and arched-in homestead of moss, lichen, grass, and a pro-
fusion of feathers. Over two thousand feathers have been used
in the construction of one nest !

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS 53

The Blue, Coal, and Great Tits are, however, regular
tenants of our nesting boxes, though, truth to tell, the House
Sparrow often fights the Tit for possession, and frequently wins
the day. When examining over fifty nesting boxes during May, I
found in several instances a Tit's nest at the base of the nesting
box, with a House Sparrow's untidy structure on top, this in-
dicating that the Tits were undoubtedly the first tenants, but
that they had been ousted by the Sparrows.

In addition to providing suitable sites for hole-nesting birds,
the erection, and subsequent examination, of these bird homes
supplies a good deal of information which would not otherwise
be acquired. For instance, I found, both in 1911 and 1912, that
the Tree Sparrow was a much commoner bird in North Hertford-
shire than one would suppose. I have recently examined over
thirty nests of this useful bird, thus proving its presence among
us. Few people are able to distinguish the Tree Sparrow from
the House Sparrow, and this is unfortunate, as the misdeeds of
the latter cannot be laid at the door of the former. The Tree
Sparrow feeds almost exclusively upon an insect diet, and is
an undoubted friend of the tiller of the soil.

The Tree Sparrow, it should be remembered, has a chocolate-
coloured head, whereas that of the House Sparrow is ash-coloured.
The first- named also has a double white bar upon the wing. An
examination of the nests built at Letchworth has revealed the
fact that the House Sparrow invariably arches over its untidy
structure, but the Tree Sparrow does not do this, neither does
it construct such an untidy home. Another point of interest
concerning the insectivorous species is that, as a rule, there is a
clutch of five eggs, among which there is always one light variety,
and four very dark ones.

Passing along Hermitage Road, Hitchin, a few days ago, I
was pleasantly surprised to hear the two notes of the Chiff-Chaff
constantly repeated. To listen to the notes of this little herald
of the Spring, surrounded by houses and shops, was, to say the
least, a delightful experience, and goes to prove the attraction
of trees and bushes, and a large garden.

I am told that the elusive Hawfinch regularly nests some-
where in the same vicinity every year, and this is a good deal
more remarkable than the presence of the Chiff-Chaff, for the
Hawfinch is a very shy and recluse bird, and one of the best
feathered scouts (with the exception of the Wryneck) with which
I am acquainted.

54 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

So that if, as I am informed by a reliable authority, Hitchin
has to mourn the loss of some of its famous Nightingales, com-
pensation is forthcoming in the presence of the Chiff-Chaff and
Hawfinch, to say nothing of the Books and Jackdaws, which are
such a feature of the bird-life of the old market town.

As soon as the pappus-producing plants have gone to seed,
then, sure enough, the Linnets make a raid upon them, and con-
sume large quantities of the seeds. There is no doubt whatever
that this well-known Finch is a most useful bird, and it is
fortunate for those who till the soil that such a beneficial species
should be so plentiful in our midst.

Country people still persist in calling the Common Linnet the
Brown Linnet, and the Greenfinch the Green Linnet, and there
is some amount of reason for them doing so. Both birds are, to
a great extent, seed eaters, belonging, of course, to the Finches,
which are hard-billed, and, therefore, well adapted for a diet of
seeds. The Greenfinch is the more voracious bird of the two,
and is particularly fond of the oily seeds of the sunflower. If only
one head is permitted to remain in a garden in the Autumn, the
Greenfincli will be a regular visitor, and, whilst usually a shy bird,
it may, under such conditions, be watched at fairly close quarters.

When the Yellow Bunting commences to utter its simple little
strain again, Nature is " marking time," as it were, previous to
the great season of fruiting, and it is pleasant to listen to the
Yellow Yeorling, as this bird is called in Scotland, uttering so
persistently its oft-repeated ditty of :

A little bit of bread and no cheese !

Its cousin, the Corn Bunting, also gives voice late in the year,
but it is a poor effort, even compared with the plaintive strain
of the Yellow Bunting. The Corn Bunting sings a muddled
medley of notes which strike the ear somewhat harshly, although
not altogether unpleasant. It is a wheezy, long-drawn-out song,
which cannot fail to arrest attention in districts that the bird
frequents.

When flying, the Corn Bunting carries its legs hanging low
down, producing a curious effect when seen for the first time.
It is a common bird in North Hertfordshire, and I have counted
as many as a dozen to twenty male birds singing within a mile or
so. Yet, curious to relate, in Mid-Herts, around my old home
at St Albans, I very rarely came across the Corn Bunting, and
my first acquaintance with it was made years ago in Norfolk.

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS 55

When I came to reside at Letchworth I was pleased to renew
acquaintance with it, and it is nowadays almost constantly
within earshot.

FIG. 19. — NEST AND EGGS OP MOORHEN.

A valued correspondent, whose modesty is such that he does
not wish me to disclose his identity, writes as follows : " I
thought perhaps a note on the Moorhen might be of interest,
particularly as they can be observed so much just now. How
seldom one is able to watch the Moorhen attending to her duties
of incubation ! I suppose as the nest, eggs, and surroundings
harmonise nicely, and are less easily seen than the bird, she
considers it safer to glide into the water at the first sight, or sound,
of danger, but I wondered if one I saw the other day would do
the same, as the nest was in a whitethorn bush several feet above
water. On going within a few feet of the nest, I found her sitting,
and only on making a still closer inspection did she go off with a
nutter and splash, which the bird evidently knew must attract
my attention. I have watched a Moorcock feeding his chicks
daily, picking little bits off the water and handing (or beaking)
it round, but have not once seen the hen bird with them. They
are two, or three, weeks old. Would she be nesting again so soon,
or does she shirk parental duties ? "

56 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

These interesting notes are most acceptable, and I also appre-
ciate the use of the word Moorcock for the male bird. If the
female is Moorhen, surely the male must be Moorcock, in the
same way as we use Peahen (female) and Peacock (male). The
Moorhen does undoubtedly slip off her nest in a very unobtrusive
way, and, although specimens of these birds that are kept on
artificial sheets of water become fairly tame, when nesting, it is
true, as my correspondent states, that this solicitous bird is
difficult to get a good sight of. I think there is no question that
male and female both help in the work of incubation, indeed, if
I remember rightly, one of the bird films I use at my Kinema
Lectures proves this. Here we have another instance of the
value of the kinematograph in regard to the study of wild
creatures. I have certainly seen both the Moorhen and Moor-
cock swimming about in company with their chicks on many
occasions, and the latter are very pretty when in infancy, being
mere balls of sooty black down. They are very active for babies,
and Mr Shirley has recorded that a young Waterhen (still another
familiar name for this familiar bird) a day old is incomparably
cleverer than a year old infant ! The male Wild Duck does
shirk parental duties as, while the female is incubating her eggs,
the male goes into hiding for the purpose of undergoing the
first of his two moults. The duck, therefore, has all the cares
of parentage thrust upon her. When the drake returns to his
mate, he has, wonderful to relate, assumed the attire of his wife,
having lost the handsome dress we usually associate with him.
Later on, he moults again, and in the Autumn comes forth in all
the splendour of male attire.

I have spent many happy hours watching the Spotted Fly-
catcher adroitly suspending itself in mid-air snapping at unwary
insects, and I have witnessed more times than I can recount
the parent birds teaching their young the elements of their
profession. No other bird is so adroit at fly-catching, and I do
not know of another which works as hard to earn its living. This
soberly-clad, but eminently useful, bird has been a favourite of
mine since early days, and its coming in Spring, and departure
in Autumn, is linked up with old-world gardens, orchards, quiet
stretches of sportive woodland, and shady nooks, old associations
which go to make bird-watching so enchanting. It is not the
mere first chronicling of this bird, or that, which stimulates en-
thusiasm and careful study, but to be able to find the same species
in the same place, year by year, brings to the bird -lover memories

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS 57

of bygone days, each memory helping to weld together the links
of a chain, which, though never to be completed in the lifetime
of an individual, is one long succession of fragrant recollections.
The Goldfinch has appealed strongly to me in later years,
especially since it was threatened with extinction. I was pleased
to have a hand in its better protection and preservation in my
native shire, and notice on many excursions now how its numbers
have perceptibly increased. The active and engaging habits of
this scarlet-headed, golden-winged Finch must surely win the
heart of every bird-lover, and the merry twitter that is uttered
by such a jocund fellow pleases our sense of sound as the bird's
efforts to extract the seed from a silky thistle-head does our
sense of sight.

FIG. 20. — YOUNG FLYCATCHERS.

Even in daytime I have, on several occasions, had opportunities
for studying at close quarters the ghostly form of the Barn Owl,
and noted with interest its trim attire and noiseless flight. On
one occasion I found the mangled remains of one of these birds
upon a keeper's gibbet, and, whilst mourning the decease of so
inoffensive a creature, I perceived in the tall laurel bush overhead
its living mate, evidently keeping vigil over the body of its dead
consort.

Fields and field-paths have always lured me from the noisy,
dust-laden, and motor-haunted highway, and, in the depth of

58

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Winter, I have trudged many miles across country seeking for
knowledge of the outdoor world. Larks have risen from beneath
my feet as they cautiously contrived to take protective advantage
of their environment ; close-squatting Snipe have stayed until
the last moment before taking wing ; trim Wagtails have moved
from clod to clod " tisiting " as they proceeded, and flirting
their tails for very joy of life. Even the elegant Yellow Wagtail
— a Summer visitor — has fed within a few feet of my resting place
in a damp meadow, where flaring Marsh Marigolds and Shake-
speare's Cuckoo flowers all silver-white, painted the green grass
with unfeigned delight.

FIG. 21. — LAPWING IN FLIGHT.

Lapwings have screamed and tumbled, remarkable feathered
acrobats in the air, and, at times, I have almost held my breath
for fear the bold aerial adventurer should suddenly lose its equi-
librium and dash towards the earth, stunned as a result of its
remarkable evolutions.

One red-letter day in a secluded copse near Alban's City will
always remain with me, for, within an hour, I saw and heard
all three British Woodpeckers. The laughter-like notes of the
handsome Green fellow take one into the heart of rural England,
but I like best the drummer-like vibrations of the Lesser Spotted,
happy-go-lucky bird-sprite that he is. He drums and sings to

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

59

me long before Spring has summoned the uprising of the sap,
and makes the naked woods re-echo with high-pitched vocalisa-
tions. The shyest and rarest species of all, the Great Spotted,
has also crossed my path, traversing, as I watched with feverish
excitement, the bole of a forest monarch, insect-hunting all the
time. But for sheer impudence or consciousness of protection —
I know not which — one of these birds which visited a Scarborough
garden is hard to beat. The bird paid regular excursions to a
small back garden, and became so tame and confiding that it
bathed in a porcelain dish, as does the homely Robin to-day in
an earthenware vessel near the open casement of my own dining-
room.

AO

*

FIG. 22.— GREAT SPOTTED WOODPECKER.

One day a young boy of my acquaintance expressed a wish
to see " the big black and white bird," and, to satisfy his desire,
the youngster was taken into the garden about the time of day
when a visit from the Woodpecker was expected.

In almost less time than it takes to tell the story, the Wood-
pecker arrived at its destination, and landed straight on the
boy's head as our artist has faithfully depicted. The boy turned
round, having observed the bird flying towards him, to see

60

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

whither it had gone, for he did not realise that the bold woodland
visitor was sedately perched on his own person, signalising its
bravado by vociferously uttering its wild, exultant cry !

'^^fSSfcl v \; N _

FIG. 23. — WOODPECKER ON BOY'S HEAD.

The Chaffinch is a prominent country bird. It is compara-
tively tame and confiding, although it does not often come into
our gardens. It has a pleasant walking gait, and, when flying,
the white bars upon the wing are very conspicuous. A year
ago I watched one of these Finches practising the difficult art
of catching insects upon the wing, after the manner of a Fly-
catcher. Its efforts were ludicrous in the extreme, and so clumsy
were its movements that, on one occasion, it turned a series of
complete somersaults in the air, having lost its balance, and did
not regain self-control until it had almost reached the ground.
I did not think any more of this incident until May of this year,
when, to my surprise, I watched two Chaffinches very cleverly
fly-catching in the same place as the bird that I had located
twelve months previous. The improvement made was most

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

61

marked, for, I doubt not, one of these two was the same bird as
I had observed a year ago. I wonder if the Chaffinch is develop-
ing more fondness for an insect diet, and whether, in course of
time, it -will be as adept at catching its prey as the Flycatcher ?

I have a note as to the Water Rail which is of interest. This
bird resorts to marshy surroundings, and, as a rule, is of shy
disposition, stealthily hiding itself among aquatic herbage. In
view of this it is interesting to reflect that, at least, three speci-
mens have been brought to me at Letchworth Museum which
were killed by flying against telegraph wires in almost the same
place. The point arises, does this particular spot indicate one
of the lines of flight of this species, and is it not worthy of note
that such a ground-loving bird should migrate under cover of
darkness, at such a height as to just clear any housetops which
come within its range ? Isolated instances of birds appearing
in a certain place are, of themselves, of importance, but when
a series of observations are ,made possible concerning the same
species, under the same conditions, and in the same place, one
is then commencing to open up several interesting points which
gives to bird study in the field so great a charm.

In Spring and Autumn the Kestrel Hawk, or Windhover, is of
daily occurrence within sight of my study window, and I never

62 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

tire of watching this sky-pilot hovering almost motionless in
the air. It always faces the wind, like the gleeful Lark, and, if
the result of my constant observation is any guide, the bird
rarely seems to come to ground for the purpose of securing food.
Twice only have I seen it successfully swoop earthwards, when
a luckless Mole and a Field Mouse were borne away. I have
seen the Kestrel swoop after its prey many times, but, except
on the two occasions mentioned, it has met with no reward.

(

Pia. 25. — KESTREL SCOLDING SPARROWS.

As the Kestrel hovers, it is a study of itself in a bird's mastery
over the air. Its clean-cut wings are spread wide apart, the head
is held well forward in a sloping position, and the large fan-like
tail admirably serves the purpose of balancer and rudder.

One day I watched a crowd of noisy Sparrows disputing the
possession of some pieces of bread which had been thrown down
for them near an old post. The reader will be acquainted with
the pugnacity of the Sparrow when engaged in conflict, especially
when fierce pairing combats ensue in Spring. At such a time, a
small company of the noisy rascals will dash headlong across
one's path, and almost collide with any object in their direct
route, so intent are the birds on fighting to a successful issue.
On the day mentioned, whilst the Sparrows were tugging at the
crusts of bread, mindful of the good feed before them, but un-
mindful of the danger that threatened from above, a Kestrel

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

63

appeared overhead, attracted by the quarrelling, and, perceiving
an opportunity of closer investigation, it dashed down, landed
on the post as is here shown (Fig. 25), and commenced scolding
the Sparrows because they, seeing the Hawk at close quarters,
had suddenly taken flight rather than be made prisoners. The
incident was full of comedy, one of those humorous asides one
may note in birdland when cultivating a watchful eye.

FIG. 26. — COMMON REDSTART.

On another occasion I had further evidence of the law of
attraction, and counter-attraction, when two Mistle Thrushes
were mobbing a Tawny Owl. The former were making a fearful
din, rovers that they are, and thus attracted a Kestrel to the
scene. The bird of prey's appearance meant the driving away
of the Thrushes when pursued by the Kestrel, the Owl being thus
left alone to blink (and think) over the episode in peace.

On two occasions near at home I have experienced red-letter
days among birds when brought into contact with the Black
Redstart. A female of this species appeared in my garden a
few years ago, and, in the early Spring of 1915, I watched a fine
male in the garden of one of my juvenile pupils, who, to her

64

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

credit, had correctly identified the bird before inviting me to
stalk it. Unlike the somewhat local Common Redstart, which
is a Summer visitor, the Black Redstart is a Winter migrant
which may be expected in Autumn. It flirts its flame -coloured
tail in the same way as its relative, and, when upon the ground,
possesses the habit of a Wagtail, searching for food in a most
engaging way among upturned clods of earth.

Probably the greatest sight I have ever witnessed among birds
was at Wells, Norfolk, in December 1909, when I saw a huge
flock of between three and four thousand Pink-Footed Geese in
flight at one time. I shall not readily forget the scene as the
wary birds made out to sea from the uplands, where they had
been feeding during the day. As they uttered their loud " honk,
honk " it seemed as if a fleet of motor cars, or aeroplanes sounding
weird motor-horns, was careering through the air. The din,
mingled with the North Sea breakers dashing upon the lonely
shore, was indescribable, a red-letter day indeed for an inland

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

65

student of bird life such as myself, and one well worth travelling
many miles to see.

One of the most artful birds of my acquaintance is the Jay,
and, in spite of his being the worst poacher in the district, he
is worth tolerating. In Springtime, before domestic cares have
entered into his existence, he hunts all day long for the nests of
Blackbird and Thrush, and woe betide any eggs or young that
are espied. A pair of Jays will do more harm in a season than
all the boys of the parish, but, in spite of this, I could not agree

FIG. 28.— BOOK.

to the bird's destruction. A troop of eight appeared in my
garden one day when the peas were ripe, and they made sad
havoc among them. Even then, I was more excited at the advent
of such a conspicuous family gathering than I was at the loss of
my peas. I love to listen to the harsh alarm cry of this sentinel
of wood and copse, and to watch its airy flight from bush to
bush. Sometimes I hear it going through a remarkable succes-
sion of hilarious notes, as did a Cuckoo yesterday, and, even in
Mid-Winter, I have witnessed a male Jay feeding its mate, for
what reason I have never yet been able to discover.

Of Rooks I have many tales to tell. Not far from my home
there is a large building with a number of chimneys. Here for

66 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

several years past a number of pairs of these sagacious birds have
actually built their nests in the chimneys. When I first heard of the
matter, I was inclined to conjecture that some mistake had been
made in identity, and that the fast-increasing Jackdaw was the
culprit. A personal inspection of two nests, however, revealed
the fact that the birds were Rooks, and there is now exhibited,
at Letch worth Museum, one of these chimney nests containing
a clutch of five eggs.

FIG. 29. — YOUNG LONG-EARED OWLS.

Before the great blizzard of March 28th, 1916, it was reported
to me that some Rooks that had nested at a Rookery which had
been in existence for several generations, made an inspection of
their old nest trees, and then went away. Later, the blizzard
came, and some of the nest trees were blown down. Although
two seasons have gone by, the birds have not yet returned to
their old haunt, indeed, they have joined the inhabitants of an
adjoining Rookery. These latter birds — and the new-comers —
invariably destroy their nests each year. This is most unusual,
as mentioned in a later chapter, " Some Bird Problems."

One more Rook incident must suffice. Some of these birds
were in the habit of coming to a friend's lawn to drink out of a
pan of water. One day the receptacle containing the water was
changed for a deeper vessel. The Rooks came to drink as usual,
but, after carrying out a close inspection of the second pan of

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

67

water, decided that it was impossible for them to reach it success-
fully. Thereupon two of the wary creatures tugged at a child's
doll that happened to be near by ; they dragged it towards the
pan, and then, one by one, mounted the doll, and thus quenched
their thirst more easily. Was this a case of instinct or reason ?

FIG. 30.— HERON.

Young Long-eared Owls are an engaging sight when several
of them are discovered out of the nest perched in a row upon
the branch of a tree (Fig. 29). One of these birds that came
to grief by falling out of its nest in a tall Poplar tree, was reared
by a lady friend of mine who matrons a Bird hospital for the
halt, blind, and maimed. The young Owl, after careful nursing,
recovered from its fall, and, because of its wisdom, was duly
christened " Solomon."'

When sailing down Breydon Water in Norfolk I have, of an
evening, counted as many as fifty Herons standing knee-deep in
the ooze, watching intently for any likely prey. At times, so
sphinx-like are these birds, that one can hardly decide whether
they are guide posts, or living, things. With us in Hertfordshire
the Heron is a comparatively uncommon species, and, so far as
I know, it has only nested on one solitary occasion within recent
years.

68 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Where trout are reared the Heron, Kingfisher, and Otter are
sadly destructive, and I have had several specimens of these
three animals through my hands within the last few years. One
Heron that was caught in a trap lost the whole of one foot, which,
inspection proved, was already minus a toe, evidence of previous
" conviction."

It is remarkable to notice how wild creatures manage to exist
when accidents of this nature befall them. For some time I
used to come across a Stoat which hobbled about on three legs,
having lost one in a trap. The poor beast was eventually run
over, and killed, by a motor car, when the former was crossing a
narrow countrv lane.

FIG. 31. — YOUNG SWIFT.

The other day I was shown a pet Canary which has lived
happily for several years with one eye and one leg, and my sister's
garden has been visited for two or three Winter's by a one-legged
Blue Tit, which balances its pert little body quite cleverly on the
coconut husk put out for the purpose of attracting these feathered
acrobats.

Colonies of birds are always interesting, and two instances
occur to me out of several which my notebook brings to mind.
At St Pauls Walden Bury, Hertfordshire, the residence of my
friend Lord Strathmore, I counted over eighty nests of the
House Martin, surely a record for one homestead, and in one
large Elm tree near Baldock there are, season after season, no
less than sixty Rooks' nests.

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

69

I have known the Swallow to build an exposed nest in the
branches of a Horse Chestnut tree, quite an unusual site, and in
1915 I received details of a pair of these familiar birds which
completed a nest at Hitchin within twenty-jour hours of their
arrival.

FIG. 32.— AFRICAN CROWNED CRANE.

The Swift is, to a great extent, a mysterious aerial voyager.
Except when rushing through the air at breakneck speed, scream-
ing as it goes, it does not lend itself to close observation. The
air is its natural element, and, if it chances to come to ground,
it experiences difficulty in rising again, owing to the shortness
of its legs, and its length of wing. It must have some eminence
from which to throw itself, as it were, and, if a specimen is dis-
covered, it should be held in the hand and then gently tossed
into the air (see Fig. 31).

During the memorable Winter of 1916-17 many rare birds
passed through my hands. One day I picked up a live Curlew
sadly in need of sustenance. It lived for two hours before finally

70

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

succumbing. Gulls were close to my house almost daily, and our
Winter visitors, the Fieldfares and Redwings, died in large numbers
of starvation. Those birds that were able to brave the frost and
snow were never seen to such advantage, at least during my life-
time. An African Crowned Crane (Fig. 32) was shot by a
senseless idiot, who, in relating the incident to me, humorously
remarked that, hearing a peculiar noise, he shot at and hit it,
and a Mandarin Duck Drake likewise suffered the death penalty.
Both these handsome specimens were undoubtedly birds that
had escaped from some large sheet of water, driven from home,
perchance, because of the Arctic conditions which prevailed.

A///

FIG. 33. — YOUNG STONE CURLEW.

I am fortunate enough to live in the vicinity of one of the few
English haunts of the Stone Curlew, our largest Summer visitor
from oversea. This species resorts to large open fields and
wastes, where herbage is scanty, and bird life far less conspicuous
than in the nearest country lane. It depends upon protection by
running, and then squatting with outstretched neck. Remaining
perfectly still, as rigid as the countless bleached flint stones so
characteristic of its habitat, the bird is only discerned after
careful stalking, so nearly does its mottled plumage harmonise
with its surroundings. This habit of crouching low and remain-
ing still, can be understood when one watches the alert parent,
but I have proved that the young Stone Curlew, when only a

RED-LETTER DAYS AMONG BIRDS

71

few hours old, also possesses the parental habit in a marked
degree. A lustrous-eyed youngster of this species, which was
not quick enough to escape my grasp, enabled me to carry out
the experiment of placing it on a white handkerchief to see what
would happen. The result is shown in Fig. 33, as the bird at once
squatted and thus rendered itself motionless. This would have
served the purpose in view if I had not taken the precaution to
place the fledgling on a white background, the result being that,

FIG. 34.— YOUXG Sij ARROW HAWK.

whilst the experiment proved inherited tendency, the bird was
unconscious of the fact that it was still plainly to be seen upon
the artificial environment whereon I had placed it. Incidentally,
it may be mentioned that another ground-nesting species, the
Lapwing, does not take to squatting or skulking when dis-
turbed, for the young one, even when only one hour old, resorts
to running away as fast as its long little legs can carry it, and,
if I had placed a baby Lapwing on my handkerchief, it would
never have remained long enough for the photograph, from
which the sketch was made, to be taken.

The young Sparrow Hawk is a ferocious personage to encounter

72 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

as its ancient lineage would lead one to suppose. A bold bird
of prey, showing no mercy, and receiving little from gamekeepers
and farmers, this Hawk follows its prey with great daring, even
through the open window of a barn, or other building. As is
usual among birds of prey, the female is much the larger of the
two sexes. It is of rare occurrence for a whole nest to be com-
pleted by this much-molested species, as the disused, or usurped,
homestead of a Jay, or other stick-constructor, is utilised, and
added to. The eggs are handsomely blotched with splashes of
rich red, and a comparison in size between the egg of this species
and that of the Cuckoo (the latter being about the same stature
as a female Sparrow Hawk), reveals the fact that, whereas the
latter is only about the size of that of the House Sparrow, the
egg of the Hawk is as large as a golf ball.

Birds, on occasions, exhibit strange divergence from the type,
and this was manifest in the case of that restless inhabitant of our
furze-laden commons and waste places, the Stonechat, which
I once saw dangling a lizard in its beak. It is almost on a
par with a Redbreast, which showed great cleverness in catching
sticklebacks, and the amorous Turtle Dove, immortalised by
the poets as gentle and felicitous, which I once witnessed strike
at and actually kill a young Pheasant.

CHAPTER V

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS

I AM a loiid-listener as well as watcher. Perhaps the former is
the more difficult accomplishment of the two, as it requires a
musical ear, and an abundance of personal contact with birds, to
obtain any real measure of success. I feel, too, as a result of
my own experience, that to be able to tell a bird by its call, cry,
or song (and especially the latter), affords more pleasure than
even a close sight of the actual soloist. I do not wish to dis-
count a bird's winning ways, its engaging habits, fascinating
form, colour, and flight, but to emphasise that, whilst I am always
watching birds, I am also constantly listening to them. Another
point that should not be lost sight of is that, by cultivating one's
ear, one is able to obtain a fund of quiet enjoyment from contact
with birds at a time of year when the feathered race are hidden
among a wealth of foliage, and their forms are thus more difficult
to see.

During the English Summer, when we have among us the
finest song birds in the whole world, the trained ear can detect
individual bird-songsters, and one is thus able to participate
in the great chorus of music which is produced on such a May
morning as that on which I write.

The unmusical or unreceptive ear fails to respond to the
various strains that are being uttered, to him (or her) the bird
orchestra is strangely void of orderly concert, and the soloists
themselves are lost in the remarkable outburst.

I stood this morning watching the chaplet of May, and as I
fixed my gaze upon the milk-white bloom of a Blackthorn bush,
now crowned with a billowy mass of flowers, and listened to the
soul-inspiring chorus, I felt strangely alone with Nature in a
wide, and, oftentimes, unthinking world. Above me the Tree
Pipit soared and sang in never-ending rhapsody. It was in the
old-loved spot where I look and listen for the same succession
year by year. A Sedge Warbler chattered its jerky notes upon
my right, a Willow Warbler uttered its sweet dulcet strain upon

73

74

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

my left, and a Greater Whitethroat danced his love-flight in mid-
air, accompanied by his impetuous song, as if to attract atten-
tion. The Cuckoo seemed to act the part of vocal conductor
of this bird orchestra, his two (and sometimes three) mellow
notes keeping time, as it were, with the more brilliant efforts of
its fellows Larks in the meadow adjoining were singing at their
best, the mournful ditty of a screaming Lapwing contrasted
strangely with the sweeter renderings close at hand, and the

FIG. 35. — SPOTTED FLYCATCHER.

shrill song of a sprightly Chaffinch, with its pleasing cadenza,
added a touch of musical gaiety to the glad morning air. In
the deep recesses of a tangled thorn a Nightingale poured forth
rich music from its instrumental throat, and a gay-clad Eobin,
not to be outdone by the Summer visitor, went one better than
when his Autumn dirge is uttered almost alone, and gave of his
super-song. " Chip, chop — Chip, chop," sounded as a delicate
bugle-call from the tree-tops, telling me that the Chiff Chaff was
there, and a Spotted Flycatcher, perhaps inspired by the wondrous
melody of the morn, attempted a curious contribution such as
I have never heard before. Although not a song bird, the in-
cident pleased me so much that I have included a picture of this
species by way of memento (Fig. 35).

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS 75

I would strongly impress upon the reader desirous of knowing
birds, and our Summer migrants in particular, the desirability
of becoming intimately acquainted with their varied utterances.
Real success will only come by constant practice and unlimited
patience. It seems a hopeless task at first, but I have noticed
how even young children, not yet in their teens, learn to recognise
a few of the more familiar songs of birds, to the utter consterna-
tion of their less fortunate schoolmates, who regard the whole
thing as hopeless confusion.

To write down even a bare list of favourite song birds is more
difficult than I imagined at the outset, as I find, on reflection,
that every note uttered makes a strong appeal to my sense of
hearing, linking up, as it so often does, some old association of
long ago. Naturally enough, my favourite song birds are those
with whom, for the best part of the year, I am brought into daily
contact. My house, situate on a pre-Roman road known as
the Icknield Way, is bounded on the North side by a fine
wooded area known as Norton Common.

With living fences to divide the gardens, the first garden city
of Letchworth is a more pleasant place in which to reside than
any other with which I am acquainted, and, although we are
planting and planning for posterity, there is much present-day
enjoyment in which all who will may participate.

Thus, I am more or less surrounded by bird-life all through
the year, and my little garden, as I reveal at a later stage in my
story (Chapter XV.), attracts an abundance of wild creatures,
furred, feathered, and otherwise.

Perhaps I should give pride of place among my favourite
song birds to a visitor from the far South, because, at the best
season of the year, and under the happiest conditions, he pours
out his little heart to me within earshot of my study the live-
long day. This individual Blackcap I have come to recognise,
after a life's experience among birds in the field, as the greatest
musician of them all. One sees and hears certain birds during
one's rambles under the best conditions, and this Blackcap,
which rears its brood within sight of my homestead, is without
doubt the most remarkable song bird to which I have ever been
introduced. It is an inconspicuous species, delighting in thick
brambles and thorns, and is dressed in a sober uniform of grey,
with (in the male) a jet black head.

Let the reader try to imagine one individual bird which is
able to utter in whole, or part, the songs of the Blackbird, Song

76 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Thrush, Eobin, Goldcrest, Linnet, Nightingale, Garden Warbler,
Greater Whitethroat, Greenfinch, and Nuthatch, and he will
have some idea of the wonderful powers possessed by this British
Mocking Bird. If I had not listened for one whole day to the
marvellous singing of this great feathered musician, I would not
have believed it possible for an individual performer to possess,
and go through, such a repertoire. He is singing as I write.
Each moment he changes his note, now it is the mellifluous dirge
of the Blackbird,' now the shrill high-pitched love-call of the
Nuthatch. Now he is imitating to perfection the song of the
Thrush, now the needle-like notes of the Goldcrest ; now the
rich song of the Kobin ; now the scratchy, impetuous notes of
the Greater Whitethroat ; now the well-known hurried babble
of the Linnet ; now the characteristic notes of Philomel himself ;
now the fluty song of another prince of musicians, the Garden
Warbler ; now the rustic notes of the Greenfinch.

It is no idle fancy on my part, for let another observer continue
the story. Charles Dixon writes in " Our Favourite Song Birds "
thus : " The bird seems literally overflowing with music, and
warbles almost continuously the livelong day Of all the Warbler
band the Blackcap, to our mind, is the most splendid singer, and
his melody is absolutely unrivalled. The notes, clear and flute-
like, flow forth in a perfect torrent of wild, sweet melody, full of
the most pleasing variations, so loudly uttered that the listener
is often led to think that a much larger and more powerful singer
is producing them. . . . The modulations of the song are ex-
quisite. First, it may be, the song is heard in a low key, as if
the author of it were a hundred yards away ; then gradually
it becomes louder and louder, giving us the impression that the
bird is coming nearer, until finally we are greeted with a torrent
of sound, as if Blackbird, Song Thrush, Wren, Kobin, and Warbler
were all singing in concert. But the Blackcap has been stationary
all the time ; it may be not half a dozen yards away, and in
amazement we learn that this wondrous music, now low and soft,
and now rich and loud and full, has issued from the same little
throat at one unchanging distance." Thus writes Charles
Dixon and where I have failed to describe he has splendidly
succeeded. That Dixon has heard the Blackcap sing, as I have
done, is certain.

Later in the year, after temporary cessation, the Blackcap
commences to entertain us again with its rich notes, and when
there is deathlike stillness becoming more daily apparent, one

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS 77

notices the sweet, dulcet strains of the bird to great advantage.
In the full gush of Spring's birdland choir, the Blackcap's con-
tribution is almost lost, except to the trained ear of the orni-
thologist, but at Midsummer the little copse, or secluded wood,
resounds with the voice of the bird under notice, and makes such
an appeal that the most indifferent listener is bound to make
some remark when the lyrical notes strike upon the ear.

Here, again, we have an extremely shy bird, which is always
on the move. In the heyday of Summer it seems to have a
preference for the billowy masses of elder blossom, among which
it delights to wander. Perchance, it is a good hunting ground
for insects of various kinds, and upon these the Blackcap largely
feeds. Sometimes, it will come into our gardens, and take a
little soft fruit, but it does not do any appreciable damage, and
should be encouraged at all times.

The first Blackcap I saw this year was feeding upon the fast
ripening berries of the ivy, of which it is very fond, and, if the
reader desires to locate this bird during the first days of its arrival
upon our shores, he cannot do better than pay attention to any
ivy-laden district, where, sure enough, it will soon be observed.

The young having been safely reared, the parent Blackcaps
are free to roam about during the late Summer and early Autumn,
happy and 'contented. Every now and again the male bird
sings a few rich, mellow notes, as if to remind us that it will
prolong its stay until the luscious berries of the elder are ripened
by the August sun. Then it will have a rare feast from the
elder-berries, if these latter are not all gobbled up by the ravenous
Starlings. Soon afterwards it commences its return southern
journey over land and sea, and does not occur with us again
until the ivy berries are blackened, ready to receive it the follow-
ing Spring. Thus do the hands of Nature's clock go round !

Next to the Blackcap, I should place the Skylark among my
favourite song birds, and that for several reasons. This far-
famed minstrel of the air, " pearl of the feathered race," as I
christened it in the little poem recited in my opening chapter,
sings its happy and unfettered melody for several months out
of the twelve, and at a time when other feathered warblers are
leagues away in a sunnier clime. He sings, does this brown bird
of happyland, in all weathers, full of abundant hope, even in
the rigours of an Arctic February, or March-many-weathers, of
the Spring that is to be. Of gleeful disposition, unquenchable
optimism, abundant energy, possessing a repertoire unchallenged,

78 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

the Lark has for long endeared itself to all those having music
within their souls. The very manner of utterance, as the bird
is suspended in mid-air, sing, sing, singing, appeals strongly to
one's senses of vivid imagination and stern reality, a refined
melody full of lyrical brilliancy, sparkling with radiance and
romance. It would ill-become me to attempt an analysed de-
scription of the song of the Lark. Its praises have been sung
in unforgettable verse by Hogg, Mackay, Meredith, Montgomery,
Shelley, Wordsworth, and others, and will always remain a part
of the fabric of our national existence. The fields and meadows
would be denuded of one of their greatest charms if our outdoor
pilgrimages were unaccompanied by Lark music from above.
Even the Daisies open wide their ray florets as if to catch not only
the life-giving rays of the sun, but also, if France is right as to
plants having souls, a faint earth-echo of the lyrics from the
clouds.

A resident British bird, the Lark is with us throughout the
year, or, at least, I should say its species is thus represented,
so also is the Thrush, my next favourite musician. I am a lover
of what is best described as the broken melody of the Mistle
Thrush, as this bird of gipsy habits sings loud and long from the
naked branches of the tallest tree of the parish in the early days
of the year, but it bears no comparison with the extraordinary
variety and richness of the notes of its more familiar cousin,
the Song Thrush, whose vocabulary is little short of amazing.
Descriptions of birds' songs, calls, and. cries are, at best, mis-
leading and disappointing, and no written account can satisfy
either reader or scribe. The pity of it is that, even the Thrush's
supreme effort to welcome the world of Spring with its exultant
notes, is so little appreciated by the multitude. I listen instinc-
tively to the great outburst of Thrush music early in the year,
and my heart is gladdened at Spring's awakening, or I hearken
to these birds singing in harmonious chorus towards sundown.
The soloist, or the choir, captivate my finer feelings, and I stand
spellbound. But I find myself alone, one of the select few among
my fellows who show any desire to gain inspiration and know-
ledge by quiet communion with these feathered companions of
hedgerow, field, and copse. Why is this ? It may be that,
after all, the new renaissance of Nature Study is near at hand,
and that those of us who have for years devoted close study to
the operations of outdoor life, will realise the fruit of our loving
labour sooner than we anticipate. Among the younger generation,

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS

79

as I have already indicated in Chapter III, there is ground for
abundant hope, it is among the grown-ups that indifference is
more manifest. But, perhaps, after all, one's influence reaches
constituencies of which one is unconscious, and the lack of leisure
and opportunity on the part of the masses, who are often badly
housed and environed, must be taken into account. They
probably know nothing of the palpitating joy of existence. Yet
the Thrush's tuneful lay is one of hope and encouragement, and,
so long as this great musician remains to cheer us, there will be
some, at least, to listen whose respondent chords will vibrate
with unfeigned delight.

PIG. 36. — NIGHTINGALE.

I have written only of the Thrush's wonderful power as a song
bird, but it has a warm place in my affections because it rears
its spotted chicks within hail of my window, and bathes in the
pan of water put out for the birds to drink. I admire its fine
symmetry, its stately mien, and measured gait. To lose the
Thrush from my everyday existence, would be a bereavement
I do not wish to face, though I may, as a result of this statement,
risk being reincarnated as " the sentimental naturalist," as the
Spectator once christened me, in spite of the fact that the Man-
chester Guardian, by way of friendly retaliation, talked about my
heart being in the right place !

Next to the Thrush comes the magic Nightingale, and although

80 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

I consider too much fuss has been made of its song, to the detri-
ment of other British birds, I am fain to confess that when I
catch its strains anew, as I did this morning, I am at a loss to ex-
press my inward feelings. No written description can convey an
impression of one tithe of the inspiration that steals into one's
heart, when listening to Philomel in its embowered retreat, and
I must let Mrs Hungerford tell the story thus :—

" Beyond and above the music of the land comes the song of
the Nightingale, that, resting in yonder thicket, pours forth its
heart in tender, hurried melody, as though fearful the night will
be too short for him to utter forth his love chant, and disburthen
his full soul of all its music. The notes rise, and fall, and tremble,
on the air. No other sound comes from the breast of Nature to
mar the richness of its tones. No earthly thing seems living
but itself. For it the night appears, and draws its sable curtain
stained with gold over the sleepy world. This Nightingale, of
all the feathered tribes, is wakeful, and chants its hymn of praise
at midnight, whilst all its brethren rest in peaceful slumber.
The intense and solemn stillness of all around, renders more
enchanting the trills and tender trembles that shake its tiny
throat."

The male Nightingales arrive a week or so before the females,
and each one takes up the position it occupied the previous year,
or, at all events, a great many of them do so. It is remarkable
to notice with what regularity the Nightingale and other Summer
migrants return to the same haunt year after year, and it is a
pleasant occupation to watch and listen for the sweet-tongued
orators when Springtime has come round again.

When the pairing season is at its height, the song of
the Nightingale is something to be remembered, for the bird
pours out its rich, passionate notes all day long, and far into
the night.

I have never experienced such remarkable tameness in such a
usually shy and recluse bird as I have done with the Nightingales
which are found on Norton Common opposite my house, and
many people who have accompanied me on an ornithological
pilgrimage have remarked upon this fact. The bird books will
tell you that the Nightingale is an extremely shy bird, that it
hides its body in the thick shade of a thorn bush, that it rarely,
if ever, comes out into the open, and that it is much more often
heard than seen. But on Norton Common, Letchworth, the
Nightingales may be seen singing without making any attempt

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS 81

at concealment, and, when once located, can be heard and seen
to great advantage.

One day, to my immense surprise, I discovered that I could
start a Nightingale singing by making an attempt to mimic a
few of its long-drawn-out notes. A real feathered Nightingale
close by took up the challenge, mistaking my notes, of course,
for those of a rival bird. I was hugely delighted, as the reader
may well imagine, having studied birds for so long a time. I
then went the round, that is, I visited all the Nightingale's haunts
with which I was acquainted, and was fortunate enough to start
the male bird singing in every instance ! Very often the male
crept cautiously towards me in his excitement, chattering and
scolding as he came nearer and nearer, and, as I gradually
worked him up, he poured out a perfect torrent of vehement
notes. On one occasion, three male birds flew into the open
where I stood, all attracted by the strange challenge which I
had uttered ! When they discovered the culprit, they quickly
returned to their chosen retreats.

Under ordinary circumstances the bird should at least be
heard in song from mid-April until mid-June, but some years it
ceases its minstrelsy before June, although I sometimes manage
to encourage a solitary individual to respond to my summons
when the Roses are a -bloom. I regularly practise this bird-
calling nowadays, and have had some remarkable successes
with the Nightingale.

The Nightingale undoubtedly resorts to singing for the purpose
of attracting a partner in the same way as our Song Thrushes^
Skylarks, Chaffinches, and other song birds, and when once a
female has been wooed and won, and the serious business of life
commenced, the male bird's passionate outbursts of song soon
become less conspicuous, as his time is occupied in helping to
construct the nest, and attending to the requirements of his
little consort when she, solicitous mother, is engaged incubating
her olive-green eggs.

Next comes the Garden Warbler, a little-known bird that visits
large gardens, woods, commons, and other places when Summer
is a-coming in. It is a shy cousin of the Blackcap and Nightingale,
but delights in hiding its sober body among Oaks and Sycamores,
where, apparently, it searches with success for insect prey. It
is a busy-body among bird folk, and seems for ever hunting for
food. It has little leisure even for stopping to sing, pouring out
a continuous gurgle of rich, musical notes as it threads its way

82 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

through the leafy vista, feeding and singing as it goes. Though
its notes are not so varied as those of the Blackcap, perhaps they
are even mellower and sweeter, and I shall never forget once,
and once only, hearing a company of Garden Warblers singing
in chorus just after they had arrived in an Oak wood, where, as
a boy, I delighted to ramble. The song, although so rich, can
easily be unheard by those who do not listen for the utterances
of birds, and I have frequently watched a passer-by to ascertain
if the song attracted attention. As a rule, no notice whatever
has been taken of the dulcet madrigal within earshot, and I have
been left alone to assimilate the sights and sounds around me.
This Warbler is more local in distribution than the Blackcap,
but where both species occur it is difficult, even for the expert,
to correctly ascertain one singer from the other. I have been
deceived many times, in spite of the fact that, as a rule, Blackcaps
incorporate in their song the scratchy notes of the Greater White-
throat. This, so far as I am aware, the Garden Warbler never
does.

The Tree Pipit is certainly one of my favourite song birds,
and I like it because it has the invariable habit of coming back
to the same place each year. Even when the bird is away
wintering in Africa, I look -longingly at its watch-tower at the
summit of a tall Poplar that it uses in the glad days of Summer,
and wish for the bird's return to its old haunt. Once it has
returned, no time is lost in pairing, as the male bird undertakes
its fascinating song-flights the whole day long for the set purpose
of obtaining a female partner. It is known as the Titlark in
many country districts, and, being a Pipit, it is closely related to
the better known Lark. Some of its notes, too, resemble those
of Shelley's " blithe spirit," but they are louder and more forceful
in the Tree Pipit, and are uttered under different circumstances.
Sometimes it sings on the ground, a clod of earth, or from its
watch-tower in bush or tree, always near the summit, but, to
see. and hear it at its best, one must wait until the bird throws
itself into the air, and then mounts several feet, until such time
as, having acquired the impetus, it descends with motionless
wings, gathering strength of song as it proceeds. I never tire of
watching this bold adventurer, for it is linked up with some of
my happiest memories of days well spent in Nature's wronderland.

Although such a reveller in the air, and such a dweller in the
tree-tops, this species, like the Lark, does not altogether scorn
the ground, whither it descends to nest and feed. It possesses

MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS

83

a long claw on the hind toe which, it seems, aids the bird in thread-
ing its way among the dense herbage that it so dearly loves to
frequent.

When several Tree Pipits arrive simultaneously over a given
area, and even a few perform their song-flights, accompanied by
paeans of joyful outbursts, the scene is one not readily forgotten.

The plaintive, but altogether sweet, piccolo solo of the Willow
Warbler has always made a strong appeal to me, for there is a

,\

FIG. 37. — NEST AND EGGS OF BLACKBIRD.

simplicity and homeliness about its song which has an indefinable
charm. This little bird, a mere bundle of feathers, is very per-
sistent in its vocal efforts, and, if the season is congenial, it may
often be discovered taking toll of the insect life which abounds
in the vicinity of a Sallow bush in Spring.

Although the Blackbird has a late place assigned to it among
my favourite song birds, I love its mellifluous notes none the less.
I like best to listen to its sweet cadence towards evening, especi-
ally near the open doorway, as I know then that my garden
Blackbird is in good fettle, and mightily proud of the nest and
eggs he and his spotted consort have produced in one of my
laurel bushes, as they have done for three years past. He does

84 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

not in any way compare with the Song Thrush, in so far as the
variety of his notes is concerned, indeed the song has little varia-
tion, and is often abruptly ended. What there is of it, however,
is of the first water, rich mellow notes, tinged with plaintive
sadness, striking the ear restfully at a time of day when Nature
is preparing for respite, and we ourselves are feeling the need of
some soothing influence, such as only the Blackbird's song can
bring.

There are several other song birds which deserve mention, and
it would ill become me, a passionate devotee of bird study, to
overlook a single one, but most at all events of my more favoured
singers have been mentioned, and I am almost at the end of the
space allotted for this link in my story.

There is, however, one bird I must refer to in conclusion,
which, although hardly a song bird, is deserving of mention. I
refer to the Grasshopper Warbler. Its curious electric notes,
which fill the air with their vibrations of sound, should be listened
to, for preference, when Nature is hushed, and nought but the
hoot of a passing Owl, or the minstrelsy of the Nightingale, are
to be heard. It sings both early and late, and I have watched
this bird singing early in the morning when the grass has been
wringing wet with dew. It comes out into the open more readily
than the bird books tell you, and may be seen at close quarters
if only patience is exercised.

Morning is the time to hear birds singing at their best. Perhaps
we ourselves are more receptive then, but for many years it has
been my happy experience to listen to innumerable songsters to
the best advantage when the work-a-day world was yet asleep,
and the whole universe seemed flooded with bird music.

CHAPTER VI

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS
(A Paper read by the Author before the Linnean Society on May Qth, 1913)

THE observations which. I have the honour of placing before this
learned Society are based upon my experiences as a keen observer
of our British birds for more than thirty years, and of recent
years I have endeavoured to probe some of the life-secrets of
these feathered creatures rather more from the Nature-study
point of view than otherwise, and, as a result, find the pursuit
more fascinating than ever. The points to which I wish to direct
notice have occurred to me over and over again during the course
of my outdoor studies, though I do not claim that these so-called
" problems " are other than purely elementary, and I am only
a humble follower of Gilbert White, in all his old simplicity, and
imbued, I hope, with the same love of Nature, and spirit of
enquiry, which characterised the Naturalist of Selborne. One
remembers, too, that Charles Darwin, with whose name this
learned Society is inseparably associated, was always asking the
questions Why and How, so that it is stimulating for even a
humble enquirer to follow the Master Naturalist's example.

At best, my own notes can only be more or less disjointed and
fragmentary, and it is somewhat difficult to group them together
in any orderly sequence. To overcome this difficulty I propose
following the new list of British Birds recently issued by a Com-
mittee of the British Ornithologists' Union, and treating of the
species to which I am desirous of drawing attention in the order
in which they occur in the list referred to.

My studies have been confined for the most part to our more
familiar British inland birds, and it is to a few of these that I
propose to direct notice.

The Corvidce hold pride of place in the B.O.U. List, and to
this interesting family the Rook (Corvus frugilegus), and Carrion
Crow (Corvus corone) belong. There are four points of interest
which occur to me with regard to these species as follows : —

85

86

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

A. Why is the Crow, like the Raven (Corvus cor ax), a solitary
species, as compared with the social Rook ?

B. Why does the Crow hop, and the Rook walk ?

FIG. 38. — FEMALE ROOK ARRIVING AT NEST.

FIG. 39.— MALE ROOK LEAVING NEST.

C. Why do some Rooks repair their nests year by year, leaving
the old ones intact during Winter, whilst other colonies destroy
the whole of their habitations before quitting them for the Winter,
building entirely new nests the succeeding Spring ?

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 87

D. Is there any truth in the statement that, unless young
Rooks are shot each year at, or near, a Rookery, and their numbers
thus reduced, the birds will forsake even a long-tenanted haunt ?

To the large family Fringittidce the Finches belong, the first
of which the Greenfinch (Chloris chloris) is one of the commonest
species. My observations lead 'me to conclude that this species
often NESTS in small colonies, more especially in the neighbour-
hood of farms. Is this colonising nesting habit borne out by
the observations of other ornithologists, and, if so, why has
this interesting habit been developed ?

The Hawfinch (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) is something
of a puzzle, in so far as it has developed a positive genius for
leading an elusive and solitary existence. Apparently this
species has not been subjected to any special persecution. " At
all events," as Horace Hutchinson says, " it has been free enough
of persecution since it selected this Island for its habitation. It
has been far too clever for the ordinary Briton to succeed in
harassing it." To what then is its craftiness in eluding pursuit,
or detection, to be attributed ? Its wariness and skill in hiding
pertinently reminds me of a different type of bird, the Wryneck
(lynx torquilla) which, in spite of its giving voice persistently,
and thus disclosing its whereabouts, is one of the most difficult
birds to locate with which I am acquainted.

The House Sparrow (Passer domesticus) is very fond of pluck-
ing Primrose blossoms in woods and elsewhere during Spring,
the flowers being nipped off near the base of the corolla tube.
The blossoms are not carried away, nor eaten. A suggestion
has been made that the bird carries out this practice because it
is fond of the nectar, which it is able to remove after severing
the blossom. Is this so ?

The specific name of the Tree Sparrow (Passer montanus) in-
dicates that this species BELONGS TO THE MOUNTAINS. The bird
is generally overlooked owing to confusion with its commoner
relative, last under review, but is quite a familiar bird when the
points of distinction are recognised. It is certainly not a bird
of the mountains. I have a note concerning this species that the
clutch of dark eggs invariably contains one light-coloured variety.
Can any reason be assigned for this ? The light egg is easily
distinguished from the remainder as they are invariably very
dark. I find also that this species is very partial to nesting
boxes put up in woods, and always builds an open nest therein,
whereas Passer domesticus constructs an arched structure when

88 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

taking advantage of an artificial bird home, as it also does when
nesting under natural conditions elsewhere. This appears to be
interesting and worth recording.

The Chaffinch (Fringilla ccelebs), as is well knowrn, separates
during Winter into distinct flocks consisting of males or females,
and travels about thus until the flocks break up in Spring. Why
should the Chaffinch do this ? Is such a proceeding common
to any other of our smaller birds, and can any reason be assigned
for this interesting habit ?

The Linnet (Acanihis cannabina), is very fond of singing in
chorus, and, when thus listened to, constitutes one of the most
delightful performances in the orchestra of bird music. Why
has the Linnet, a gregarious species at most times it must be
admitted, acquired this taste for chorus singing, one of the few
species I am acquainted with which carries out such a proceeding ?

The Bullfinch (Pyrrhula pyrrhula pileata) seems to be paired
all through the year. Remembering how gregarious other
British Finches are in Autumn, Winter, and early Spring, is not
this remarkable ? May we assume that this handsome species
is one of the few British birds that pairs for life ?

The Corn Bunting (Emberiza calandra) revels in desolate
places such as downs, commons, and wide, open fields. In the
wind-swept country of North Hertfordshire it is a very common
species, but in Mid-Herts it is comparatively rare, though
apparently the conditions are equally suitable. Can any reason
be advanced for this ?

The curious scribble-like markings on the eggs of Buntings are
easily obliterated when freshly taken. How comes this about ?
The markings on the eggs of other birds seem much more indelible.

To the Family Alaudidce the Skylark (Alauda Arvensis] claims
kinship. This renowned songster, according to my diary for
the past fifteen years, has a song period of at least nine months
out of the twelve. Pairing is apparently brought about by the
conquest of song, as with most species of soberly-clad and fine-
voiced birds. Other song birds, however, such as the Nightin-
gale (Luscinia megarhyncha), cease their minstrelsy when pair-
ing has taken place, or soon after nesting has begun. Why
should Shelley's " blithe spirit " be the most prolific songster
we have in this country, and what can be the reason for this
glorious outpouring of music in all weathers on at least 250 days
out of 365 ?

The Motacillidce contains one of the most delightful families

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 89

of British birds, namely, the Wagtails, and, to take one of the
more familiar species, the Pied Wagtail (Motacilla lugubris), I
am tempted to enquire what reason can be given for this bird's
habit of flirting its tail in the entertaining manner it is wont to
do ? It is, I believe, the smallest bird that walks, and in running
and walking over clods of earth, in a grass meadow, on a lawn,
or by a stream-side, or elsewhere, it has the invariable habit of
moving its tail feathers rapidly up and down. The habit is so
common that one never stays to ask THE REASON WHY, and it
is as well to find out something further about these everyday
occurrences.

IR

FIG. 40. — Youxo P.LUE TITS.

The Meadow Pipit (Anthus pratensis) has a habit, when
flushed from the nest, of flying low over the surrounding herbage,
and feigning a broken wing, or being wounded. The reason
assigned for this is that the bird may lure the observer from its
nest, and, whilst this may be true, the explanation would be
more satisfactory if we could ascertain how the bird has come
to adopt such a capital ruse, and why, if it succeeds in accom-
plishing its object, it should be one of the few birds which adopts
the habit in question.

The Family Paridce contains those most entertaining and
active birds, the Titmice, and, although there are several points
of interest one would like to mention concerning them, I will
content myself by drawing attention to the large clutches of
eggs which these birds produce, e.g. Blue Titmouse (Parus
cceruleus obscurus), 7-12 ; Coal Titmouse (Parus ater britannicus),
6-9 ; Great Titmouse (Parus major newtoni), 6-12 ; Long-tailed
Titmouse (dEgithalus caudatus roseus), 6-12 or more ; Marsh
Titmouse (Parus palustris dresseri), 6-8. Is there any special
reason why these birds should produce such large clutches of

90 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

eggs ? In 1914 four nesting boxes came under my notice at
Letchworth which contained fifty-three young Blue Tits, and,
when one adds the eight parent birds, we get a full total of sixty-
one birds concerned with four nests, or an average of fifteen
birds per nest. I have known the Long-tailed Tit to have a
clutch of sixteen eggs, and, when one remembers the arched-iii
nest, with a small hole and interior, it is astonishing how such a
large family can be reared in comfort, and sufficient food obtained
by two small parent birds to keep sixteen hungry babies going.
Why such large families should be reared by. this species, unless
it be its fondness for travelling about the countryside in little
troops during Autumn and Winter, so that blood relationship
may keep them together, is to me somewhat of a puzzle. Why,
too, should so much labour be expended by this species in pro-
ducing such a wonderful nest ? Surely the making of such a
homestead, and the rearing of such a large family, means that
this is the hardest-worked bird on the British list. We speak
glibly of the nest being the finest example of avine architecture
we possess, but I fair to see why such immense care should be
taken in its construction, the collection of material alone — lichen,
moss, wool, spiders' webs, feathers, etc. — representing thousands
of separate journeys. There I must leave the problem in the
hope that some light will be thrown upon it.

The Family succeeding the Tits contains the Laniidce, or
Shrikes, and I wish simply to ask here whether it is a fact that
our Summer visitor, the Ked-backed Shrike (Lanius collurio),
is such a butcher bird as he is represented to be, and whether- it
is a common habit of this species, as we have for long been told,
to catch its victims, impale them on thorns, and form a sort of
larder ? During the whole of my country wanderings I have
only discovered one such larder. Are they of common
occurrence ?

The Family Sylviidce, or Warblers, contains some of our finest
song birds, and a few brief notes concerning certain species may
be set out. The Greater Whitethroat (Sylvia corn/munis] is a
bold, fearless bird compared with its shy, retiring cousin the
Lesser Whitethroat (Sylvia curruca). The former comes out
into the open to sing its vehement, scratchy song, appearing in
the air in a state of suspended animation, whereas the latter
utters its little-varied and bell-like notes more often than not
unseen, deftly hiding, or skulking, within some safe retreat. Yet
its voice is one of the most constant among our Summer wood-

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 91

land visitors. The point of difference in habit seems interesting,
and worthy of comparison.

Those two magnificent songsters, the Garden Warbler (Sylvia
simplex) and Blackcap (Sylvia atricapilla), are a source of con-
fusion in regard to the notes they utter, even to the practised
ear, but my observations lead me to the belief that the Garden
Warbler always sings when on the move, mostly when searching
for insects, whereas the Blackcap, although of a restless disposi-
tion, is more fond of remaining stationary in an elevated position,
pouring out its remarkable flood of melody with its black crest
feathers prominently raised. The repertoire of this latter species
is wonderful, and one bird which seems to return unfailingly
to a common opposite my house, rattled off in quick succession
last Summer the easily-distinguished notes of the Whitethroat,
Thrush, Robin, Goldcrest, Blackbird, Nuthatch, Linnet, Night-
ingale, Garden Warbler, and Greenfinch.1 It was certainly the
most remarkable utterance by an individual bird that it has ever
been my good fortune to listen to, in particular the notes of the
Blackbird, Nightingale, and Nuthatch being most distinct. Why
should one individual soloist have at command such an outburst
of mimicking song ? Why should this particular bird friend
of mine be the only known mocking bird in the parish ?

Coming to the Family Turdidw, or Thrushes, enables me to
draw attention to a controversy which has recently taken place
as to whether the Mistle Thrush (Turdus viscivorus) utters a
song. Whoever thought fit to question the matter must have
been singularly lax, as, without doubt, this gipsy among birds,
of such roving disposition, does sing in spite of its old-fashioned
English names of Screaming Thrush, Screech Thrush, and Storm
Cock. The notes strike the ear as somewhat short, jerky, and
little -varied, but they are quite musical, and, uttered at a time
when most other birds are silent, are always welcome. Com-
pared with the utterance of the Song Thrush (Turdus musicus
darkii), that of the Mistle Thrush suffers considerably, but it is
a slight upon the latter to term the former the Song Thrush
when both species are rightly classified as song birds. I have a
note as to the nesting habits of the Song Thrush and Blackbird
(Turdus merula) which seems worth consideration. This refers
to their nesting upon, or close to, the ground much more
frequently than in days gone by. To what is this due ? Is the
explanation to be found in the fact that woods are so often cut
1 See also Chapter V.

92 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

down nowadays that the birds, rather than leave their old haunts,
nest in the stubs of trees, or bushes, that are left ? This observa-
tion is remarked upon year after year, and deserves recognition.
I would also seek a solution of the problems as to why : A. The
Blackbird is such a solitary species, and, so far as I know, does
not flock. B. Why the Song Thrush is so much tamer than
the Blackbird, when both species resort to the same haunts, and
the same mode of life. C. Does the Blackbird pair for life ?
D. Why is a Blackbird with white feathers so often mobbed by
others of its own species ?

In " British Birds," March, 1915, Mr G. Bathurst Hony gives
particulars of a Mistle Thrush's nest where the parents swallowed
the pieces of empty shell, and the faeces, until the last day or two
that the young were in the nest. The faeces, we are told, were
then carried away. Is it not most unusual for birds to swallow
egg shells and faeces, and, except in the case of colonising sea-
birds, is it not rather true that shells and faeces are always
removed from the vicinity of the nest ? I have noticed with
interest that, when feeding their young, the parent Great Tits fly
in with food and emerge almost invariably carrying excrement,
with which they fly away some considerable distance. This
hygiene among birds, even in the case of the despised Sparrow,
is deserving of record.

In the Scottish Naturalist, 1914, Mr W. Evans relates that he
watched a Blackbird greedily devouring Daisies, and Mr J. K.
Nash states that he has seen a Song Thrush in two different
seasons feeding fully-fledged young with the same flower. Only
blossom heads wTere eaten, the full length of stalk being left.
Is this usual, and are Daisy flower heads nourishing to birds ?

I have noticed particularly that, in addition to feeding the
spotted chicks when they have left the nest, the male Redbreast
(Erithacus rubecula melophilus) also supplies the adult female
with food. Comparing this pleasing domestic trait with that
of the Wild-duck (Anas boschas), the drake of which forsakes
his consort as soon as nesting operations are commenced, one is
bound to regard the homely Redbreast as a species which has
developed full paternal responsibility for attending to his wife
and children, both as a dutiful husband and solicitous father.

Passing on to the Stonechat (Saxicola rubicola), that impetuous
bird wrhich is such a lover of furze commons, I have a note that,
whereas the food of this species consists, as a rule, of insects, I
have seen it dangling a Lizard in its beak, and have also known

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS

93

the Eedbreast to catch and devour Sticklebacks ! These I
know "are isolated instances, but there must be a reason for this
change of diet, even if only occasional. Both the lizards and
fish were captured in Summer when food was plentiful.

PIG. 41. — STONECHAT.

Not long ago I was watching a Dipper (Cindus cindus britan-
nicus) manceuvring around a beck in Yorkshire. This species
has always been somewhat of an ornithological puzzle to me, for
it is a song bird that dives and a waterbird that sings. It does
not possess webbed, or lobed, feet, yet it flies helter skelter down
stream, dashes headlong, and without the slightest hesitation,
into and under the water, and probes about for food on the bed
of the stream. I have never seen it swim. Can any light be
thrown on the structure and habits of this bird ? Why, too,
like the Redbreast, has it acquired the habit of bobbing up and
down as if on living stilts ?

The Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes), as is well known, builds
more nests than are occupied for rearing a family. So far as I
know, no satisfactory explanation for this has been forthcoming.

94 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Why, too, does this perky little bird carry its tail cocked up in
the characteristic manner known to almost everyone ?

The three members of the HirundinidcB, the Swallow (Hirundo
rustica), House Martin (Ckelidon urbica), and Sand Martin
(Riparia riparia), are interesting from many points of view.
Although so closely related, they construct nests of very different
types, that of the House Martin being, as a rule, the only exposed
nest of the three species. The Sand Martin is, of course, a
tunneller, boring a hole about an arm's length in the face of a
sand pit, cliff, or river bank, and depositing a nest of grass,
feathers, etc., at the extremity.

Of plaster nest-building birds we have very few examples on
the British list, the House Martin being the most famous of
these. Why do these three closely allied species differ so con-
siderably in nest construction ? An interesting example of an
entire plaster nest built by a Nuthatch (Sitta ccesia), at Wad-
hurst, Sussex, is recorded in " British Birds," March, 1915 ;
the nest, consisting wholly of plaster like a House Martin's, being
built in a haystack, and weighing six and a half pounds. It
was lined with flakes of bark in a similar way to the more ortho-
dox structure.

I only refer to the Nuthatch here because of this reference to
plaster nest-builders, the former, as a rule, hewing out a hole
in a tree, and using mud to close up the entrance hole until it is
just sufficient to permit the owners to go in and out. An entire
plaster nest of this species in a haystack seems worth mentioning
by way of comparison.

The HirundinidoB are infested with parasites. Gilbert White
drew attention to this, and I have remembered it ever since
reading the delightful letters when quite a boy. White says
the birds are infested with Norfolk Howards, which is, I
believe, a popular name for a kind of Bug. Is it usual for
most birds to be infested with parasites, or do such creatures
prey upon Swallows and Martins rather than other birds ? If
so, why ?

The Cuckoo (Cuculus canorus) is a source of perennial interest
and mystery, and much might be written concerning many points
which have not been satisfactorily cleared up. I will briefly
refer to the size of the egg. Here we have a bird about the same
size, and very similar in general appearance and upon the wing,
as the Sparrow Hawk (Accipiter nisus). Yet the Cuckoo produces
as small an egg as that of the common Sparrow, whilst that of

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 95

the Hawk is as large as a golf ball. The reason seems obvious,
e.g. that if the Cuckoo produced an egg equal in size to that of
the Hawk no small bird upon which the Cuckoo thrusts its charge
would tolerate it, and the Cuckoo would defeat its own end.
How has this remarkable adaptation come about ? Moreover,
it should be remembered tfiat, in spite of the smallness of the
Cuckoo's egg, the newly-hatched chick, though blind and practi-
cally naked, is possessed of immense strength, and bundles out
of the nest in which it is born everything that is there beside it.
I would further ask concerning this species how the sexes call
one another, if, as is now recognised, they both utter the well-
known double cry, and how the young Cuckoos find their way,
without parental guidance, to Africa, or India, in Autumn, when
they have never before left the confines of one's own parish,
and the adult birds have preceded them by some weeks, or even
months ?

It is, by the way, still believed in some country districts that
the Cuckoo turns into a Hawk when Summer is on the wane.
A Hertfordshire countrywoman told me with immense serious-
ness not long ago that this 'really was so. A custom in my
native county, too, when first hearing the Cuckoo in Spring, is
to throw everything one is carrying into the air and to curtsey
violently. I have seen this operation performed by the gentler
sex on more than one occasion !

Small birds are, during Summer, often seen flying in pursuit of
a Cuckoo, evidently possessed with a desire to mob it, or drive
it out of a district. Do the small birds know it is a Cuckoo and
wish to retaliate because of the parasitism it practises, or do they
mistake it for a Hawk ?

The Nightjar (Caprimulgus europceus) was another bird which
greatly interested Gilbert White, and, whilst many old-fashioned
notions concerning this species have now been exploded, its pro-
duction of two rounded eggs, laid upon the bare ground, seems
to me of more than passing interest. Most British birds which
deposit their eggs on, or near, the ground, or make little pretence
at nest building (examples : Kinged Plover (Mgiditis hiaticida),
Lapwing (Vandlus vandlus}, Partridge (Perdix perdix) and several
others), produce a pear-shaped egg, and these are, except in the
case of the Partridge, usually four in number, so that they may
be placed with the small ends tapering towards the centre in
order to take up the least amount of space, the reason apparently
being that the sitting bird may cover them all successfully.

96 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

The egg of the Nightjar, however, is equally rounded at either
end, and, as this species only lays a clutch of two eggs, there is
no necessity for it to produce a pyriform egg, as such a large
bird can easily cover the two eggs, or young. But what I cannot
understand is that, whilst the young of most species of birds
which nest upon, or close to, the groUnd, and, in addition, Moor-
hens, Coots, Waders, Ducks, and probably some others, are able
to run or swim about and take care of themselves as soon as
hatched, the young of the Nightjar are helpless for several days,
and remain where they are hatched until such time as they can
shift for themselves. What is the explanation of this ? Being
so helpless for several days, young Nightjars are, in consequence,
more subject to attack by Stoats, Weasels, Foxes, Rats, and other
creatures, provision against which has, however, been made by
the other species I have mentioned. The wonder to me is that
the Nightjar survives as well as it does, but, being nocturnal is,
I presume, one reason why it keeps up its numbers.

I have a note respecting the Kingfisher (Alcedo ispida) which
has always puzzled me, and it is this. Both sexes are equally
beautiful ; it is, I suppose, the most handsome species we have
in Britain. Can any light be thrown upon the pairing habits
of this species, in view of the fact that brilliant attire and song
rivalry do not seem to enter into consideration ? Is it not
remarkable to note, too, that, in spite of the brilliant attire of
this species, and its pure glossy-white eggs, the nest and its sur-
roundings are often of a filthy description ?

I pass by the Owls with the remark that it has long puzzled
me why those species that are nocturnal in this country utter
such loud notes. Are these notes sexual calls, or are they uttered
for the purpose of disturbing prey ? Do the notes, on the other
hand, have a reverse effect, e.g. send the prey scuttling to cover ?
Surely the notes would not be uttered so persistently if the latter
theory held good ? Owls possess a soft, noiseless flight which is
essential for hunting purposes under cover of darkness, and, at
first sight, one would imagine that vocal quietude would also
be an essential, but this does not appear to be the case. It may
be asked, too, why are the Little Owl (Carine noctua) and the
Short-eared Owl (Asio accipitrinus) diurnal as well as nocturnal
in their habits ?

In the Hawks and their kin the female is much the larger of
the two sexes. This is particularly noticeable in the Sparrow
Hawk (Accipter nisus}. What is the reason for this ?

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 97

Those who have watched the aerial evolutions of a Kestrel
(Falco tinnunculus), so faithfully described by Richard Jefferies,
have doubtless been struck, as I have, with the immense per-
sistence which this species exhibits when hovering during its
search for prey, and how rarely it comes to earth as a result of
its ceaseless quest. It seems to me that this species has to
work exceedingly hard to make a living, and possesses powers
in the air which mark it off, as it were, from any of the
other smaller birds of prey. Do these suggestions open up
any features that are likely to afford further information and
enlightenment ?

The distribution of the Gannet (Sida bassana) as a nesting
species is interesting, as, so far as is known, its nesting sites
throughout the whole world can probably be counted on the
two hands, yet there are hundreds of sites which appear equally
suitable. Many species of British birds, we know fairly con-
clusively, return to the same haunt year after year. The Gannet
appears to do so, too, with unfailing regularity, and we are told
its numbers neither increase or decrease, but always appear to
be normal. Is any further information forthcoming on the
points I have raised respecting this sky-pilot, as we may call it,
a species which watches for its finny prey from a tremendous
altitude, possesses a remarkable focussing power, and takes as
superb a headlong plunge into the sea as any creature which thus
gets its living.

Most of our British Ducks build open nests, but there is an
exception in the case of the Common Sheld-Duck, or Burrow
Duck (Tadorna tadorna), as it is also called. This species burrows
into sandhills, and places its nest at the extremity. Why should
this species adopt this nesting habit which is so different from
that of its relatives ? I would also ask why the Wild Duck
(Anas boscas) feeds on the surface of the water, while the Pochard
(Nyroca ferina] dives for its daily bread ? There are other
comparisons that might be made respecting these upper and under
surface feeding Ducks, as they may be called, but these two con-
crete examples will serve the present purpose. Is any explana-
tion to be offered respecting this difference of habit in such
closely-allied species ?

The Stone Curlew ((Edicnemus cedicnemus) is one of our most
interesting Summer Migrants. It resorts to large, open fields,
heaths, downs, and desolate, waste places, where there is little
cover. It is a strong-legged species, keen-eyed, and a capital

98 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

runner. It adopts an outstretched, squatting posture, when
wishing to conceal itself, and rarely takes to flight. Catching a
young one only a few hours old, it was placed on a handkerchief,
and photographed successfully in that position for the purpose
of showing the habit of the young bird, as well as the adult, of
crouching and remaining still.1 Apparently the young Stone
Curlew was unconscious of the fact that it was easily observable
on the white handkerchief, and thus defeated the object it had in
view, though, under ordinary conditions, its concealment would
be satisfactorily effected. To what is this early knowledge of
the parental method of protection adopted by the young Stone
Curlew to be attributed ? Being only a few hours old, I take
it the youngster, whose interesting precautions I have narrated,
inherited the habit from its parents, as a young Partridge, even
when just out of the egg, takes cover among herbage, or a baby
Moorhen plunges, when disturbed, from its rush nest into the
water, and swims at once with ease and facility.

Most Wading birds — Sandpipers, Shanks, Godwits, Snipe,
Stints, and their kin — have long, straight beaks, admirably
adapted for probing for food, but why has the Curlew-Sandpiper
(Tringa ferruginea) a curved beak like the Curlew (Numenius
arquata) ? Why also has the Curlew a long, curved beak, while
the Avocet (Recurvirostra avocetta) has its beak, as a wag at one
of our provincial museums remarked, " turned the wrong way
up," or, to be more accurate, acutely recurved towards the
extremity ? The long, straight beak seems to serve the many
other species I have mentioned quite well. Why should there
be these exceptions to the rule ?

The immense colonies of Guillemots (Uria troUle) around our
coast are well known to bird students, as also the fact that each
pair of birds has only one pear-shaped egg, which is placed on
the bare rock without any attempt at building a nest. It is
stated — and doubtless with some degree of truth — that no two
Guillemots' eggs produced by different birds are ever exactly
alike, so that each pair of birds shall be able to distinguish their
own egg among the large colonies that are gathered together.
But where so many eggs are laid quite close together, and in
many types there is not, in reality, such a great diversity of colour
or marking, must there not be developed in this species some
acute sense of recognition of which we humans are not
cognisant ?

1 See also Chapter IV,

SOME BIRD PROBLEMS 99

The Fulmar Petrel (Fvlmams glacialis), according to my
friend, Mr Oliver G. Pike, has two interesting traits, which I
venture to bring to your notice. When the Fulmar has an egg
in the nest, Pike states, she is easy to approach, but when the
single young bird is hatched, the mother bird flies off long before
one is near her. One would have thought the parent bird would
rather stay to defend its young than forsake it when danger
threatened. When the Fulmar does stay at home, it protects
itself by opening its beak and shooting at the intruder a quantity
of evil-smelling green oil. The first charge, Pike says, carries
about a yard, but the second and third charges fall short of this.
Certain insects, both when in the larval and adult states, are,
we know, thus provided against enemies, but is it not rare in
the bird world, and why has the Fulmar developed this uncommon
habit among feathered bipeds ?

A point which has always interested me, associated with
Grebes, Rails, Crakes, Moorhens, and Coots, is in regard to the
structure of the foot, as compared with that of other aquatic
birds, such as Ducks and Geese. In the latter, of course, the
toes are all united, or completely webbed, but in the case of the
Grebes and Coots the toes are curiously lobed, whilst in the
Rails, Crakes, and Moorhens all the toes are quite free. Yet
all these different species are aquatic, and equally good swimmers.
Why should there be this diversity in birds of similar habits ?
The Moorhen (Gallinula cMoropus), it is true, spends much of
its time on land, and is a good walker and runner. It often
places its nest several feet high in trees near water. Is it reason-
able to suppose that in the course of time this species will cease
to be aquatic, and lead a terrestrial life entirely ?

The Ring Dove, or Wood Pigeon (Columba palumbus), takes
a draught of water when drinking, and seems to be an exception
to most other British birds in this connection. Why is this ?
It also feeds its young in a different manner by regurgitating
soft portions of food from the crop. Why and how have the
ColumbidcB developed these interesting habits ?

The Red-legged Partridge (Caccabis rufa) has a curious habit
of leaving its own nest and eggs before incubation commences,
and depositing some eggs in the nest of a Pheasant (Phasianus
colchicus) or English Partridge (Perdix perdix). After an absence
of a few days, it returns to its own nest and eggs, and duly performs
its own domestic duties. What is the explanation to be offered
in regard to this ?

100 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

This concludes my detailed notes, and I have only to add a
few general ones. These may be tabulated thus : —

A. Where, when, and how do wild birds die, and why is it
their dead bodies are not discovered more frequently ?

B. To what age do wild birds live, and are the ages they attain
when kept in captivity any guide in this connection ?

C. How long do birds take to build a nest ? I have known
isolated instances of a Song Thrush and a Redbreast beginning
and completing a nest within twenty-four hours, but an imperfect
knowledge exists of the time expended by most birds in the con-
struction of their homes, and also as to the exact methods em-
ployed.

Z). Why do some birds choose such well-advertised sites in
which to place their nests, whereas others, belonging to the same
species, are very adept at choosing positions where security is
much more likely to be obtained ?

With these few general notes I bring my paper to a close, and,
while thanking you for the attention with which you have listened
to my observations, would emphasise that they only pretend
to be a somewhat miscellaneous collection of musings which
may, or may not, have any scientific bearing. But my love for,
and keen desire to develop further interest in, our British birds,
and the hope that some light will be thrown upon my observa-
tions, must be my reason for asking your indulgence on this
occasion.

CHAPTER VII

MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED

OUR British Mammals are, with few exceptions, difficult to study
at close quarters, but, in order to give a fairly comprehensive
survey of my life as a Naturalist, there is here included a brief
resume of some of my experiences.

The various species of Mice and Voles have made a special
appeal to me, mostly because I have had good opportunities of
watching them both at work and play. The Dormouse is,
perhaps, the prettiest of them all, and makes an affectionate
pet, living in captivity for a number of years. I have watched
it climb strong herbaceous plants and small bushes in Summer,
presumably in its hunt for food, and I have aroused it from
slumber in its cosy homestead in the depth of Winter. It is
fond of tenanting hedgerows and quiet retreats where hazel nuts
are found, as these constitute one of its chief articles of diet,
and, where Oak woods abound, there also search may be made
for this elegant little beast. Adorned in a rich tawny coat, with
a thick, Squirrel-like tail, the Dormouse is hardly likely to be
mistaken for any of its congeners.

When hibernating, it rolls up its dapper little body into a ball,
wrapping its long tail right round the whole as a sort of provision,
maybe, against coming unrolled until Spring summons it from
its Winter sleep. One day I carried home a Dormouse in a
state of suspended animation, and exhibited the furry ball in the
classroom. I gently tossed the slumbering creature across a
table, when, to the huge delight of the children assembled, the
animal woke up, unrolled itself, and looked about in sheer amaze-
ment at the unfamiliar surroundings. It had gone to sleep in
October in a cosy nest of dry grasses in a Hertfordshire hedgerow,
but awakened in a schoolroom ! The warmth of my hand and
the room had affected the animal more quickly than I anticipated,
but it provided the subject for a useful lesson to the youngsters
who were almost frantic with delight.

The Harvest Mouse is another wee beastie, which, for general

101

102 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

elegance, is akin to its cousin last mentioned. I do not meet
with the first-named very often, and I like best to discover it
with a family party among the cornfields as the harvesters are
busy cutting the ripened crops. Bright-eyed, keen-eared,
richly ornamented in a coat of yellowish-brown above and white
beneath, the Harvest Mouse builds its globular nest among the
corn. On finding the nest one can usually tell at sight whether
it is tenanted by the parent, as, when the female leaves her abode,

PIG. 42. — HARVEST MOUSE.

she takes the precaution of sealing up the entrance hole until
her return. Thus the young are protected from the ravages of
any predacious creatures of the cornfield during the mother's
absence foraging for food. Although the tail is only partly
prehensile, I have noted many times that when climbing a corn-
stalk this species depends upon its caudal appendage for some
amount of support, and, when thus seen, it is a pleasant little
country episode not readily forgotten.

I have written of the Long-tailed Field Mouse in my notes
concerning the wild life around house and garden, and, although
I must confess that the Brown Rat is not one of my favourite
mammals, its sleek coat, amazing powers of locomotion, and

MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED

103

exceeding cunning, are worthy of note. So, too, is its well-
known power of reproduction.

I hesitate to set out in bald numbers the alarming figures
associated with the fecundity of this remarkable creature, but
here are a few. As a rule, from three to six litters are produced
in a year, the female having her first litter when only three
months old ! The number in the litter averages about ten, but
as many as fourteen and more young have been known to be
produced by one female. A writer in Chambers'1 s Journal states
that " if three litters of ten each are produced every year, a
single pair, if permitted to breed unchecked, and no losses from
death were experienced, would in three years have a progeny
of ten generations, numbering twenty million, one hundred and
fifty-five thousand, three hundred and ninety-two ! The eleventh
generation, due at the beginning of the fourth year, would
number over one hundred millions ! "

FIG. 13. — STOAT.

1 have stalked the wary and inquisitive Stoat many times
during my country wanderings, especially in the Spring, when
it not only hunts for ground " game," but ascends trees and tall
bushes in its search for birds' eggs, for which it shows marked
partiality. The eggs are cracked, and the contents sucked clean.
Nest after nest in a hedgerow is harried in this way, the empty
shells, which are left behind, giving sad evidence of the depreda-
tions of this stealthy little beast. Where Jays and Stoats
abound, our resident Blackbirds, Thrushes, and Robins possess
inveterate poaching enemies early in the year, and it requires

104 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

very considerable courage to keep such a ferocious animal as the
Stoat at bay. I have seen a Stoat rear at a gamekeeper when the
poor creature was firmly caught in one of the cruel toothed
traps that are set for ground " vermin," and have begged for
lenience when witnessing such a distressing scene. Yet, if the truth
be told, the Stoat itself is no respecter of persons, as the terrified
Rabbit displays when the former is in hot pursuit of its prey.

Cycling by the side of a favourite wood, flanked by a rough
pasture honey-combed with Rabbit " runs," I observed a Rabbit
suddenly bolt from the hedge pursued by a Stoat. They ran
ahead of me as I quickly dismounted, and it was a neck and neck
race for some distance until the Rabbit was outpaced. In less
time than it takes to tell the story, the Stoat pounced upon its
crouching prey, caught it by the neck, and killed it. By this time
I had arrived upon the scene, only to find the Rabbit in its last
death-throes, the Stoat meanwhile slinking away. I moved the
Rabbit to the side of the lane, went a few yards ahead, waited,
and watched. This is a good plan to adopt with most wild
creatures, but particularly so when one is desirous of observing
the Weasel, or Stoat, both of which are very inquisitive, and
will appear, disappear, and reappear, if one has only patience
enough at disposal. It was not long before I heard a rustling
in the steep hedgeside. It was the Stoat returning to inspect
its prey. He came stealthily down the bank, turned his head
rapidly to left and right, scented the air, and then, perceiving
the Rabbit, picked it up as a cat would her kitten, and
trotted off with it along the road to its lair, a scene both of comedy
and tragedy, such as may be constantly witnessed when studying
wild animals and their wonderful ways.

I have for long regarded the wily Hedgehog with considerable
interest, and have blundered against its prickly form on a dark
night, and watched it hunting and feeding by day. Admirably
protected by its plentiful supply of spines, the Hedgehog appears
to possess few enemies except mankind. There is just cause
for complaint on the part of the gamekeeper and poultry man,
as, unfortunately, this animal of ancient pedigree has a strong
liking for the eggs of Partridge, Pheasant, and domestic Fowl.
I have known one Hedgehog take sixteen Pheasants' eggs out
of a nest one by one, and scoop the contents dry in double-quick
time, much to the disgust of the irate keeper standing by.

It may not generally be known that the Hedgehog is one of
the few animals which is an enemy of the poisonous Adder, and

MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED 105

also that it is a capital swimmer. I have seen it take to water
freely when pursued by a Terrier Dog. , It swims with ease and
facility, keeping its head and back just out of the water, and is
a tough customer to handle even when it comes to land, as it
takes the precaution to roll into a ball, and thus becomes immune
from attack.

. 44. — HEDGEHOG.

In the depth of Winter, when rambling in leaf -strewn copse or
ditch, I sometimes disturb the Hedgehog during its hibernation,
as, like the Dormouse, it is no lover of the cold, and prefers to
pass the Winter months fast asleep in some sheltered retreat.

I am a great lover of the Hare, and, although I have never
stalked any creature except with a bloodless intent through a
field glass, I have obtained a great deal of quiet enjoyment in
thus studying these four-footed inhabitants of our large fields
and breezy common lands, so characteristic of homely Hertford-
shire near the northern extremity of the county. When bird-
watching in such a district, Hares have all unexpectedly jumped
up from beneath my feet, having squatted in a " form " until
I almost trod upon them. At other times, as I have been seated
upon an inviting bank, close by a gap in the hedge, a fleet-footed
Hare has shot through the gap at lightning speed, turning
abruptly round to eye me as I shouted after it. The look of
astonishment on the animal's face may be better imagined than
described. I have fondled baby Hares — called Leverets —
which I have caught napping. They are winsome little beasts,
bright-eyed and large-eared, even in infancy, and make a strong
appeal to those who are interested in the child life of wild Nature.

The haunt of the Hare is one of unlimited freedom. It roams
at will the wide expanse of territory at its command, as the Lark

106

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

careers through the unfettered air. Both are lovers of unshackled
liberty, and it is in their own-chosen haunts, watching them
frolicking in the Spring, that one sees them at their best.

i ' / /
FIG. 45. — HEAD OK HARE.

I have been fortunate with my stalking expeditions after the
sagacious Fox, and have watched it for hours during the day-
time when the crafty beast has come above ground to make
overtures to a vixen. One red-letter day will always remain
with me, for I had the good fortune to watch, at fairly close
quarters, a dog and vixen playing together after the manner
of kittens ! The reason for this delightful episode in broad
daylight has puzzled me ever since it happened, and I never
pass the haunt without vividly recalling the scene in all its
details.

At other times, Foxes have dashed past me as I have stood
watching for birds, or admiring the coy Primrose in a belt of
favourite woodland, and I am so given to quiet observation,
as a result of constant habit, that I have never " tally-hoed,"
as, being somewhat of a sporting person, I really should have
done on such an occasion.

Of the craftiness and sagacity of the Fox much might be

MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED 107

written, as also of its courage in facing what appear to be in-
superable obstacles and dangers. Two or three instances must
suffice. A friend of mine in the North disturbed a Fox quite
unawares along the Yorkshire Coast. He came upon it all un-
expectedly round a bend in the coast. One would have thought
that, being so fleet of foot, the Fox would rely upon its loco-
motive powers for the best means of escape, but, on the occasion
referred to, it rolled over as if in a fit, and remained perfectly

FIG. 46. — FOX.

still ! My friend was dumbfounded, concluding, even after
examination, that the animal had suddenly expired from apo-
plectic seizure. He passed on his way, but chanced to look back,
when, to his consternation, he observed that the Fox had bolted.
It had, of course, feigned death as a method of escaping from man,
its only known enemy, but the incident opens up a most inter-
esting question of psychology, which I hand on to those who are
competent to advance a thesis concerning the reasoning power
of this sleek creature of rural England.

The next incident I have to relate has reference to a Fox
caught in a toothed trap. It was held captive by one foot.
To be thus discovered, meant instant death on the approach of
the gamekeeper, and, to save its own life, even at the risk of losing
a limb, the animal actually severed its captive foot, and hobbled
off on three legs. Whether it survived the self-amputation I
am unable to relate, and I have simply stated the bare facts as
they are known to me on unimpeachable authority.

One night, when watching Pheasants in a secluded wood, the
keeper and I heard a dog Fox barking. The Pheasants, about

108 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

two-thirds grown, were roosting in hazel bushes near by. In
fifteen minutes the lust for spilling blood was so great that
thirty-six Pheasants were killed by this one Fox, evidence, of
itself, that much more food is killed than can possibly be
eaten.

I have stalked the Red Deer in the Scotch Highlands with
feverish excitement, and tramped weary, but never-to-be-forgotten,
miles over moors of Heather and Bilberry, for even a distant sight
of this chieftain of the wilds. I have seen small herds of Red
Deer in the bonnie Island of Arran, set like a jewel amidst the

FIG. 47. — KED DEER.

gleaming waters of the Clyde, and among the everlasting hills
and mountains I have passed many pleasant hours in company
with a kindred spirit, studying the fauna and flora of the granite
region of frowning Goatfell, and its surrounding mountain ridges.

A whole day thus spent has brought sly peeps at the handsome
creature here depicted, and my Highland memories have been
refreshed when, at home in Hertfordshire, I have watched the
large herds of Red Deer at Ashridge, the seat of Earl Brownlow,
or at Woburn, in Bedfordshire, where the Duke of Bedford has
introduced this and many other breeds of noble beasts.

But it is among the hills, and the solitude of the glens of the
far North, that this animal is seen in its wild fastnesses. It is
associated in one's mind with the majestic sweep of the Golden
Eagle, the eerie cry of the Curlew, the cackle of Grouse, and the
tinkling song of the Meadow Pipit. Its haunt brings back to

MAMMALS I HAVE STALKED 109

memory tumbling burns, heather-clad slopes, fern-laden dingles,
sundew bogs, ridges which seem never ending, always elusive,
never exactly satisfying, a land of historic associations handed
down to us through the centuries, rich in the footsteps of anti-
quity, where, to-day, the Wild Bed Deer still roams free, monarch
of all he surveys.

CHAPTER VIII

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED

I WAS first attracted to the science of Entomology when in my
teens, as on my fishing expeditions I used to watch the dandy
Dragon Fly coquetting very near my float, and in those unre-
generate days I sought after the larva of the Caddis Fly for bait.
As I sat waiting for a " bite," Mayflies danced on mazy wings
downstream, and many other aquatic insects came under my
notice. Later on, when I had acquired some knowledge of
insectivorous birds, and, later, of plant life, I was compelled to
devote some amount of attention to winged creatures in order
to appreciate and understand a few of the strands which go
to make up the web of life.

I have long been puzzled as to why insects make such a limited
appeal to even so-called Nature lovers, and I could never under-
stand why more grown-ups do not see fit to become acquainted
with the remarkable life -stories that some of our most familiar
insects possess. Be that as it may, I am an insect-watcher, and
have thus some tales to tell concerning a few that have aroused
my interest.

When I take my walks abroad in early Spring, just as the
leaves of the Wild Arum have unrolled their arrowy margins,
I expect to discover on a sunny southern bank, or perchance
crawling across my path, the sombre form of the Oil Beetle.
This species may be distinguished by its deep mourning attire,
the lengthy, segmented abdomen, and short wing cases. If you
pick the insect up, apt evidence will be forthcoming as to its
popular English name as drops of oily fluid will be exuded, and
the unwary person will cease acquaintance with the creature
straight away.

I have watched this early Spring rover eagerly devouring
the fresh green Arum leaves, and have seen it enter the heart of
a wayside flower for the purpose of depositing its eggs within.
When the grub is hatched, it stays in its environment until a
Bee comes along, pollen or nectar gathering, and then contrives
110

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED

111

to get entangled among the hairs on the Bee's body, so as to be
carried along to the latter's home. Having arrived there safely,
the Meloe grub bides its time, until the Bee deposits a supply
of tasty food for the sustenance of a Bee grub yet to be, and the
hymenopterous insect is so occupied at the cell that it does not
notice the grub of the Oil Beetle craftily slip into the cell in which
an egg of the Bee is already deposited. Then the Bee seals up
the cradle. This is Meloe' s opportunity, for it at once eats the
Bee's egg out of the way, so as itself to become the sole tenant of
the hexagonal nursery. A further food supply is near at hand,

FIG. 48. — OIL BEETLE.

and this is greedily devoured until such time as the Oil Beetle
grub is ready to pupate, which operation is performed in the
Bee's cell. In due course Meloe emerges as a perfect Beetle,
and by tearing away the sealed cap of the cell, operated by means
of the strong jaws, it is soon able to find its way out of the Bee's
citadel, and is then ready to forage along the sunny southern
bank, where earlier in life it awaited the Bee's coming.

Field Crickets sing to me in our Hertfordshire hedgerows
and grassy meadows when I am cycling, or walking, home of a
Summer evening. I know exactly where to find them in the
season of the year, and thereby hangs a tale which may now be
told.

A note in a local contemporary was to the effect that, when
giving a lecture entitled " What Shakespeare saw in Nature,"
Sir Edward Sullivan said that the writer of an anonymous article
in the Quarterly Review several years ago was wrong in all his

112 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

statements except the one in which he wrote " there are no
Crickets in Shakespeare's meadows." Sir Edward is reported
to have said : "It was quite true there were no Crickets in his
(Shakespeare's) meadows, or anybody else's meadows. Shake-
speare put them where they should be — by the fireside."

Upon reading the paragraph referred to above, I had the
courage to find out Sir Edward Sullivan, and point out to him
in a polite way that he himself was in the wrong, if the newspaper
report in question accurately represented what he had stated.
Shakespeare may not refer to any Crickets in his meadows, and
may refer only to the well-known little beast which chirps by
the fireside, but surely there were Crickets in the meadows in
Shakespeare's day, as well as by the fireside, just as there are
Crickets in the meadows, and by the fireside, now. The fact is,
there are several species of British Crickets, but among them
there is only one which is an indoor resident ! The outdoor
Crickets on the British list are for the most part of rare occur-
rence, but there is one species — a black fellow — which is very
common in our Hertfordshire grass fields and hedges, and will
surely be known (at any rate, by sound) to many country
dwellers.

Sir Edward was, as one might expect, as courteous in his reply
as I was in pointing out the discrepancy which had apparently
arisen, but for the life of me I cannot tell even now where we
are over this critical (I had almost been tempted to write cricketal)
question. This is what the genial Irishman says in his letter of
reply : " I am aware that there are such varieties of the Cricket
as you mention, but I dealt only with the animal as known in
Shakespeare's time. It was then a dweller by the fireside. The
meadow variety was then known by another name. The state-
ment of the Quarterly reviewer would have been quite as effective,
as bearing on the subject, had he said ' There are no aeroplanes
over his meadows.' '

Now to tell the candid truth, I don't exactly know where we
are ! Sir Edward writes of varieties, when, of course, it should
be species, but that, perhaps, is a license which is often allowed.
A species of Cricket undoubtedly dwelt by the fireside in Shake-
speare's day, but it seems equally certain that other species dwelt
in the meadows, though probably, as Sir Edward says, " the
meadow variety was then known by another name." That,
however, does not affect the matter so far as I can. see, and there,
for the present, I propose leaving the conundrum which I set out

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED 113

to solve, but which has become more involved (at least so it
seems to me), as the riddle has been worked out.

It appears, by the way, that Professor Sir Walter Raleigh,
among other eminent authorities, has approved of the long-
forgotten article in the Quarterly, which was written, it appears,
to prove that Shakespeare " knew nothing of Natural History,
saw nothing in Nature, and wrote practically nothing about
either." Though it may not have been known in the reign of
Elizabeth that there were Crickets in the meadows, they were

MB
\

B

FIG. 49. — HONEY BEES : A, DKONE, 5, QUEEN, c, WORKER.

no doubt there, although unmentioned by the immortal bard.
The fact that Sir Edward states that " The meadow variety was
then known by another name," seems to prove this !

My grandfather was an amateur apiarist, and, as a boy, I
was always interested in watching the worker Bees at the hive,
or gathering pollen from the early Crocuses. This was my first
introduction to the Hive, or Honey, Bee, and I have had a warm
place in my affection for it ever since those days of long ago.
The sight of the first worker Bee in Spring enthuses me, and I
have noted the date of its first appearance for more than twenty
years.

Of the wonderful life history of these co-operative insects it

114

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

is not necessary to tell, for the fairy-tale of the Queen, the in-
dustry of the Worker, and the use of the Drone are well understood.
I have watched the Wild Bees, too, the large Humble fellows,
whose drowsy monotone is one of the most delightful of country
sounds. Very often I stumble across a large Humble Bee, which
has taken so much nectar from the flowers that he has become
stupefied. I love to watch the Bees at the Sallow in Spring,
the Bramble blossoms in Summer, and the Michaelmas Daisies

in Autumn. Even the
Bee-mimics, Hover Flies
and the rest, fascinate
me, especially the curious
Humble Bee Fly, with its
long proboscis. I note
its unfailing habit of returning to the
same spot time and time again. So,
too, have I watched the Leaf-cutter
Bee sawing small circular pieces from
my Rose leaves, and I have discovered,
not far away, its remarkable series of
thimble -shaped cells, each fitting into
the other, and each cell containing an

egg-
Near my house there are a great

«^^ K| s f number of Privet bushes, and there,

y\ !/// Kk when it is more or less full grown, I

\ \S 'f -^ find the handsome larva of the Privet

Hawk Moth. Green in general body
colour, its sides are richly ornamented
with stripes of heliotrope and white, and it bears on the hinder
part the curved " horn " so characteristic of the larva of Hawk
Moths.

I delight in watching the Humming Bird Hawk Moth as it
hovers, Kestrel-like, in the air, thrusting its long tongue into the
heart of a Honeysuckle blossom, or the pale yellow flower of the
Evening Primrose.

The first Brimstone Butterfly, fresh from its hibernating
quarters in Spring, spells ecstasy for an all-round-the-year
chronicler, and later, when the Buckthorn leaf-buds are showing,
I watch the female depositing her eggs.

The Orange -Tip is another favourite Butterfly I never pass
by without observation, and I associate it with the pale Cuckoo

50. — LARVA OF PUIVKT
HAWK MOTH.

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED

115

flowers of April and May, and the rather disappointing yellow
blossoms of the Hedge Mustard, which come to maturity when
Flora's gaiety knows no bounds, and Nature's living mosaic in
the fields is almost impossible to piece together.

Stinging Nettles I delight in for several reasons. The plant's
anatomy, its physiology and communal instincts, its use to man,
bird, snail, and insect, make a strong appeal to one steeped in
the nature-study of any given animal or plant, but I am also
enamoured of the Nettle
because in Spring and
Summer it gives to the
woodland where I daily
wander, a green chaplet
which is refreshing as I
meander along the well-
trodden path bordering
the Nettle colonies. Then
again, it is the favourite
food plant of the furry
larva of the Tiger Moth,
which, even now I am
grown up, I rear in a
" cage," so as to witness
the change from larva
to pupa, and the final
emergence of the perfect
Moth from its skittle -
shaped shroud. The
change from one state

to another is carried out FIG. 51.— TIGER MOTH.

in double -quick time, and

must surely be one of the most rapid series of metamorphoses of
any British insect. The " woolly bears," as the larvae are called
in some districts, are greatly relished by the Cuckoo, as also are
those of the Drinker Moth and Oak Eggar.

Beetles, either turned up from below ground when digging in
the garden, or from underneath a log or boulder, are great friends
of mine, and I much admire the handsome male Stag Beetle clad
in his rich chocolate-coloured coat of mail.

One day I watched an interesting courtship between the two
sexes of this species. It was a simple country comedy, with only
two actors upon the great stage and one person in the audience,

116 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

but it was full of interest. The female appeared to ignore the
overtures of the antlered male, and, at last, out of sheer despera-
tion, the male caught hold of the former and carried her away
triumphant.

To see a large Stag Beetle in flight is an entertaining experi-
ence, and, when witnessed for the first time, makes a lasting
impression. One day I saw a Long-eared Bat battling with

some creature in mid-air. The
combat lasted for several minutes,
but it was not until a battered
Stag Beetle fell at my feet, still
alive but thoroughly exhausted,
that I was made aware of the
cause of the Bat's encounter.

The Cocktail Beetle, or Devil's
Coach Horse as it is also called,
never fails to engage my atten-
tion when it scuttles across my
path, and sometimes I am fortu-
nate enough to watch a company
of Sexton Beetles interring the
dead body of a mammal, or bird,
with an untiring energy, which,
for insect folk, is really extra-
ordinary. These must be reckoned
among the sanitary agents of the
countryside, and it is certainly
true that much of Nature's hygiene
is due to their industrious efforts.
But, perhaps, of all the insect

legions that populate earth, air, and water, the fascinating
tenants of the nearest stream, or wayside pond, can be studied
to best advantage, as they can be kept in an aquarium, and are
thus under constant observation.

Although he must be kept by himself, owing to carnivorous
tendencies, the Great Water Beetle (Dytiscus marginalis) is a
source of great interest. This species makes itself quite at
home in captivity, but precaution is necessary, as unless the top
of the receptacle containing the specimen is covered with small
mesh gauze, escape is most likely to take place. Having wings,
this predatory creature of our ponds and streams can fly through
the air, and, being peculiarly well adapted to an aquatic life, it

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED

117

is also thoroughly acclimatised in water, and can also crawl
overland. Thus it is free of all three elements.

Every now and again, if watch be kept on the surface of pond
or aquarium, Dytiscus will be seen to rise for the purpose of taking
in a fresh supply of oxygen, and at feeding time the introduction
of an earthworm will provide ocular demonstration of the strong
jaws which this crocodile of insect life possesses.

In the same pond as the Great Water Beetle, there are smaller
inhabitants closely allied. The Whirligig Beetles provide a
fund of amusement as they career round and round on the surface

FIG. 53. — GREAT WATER BEETLE. FIG. 54. — WATER SCORPION.

t

in never-ending circles, and, if the sun is shining, their bodies
are lit up with a bright, steel-coloured coat of mail. The long-
legged Water Measurers are also surface dwellers in the adult
state, but I next want to introduce you to the Water Scorpion.
It is first cousin of the always-engaging Water Boatman, and is
a Water Bug of carnivorous tastes. Its breathing apparatus
is situate at the extremity of the tapered body, and, when a
new supply of air is required, the insect comes to the surface,
protrudes its " tail," and then dives into the mazy depths
beneath. As a rule, it remains hidden among the mud at the
bottom of stagnant water, but, in spite of its ferocious appearance,
the Water Scorpion does not tear its prey to pieces as one might
suppose, but is only able to suck the juices from its body.

Many of these aquatic insects, including the Water Boatman,

118

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

puncture their prey, and introduce into the wound thus made a
poisonous saliva, which serves the purpose of either paralysing,
or killing, its victim outright. Even a fair-sized Minnow may
thus be despatched, and, when the Frog, Newt, and Toad tad-
poles are abundant in Spring, many suffer from the depredations
of this water creature.

FIG. 55.— DRAGON FLY EMERGING.

I have only space at disposal to mention one other insect I
have watched, and it happens to be the most alluring of all. I
refer to the dandy Dragon Fly. The handsome form and amazing
aeroplaning of the adult is known to many people. I have actu-
ally seen it " loop the loop," to use an aeronautical term, an
evolution in the air which is perfectly wonderful, but it is the
Dragon Fly's emergence from an ugly larva to maze-winged imago
which is such an entrancing story. It is a parable by itself, and as
such may well serve as a benediction to this chapter. As it was
one of the first insects which came under my observation when I
want a-fishing, so shall it be the last under review in this section.

INSECTS I HAVE WATCHED 119

I never realised in boyhood's days, as I do now, that this reveller
in the hot July sun passed through such a remarkable change
from the time when its very shadow sends a shudder through
the water in which it at first dwells, for, armed with a powerful
mask, which it shoots out to secure its victim, and strong jaws,
it is, as a larva, almost a match for any other creature of similar
stature. It propels itself through the water by means of a
siphon-tube running along the whole length of the body, and, as
it grows, so it casts its old larval skin, which is almost an exact
replica of its present self. But the time comes when the watery
home must be vacated, for a change is manifest in the once active
larva. It feels weary and ill-at-ease. It possesses a desire to
know something of the great world beyond the limits of the
wayside pond in which it has passed so many profitable hours.
Others of its fellows have succeeded in making their exit from
the depths beneath, and its goggle-eyes have become blurred
as the one left behind tried to follow them in their upward move-
ments. One emancipated brother, and then another, promised
to return to the forest pond to tell of the world above, but, as
Mrs Gatty has so fascinatingly told us in her memorable parables,
never a one came back.

At last, all was ready for the great journey to the light and air
above. Almost inactive, the weary nymph — for such it now is
— climbs the stem of an aquatic plant, and, having anchored
itself, remains motionless. It needs rest from its exertions, and,
as it rests, the influence of light and air, and the mysterious
thing called life within, bring about a change preparatory to the
great awakening.

All being ready, the moment of new birth is heralded, for
there is a sudden jerky movement, a complete somersault is
turned, the thorax of the old nymphal case splits asunder, and,
where there was one, there now appear to be two distinct forms
before us. Have our eyes deceived us ? The truth is that the
one is the old nymphal skin, or case, complete almost of itself,
and the other, as the stumpy but quivering wings disclose, is the
pulsating body of a new creature destined to play its part in the
economy of Nature. With enraptured flight it takes to wing,
and skims, unsteadily at first, but gaining courage " step by
step," over the green mantle of the silent pool in which it passed
the greater part of its existence, and of which it is now freed,
so as to career on unerring wings, backwards or forwards, through
the air, until death recalls it to Mother Earth.

CHAPTER IX

TREES AND FLOWERS

SMALL wonder need exist as to why almost everyone admires
a fine tree, for we learn that the Greeks of old saw a Dryad in
every one of them. Since the dawn of civilisation, men and
women have been intimately associated with trees, and, in the
morning of the world, long, long ago, they were closely connected
with them. Primeval man lived in trees. To him they meant
home, refuge, and strong tower. As times changed, and men
left their wooded fastnesses, they were still foresters, and, to-
day, we are in Letchworth Garden City planting thousands of
young trees, the fruit of which will be gathered by .future genera-
tions. This reafforestation of desolate areas of land should be
state-aided, and not left for private ownership, more especially
as our countryside was so made bare of trees by the memorable
blizzard of March 1916.

When men lived in the woods, trees made the deepest im-
pression upon their powers of imagination. A tree to them was
more than so much timber, a dumb, motionless thing void of
life, for men of old realised it was a creature of sentient being,
all powerful in its healing properties, and capable, moreover,
of inflicting dread punishment upon the neglectful and scornful,
or those who did not offer up sacrifice to it. Men even refused
to step upon the shadow it cast, for they recognised its powers
of governing rain and sunshine, storm and tempest. Trees were
also, as they still remain, guardian angels of the wild creatures
of the forest. Women of old revered them, to men they brought
well-being and prosperity. Through their aid the crops were
made to grow, the herdg to increase. They became men's Gods.
Men worshipped them, offered silent prayer unto them, and to
trees men have even sacrificed — men.

When later in our Island story men built castles, fortified

towns, and other strongholds, tree -worship went out of fashion.

Even the sacred Oak, which was at one time the centre of our

religion in England, and which the Druids were joyous to see

120

TREES AND FLOWERS 121

even in Winter, when it was bushed with green by the growth of
the parasitic Mistletoe, was superseded by the rites of Odin, and
the heroic Gods of our Saxon forefathers. And these, in turn,
were followed by Christian faith and practise. Trees were, as
men's minds became more developed, and their thoughts deepened,
regarded as God's handiwork, His house, His temple, rather
than the Deity Himself. But, although the old Gods were dead,
their dwelling-places remained, and in the Middle Ages the power
of trees on the imagination was very strong. If we read a
mediaeval tale, we shall find that the scene of action is almost
sure to be in the woods and forests. It was through a wood
that King Arthur rode with his merrie knights ; lovers, hermits,
gamekeepers, outlaws, bold Robin Hood and Jack o' Legs,
lived always in the woods of old, and have been immortalised
in stirring ballad and vivid romance.

The love of trees is born within us. We still look up to them
for inspiration, to catch some infection of their immense patience,
and placid happiness. Yet it is disconcerting to notice that,
to most people, one tree is as good as another, when, to the
student, each wayside, or woodland, chieftain has a marked
personality. The Oak is endowed in our national ballads, poetry,
and story with immense powers of strength. It does not require
much imagination to speak of it as King of the Forest, when at
the height of its glorious reign, and, in its declining years, as an
aged monarch. Beyond this the Oak, as I look at it to-day,
fresh-leafed, and full of pendent male catkins all aglow with life,
images to me a noble soul, chivalrous, just, unbending.

An hour or two ago I took shelter from the rain under a green
canopy of overhanging Beeches. The scene, looking upwards
towards the blue sky, was one to which no written description
could do ample justice. In the foreground, to the left of a
pyramidal Horse Chestnut, now lit up with rich candelabras of
blossom, was a fallen Oak, its huge, gnarled limbs recumbent
upon the spot where, as a tiny acorn, it was once, perchance,
crushed underfoot. There he lies prone in an English park,
and I look at him with bended head in sheer reverence, for he
has fought a good fight, he has sheltered many a weary beast,
bird, and winged creature, has never made an ignoble peace,
and now, in death, he sheaths an undishonoured sword.

Thus does the Oak well deserve its title of our national tree.
If I were an artist I would picture a wide -spreading Oak, and,
among its branches, I would paint the figure of a mighty King.

122

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

His royal mien should be pourtrayed by broad shoulders, and
muscular outstretched arms, so as to match the Oak's great
horizontal limbs. The bosky foliage should be represented by
the King's curling hair, the huge trunk by a mighty torso, and
the far-spreading roots by the long folds of his royal mantle.
I look to-day at the Venus of the trees, the Ash, or the grace

and beauty of the Birch,
which has won for it the
title of Lady of the
Woods. Both these trees,
and the suavely graceful
Beech, are best imper-
sonated by gentle women,
but the strange powers,
scents, sombre mysteries,
and dark evergreen foli-
age of the Fir, reveal him
as a beneficent wizard.
The Pine, by his bold
and storm-tossed air, is
the soldier of the frontier.
It is said that sometimes
we cannot see the wood
for the trees, but, quite
as often, we do not see
the trees because of the
wood. To see the in-
dividuality of a tree it is
necessary to study it
alone, where it has every
opportunity of expanding to the full, and is in no way im-
peded by its fellows. I want to see the same tree all the year
through, and season after season. There is hardly a day in
my life when I do not look up at a giant Poplar which stands,
sentinel-like, in a little copse where the Nightingale loves to hide,
and from whose dizzy heights the Tree Pipit delights to gambol.
I compute that I have looked at that immense Poplar (I hesitate
to refer to its species, or variety) over three thousand times, and
yet to-morrow I shall not consider my day complete unless I
renew acquaintance with this favourite giant again. I watch it
all through Winter, and observe the sticky pointed scales which
protect the catkins hidden within. It blossoms, like its cousin

. 56. — BLACK POPLAR LEAF AND CATKINS.

TREES AND FLOWERS 123

the Aspen, before it comes into leaf, and I anxiously watch for
the scales to unroll, and the first catkin to appear. I look forward
with pleasant anticipation to its full-flowering, when, to my
amazement, the magical happens, for, within twenty-four hours,
the long red-stamened catkins develop, and, as the wind springs
up in the night, the tree is soon entirely stripped of its wealth
of male blossoms. A pang of disappointment steals into my heart,
for I again see the tall spreading Poplar almost as bare as in
mid-Winter, and now 'tis Spring ; but I had forgotten its folia-
tion when I was tinged with remorse, and soon, with the coming
of May, the long-stalked, heart-shaped leaves begin to peep out
from their snug cradles. Then, as they develop, and the wind
blows, the whole tree whispers a soothing song of hope, of
Summer's happy days, and Autumn's harvest moon.

Other trees are friends of mine, the Maple, Elm, Horse Chestnut,
Sycamore, and Fir. The Elm is a characteristic tree of North
Hertfordshire, and, although it has a bad habit of sudden snap-
ping, or of not being able to withstand a blizzard, this heavily-
foliaged monarch of our country lanes, which, we are told,
wandered to us from Italy, is a romantic figure even in Winter,
or when, in early Spring, the tufts of crimson flowers proclaim
to the passer-by that all is well for the great awakening.

When I look at an Elm, that tall bosky figure, I see a shepherd
who is piping the airs of Italy, though, perchance, the tree is
English-born after all. Tall and graceful, with closely curling
hair, shaggy cloak, and bushy leggings, featured with gentle
dignity and calm, there he stands, and in the grateful shade his
flock is resting from the noonday sun.

The pastoral side of English life has, during the centuries,
been embodied by the gracious figure of the Elm ; it has become
an essential part of our national possessions, for it flourishes
on many a village green, and our lanes and waysides would be
altered beyond recognition without its familiar presence. Of
this we had ample evidence in the great blizzard of March 28th,
1916, when whole lane sides and favourite meadows were swept
clear of the Elm, and which for centuries had found an abiding
place in homely Hertfordshire.

This tree's welcome green in the heat of Summer, and its
golden fleece in Autumn, its quiet homeliness, so reminiscent of
rural England, and, withal, its refined dignity, are features
which those who are brought into daily contact with it cannot
fail to notice.

124

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

I love the Sycamore's broad canopy, and its clusters of droop-
ing flowers ; the sweet scent of the Lime, and the monotone of
the busy Bees as they sip the nectar from the honeyed flowers,
make a strong appeal to my senses of sight, smell, and sound.
The sturdy Hornbeam, with its decorative catkins in Spring ;
the beauty of the Wild Cherry as it stands out in bridal
array from its woodland companions ; the stolid magnificence

of the Evergreen Holly, and the
real old English personality of
the May ; the bunches of seeds
upon the spreading branches of
the Wych Elm ; the massive
grandeur of the old Willow
under which I dearly delight to
meander, and in whose fissured
bark Jenny Wren has this year
placed her home, these are all
my companions of sunshine and
shade. I make an open confes-
sion that I am a tree -worshipper
Winter and Summer, not for
the valuable timber which they
render, although realising such
importance, but for their elegance
and stateliness, for their useful-
ness to creatures of many kinds,
and the friendliness with which
they inspire all those who have
eyes to see, and hearts to under-
stand.

My rambles among trees and flowers have brought untold joy
into my life, and I search, year by year, for the first golden disc
of the earliest sunflower of the Spring in the person of the Colts-
foot. I watch it craftily pushing its way through the cold clay
soil in which it flourishes, and, as the flower heads open one
by one, they decorate the bleak hillside, or the nearest railway
cutting, with a living raiment of gold. Later, I watch the fruiting
time, as the Coltsfoot first hangs its head, and then, all being in
readiness, it shoots upright, and discloses to view a silky-white
pappus. Later still, the Coltsfoot-shaped leaves appear, and,
by that time, Nature is all agog with life, and one hardly knows
which way to turn for fear of missing some hidden treasure. It

FIG. 57. — COLTSFOOT.

TREES AND FLOWERS 125

is then that I love to get away from the broad highway and
follow the grass-strewn track, or, better still, to leap over the
old stile, and gently saunter across a meadow footpath where no
man shall say you nay. As Marvel has written : —

" There are simple footpaths that I remember loitering through
day after day, in the rural districts of England, with a sense of
enjoyment that never belonged to saunterings in the alleys of
Versailles. A man does not know England, or English land-
scape, or English country feeling, until he has broken away from
railways, from cities, from towns, and clambered over stiles, and

FIG. 58. — WHITE VIOLETS.

.lost himself in the fields. Talk of Chatsworth, and Blenheim,
and Eaton Hall ! Does a man know the pleasure of healthy
digestion by eating whip-syllabub ? Did Turner go to Belvoir
Castle Park for the landscapes which link us to God's earth ?
What a joy and a delight in those field-footpaths of England !
Not the paths of owners only ; not cautiously gravelled walks ;
but all-men's paths, where any wayfarer may go ; worn smooth
by poor feet and rich feet, idle feet and working feet ; open
across the fields from time immemorial ; God's paths for his
people, which no man may shut ; winding — coiling over stiles —
leaping on stepping-stones through brooks — with curves more
graceful than Hogarth's — hieroglyphics of the Great Master
written on the land, which, being interpreted, say,—

" Love one another."
I stoop down to earth to caress the sweet-scented Violet

126 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

nestling in its grassy bed. So shy is it that only by gently
parting the grasses am I able to discover the blue or white
blossoms, and insects, desirous of pillage, must, of necessity,
play hide and seek before they can pay their compliments to
odorata.

Let the March winds blow ever so strong and cold, there is
almost sure to be some sheltered spot where one can find the
Violet. The flowers hide themselves in a most crafty way until
Jack Frost has finally bidden us adieu. Then they advertise
their wares to greater advantage ; but, as a matter of fact, this
favourite plant has also what are known to the botanist as cleisto-
gamous flowers. These are small and inconspicuous, and are
produced later in the year ; and, in addition, they are fertilised
without opening.

Perhaps the pure White Violets appeal to one most as one
searches for them in the first days of Spring, silent, sweet-scented
ambassadors of brighter days to come ; but a colony of Blue
Violets on a sunny bankside is something to be remembered
by the wayfarer who is tempted out of doors at the uprising of
the sap.

The poet Wordsworth writes of hedgerows as

" Little lines of sportive wood run wild,"

and a saunter there during early Spring is sure to reveal many
vegetable treasures to the possessor of the seeing eye.

Outdoor, or field, botany may be carried on successfully all
through the year, for even in Winter crafty seedlings may be
observed thrusting their fresh green coats above the earth's
surface, the childlings of the year. Winter, too, is a capital
time during which to study twigs and buds, and one is able to
become more intimately acquainted with trees and hedgerows
when they are disclosed in all their nakedness.

Along a sunny southern hedgebank in Spring one is sure to
espy the golden chalice of the Lesser Celandine, or Buttercup,
as it is more generally called. At a season when wild flowers
are at a discount, it is pleasant to notice the burnished, star-cut
petals of this modest little wildling, as well as the glossy leaves
which so richly decorate the blossoms, and give them such a
beautiful setting.

That the Lesser Celandine is a splendid coloniser is well known.
It exhibits, at all events, a wonderful habit of co-operation,
plant embracing plant, so as to cover every available inch of

%' TREES AND FLOWERS 127

ground in order that the leaves and flowers may secure their
full share of sunlight and air, before other more robust growths
spring up and choke them.

As a rule, the Celandine is fond of damp spots. It succeeds
as well in the shade as in the open, and the single terminal flowers
light up the surroundings in a truly delightful way. It was
one of Wordsworth's favourite flowers, and doubtless attracted
the poet's attention because of its resurrection from the cold
earth when Nature was still mostly " marking time." One
interesting feature concerning this familiar plant is that our
ancestors christened it Pilewort (" wort " being Anglo-Saxon
for plant) because of the small tubers found upon the root.

If we step into the meadow where King Dandelion has held
undisputed sway for so long a time, a sight not easily forgotten
will meet our gaze. If ever there was a successful co-operator
in Nature, the Dandelion is one. Its deep-seated, milky roots,
strong leaves, silky parachutes, composite flowers, and rapid
growth, are all features of interest, to say nothing of the plant's
beauty, and its usefulness to man and beast.

The leaves are jagged on the edges, and this accounts for the
popular English name of Dandelion, the same being derived
from the French dent de leon, meaning tooth of lion. The strap-
shaped florets, which make up the sunflower-like head of blossoms,
are each complete in themselves. All the essential organs of
reproduction are there, and those who pay constant heed to the
operations of Nature will need no reminder as to the wonderful
transformation scene which takes place in Dandelion meadow
when these vegetable aeroplanes are ready to go globe-trotting
in their coquettish search for a new home upon Mother Earth.

If we wander by the streamside, or in the damp places adjoin-
ing, another great sight in the Spring pageant will meet our gaze.
I refer to the flaring cups of the Marsh Marigold. This beautiful
wild flower is a larger cousin of the Lesser Celandine already
described, as the general form of the whole plant at once displays.
The fine golden flowers are admirably thrown off by the large,
leathery leaves, and the leaves and stems contain an abundant
supply of water, so that they may be prepared to withstand
an attack of drought.

The Nettles are making rapid headway now — both Dead
and Stinging, and among a colony of these plant-warriors, I one
day chanced to see a very pretty scene. Two delicate, sweet-
scented Narcissi peeping from their woodland bed was an un-

128 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST ,

expected pleasure ; and though they owed their presence to
introduction by man, they harmonised beautifully with their
surroundings, and gave a magic touch to the quiet bit of cover
in which I wandered on that eventful morning.

Some scenes one has witnessed are indelibly inscribed upon
one's memory, and in Spring, when the Nature lover is met at
every step with some new treasure, certain episodes are bound
to stand out from the rest, which are really never entirely
obliterated.

Not far away from the two sentinel-like Narcissi, I espied, on
the aforesaid Spring day, another sight of unmarketable beauty.
I refer to the Wind Flowers, or Wood Anemones. The enthusi-
astic observer of outdoor life is so inclined to wax eloquent
respecting the particular phase of study he is engaged upon at
the moment, that it is difficult to realise what really is his
favourite, or most striking, theme ; but to unexpectedly come
face to face with a whole wood full of dancing Anemones, so frail
and chaste, so graceful and courteous in their stately bow, is
one not easily forgotten.

When the trees and bushes are mostly leafless, a first glance at
the Anemones in their countless thousands, coyly curtseying to
one another and to us, is apt to give one (and especially an in-
experienced footfarer, who is totally unprepared for such a sight)
a sudden shock. But the shock, needless to say, is a pleasant
one, and when the first symptoms are over, the Nature lover
will find it difficult to tear himself away from the quiet acre of
beauty which lies all around him in the favourite wood he knows
and loves so well.

In the meadows, too, a rare floral pageant is being prepared
for men to gaze upon, and what is equally, if not more, important,
for other creatures to feast upon. Our English meadows are a
sight for the Gods when presented to us like a cloth of gold by
the yellow chalices of the various species of Crowfoot. At such
a time, one looks for, and expects to see, the first butterflies
toying upon the wing, and the Swallow skimming across the
meadow in exhilarating flight. A typical pastoral scene in rural
England of the season of which I write.

Some species of Crowfoot (or Buttercup) do not grow in the
meadow, making their homes in the nearest pool, or stream, but
those upon land are wonderful examples of colonisation, and, once
they have got a firm hold, it is difficult to eradicate them. The
Bulbous Crowfoot is especially troublesome in this respect, and

TREES AND FLOWERS

129

you may know it without examining the root, by means of the
greenish -yellow sepals, which turn back on to the main stem,
and probably act the part of sentries by forbidding unwelcome
insect visitors from creeping in the golden palace unawares,
without offering anything in return. The story of Nature is
largely one of " give and take." Such seems to me, in a sentence,
one of the great laws which rule and control the web of life.

I am tempted to relate that the Primrose vistas in the belt
of woodland I have visited since I was a boy are, to my mind,
and especially at the time, among the fairest sights I can ever
hope to see.

PIG. 59. — GREATER STITCHWORT.

The Primroses, which so richly decorate the leafy, woodland
bed in early Spring, are among my earliest recollections, for I
remember how, as a family of Nature lovers, we always used to
respond to the call of the woods when Primrose time had come
again ; and it is probably because of old associations that I have
such a warm place in my affections for this favourite flower.

Linked up with childish memories, too, is the Greater Stitch-
wort, for the same sunny hedgebanks, along which I wandered
as a boy, still have their full complement of the pure waxen-like
flowers of this common plant. It receives its generic name of
Stellaria from its starry heads of blossom, and, when at its best,
presents, with the abundant Hedge Parsley, one of the fairest
sights in all England.

Traveller's joy, Wild Clematis, or, as it is more popularly

130 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

called, Old Man's Beard, is a familiar plant to me when at its
flowering height. The yellowish blossoms have a quiet, refined
beauty all their own, and the way in which the plant masses
itself over and along a hedgerow, is not the least interesting
feature concerning it.

It appears to thrive wonderfully well on chalky soil. Later
in the year, the feathery awns make their appearance, silky in
texture, and of delicate workmanship. Then it is that Old Man's
Beard deserves its popular and old-fashioned name, and at
Christmas time it is in great demand for the decoration of churches
and other places.

Attached to each feathery awn there is a small egg-shaped
seed, and it is obvious that this plant largely depends upon wind
to distribute its fruit. The seed has a distinct peppery taste,
but whether, in spite of this, it is partaken of by birds, I have
not yet been able to discover.

It will probably cause some amount of surprise to the casual
observer when it is stated that Traveller's Joy belongs to the
same order of flowering plants as the Common Crowfoot, or
Buttercup, indeed, in the classification of British flowering
plants having two seed leaves (called dicotyledons), the plant-
under notice holds the lowest place. Our British floras invari-
ably begin with Clematis vitalba, as Traveller's Joy is known
to the botanist, and hence there is more than one reason why
it is entitled to notice here.

A favourite chalk dell, to which I am in the habit of repairing
when in search of specimens for use in Nature Study classes,
was recently a veritable picture of wild flowers. For the most
part, the plants consisted of remarkably large clusters of Bitter
Candytuft, the rich blue and purple of the curiously-named
Viper's Bugloss, the delicate yellow racemes of Wild Mignonette,
and a few stray Poppies. The colour effect was really magnifi-
cent, and, as seen towards evening, with the sun sinking in the
west, it was a sight worth walking some distance to behold.

One of the most accommodating wild flowers which I delight
to notice, from early Spring to mid-Winter, is the Cow Parsnip.
Its umbrella -shaped heads of small flowers, each worthy of close
examination under a pocket microscope, make a brave show,
and are usually well tenanted in Summer with the Cardinal
Beetle, which, presumably, finds a store of nectar acceptable to
its palate. When the plant goes to seed in Autumn, I like to
watch the Sparrows and other Finches busily collecting the

TREES AND FLOWERS

131

flat receptacles that encase the precious germ within, and, as I
brush past the dignified Parsnip, towering above its fellows, I
unconsciously dislodge many of the seeds, and thus aid in its
distribution.

In some districts its cousin, the Yellow Parsnip — the wild
ancestor of our Garden vegetable — is a familiar feature of the
countryside, and, in some seasons, reaches an astounding height.
The pale yellow flowers give a
pleasant touch of refined colour
to the Summer haunts which I
frequent, and I have recently
discovered what appears to be
an undescribed variety of this
wildling, with deeply-cut leaves,
apt evidence of the work that
remains to be carried out by
those who are willing to co-
operate in the new field botany.

Summer produces some wonder-
ful floral pictures. The fields of
ruddy Sainfoin are a sight never
to be forgotten, especially to-
wards evening, when the western
sky is flushed with gold, and the
dying rays slant across the
meadow. One must look towards
the sun to get the full effect of
the scene. If a visit be made
earlier in the day, busy Bees will
be discovered among the radiant
blossoms, and Painted Ladies

coquet over, and around, the Sainfoin community in sheer
delight.

But to-day the flaring red Poppies among the corn are a verit-
able feast of colour. There is probably no finer effect among our
wild flowers than the Scarlet Poppies in the corn, and a recent
tour through North Hertfordshire, and a part of the adjoining
county of Cambridgeshire, convinced me, and my companions
of the chase, that this was indeed a Poppy year.

When one examines a seed case of the Poppy, that delicately-
fashioned urn-shaped vessel, which holds the fruit secure until
the time has arrived for it to be scattered, wonder is expressed

FIG. 60. — Cow PARSNIP.

132 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

that there are not more Poppies than there are. Millions of the
small seeds must never come to maturity. If they did, we
should, during the Summer, live in Poppyland, surrounded
everywhere by these bright-liveried soldiers of the vegetable world.

Doubtless several kinds of birds — and Finches, in particular —
feed upon the seeds of the plant in question, and thus help to
keep down the numbers of this farmer's pest, but there must be
other agencies at work of which we are not cognisant.

I have certainly seen more Poppies in Hertfordshire and
Cambridgeshire than at Cromer, Overstrand, and elsewhere on
the Norfolk coast, immortalised by Clement Scott as Poppyland.

Interesting experiments have been made with regard to the
vitality of seeds buried below the soil, and I have myself seen
fields cut up for building purposes which had not yielded a single
Poppy within living memory. Soon after the soil was moved,
however, a host of Scarlet Poppies sprang into being, and, before
the buildings were erected, the loose soil around was clothed
with a red robe fit for an Emperor. The fact is that many seeds
which are buried in the earth retain their vitality for several
years, and it only requires light, air, and moisture to set them
germinating, as the advent of thousands of Poppies in a grass
meadow is apt evidence.

Unsettled weather appears to suit the Wild Mignonette, for,
at the time of writing, this pretty plant is a great feature of the
countryside, especially in chalky districts, where it flourishes
exceedingly.

When in the Fens, I was rather surprised to find whole fields
almost covered with the soft, greenish-yellow racemes of this
plant. When thus seen a most pleasing effect is produced, and
in a county, such as Cambridge, which is so well supplied with
water, the wild plants attain a very considerable size. If the
Mignonette of our gardens, which, unlike the wild species, is
beautifully scented, could be grown so luxuriantly as the plants
which may now be seen on almost any country ramble in North
Herts, then, indeed, a splendid addition would be made to our
garden flowers.

In the heyday of Summer, when the Roses are all a-bloom
in our gardens, and Nature is one continuous feast of delight,
then I hie away to a Bramble bush to find, as Elizabeth Barrett
Browning says, that —

"Earth's crammed with Heaven
And every common bush is afire with God."

TREES AND FLOWERS 133

I am never weary of studying this scrambler, as Darwin
christened it, and there is always something of interest to record
concerning it at all seasons of the year. Although it successfully
throttles other plants, and even goes to battle with the sturdy
Hawthorn, and usually comes olf victor, I must confess to a great
liking for the Bramble as a Nature Study subject. Plentifully
supplied with prickles, it is able to obtain and preserve its place in
the sun, and, from many points of view, serves a useful purpose
in life. An established Bramble bush, in which the branches are
intertwined so as to form an impenetrable barrier to human folk,

FIG. 61. — BRAMBLE.

is a sheet anchor to various birds which nest, or rest, there. Among
its evergreen leaves they are admirably protected, and, when
in luscious fruit, there is an abundant food supply near at hand.
The silky flowers, so prettily ornamented with a bunch of stamens
within, are very delicate, the five petals proclaiming this country-
side stalwart as a member of the Kose family. I like to see it in
a hard Winter best, when it loses practically all its leaves, as I
am then able to observe to better advantage the interlacing
branches, the framework, as it were, over which the living cover-
ing is so craftily spread later in the year. The plant climbs,
creeps, runs along the ground, and hangs down from the summit
of its host, as if to remind the wayfarer of the mass of vegetation
of some tropical forest. One does not notice these things unless
a special look-out is kept, but there will be some, at least, among

134 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

my readers who will bear with me when I state that no other
British plant throttles everything which it entangles as does the
Bramble. It is so desirous of making its holding more secure,
that it sends upwards, and then down, adventurous branches,
which, on touching the soil, root at the tips, and thus become
fixed in the soil all round the parent plant. Other branches
are told off on an exploring expedition, to stay, perhaps, a neigh-
bouring branch of Thorn, or Elder, from approaching any closer
to Blackberry corner, and nought but the hand of man can stay
its course. It throws out huge trailing branches, like the tentacles
of a giant Octopus, and these attain a length of several feet in
one season. There is no doubt that, as a Nature Study subject,
the Bramble is one of the best examples with which I am
acquainted, and if I may take my rambles along a Hertfordshire
green lane, so characteristic of the county, where Bramble
bushes border the hedgerow on either side, I realise that I am
participating in an environment which, as a haunt for wild life,
could hardly be bettered.

Our shyer birds, such as the Blackcap, Whitethroat, and
Garden Warbler, greatly relish a Bramble entanglement in which
to place their frail nests, and it is only when the plant has lost
its leaves in Winter, that a census can be accurately taken of
the homesteads which were hidden among the wealth of foliage
earlier in the year.

As soon as the first severe frosts arrive, then, sure enough,
the leaves come toppling to the ground, and change colour before
one has time to realise that Autumn has placed her foot well on
the threshold.

The Hedge Maple is one of the first plants to change the colour
of its dress, and already there are to be seen patches of guinea-
gold in the hedge opposite my study window.

Hard by, the rich dark purple leaves of the Dogwood are to
be seen, and as the berries have long since disappeared, eaten
by hungry birds, whose names are unknown to me, this shrub
has suddenly come into prominence again.

A fine spell of weather experienced in September is doubly
welcome, and one day I spent some time watching the Red
Admirals and Peacock Butterflies enjoying a pilgrimage from
flower to flower. The plant in request was the aromatic Water
Mint, and, as the rich velvety insects settled down to work on
the pale mauve flowers, the effect was one not easily forgotten.
Curiously enough, the Red Admirals do not seem to have visited

TREES AND FLOWERS 135

the Sedums in the garden this Autumn. Why is this ? The
pink heads of blossom of the Ice Plant, as the Sedum is also
called, are, as a rule, an unfailing attraction to the Red Admiral.
As a matter of fact, I have grown these decorative plants for
several years for the sole purpose of attracting this handsome
insect in the Autumn. This year, however, it has failed me.

Has the reader noticed how quickly the Starlings and other
birds make a raid upon the berries of the Elder when they com-
mence operations ? In a wet Summer birds have plenty of
moisture and succulence, but when a dry September sets in, then
the Elderberries come in extremely useful to our feathered
population, and they soon make short work of them.

Birds are not the only bipeds which make a raid upon the
Elder, for during my wanderings I meet several parties of women
and children gathering the fruit, for the purpose of making Elder-
berry wine. That this is a good, wholesome drink I can myself
testify, and I remember that some years ago I always had a hot
glass of it when making a Winter call upon a friendly game-
keeper.

The syrup-laden berries of the Purging Buckthorn are also
in request during the Autumn. I cannot discover to my satis-
faction that birds are fond of them, but Norton Common, and
other districts, have invited gangs of women and girls to gather
the black, juicy Buckthorn berries for the purpose, as I under-
stand, of conveyance to Hitchin chemists, to whom they are
sold at the rate of 2d. per Ib. I have no complaint to make
at the gathering in of the wild fruits of the earth — the appetising
Crab-apple jelly upon the table is a testimony to my feeling in
this respect-^but I do strongly object when whole hordes of
outsiders visit a district, pull the trees and shrubs to pieces in
a most disgraceful way, and throw down the branches when the
berries have been taken from them.

Surely these country operations can be conducted without
giving offence to one's neighbours, and there is no need to intro-
duce the spirit of vandalism, which, to say the least, is rampant
enough at all times.

The Starling, by the way, is not the only bird which has a
sweet " tooth," for I was recently watching a soft-billed bird,
the Lesser Whitethroat, feeding upon Elderberries. I had just
seen the bird catch and devour a fine green caterpillar, and,
having stored that away successfully, it took up its position in
an Elder bush, and, by way of dessert, feasted upon several

136 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

berries to its evident delight. There is no doubt that some of
our Warblers do take soft fruits in the Autumn, but they do not
perpetrate much harm, and their good deeds far outweigh their
bad ones.

My botanical excursions take me, each year, to the haunts of
various kinds of Orchids. One season I noted down as many as
sixteen different species, and on one
memorable journey observed nine species
in blossom. One of my treasured re-
collections is the sight of a colony of
White Helleborine in a little Beech copse,
where the Wood Wren sings its some-
what monotonous song. I lit upon the
copse unawares, not knowing what it
contained, and the sight that met my
gaze will never be effaced. The tall,
dignified Helleborine was at its best,
and the greenish-white, flask-shaped
flowers gave a glow of light to the
otherwise sombre garb of the little
coppice.

I have sought the heart of an Oak
wood, where Herb Paris, or True Lover's
Knot, flourishes, to find the Bird's Nest
Orchid, and in the damp meadow ad-
joining I have discovered many varieties
of the Spotted Orchid, as well as the
Pyramidal, and Frog.

And the little copse on the chalk

escarpment is peopled during Summer
FIG. 62.— BEE ORCHID. -.i. T™ r\ i.- 5 o-i

with Fly Orchids and Roman Snails. I

know not which I best like to discover, but find some excuse
to pass that way whenever I can.

In the old woods at home I always knew where to find the first
groups of Early Purple Orchids, just over the bank bordering
the deep ditch where the Primrose legions gathered, and I have
tramped many miles across country in order to see the Bee
Orchid rearing its proud head among the luxuriant herbage of a
ride, cut through a wood. To-day this Orchid flourishes exceed-
ingly within a stone's throw of my front door, but its days are
numbered, as civilisation penetrates into its wild fastnesses.

As a change from the meadows, woods, and downs, I ramble,

TREES AND FLOWERS

137

as opportunity offers, along the banks of some enchanted stream,
for there I meet with a different fauna and flora, which, to an
all-round field naturalist, brings unfeigned delight.

The refined grace of the Flowering Rush, and Great Water
Plantain, are old companions of mine, and
I love to tread near the secluded retreat
of the Water Mint so as to stir up the
pleasant aroma which this plant offers.

The nearer bosom of the water is grace-
fully silhouetted with the fairy chalices of
innumerable blossoms of Water Crowfoot,
an aquatic cousin of the flaring gold of
the one I know better in the green
meadows, and I stay to listen to the
wind rustling the Rushes and Arrowheads,
until a Sedge Warbler warns me that I
am encroaching ^>on its chosen habitat,
and a Reed jjjjinting tinkles out its
impetuous little song.

I have almost risked life and limb in
scaling the saddle of Goatfell, away in the
Isle of Arran, in my efforts to discover
some new plant treasure, such as Salix
herbacea, our smallest British Shrub, no
taller than a Daisy, or to see in their
own homes the Northern Bedstraw, Bog
Asphodel, Grass of Parnassus, Bog Pimpernel, Tutsan, and Cotton
Grass.

I have sought for (and found) the carnivorous Sundew on
Dartmoor, and feasted my eyes in glorious Devon upon the living
patchwork of the purple Heather, and the fire of the flaming
Western Furze, perhaps the greatest floral pageant I have ever
witnessed anywhere during my expeditions among trees and
flowers.

FIG. 63.— ARROW HEAD.

CHAPTER X

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS

IP we follow the Calendar. Spring commences on March 21st,
Summer June 22nd, Autumn September 23rd, and Winter
December 22nd. Now, my lifelong experience as a field naturalist
has taught me that these Calendar dates are not to be relied
upon, and it is with real difficulty that one is able to point out
the seasonal line of demarcation that exists. The clock of
Nature has such a large dial, and the hands go round so quickly,
that, for at least six months out of the twjjve, it is well-nigh
impossible for one individual to tell the ti«ptvdth any degree
of certainty. Yet, in spite of this word of warning, I find that
the seasons are always faithful, though sometimes, when Winter
lingers and Spring hesitates, it needs a stout heart to go forward
in confidence for the coming of the May. In any case, the magic
accompanying the arrival, be it early or late, is something to
be remembered, and this is especially so to those who have
watched constantly all through the dark days of Winter for
Spring's assured awakening.

The story of the circling year is entrancing in its constant
variety, and unwearying patience. The study of outdoor life
is such a continuous round of pleasure that the keen observer
hardly notices the marking off, as it were, of one season from
another. This is most noticeable, of course, between Spring and
Summer, and late Summer and early Autumn. Between
Autumn and Winter, again, there is difficulty of differentiation,
for, as I watch the stumpy male catkins developing upon the
Hazel, even before the nuts have browned in the mellow days
of September, I know that Winter has not come, but that evidence
of Spring is here ! So, too, in mid- Winter do I discover evidence
of that which is to be, for, in December, or early January, I
undertake a pilgrimage to find the scented Winter Heliotrope
in full blossom, or watch the young Lambs frolic round their
dames.

There is often — as in the memorable Winter-Spring of 1916-7—

138

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS

139

a great struggle for supremacy between one season and another.
Never, perhaps, in the history of the world have men and women
so looked forward to Spring and Summer as during the year in
which I write. They had passed through the severest Winter
for twenty-five years, and, if my information is correct, the
latest Spring for five hundred years. Be that as it may, the
Spring of 1917 was a long time coming, for, up to mid- April,
we experienced stern Winter, with its sweeping snowstorms
battling with the sunlight, and few among us could tell when the
conflict would cease. Some almost doubted if Spring would
come again, but the devoted Nature-lover never lost heart, even
if May Day had almost arrived before better weather was experi-
enced, and then came — Summer !

FIG. 64. — SHEEP AND)LAMBS.

The countryside was, in the first four months of 1917, in a
bedraggled condition, owing to the heavy falls of snow, together
with sleet, frost, and wind. In the first week of April I rambled
day after day in search of bird migrants due from oversea, but
there was no response. How could one expect otherwise with
the countryside as bleak and bare as on a February morning ?
But, to those who had not lost faith, the transformation came,
and, with the clothing of the earth, the overdue bird visitors
returned, for by then the insect legions were abroad, and it was
safe for these feathered voyagers to come back to their native
land. A fortnight of glorious Summer weather early in May

140 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

brought magic to bird, beast, insect, and plant, to man it meant
hope and the upward look. Nature was eventually more lavish
than ever before in my lifetime, even though the Blackthorn,
usually associated in our minds with February or March, did not
first come into blossom until May 5th, when the Maythorn itself
is, as a rule, due to crown the hedgerows with its wealth of
flowers. The Blackthorn was surely never finer than during
1917, when, for the most part, the milk white bloom appeared
with the leaves, a rare occurrence in rural England worthy of
note.

The Oaks burst into flower and leaf in a single night, and my
favourite nooks, that wore such a desolate appearance earlier on,
were transformed into green alleys, along which it was again
sheer delight to wander. It really seemed as if Nature was deter-
mined to give of her superbest, to temporarily threaten failure,
and then, having tried our faith, she sent forth a hasty summons
to all her creatures to stir from their long Winter sleep, and make
the old Earth glad again.

I cannot keep pace with the magic of Spring. It is all too
vast, too absorbing, for one to assimilate, so great is the rush that
takes place when this genial Fairy arrives with her fair courtiers.
I know not which way to turn for fear of missing some newly-
risen wildling, and there must be some limit to individual effort.

Nature has taught me something of the magic influence of
the Spring-cleaning of the countryside, of Tier law of hygiene.
I seem to realise what we owe to the prince of Spring cleaners,
the sun, when it penetrates into the darkest corners of the earth,
and makes them beautiful, but it all takes place so stealthily
that I am mystified at this yearly resurrection. I perceive the
crafty seedlings clothing a hedgeside, or waste place, with their
newborn leaves, I see the catkin-bearing trees with their com-
plement of flowers before the leaves appear. This is an example
of unselfishness, a self-imposed sacrifice to benefit the race rather
than the individual. I watch a favourite hedgerow renew its
fresh green livery. Its coat is, at first, a mere patchwork, as
little flushes of life appear here and there, but the full garment
is worn before one has time to realise that the greatest magician
in the world has taken the stage, and is continually deceiving
the astonished audience as to exactly what is to happen next.

I go to my favourite meadow. I stoop to notice at closer
quarters the first Daisy-flower of the year. Then, when I can
place my outstretched fingers over seven of them at once, I

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS

141

know that, according to Hertfordshire folk lore, I need fear no
man, and then, a day or two afterwards, when I chance to pass
that way, the whole meadow is studded with the wee, modest,
crimson-tipped flowers, producing an effect of which only Daisies
are capable.

I visit a sunlit pond. The water is cold, dark, and uninviting,
but there is life in and about it, and I know that things are
stirring. Experience teaches me this, and I realise that patience
will bring its own reward ; that soon the pond will respond to
stimulus, and life will pulsate with creatures innumerable from
muddy bottom to mirrored surface.

FIG. 65. — PROG.

I note that a few Frogs are already making their annual pilgrim-
age to the pond, and it is remarkable to observe how they centralise
here from the surrounding fields, woods, and ditches. I watch
them migrating to this pond every Spring, and I have developed
such a strong habit of climbing the fence to get a better view of the
haunt of the rare Water Soldier, that I rarely pass that way without
falling into this irresistible temptation. The pond itself is 'always
worthy of a visit, even in the depth of Winter, and, although I
have only known it for about ten years, it is already associated
in my mind with some of my happiest memories. I shall always
remember the croaking of the Frogs in Spring, the toothed
rosette of leaves of the Water Soldier, the early Blackcap, the
Great Reed Mace, and what one day appeared to be an aged
Bream, sunning its body near the surface.

142 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

I go to a belt of woodland. All is quiet, sombre, death-like.
A Jay shrieks, or a Woodpecker makes a loud tapping, which
strangely disturbs the peace. The trees are stolid, the earth
beneath still bears its plenitude of fallen leaves, which rustle
as we tread upon them, until we feel that in such a sacred fastness,
and under such conditions, we must not invade the place because
of its quiet sanctity.

I meander by the stream. It is still early Spring. The water
rushes impetuously on its mad scamper towards the sea. It is
strangely different to the scene we witnessed last Summer, and
shall yet again. A Moorhen clucks as if she resents intrusion
upon her chosen haunt, a Water Vole " bobs " suddenly, and sends
a shudder coursing through our veins. Can it be that yonder
mud-strewn bank, with its debris brought down by the Winter
torrent, will be clothed in after-time with the ruddy glow of
Willow Herb, tall spikes of Purple Loosestrife, and giant heads
of Hemp Agrimony, among which the Sedge-bird will later play
hide and seek ? The Alder and White Poplar alone proclaim
that Spring is on the threshold, for the catkins are making head-
way, and a solitary Sallow bush, in the watery copse on the
opposite shore, is flecked with silver, waiting patiently for the
sun and the gentle breeze, the Bees and Flies, and the Willow
Wren.

I hear an unfamiliar bird note. A long Winter has passed
since I heard it last, and now it strikes strangely upon the ear.
It is just a simple bugle call consisting of two, and sometimes
three, notes. Joy steals into my heart, for that feathered
messenger has come to tell me of brighter days and sunnier skies,
of flowery meadows, and bosky woods. I go on my way rejoicing,
for I know from old associations what the presence of that little
mite in the willows means to me, but I am unsatisfied. I begin
to moralise about the magic of it all. It is strangely elusive.
My brain is in a whirl. I want to get at the mind hidden beneath
the feathers. A few days previous this ambassador of Spring
— the Chiff -Chaff — was wintering on the northern shores of the
Mediterranean, waiting for some strange impulse belonging to
bird life before venturing upon its perilous journey, crossing
oceans and continents unhindered in a frantic endeavour to return
to the spot where, last Summer, it reared its downy brood.

The little incident mystifies me. I want to follow the bird
from the time when the chill of Autumn the previous year warned
it to seek a more congenial clime, and I am anxious to see it in

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS 143

its Winter retreat, and to accompany it back again to the Lome-
land. I do not understand how these feathered wanderers find
their way unaided from pole to pole. I know not how the familiar
Swallow, which I ringed last year, should be able to return to its
old haunt, when, in the meantime, it had journeyed as far away
as Natal, to pass the Winter days.

I listen to a Mistle Thrush. His song is doubly welcome now,
when so few birds are singing, but his notes proclaim both message
and mystery. I cannot elucidate the strange fascination of this
bird music, each species with call, cry, or love-song to itself,
and I find myself always looking forward with abundant hope,
never wearying, and yet unsatisfied.

I witness the solicitude of parent birds for their young, I view
their homesteads, I observe their laws of morality and cleanli-
ness, and I am at a loss to ascertain the inner meaning of it all.
And yet I watch the same succession year by year with unabated
vigour. The Cuckoo is calling within a hundred yards of the
open study window as I write, but its wandering voice never
fell so pleasantly upon my ears as on this magical May evening.
Last night, and during the early hours of this morning, the
thunder crashed, vivid lightning lit up the trees and bushes as
I have never witnessed before, and the gentle rain from Heaven
descended upon the parched earth. Through it all the Cuckoo
courageously told his plaintive tale, and ascending Larks were
face to face with Nature's loud artillery at break of dawn, still
buoyant and undismayed.

I saunter in my garden when the early flowers are due to warn
us of Spring magic. I note the first green dagger of the Daffodil,
I further observe the first plant in crumpled bud, and then the
first signs of yellowing. I look forward with pleasant anticipa-
tion to such a Spring as I have never known, and to the Daffodil's
awakening. I lovingly caress the first venturesome blossom,
then another, but, presto, with the advent of the sun, soft skies,
and balmy air, I find my border goldened with the dear, dancing
blossoms, and in a few days they have come and gone. They
will return to cheer me another Spring, but that has yet to be.

I watched the first Pear blossom open its dimpled eyes one
May morning, but before I could realise it, or keep pace with the
magic of it all, the whole tree was bridled with flowers, and now
they, too, have departed all too soon.

I walk leisurely along my little rows of cordon Apple trees.
It seems but yesterday when I pruned them to encourage the

144 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

fruiting spurs. I looked with longing eyes at the prospect of
a plentiful supply of blossom buds. The next time I ventured
that way the sweetly-scented petals had all uncurled.

Quite early in the year I stood
with kindred souls in a secluded
wood, and was brought into
touch with the matchless beauty
of the scene. Anemones and
Primroses vied with each other
in luxury of dress. The vivid
green of Dog's Mercury gave to
the woodland bed a magic touch,
and these kindred souls, toil-
ing all the week in workshop,
factory, and office, went on

bended knees so as to be in as
PIG. 66. — COMMON LIZARD. , . ., ,

close communion as possible

with these, the Poet's darlings. It was an Oak wood studded
with Hazel bushes. The blue sky above, the songs of ascending
Larks in the adjacent meadows, the lilting strains of a great-
hearted Thrush, the whimpering of a tiny Shrew Mouse, and,
on an open patch of dry ground, the scuttling of a Lizard, all
added variety, which Whittier pronounced as charming. Even
as we grow older amidst such an environment we find : —

" Life's burdens fall,
Its discords cease,
I lapse into the glad release
Of Nature's own exceeding peace."

It seems that, when participating in Nature, memories of happy
days spent in the depth of the country are as pleasant as actual
experiences. You cannot have one without the 'other, and it
is the combination of the two which brings its own reward.
There is always looking backward as well as forward. The
motto on my desk calendar to-day is after my own heart and
reads : " God helps us with our headpieces and our hands, as
well as with our souls." The author is George Eliot.

This magic of the seasons cannot be easily defined. I have
tried many times to speak of and write about it, but have never
satisfactorily succeeded. Occasionally, inspiration comes, and
then one is able to build up the entrancing story fairly success-
fully, but, however futile one's efforts may be, there always

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS 145

remains the thirst for knowledge, and constant search for
truth.

It is Summer time now. The whole woodland resounds with
the songs of birds, and Nature is at her best. The stern hand
of Winter, the halting footsteps of Spring, are all forgotten now
that the Hawthorn is wreathed in blossom, and Elder, Dogwood,
and Privet scent the morning air. I never remember the Maple
so abundantly laden with honeyed flowers, nor, as one might
expect, insect visitors so frequent. There is magic in every
square yard of territory, and one's observation ground is so un-
limited at this season of the year, that one hesitates to go far
afield for fear of losing touch with the closer operations of animal
and plant life. It seems only yesterday that I noticed the
Bryonies, both Black and White, peeping through the respondent
earth, and now both plants have ascended towards the light and
air, the former by means of twisting its sensitive stems either
round one another, or a neighbouring plant, the latter as a result
of its tendrils, which form a living spiral. Sometimes, the Black
Bryony entwines its new growth around the dead stems of the
previous year, and thus secures aid in life through death.

The Black Bryony has sharp-pointed, heart-shaped leaves,
which have a glossy surface. The leaves and flower buds are
packed close together in infancy, but, as the snaky head develops,
and the stem elongates, the necessary organs separate, and eventu-
ally occupy such a position as will, bring light and sustenance
through the agency of the leaves. Festooned with coral-red
berries in Autumn, the leaves having already withered, Black
Bryony brings a rich feast of colour to the place it chooses for
a home.

White Bryony is a pretender, or rather, I should say, its English
name is misleading, for it is not a Bryony, but a member of the
Cucumber family, the only wild representative we have. Its
rough leaves are lobed, instead of shiny and heart-shaped, greyish
at first, and very hairy, so as to be protected from latel frosts and
the ravages of caterpillars. The berries are red, but they lack
the richness of the other species mentioned. In addition, they
are round instead of egg-shaped, and do not bear the gloss so
characteristic of Tamus communis, which acquires its name of
Black Bryony because the rootstock develops large black
tubers.

Both these climbing plants are constant companions of my
rambles, and I delight in watching them stealthily improving

146 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

their stature until they have obtained, by dint of great industry,
a prominent position in the hedgerow, or bush, where they have
become thoroughly established.

The bank bordering the deep ditch — but recently void of plant
associations, now made gay writh a wealth of wild flowers — is a
study of itself. First came the seedlings, Goosegrass, young
Parsley, Chickweed, Stitchwort, Woundwort, and the rest. Later
on, the scene was hardly recognisable, so great was the change, as
crowds of plant warriors took part in the struggle for supremacy.

Where the Celandine starred the pathside of this pleasant
hedgebank, only a stone's throw from my home, and along which
I wander day by day, it is in Summer peopled with tall Hedge
Parsley and Woundwrort, the latter rough to the touch and
possessing a pungent odour. In the damper portions of the bank,
the Sweet Ciceley flourishes, and may at once be distinguished
from the commoner Hedge Parsley by the mealy patches upon
the graceful, fern-like leaves. I first met with this plant in
Scotland, from whence I gathered the long-ribbed seed, and
scattered it in this southern fastness, where it evidently finds
the conditions suited to its prosperity.

Magic is in the bushes and herbaceous plants which con-
stitute the hedge itself. Here Buckthorn, Hawthorn, Maple,
Dogwood, and Wild Clematis present an impenetrable barrier,
and in Spring the Brimstone Butterfly comes sailing along
the hedgerow in search of Buckthorn for the purpose of
depositing her eggs, or a buccaneering Humble Bee introduces
its drowsy monotone as it industriously pursues its sweet pillage.
I do not understand where these Butterflies, such as the Peacock
and Small Tortoiseshell, hibernate during Winter, or how they
are able to withstand such severe weather as we experienced
during 1916-7. A bright, sunny day, tempered with a warm
atmosphere, will tempt them from their hiding places in early
Spring ; but it is not until the Small Blue, Orange-tip, Small
Copper, Wall Brown, the Kinglet, Meadow Brown, Grayling, the
Skipper, and other Butterflies are a -wing that insect life reaches
high -water mark. All these possess marked characteristics
during flight. The burnished wings of the Small Copper always
attract my attention in Summer, as this gay little fellow flirts
before my eyes along a well-trodden path, settling just ahead
of me out of harm's way, and yet permitting a fairly close approach.
The Wall Brown has a somewhat similar habit, although it is a
larger species. It spreads its velvety wings wide open upon the

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS 147

ground, rather than settle upon a wayside flower, but to see the
Ringlet to advantage one must saunter where the Bramble is
in blossom, for which this Butterfly shows great liking. It is
not a strong flier, and is easily observed, fluttering in front of
one as if a leisured existence was more enjoyable than hurry-
scurry.

To find the Meadow Brown, a hayfield, decked with a luxuriance
of grasses and other wild flowers, should be visited, a resort also
relished by the Skipper, which has a habit of settling clumsily
upon herbage in a lackadaisical way, reminding the onlooker of
a moth rather than a butterfly.

At night time moths and other insects hold high revel, and at
such time the magical effect of darkness
becomes pertinently manifest when one
rambles along a country lane. There, one
will hear the drowsy hum of the Dor Beetle
as it pursues its nocturnal wanderings, and,
if the door, or window, of the house be left
open, it is most interesting to take note of
the strange visitors which will be lured
inside by a strong light. One hears a
whirring, a sudden collision, and a fall.
On stooping down to ascertain the
identity of this uncanny creature of the FIG. 67.— COCKCHAFER.
night, one may discover the dismembered

body of a Cockchafer. It is a Beetle, inseparably associated with
a sultry evening in leafy June, and is dearly relished by two
other night revellers in the persons of the Bat and Nightjar. The
latter bird is one of the few species that gives voice after dusk,
and its vibrating song — if such it may be called — is of curious
utterance when listened to among the quiet woodland glades,
and open spaces, where this hairy-mouthed Summer migrant
passes the hours of darkness. It rests during the daytime, but
when the sun has heralded the last embers of a dying day, it
steals from its hiding place, and commences its aerial exploits
in pursuit of insect prey. It is difficult to follow its weird form
in the gathering gloom, but, if the light is good, the bird will
be seen to swoop with amazing swiftness, and every now and
again it brings its wide, clean-cut wings over its back, and bangs
them together with such effect that a loud noise, as if a pistol
shot had been fired, is produced. Then the bird ceases its insect-
catching, and rests upon a neighbouring Oak, crouching, length-

148 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

wise, rather than crosswise, along the branch, churring all the
time. Its rattling notes ring out loud and clear in the night air,
and if, as sometimes happens, more than one of these birds is
thus occupied, the whole woodland is electrified with eerie sound,
which, when listened to for the first time, produces a weird effect
to those unacquainted with creatures of the night.

Walking home in the warm glow of a Summer evening, one
may espy, under the shelter of a bush or hedgerow, the luminous
light set up by the stupidly named Glow Worm, which is, in
reality, a Beetle. Whilst the female is wingless and distinctly
grub-like in appearance, soft to the touch and prominently
segmented, the male is winged, and can fly whithersoever his
fancy takes him. The female is the brighter lamplighter of the
two, and, when a number of these insects, so truly reminiscent
of rural England, are discovered, one's evening ramble is made
much more enjoyable. A Glow-worm walk home in the cool
of night, after a hot day, is one of the pleasantest experiences
that can fall to the lot of any wayfarer, for he is thus brought
into touch with the magic of the countryside during the refined
stillness of the evening hour.

Be not deceived, however, as to the Glow Worm's soft irides-
cence in the gathering gloom, for there are luminous Centipedes
which scuttle over the ground, leaving behind them soft trails
of light, which, as the fast-moving creature crosses a path, pro-
duces an effect far different to the stationary and brighter signal
of the Glow Worm Beetle.

Perhaps the magic of the seasons is most acute, when in mid-
Summer, one stands in a dense wood under the welcome shade
of heavily-foliaged trees. It is an oppressive air. There is not
a breath of wind. Even the Aspen leaves refuse to quiver.
Not a bird sings. Few insects are upon the wing, except a stray
reveller in the cool glades among the trees, and, when a noisy
Ring Dove disturbs the peace, one has a rude awakening as the
bird gets well upon the wing, and takes to the open country.
Yet, round about us, there are countless animals and plants
which, earlier on, were all agog with excitement, preparing for
the carrying on of their race. Now all seems dull and lifeless.
I do not like this awe-inspiring stillness of the woods in the
height of Summer. Although magical, its quietude mystifies
me, and my sensitive nature requires some stimulus, so that I
may again be made glad. I know that the hands of Nature's
clock cannot always move rapidly forward, and that a halt must

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS

149

be called for respite, or the wonderful living machinery which
sets this great clock in motion will be tired out.

I love best the Spring, or early Summer, when I can see animate
Nature at work and play, when all living things respond to the
call for action, and my own activities are more deeply stirred.

I do not forget the water- worn bridge which spans the Eiver
Gade, where an old Trout friend of
my youth is always to be seen
when the Mayfly is rising, for
then I see Nature at her best.
Swallows and Martins swoop over
the surface of the stream, in a
frantic endeavour to take toll of
as many as possible of the airy
insects which have just risen from
the water. This wonderful Mayfly,
which has so short an existence in
the perfect state, has a remarkable
life history, for it takes several years
for it to pass through its complete
metamorphoses, and I am at a loss
to understand why, after so long
a time in coming to maturity, it
should only enjoy its little day
and then begone. Its mazy wings
of great delicacy, and the curious
streamers on the tail, are objects
of interest, as is also the really
pretty larva, which can be observed
to advantage in an aquarium at
home. This larva lives in the water
as a voracious feeder for several years. Eating is to the
Mayfly as a grub the keynote of its existence, as it is to
all insects when in a similar state. When it has attained
the adult form, it takes no nourishment at all, indeed, it
does not possess any organs which would enable it to do so.
Both these states in its existence may be regarded as separate
personalities. In the one (the larval), an abundant supply of
food is a necessary equipment for helping it to prepare for the
next stage in its existence, and in the other (the adult), courtship
and parentage are necessary essentials. The Mayfly's ambition
as a grown-up insect is to mate, and thus reproduce its kind. For

FIG. 68. — MAYFLY.

150

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

this consummation it lives and feeds as a larva for a lengthy
period, and, if it was possible for reproduction to take place other
than in the adult state, it is reasonable to suppose that, in pro-
cess of time, this ephemeral creature would fall into obsolescence.
Surely the story of this one insect is sufficient, of itself, to engage
the devotion of a lifetime, magical and mysterious as it is, full
of interest and wonder.

And as with these insect folk, so with the birds, and the trees,
and the flowers, and the fish in the nearest stream. I watch the

FIG. 69. — A COLONY OF Cow PAKSXIP.

bare earth becoming reclothed with plants which have been
familiar to me these many years, and I am still content to wait,
and watch, and see. I whisper, and they respond. I coax them
to deliver unto me a few of their many secrets, but I do not
want to pull them to pieces to count stamens and pistils, only to
see them growing as sentient beings, in their own homes. Per-
chance after a dry spell, a fire, accidental or otherwise, has
swept across my favourite hunting ground among the dead herb-
age in late Spring, and Nature's fresh green livery has not yet been
acquired. The sight of the fast-gathering flames brings a pang
of regret into my heart, and I fight the fire fiend as best I can
in order to save the surrounding bushes from destruction. I
may, or may not succeed, but a few weeks later I discover how

THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS 151

bountifully Nature has healed the scarred wound, for, as I visit
the scene of recent destruction, I find, to my joy, that fresh plants
are springing up in every direction, that already there is barely
a trace of the charred embers, and that Nature's prodigality
is more remarkable than ever. All is now green and Springlike
on the patch of earth that was firestricken a few weeks ago.
Fleabane, Teasel, Dock, Water Mint, Crowfoot, Violet, Silver
Weed, Thistle, Knapweed, Burdock, Ragwort, bunches of Rushes
and Grasses, and giant leaves of Cow Parsnip, the latter crowned
with large flower-heads, have all brought renewed life and energy.
It is difficult to realise that this is really the fire area where, but
recently, we battled with the flames, for now it has become a
pageant-corner over which the tall Black Poplar does sentry-go,
and the Tree Pipit sings sweet music as if in thanksgiving for
the new vegetation which has enabled it to frequent the old
nesting haunt of bygone years.

Life, after all, is Nature's most exquisite invention, and death
is her expert contrivance to get plenty of life !

Near by, the Oaks are in full leaf, and as it is not far from
May 29th, I remember the incident in Boscobel Wood in 1651,
and look up towards the tree tops to see if the spongy excrescence
of the Oak Apple is there. Early in January a small insect
crept from her gall-home upon the roots, and ascended the bole
of the tree. She bore no wings, and had perforce to climb the
dizzy heights. Arriving at a favourable branch, leafless and bare,
except for the brown scales protecting the tightly-packed leaves
and flowers, she lost no time in depositing her eggs at the ex-
tremity of the branch where the buds were most congregated.
Then she died, but her mission was fulfilled, and in due season
the eggs hatched. When this happened, the Oak was more
advanced, and the irritation caused by the presence of parasitic
larvae meant a rush of sap to heal the wound, and eventually
the appearance of the Oak Apple. If we procure one of these,
and cut a section through it, we shall discover several little cells
in which a legless grab is secreted. When this grub reaches
maturity as the perfect insect, it comes forth, either as winged
male, or wingless female. The latter climbs down the trunk up
which her mother ascended, bores her way into the ground, finds
the roots, punctures some holes in them, and deposits her eggs.
Then she dies. These eggs eventually hatch into larvae, round
excrescences in the form of galls are formed upon the roots, and
from these the wingless female (but no male), about which I

152 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

have already written, emerges, so as to add her quota to the
life cycle of this familiar object. It is an apt example of par-
thenogenesis, or alternation of generation, in the world of insect
life, and one of the most entrancing stories with which I am
acquainted.

FIG. 70. — OAK APPLES.

And thus, the seasons come and go, with unfailing regularity,
and alarming rapidity. But there is magic all the time, whether
it be early .or late in the year, when, for example, the Cowslips
are studding the green meadows with sheets of gold, or the coy
Anemones are gracefully curtseying to one another in the nearest
woodland glade. Or, maybe, the fields are in stubble, and coveys
of whirring Partridges rise in front of us. Stray Poppies, and
Corn Bluebottles, and gay-clad Marigolds, peep out here and
there, having acquired a new lease of life. Or, perhaps, it is a
Winter's day, when the berry -laden hedgerows are besieged with
hordes of hungry Fieldfares and Redwings from the far North,
or Golden Plover are disporting themselves in the damp meadows.

To know and appreciate Nature we must seek her in all her
phases, at all seasons, and learn from her in all her moods. As
I have written elsewhere, and may here repeat, " Spring will
summon her from her long wintry sleep ; Summer will clothe
her in all the colours of the rainbow ; Autumn will herald the
season of seed and harvest ; Winter, eager to repay her for the
loss of leaf and blossom, will softly spread over her a mantle of
white, fleecy snow, and bid Jack Frost prepare a glittering crown
to adorn her brow."

CHAPTER XI

HIGHLAND MEMORIES

IT is a long time since I went to school, but, to the best of my
recollection, a peninsula is a piece of land almost surrounded by
water. If my memory is at fault, and my geographical know-
ledge unsatisfactory, I must crave the reader's indulgence.
Howbeit, I am now holidaying upon a peninsula in the Western
Highlands of Scotland.

The county in which I now find anchorage is Dunbartonshire.
Most of the time-tables and guide-books will tell you it is Dum-
bartonshire, but that is an incorrect spelling, and the milestones
alone seem to render the shire's name correctly. Dunbarton,
as a matter of fact, is derived from the Gaelic, " dun Bretann,"
meaning " the Briton's Fort." The remarkably pretty little
resort at which I am staying is known as Clynder, which comes
from the Gaelic words " cluain dur," and which, being translated,
means " Meadow on the Water." In view of the fact that this
(1913) is one of the driest Summers within living memory in this
part of Scotland, the " Meadow on the Water " is somewhat
misapplied, for the water problem is, at the time of writing, one
that concerns the natives very acutely. For more than a month
not a drop of rain has fallen, though, to the north of us, the
mountains around Loch Goil, Loch Long, and Loch Lomond, are
often " up among the clouds."

Of course, we have no. waterworks, and the supply must come
either from springs or burns. The latter, though numerous,
are mostly dried up, and the wee Brown Trout find it difficult
to secure a suitable environment in which to take shelter, until
such time as the welcome rain shall bring to them that which
is necessary for their sustenance and well-being. All day long
the lads and lasses make their way to a spring to the south of
Clynder, at a little place called Strone, carrying water-bottles,
tea-kettles, and pots and pans of various shapes and sizes, to
secure a supply of one of the greatest necessaries of life. We
ourselves can hold out a good bit longer, but one has to be mighty

153

154 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

sparing, and a bath is, at present, a luxury. When the rain
does come, we shall hear the rushing water close by the " Wood-
burn " demesne, in which I now reside, and see Scotland under
another of its many aspects. Even a few moments brings a
change over loch and mountain. That is one of the charms of
the wonderful country in which I am now sojourning.

Clynder is on the western side of the Gareloch, the latter being
derived from Gaelic words, meaning " Short Loch," in all prob-
ability as a contrast to Loch Long, which is a mile or two over
the braes behind us. Immediately to the south is Rosneath
Castle (not Roseneath), the Dunbartonshire seat of the Duke of
Argyll. Close by the Castle, there are two very fine Fir trees
(Picea pectinata), known respectively as Adam and Eve. Adam's
girth is 21 ft. 10 J in. Eve is a little less than her illustrious
husband, being 21 ft. 1\ in. in girth. These measurements were
taken at a height of 4 ft. 6 in. from the ground. Rosneath comes
from the Gaelic, meaning " a promontory." The ruins of the
old Church go back, it is said, to Modan in 507. Beyond Rosneath
there comes into view, round the bend of the famous Clyde, the
residential resort of Kilcreggan (meaning " the church on the
little crag "), and, almost adjoining these, is the smaller hamlet
of Cove, meaning " a cave." At Cove there are some charming
villas with fine gardens, but the great feature of interest is Knock-
derry Castle, the seat of Lord Blythswood. Looking across the
Firth of Clyde from Kilcreggan, one sees quite plainly Gourock,
Greenock, and Port Glasgow, whilst to the south the glorious
heights of the Isle of Arran are espied, with proud Goatfell
frowning down on the lower reaches, granite monarch of all
he surveys. The Island of Bute appears in the foreground of
Arran, and then there is a magnificent stretch of Argyllshire,
with Dunoon, Innellan, Hunter's Quay, the Holy Loch, Kilmun,
Strone, and Blairmore, all plainly discernible.

The Gareloch is about eight miles in length, and about a mile
or so across. On the opposite side of the water, we see the very
pleasant and flourishing town of Helensburgh (from whence one
can take a convenient trip to Loch Lomond), the smaller resort
known as Row, but pronounced Roo, and, further north still,
there is Shandon, with its fine hydropathic establishment. On
our western side we have only two or three small clachans north
of us, such as Rahane and Mambeg. Then we come to the head
of the Loch, or Garelochhead. Truth to tell, I do not like Gare-
lochhead. It is very disappointing. True enough, the view

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 155

looking down the Loch from Whistlefield is magnificent, the
wooded banks on either side being a splendid setting for the
gleaming salt water. But Garelochhead is dirty, and no place
to sojourn in, except for an hour or two. At Portincaple it is
different. On mounting the Whistlefield road, there comes
quite suddenly upon the traveller one of the greatest sights in
these parts. There are mountains galore ahead of us, many of
considerable altitude. Two thousand feet may quite safely
be mentioned as an average height. To the west we see almost
below us the entrance to Loch Goil, to the north-east there is
the continuation of lovely Loch Long. Bounding Loch Long
on the other side, is Argyll's Bowling Green, or Glasgow's High-
land Estate, as it is also called. As a matter of fact, it is a range
of mountains of some fourteen hundred feet in height ! I went
down Loch Long on its eastern side yesterday. I first struck
it near Coulport, and from there to Cove it was an experience
not likely to be forgotten. The scenery of the Gareloch is pretty,
charmingly pretty, but at Loch Long it is majestic. Of course,
Loch Long, as its name implies, is a longer sheet of water than
the Gareloch, and the Argyllshire Mountains on the western side
are truly magnificent in their rugged grandeur. Loch Long is
wider than its cousin over the eastern hills, and, though I shall
shortly be at Loch Lomond, my vote at present, in so far as the
majesty of scenic effect is concerned, must be recorded for the
first-named.

The Gareloch is not only prettier than Loch Long, but it has
undoubtedly a better fauna and flora, and is much more pleasantly
wooded. So far, my list of birds is close upon fifty species,
several of great interest. Of these I shall have something to
say at a later date. In the meantime, I am revelling among some
of the finest scenery in the world. This is the land of cakes, of
mountains, lochs, glens, and burns. It is also the land of
midges !

The Scotch railways mightily facilitate travel in their country,
for much of its success depends upon the invasion of visitors
from over the border. The railway, steamboat, and coach
arrangements are admirably conducted, and a little trouble
taken beforehand will pave the way for comfort and convenience
on behalf of the passenger. Having taken a tourist ticket from
Letchworth to Helensburgh, I was able, on the production of
my return half at the North British Kailway Station in Glasgow,
to secure a cheap return ticket to a little place called Mallaig

156 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

in Inverness -shire. There is nothing very remarkable in taking
such a ticket — any fool can do that — but my point is that I
was able to travel to Mallaig by any ordinary train; with a ticket
available for sixteen days, for the modest return fare of 12s. 8d.;
a matter of some 300 miles for the return journey !

In Scotland the desire of the rail and steamboat companies
seems to be to cater for their patrons in a more concerned way
than in England, for one can break the journey at almost any
place en route, and use even a back-dated ticket. That is, having
undertaken to take a passenger to and from a given place, the
Company loyally carry out their promise, without a host of idiotic
restrictions, which in England hamper the passenger, and entail
extra expense.

As we were on a peninsula, where no railway has as yet pene-
trated, we took the good ship Lucy Ashton to the head of the
Gareloch, calling en route at the small hamlets of Rahane, Mambeg,
and Shandon. Of Garelochhead I have already WTitten. Suffice
it to say, that a pleasant wait of half an hour or so on the platform
at Garelochhead soon passed, and brought to us the West High-
land train from Glasgow. Our reserved compartment needed
no searching for, as the canny Scotch guard soon discovered the
party of four for whom it was intended, and we were invited to
take our seats. This day we were to travel to Fort William,
break our journey there, so as to get a peep at the highest mountain
in Britain — Ben Nevis — and then resume our travel the next
morning to Mallaig.

To attempt a detailed description of the journey would be
risking the impossible, for no sooner had we passed the quiet
little station of Whistlefield, which is stuck up on the rocks
hard by Loch Goil and Loch Long, than we entered a country
of great magnificence. At the entrance to Loch Goil we recog-
nised the spot mentioned by Thomas Campbell in " Lord Ullin's
Daughter," but our attention was soon demanded by the beauti-
fully wooded banks on the railway side of Loch Long. How
this West Highland Railway was constructed is a mystery to me,
for, in certain places, the line runs at a tremendous altitude by
the side of the high mountains, with deep ravines, tree-laden
slopes, and lovely lochs right below. The line is a single one.
It curves and twists abruptly, snake-like, and one wonders what
would happen if something went wrong. The train gives per-
ceptibly first to one side and then the other, righting itself in a
marvellous wav. I am told there has never been an accident

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 157

since this line of rail was constructed, a testimony to the ingenuity
of the builders.

The line hugs Loch Long more or less as far as Arrochar and
Tarbet, striking inland a little until, towards the head of the
loch, we are again at a high altitude, with the gleaming water
several hundred feet below. As experienced from a rocking
railway corridor for the first time, one unused to such things is
bound to be a little perturbed, and I honestly admit it was the
first time I ever felt nervous in a railway train ! On pulling up
at Arrochar, however, our nerves were strengthened, for, soon
after leaving the little Highland station mentioned, Ben Lomond,
as well as Loch Lomond, came in sight. The great aim of the
constructors of this line of rail seems to have been to afford the
passenger all the scenic effects possible, for the line hugs the
bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond in a delightful way, and
the wooded banks on the opposite shore appeal to the eye and
the imagination in a way that cannot be set down in cold print.
The reader will, of course, know how lovely Loch Lomond has
been immortalised. I can myself testify that its beauties have
not been one whit exaggerated. It is without doubt the finest
Scottish loch I have seen. I shall attempt to describe at a later
stage another trip I had to Loch Lomond yesterday, so, for the
time being, must very reluctantly bid it adieu. In the mean-
time we are looking at Ben Lomond (3192 feet) from the railway
carriage window. It towers above the loch like a huge cone
of dark lead-coloured sugar, the clouds embracing it, and putting
on a nightcap long before it is time to go to bed. We are so
enraptured with Loch Lomond and its bonnie banks, with the
Fir woods, which some recent storm has razed to the ground —
with the majestic glens and mountain ranges now coming into
sight, that we draw up unexpectedly at Ardlui at the head of
the loch, before we realise we are at our next stopping place.

After leaving Ardlui, we were soon travelling rapidly north-
wards, and, as we steamed into the station at Crianlarich, I saw
snow in the month of August for the first time. When one-
remembers that during these last few weeks I have been a pilgrim
in a land which has experienced the greatest drought within
living memory, the presence of snow on the sheltered crevice of
a mountain will appear all the more remarkable. On the east
side of Crianlarich station, there rises in stately grandeur the
mountain of Ben More. It is 3843 feet in height, and, towards
the summit, a large patch of snow could be easily discerned with

158 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

the naked eye from the railway station. This is probably the
farthest south Scottish mountain which has snow upon it at the
present time.

We stopped at Crianlarich some few minutes, both going
north and returning, for this is the place at which one changes
to take the western line to Oban. The last-named line runs
parallel for some little distance with the Fort William and Mallaig
rail, and to my mind the run from Crianlarich to Tyndrum, and
then on to Rannoch, is one of the finest stretches on the West
Highland Railway. Looking out of the carriage window, one
can see the line skirting the mountain side for several miles.
On the east side, the mountains rise sheer up from the line ; on
the west one sees a more or less barren valley beneath, with an
odd farmhouse here and there. It was close by this point of
my journey that I saw the largest flock of Sheep within my
recollection. I first caught sight of them in the far distance to
the north of us, but I imagined I was looking at whitish boulders,
which are so prominent across Rannoch Moor, and which the
geologist tells us were brought down by glaciers a few million
years ago ! As we approached more closely, it became evident
that the nearest " boulders " were moving, and it then dawned
upon me that the little specks dotted about the hillside were
Sheep ! I hesitate to speculate upon the number which con-
stituted the flock, and I am not given to exaggeration, but I
am certainly within the mark when I state that there were
several thousands ! Nobody was astir. Not a human soul
could be seen high or low. The presence of such an army of
Sheep, however, added a touch of life to the mighty country we
were traversing, and we left the flock behind us with real regret.

As we struck westward, and came nearer to Tyndrum, there
came into view on the east side of the rail the majestic mountain
of Ben Lui, which is 3708 feet high, and one of the Grampian
range which runs up country, south to north, with an apparent
incline towards the east. I like Ben Lui. I presume it is one
of the mountains which brings down water as a source of the
great River Tay, for hard by the mountain in question, this river
finds its source. Thence the river strikes out a distinct north-
easterly course, emptying itself as the Firth of Tay not far from
the city of Perth. As on a former visit to Scotland I crossed
both over and under the famous Tay Bridge, near the city of
bonnie Dundee, I congratulate myself that I have visited the
beginning and the end of the famous river. My Scotch paper

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 159

tells me at the time of writing these notes that the River Tay
is dried up in many parts, and at Blair Atholl, where, as a rule,
it is not less than eight feet deep, one can walk dry shod along the
river's bed !

Why I like Ben Lui is that I saw so much snow upon it. As
a mere southerner it impressed me very much. Even as the
train sped along — and the West Highland train attains a splendid
speed at many points — I was able to count thirteen distinct
patches of snow, all facing the exposed north. As we approached
Tyndrum, and for several miles after leaving it, Ben Lui became
more and more prominent, and the crevices containing the snow
were plainer to see. At Bridge of Orchy station, an isolated
spot of great loneliness, Ben Dowran, 3528 feet in height, rose
like a giant upon our right, with Ben Vannoch (3125 feet), Ben
Odhar (2750 feet), Ben a Chaistel (2897 feet), Ben Achallader
(3399 feet), and Ben Creachan (3540 feet), all in close attendance
north and south.

We did not stay long at Bridge of Orchy. Indeed, if my
memory serves me correctly, not a living soul either boarded or
left the train. Thereafter, we steamed by the side of Loch Tulla
and Tulla Water, the grand mountains on the eastern side making
a fine setting to the wonderful panoramic view below. It was
not long before we were speeding across Rannoch Moor. The
line is more or less floating upon this huge stretch of waste.
How it was constructed is a mystery to me. Suffice it to say, we
traversed its entire length without mishap. It was a rather
desolate journey at that point. Miles upon miles of barren
waste were presented to view. The moor was cracked in many
places as a result of the prolonged drought. Not a living creature
was to be seen, though very occasionally a few Grouse went
skimming over a neighbouring brae. Old tree stumps, whitened
and gnarled with age, were strongly in evidence, the remains
of the old forest of Caledonia, and thousands of boulders dotted
the moor like the Sheep had done farther south. Had there
not been a two months' unprecedented drought, the scene, as we
crossed Rannoch Moor, would have been much more memorable.
As it was, it was an experience not to be forgotten, but if the
spongy moor had contained water in the pools, and the burns
had been in spate, the journey would have been made more
impressive. At one point upon Rannoch Moor, we were at a
height of (I believe I am correct in stating) 1540 feet, the highest
point of any railway in Britain. Thence, we sped on until we

160

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

passed Loch Ossian on our right (the loch is at an altitude of
1269 feet above sea level), and then for several miles we clung to
the shores of lonely Loch Treig. This loch made a great impres-
sion upon me because of the immense solitude which it possessed.
Below us, a matter of several hundred feet, was the barren eastern
shore. Across the water, on the western side, the mountain
ranges rose sheer up to an altitude of 3658 feet. Nothing of an
animate nature was to be seen upon, or in, the loch. Not a bird
was tempted to fly over its mazy depths, indeed I am informed
that the depth of Loch Treig has never yet been ascertained !
We missed one or two high mountains on our right because of
the rugged grandeur of Loch Treig, and we were so far removed
from the outside world, that we were hardly prepared to suddenly
draw up at the little station of Tulloch, the next stopping place.

FIG. 71. — THE TUMBLING JJUHX.

We did not stay long at Tulloch, and were soon making our
way towards Fort William, our destination for the night. The
Highland line strikes north-west after leaving Tulloch, and, when
Spean Bridge is reached, it proceeds in a south-westerly direction.

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 161

Glen Spean is very wonderful, so also is Glen Roy. Hard by
the last-named, there is the station of Bridge of Roy, and from
thence to Spean Bridge the ride is awe-inspiring, as the line skirts
a deep ravine, at the base of which a tumbling burn presents itself.
The manner in which this waterway has carved out its rugged
course through a rocky bed is remarkable. On either side, the
high banks are festooned with ferns of many kinds, such as
Bracken, Male and Lady Ferns, the Northern Hard Fern, the
Broad Buckler Fern, Maiden Hair Spleenwort, and others. Here
and there a stately spike of Golden Rod reared its proud head
among the greenery, dark rocks, and darker water, lighting up
the scene to a nicety. If I were asked to choose the most im-
pressive sight I met with on this memorable northern journey,
I think I should be inclined to select the mile or two of rail between
Bridge of Roy and Spean Bridge. The deep, rock-strewn torrent
will always come back to me when my thoughts wander towards
my Highland pilgrimage, and the journey I undertook amply
repaid me, if only for a sight of what I have just briefly described.

We stayed a minute or two at Spean Bridge as it is an important
stopping-place for the line to Fort Augustus, which takes one
close to the shores of Loch Ness, and then on to Inverness.

Bidding good-bye to Spean Bridge, we soon espied the snow-
capped heights of Ben Nevis. This mountain, as I mentioned
on a former occasion, is the highest in Great Britain, attaining
an altitude of 4406 feet. The view of it from the train proved
to be the best we obtained, as the mountain was free of clouds
in the late afternoon, and a more majestic sight has never fallen
to my lot, We could not see the disused observatory on the
summit, but that was hardly a disappointment, especially as
it is now being transformed into a hotel, the proposal being
to construct a railway line up the mountain. Will this make,
or mar, the mountain ? My Scotch friends appear to dis-
favour the proposition. Not being a practised mountaineer, I
have an open mind on the subject, though, truth to tell, I am
of opinion that a railway will quite spoil the wildness and majesty
of the environment. At present the more usual way of making
the ascent is along a precipitous winding road, seated on a pony,
though, of course, many undertake the climb on shank's mare !
I did not adopt either course on arrival at Fort William. For
one thing, I was fatigued after several hours' journey in the train,
for another, the light was failing, and Ben Nevis had become
almost completely enveloped in the clouds when I walked out

162 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

to Glen Nevis, after a meal at the West End hotel. This hotel
is most comfortably situated on the shore of Loch Eil, with the
Argyllshire coast immediately opposite. Fort William, of course,
is in Inverness-shire. I felt privileged to sign the visitors' book
at the hotel, for my signature almost followed that of several
distinguished foreign visitors to this mecca of Scotland, including
the members of the French Alpine Club. Fort William itself
is not particularly interesting. There are several hotels, two of
them, the Alexander and the West Highland, if my memory
serves me correctly, being the most notable. Being a poor
man, I was recommended by a friend to stay at the West End
hotel, and can highly recommend it to any of my readers desirous
of undertaking a similar pilgrimage to my own. After tea, we
walked through the long straggling street, as far as the entrance
to Glen Nevis, crossing the bridge which spans the Nevis Burn. It
was very lonesome there in the failing light. Ben Nevis had his
nightcap well drawn over his head, and the eerie cry of a wander-
ing Curlew added a touch of weirdness to a mere southerner,
such as myself.

The one great desire which possessed us was to get a still
better view of the mountain, but in this we were disappointed,
for darkness was coming on apace, and we were in a strange
land, and did not wish to be stranded for the night ! I called
at a solitary whitewashed cottage on the hillside, a " but-and-a-
ben," as the song says, and gained a little information as to our
whereabouts. The lady of the house was, with one exception, as
dirty a Scotchwoman as I have set eyes upon. I shall write of her
when treating of Mallaig. But the Nevis woman would have
been handsome, if well washed, and decently clothed. She
possessed a fine round head, with peering blue eyes, and a Roman
nose, but she looked careworn, lonely, and sad. She had a
little child with her at the cottage door. The poor bairn was
sadly clothed, and very dirty. I gave the wee mite a threepenny
piece to put in her money box, if she possessed one, and was
thanked a thousand times by the mother for my princely gift.
It was a sickening sight to have even a peep inside that squalid
home, and I tore myself away with a pang of remorse. The
members of my little party were waiting for me near by. Another
road skirted the Nevis Burn on the opposite shore, and, as the
burn was almost dried up, we decided to cross it. Now burns
are deceptive " craters," as they say in Scotland, and, although
this was the driest Summer at Fort William for, at least, fifty

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 163

years, I can testify that our journey across the Nevis Burn was
a rather wet one !

We trudged homewards, tired and very wet, receiving, as we
plodded on, one of Mrs Caudle's curtain lectures on the fallacies
of our performance in mid-stream ! Hearty laughter followed,
until we drew near to the comfortable precincts of our hotel,
where we rested for the night, until the resumption of our journey
to Mallaig in the morning.

The station at Fort William is just about as close to the water
as it is possible to get it. Indeed, it is no exaggeration when I
state that one could fish in comfort from the railway carriage
window ! Although the drought was so severe, I noticed, with
interest, that, right at the side of bonnie Loch Eil, the water
was several feet deep, and the steamers draw up at a pier quite
close to the station entrance.

We were somewhat delayed on the morning of our departure,
by the late arrival of the all-night train from Kings Cross. When
the train did come along, it looked a sorry night-reveller, dust-
laden and dirty. Everyone who came off it appeared to be very
tired, and the ruffled pillows in the now empty compartments
testified to the comfort they had afforded those who used them
during the silent watches of the night. The various porters
from the Fort William hotels, including one from our own West
End, meet the trains, and they looked trim and neat in their
braided regalia as they stood together in a little group, discussing
the pros and cons of the situation.

It was a glorious morning when we left Fort William for
Mallaig, on that eventful day in August. There was just an
Autumn chill in the air, which invigorated and energised a
southerner such as myself, though the clouds were very low, and
were fondly embracing the Argyllshire mountains just across
the Loch.

At last we were off, and, if the truth must be told, it was a
rather dirty compartment in which we found ourselves, and very
different to the West Highland train we had travelled in the
previous day. Still, one ought not to complain, for were we not
travelling along one of the most wonderful lines of rail in Britain ?
The line hugs the shore of Loch Eil for some considerable distance.
Fort William is a cul-de-sac station, and, to get out of it, one has,
perforce, to go into it first. When coming out, it is not long
before one reaches Banavie, from whence one takes the boat up
the Caledonian Canal to Inverness. A remarkable series of

164 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

lochs may be seen from the train near Banavie. It was our
original intention to undertake this boat trip to the Highland
capital of Inverness, but I was advised to take the train to Mallaig
instead. I shall never regret following this advice, for the ex-
perience will not be readily forgotten.

When we arrived at Kinlocheil station, we were close to the
head of Loch Eil, and it was not long after leaving there that
we espied Bonnie Prince Charlie's monument at Glenfinnan.
This extension of the West Highland Railway to Mallaig has
opened up to the traveller some of Scotland's most romantic wilds,
as well as monuments of less forgotten history. Prince Charlie's
monument, or column, marks the spot where Charles Edward
raised his standard in Glenfinnan, and, as writes Mr Hope
Moncreiff in his fascinating volume, " The Highlands and Islands
of Scotland," another column " commemorates the Lochiel
Cameron who died at Quatre Bras, as loyal to King George as
his father to Charles and James. In those cloudy recesses,
beyond the forts of the Great Glen, gathered silently the storm
of 1745 to whirl far over Britain. Here Macdonalds and Camerons
only half welcomed their rash Prince, the old chiefs too prudent
not to see the risks of his enterprise, yet too proud to hold back
from it when hot young heads panted to meet the Lowlands in
battle array."

Glenfinnan, as viewed from the Highland station, is remark-
able, beautiful Loch Shiel being set like a watery gem at the foot
of towering hills, beetling cliffs, and tall trees. It is a pretty
glen. It is not of such a solitary character, nor so majestic, as
other Scotch glens I have seen and visited, such as Glen Fruin,
or the Glen of Sorrow, not far from Loch Lomond, but its majestic
beauty left me entranced. It was in Glen Fruin that the
M'Gregors and the Colquohouns fought their famous battle in
1603, the result being that the M'Gregors suffered heavy defeat.
It is historically known as the Battle of Glen Fruin. We left
Glenfinnan with real regret, but it was not long before we were
again enchanted with the Highland scenery. We shot through
several short tunnels, cleverly hewn out of the solid rock, and then
drew up at Ailort, where the Loch of that name presents a very
wonderful sight to the traveller in such a land. The line itself
is at an altitude of over a thousand feet, with over two thousand
feet hills on the north, and nearly three thousand feet heights
to the south. The view looking into the Ailort valley from such
a height can, therefore, be well imagined. I considered Loch

HIGHLAND MEMORIES 165

Ailort one of the finest points we had touched, but, when we
reached Arisaig, all records were broken, for from thence we
could see right out to the Sound of Arisaig, with the Islands of
Muck, Eigg, Rum, and Skye in the far distance. It was an
enchanting sight for a land-lubber to gaze upon, and, as we
came nearer to the rocky coast at Mallaig, and watched the
battling waves, our excitement grew intense. On our right, as
we neared Mallaig, Loch Morar was exposed to view, and a very
lovely sheet of water it is, but our eyes were drawn, as by a
magnet, to the left hand side, where the mazy breakers of the
Altantic Ocean called for immediate observation.

As we came within hail of the little hamlet of Mallaig (for it
merely consists of a railway station, a harbour, one sumptuous
hotel, a few shops, and almost as few houses), we could see just
across the water the islands of Eigg and Rum, and, of course,
the bonnie Isle of Skye, with the Point of Sleat right at the
southern corner. The train, seemed to hug the waves as near
as it were possible, until, verily, we came to Land's End ! There
was no excitement when we landed at this terminus of the High-
land line. No shouting of porters, no clanging of bells, no taxi-
cars, indeed no conveyances of any kind, for there is nowhere to
be conveyed to, except across the bosom of the mighty ocean at
our feet. The harbour was, it is true, somewhat more exciting,
for a palatial yacht or two were at anchor, a steamer was shortly
sailing for Skye, and some fishing boats were unloading their
precious freights.

We walked along the coast a little distance, noting, as we went
upon our lonely way, as fine a company of Herring Gulls, perched
on a church roof (I forgot to mention there are two churches at
Mallaig), as I have ever seen, when we turned and looked towards
Skye. The grand heights of the Coolin Hills, several points of
which reach an altitude of over three thousand feet, were plainly
visible. My poor geographical knowledge was somewhat im-
proved by a Highland woman I met along the shore. She had
two receptacles with her for the purpose of collecting water
from a friendly burn. I learnt from her the exact position of
the Islands of Eigg and of Rum, of Canna, and the Western
Hebrides. I specially wanted to see the Isle of Muck. The
name appealed to me somehow, I could see Eigg and Rum, why
not Muck ? My Highland friend informed me that the latter
was hidden in mist among the Atlantic breakers, and " It wouldna'
cleer the dee." As I took stock of this brawny, dark-skinned

166 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

woman, and listened to her, gruff Gaelic voice, I recognised that
what she said was true, namely, that the Island of Muck " was
hidden from view," but she little thought what flitted through
my mind, as I gazed upon her own unkempt appearance, as
regards the appropriateness of that term being somewhat applied
to herself ! She was dirty !

And thus, a memorable holiday came to an end.

CHAPTER XII

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE

I HAVE, during the last twenty years, visited a good stretch of
our British coast-line, from, appropriately enough, Start Point,
Devon, in the south-west, all along the south coast, and then
northwards from* Norfolk and Suffolk to Yorkshire, Durham,
and Northumberland, up to Aberdeen. It has been my good
fortune also to explore the Welsh coast from just beyond Chester
to Carnarvon, and then up the west coast from the Wirral
Peninsula, along the Lancashire coast to Morecambe Bay.
Skipping the Cumberland littoral, I have peregrinated along the
Scottish coast, its Lochs and Islands, from the gleaming waters
of the Solway Firth, right up to Skye. So that, altogether, I
have been able to gain a fair idea of the greater portion of the
coast-line of Britain, an ambition which I long cherished, and
which I hope to complete in its entirety in days to come.

Such pilgrimages as these, although for the most part made
but once a year, afford one a capital geographical education,
and when, added to this, some amount of historical and natural
history knowledge is sought for and obtained, the pleasure derived
cannot be overestimated.

By spreading out before me a map of England, Scotland, and
Wales (I have yet to set foot in Ireland), holiday memories are
renewed with increased interest. The scenes I witnessed are
still clearly denned, and I readily acknowledge what a privilege
it is to spend so many happy holidays where the salt sea
spray invigorates, and brings new thoughts, feelings, and aspira-
tions to one who, like myself, revels in the natural and human
history of the land of his birth. A map thus studied becomes
a living regional survey, and when, added to one's memory, a
detailed diary is at hand for consultation for any given district,
one's reminiscences bear an added charm, which only those who
experience can fully appreciate.

Let me recall some of the scenes of my rambles away from
Hertfordshire, as proof of how one is able to store up knowledge

167

168 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

even after an interval of years. I have the map spread out
before me as I write, and there is no need to consult my notes
for this general dissertation, so clarified are my remembrances
of what I have encountered.

I see the glorious River Dart, down which I sailed from the old-
world town of Totnes. The steep-wooded banks running right down
to the water's edge still live within my memory, and, as we neared
the open sea, I vividly recall the shoals of small Jellyfish, which,
carried by the incoming tide, following a severe southern gale, were

literally massed in countless
thousands. I have seen much
larger Jellyfish on the east
coast, but in *point of numbers
the River Dart holds pride of
place.

I have watched the seething
masses of Herrings off the har-
bour at Brixham, where, by
the way, William of Orange
landed on November 5th, 1688,
to maintain, with his thirty-
thousand followers, the Pro-
testant Religion, and the
liberties of England.

I have seen the famous
flotilla of Brixham trawlers
sail into harbour on a fine

FIG. 72.-JELLYFISH. Summer evening, and, as the

brown-sailed ships rounded

Berry Head (where grows the rare White Rock Rose, which
I was fortunate enough to discover), by twos and threes, the
scene was one which will always remain with me.

I have undertaken the beautiful cliff walk from Anstey's Cove,
round by Hope's Nose, to Torquay, watching the Porpoises
disporting their bulky bodies in the gleaming water beneath,
and I have explored famous Kent's Cavern, near Torquay, from
which such remarkable human and other remains have been
obtained, as a result of the life-long labours of that lovable man
of science, the late William Pengelly.

Babbacombe's red cliffs, and unmatched greenery, have en-
chanted me, and the beautiful River Teign, and the more barren
Exe, have lured me to their fascinating shores so as to have a

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 169

peep at the wading birds, which so dearly delight to secure
provender among the mud there, when the tide goes out and
exposes a prolific hunting ground.

I have explored the recesses of Lulworth Cove, near Weymouth,
and stalked the rare Dartford Warbler near St Albans Head, in
Dorset, and around sunny Bournemouth I have spent many
happy and profitable hours by the sea, and along the sandbanks
near Poole Harbour.

At Hayling Island, near Portsmouth, I first made acquaint-
ance with the song of the Rock Pipit, which, in tone and manner
of utterance, strongly reminded me of the Meadow Pipit of our
own chalky Chilterns, and in the Isle of Wight, from Ryde to
Ventnor, I have fairly extensively surveyed the coast-line, especi-
ally where the famous landslip, between Shanklin and Ventnor,
provides such a profitable environment for animal and plant
life. Near by, I have loitered round secluded Bonchurch, and
made a pilgrimage to Swinburne's last resting place. His delight
in flowers, especially wild flowers, will be remembered by all
who knew and loved him.

In the neighbourhood of Brighton, Eastbourne, and Hastings,
I have enjoyed many memorable excursions, in company with
kindred souls, one of whom, poor Edward Connold, has now
passed beyond the border, deeply regretted and loved by all who
knew him.

I have peeped over Beachy Head to get a sight of the Peregrine
Falcon, and gathered stfay mushrooms on the Downs close by, as
Richard Jefferies did before me.

As a boy, I was taken to see the white chalk cliffs of Dover,
and at old-world Whitstable I remember, with unfeigned delight,
many happy saunters where the Winkles and Oysters congregate
in countless myriads, where the Grayling Butterfly is in constant
view during the Summer hours, and the Glow-worm and Grass
Snake revel in the grassy meadows near the shore.

Ramsgate and Margate are too populous for a Nature lover
to enjoy, except when he requires artificial relaxation, and I
must skip the Thames estuary and clamorous Southend, until
more sequestered South wold hoves in sight. There, in company
with Arthur Paterson, the genial East Coast Naturalist, whose
work has not yet received the high recognition it deserves, I have
been let into some of the secrets of marine fishes and other
tenants of the mighty deep. Together, Paterson and I have
explored Broadland, its bird, insect, and plant life, and may the

170 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

day not be far distant when our past relations may be renewed
to mutual advantage.

Lowestoft and Yarmouth have both been visited, and, a little
further North, the whole of the Norfolk coast-line, from Cromer
to Kings Lynn, has engaged my wrapt attention. I have been
to the late Clement Scott's famous garden of sleep, on the edge
of the cliff at Overstrand, tramped over the wind-blown marshes
near Cley and Blakeney in pursuit of wild fowl and Sea Lavender,
and, as I have already told in an earlier chapter, I have
seen the Pink-footed Geese in large battalions at Wells, where
Frank Southgate, the artist, acted as my pilot in days long
since gone by.

At Holkham I have watched the Merlin and the Ringed
Plover, and marvelled at the reclamation of the sea by one of
the most famous English agriculturists, Coke, Earl of Leicester,
and from Heacham I have driven to Royal Sandringham in the
dogcart of Robert Blatchford ! This was made possible through
the kindly offices of happy Harry Lowerison, whose book, " From
Palaeolith to Motor Car," shows one of his bents, and whose
School Museum at Heacham is worthy of a visit.

I have hammered huge ammonites out of the red chalk
cliffs at Hunstanton, and been to the birthplace of Nelson
at Burnham Thorpe. Most of the villages and hamlets in this
charming district have been explored by me during a cycle tour,
and I have passed wet days near dear, smelly Kings Lynn and
historic Castle Rising, translating into Hhglish the whole of the
plant names in the British Flora.

One day, when I was walking along the Hunstanton-Heacham
road, a fairly large bird, with long, red legs, came flying over the
hedge, and alighted in the middle of the road. As it did so, it
bobbed up and down as if on stilts, and strikingly reminded me of
some of the antics of the homely Robin. I could see, without the
aid of glasses, that this strange feathered visitor to the roadside
was the owner of long, red legs, and a fairly long beak. Its body
was about the same size as that of a Thrush, and it had a short
tail. When in flight, it displayed a good deal of white, and uttered
a shrill alarm-note, which is very characteristic of the seashore.

That it was a wading bird there was no shadow of doubt, and
it did not take me long to establish its identity, for it was a Red-
shank (Fig. 73). Inquiry from a local bird-lover revealed the fact
that the Redshank very rarely alights in a road, and, to tell the
truth, I was responsible for it doing so ! Last Summer I was

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 171

holidaying in the beautiful Island of Arran, and every day, and
all day, I was hardly out of hearing of the bird under review.
The note may be written down as a shrill and somewhat mono-
tonous " toodle-oodle-oodle," quickly repeated, and, as I caught
sight of the Redshank swinging over the hedge, I imitated its
note to the best of my ability. To my surprise, the bird heard
and heeded me, or rather the call I uttered attracted its atten-
tion. It pulled itself up, as it were, then swung back, and alighted
in the centre of the roadway as already described. Having satis-
fied itself that no feathered biped was in the neighbourhood, and
that it had evidently been deceived, it bobbed up and down a few
times, ran along in the engaging manner it is wont to do, and then
made its way towards the salt marshes, where it loves to wade.

FIG. 73. — REDSHANK.

I can now not only pride myself on being able to start the
Nightingale singing at home in Hertfordshire, and to call the
Bullfinch almost to my elbow, but also to imitate, with some
amount of success, the Redshank of our marshes and seashores.

Walking along the shore towards Old Hunston, and the village
of Holme, when the tide was out, I was pleasantly surprised to
observe two companies of birds not far from the famous Mussel
beds which are there found. One company of birds was com-

172 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

posed of individuals about the size of a Pigeon, and they were
adorned in a spick and span suit of black and white, with long
orange-coloured legs, and a formidable beak. The second
feathered gathering consisted of much smaller birds, which looked
like large Swallows, but they were dressed in a neat garb of
silvery-grey.

A closer approach told me at once that this second flock were
Terns, or Sea Swallows, as they are often called, and, as the
birds rose en masse in the air, the sight was one not easily for-
gotten. The wings of the Tern are very sharp cut, and the move-
ments of these delightful seabirds when in the air are particularly
graceful. The Oyster-catcher, for such was the name of the
larger black and white bird I also had under observation, is
also a strong flier, and it is one of the sentinels of the seashore.
It is frequently referred to as the Sea Magpie, the black and
white plumage being responsible for this localism. Although
named Oyster-catcher, it does not feed on Oysters, though there
are large beds of the famous bivalve in the district where I
rambled. Doubtless, the countless numbers of Mussels and other
shellfish attract the Oyster-catcher at low tide, and the ingenious
way in which the birds split open the valves is not the least
interesting feature concerning them.

On the flat Lincolnshire coast, over and around the marram-
laden sand dunes at Mablethorpe, and on to Bridlington, Flam-
borough Head, Filey, Scarborough, and Whitby, I have made
several expeditions, and at Scarborough I tramped over the
heathery moors a record distance of forty-eight miles in one day.
It was on this expedition I first saw the nest, and listened to the
song, of the Ring Ouzel. At Filey I saw the largest Jellyfishes
which live in British seas, and kept pace along the beautiful
stretch of sands with the Rev. A. N. Cooper, popularly dubbed
the Walking Parson, but best remembered by me as a kind host
and genial companion.

I have stood upon the rock-girt Filey Brig, peeped over the
Speeton cliffs to study the various plumages of Black-headed
and other Gulls, and had, as fellow-lodgers next to my bed-
room at Scarborough, Black Rats, a Python, and what is stated
to be the largest Boa Constrictor in Europe !

I have had just a peep at the coast of Durham and North-
umberland, and, near the eastern entrance to Scotland, that
mecca of sea-bird life, the Fame Islands, for ever associated with
the heroism of Grace Darling on September 7th, 1838. A stretch

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 173

of the Scotch coast from Berwick, as far as the mouth of the Firth
of Forth, and out to the Bass Kock, where the Gannet, or Solan
Goose, whitens the rugged slopes with its legions, has come under
observation, and from thence I have journeyed by easy stages
to Aberdeen, along the coasts of Fife, Forfar, and Kincardine.
I have always had a longing to make a prolonged sojourn at
Stonehaven, whose beautiful sandy bay is an ideal spot for a
restful holiday. Some day I shall hope to stay there.

I have been over and under the Forth and Tay bridges, and
at Tayport, on the southern shore of the River Tay, have seen
as fine a gathering of Gulls as anywhere on the British coast.
When one remembers that this little resort at the entrance to
the Tay is only a few minutes' steam from bonnie Dundee (where
I neither saw nor tasted marmalade), such a feathered company
is all the more remarkable.

FIG. 74. — BLACK-HEADED Q-ULL.'

Happy recollections come back to me as I reach Aberdeen on
the map before me, for I have tramped along Deeside on the way
to Balmoral, and watched the silvery Salmon disporting their
dappled bodies in the rushing waters under the old bridge, and
returned footsore to my hotel where, by the way, the late Lord
Strathcona was also staying.

I must now bid farewell to the east coast, and ask the reader

174 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

to accompany me to Wales, where I paid a hurried visit to
Llanberis, and from which I made the ascent of Snowdon. I
had just come from Scotland, and the following account of my
pilgrimage, as written at the time, may best be given.

I have now been right along the North Wales coast from
Saltney (Flint) to Carnarvon, and then inland to Llanberis. I
had good opportunities of noticing at close quarters the seaside
resorts of Rhyl, Prestatyn, Llandudno, Colwyn Bay, Conway,
Bangor,' Deganway, and other less known places. Across the
Dee estuary, on the Wirral shore of Cheshire, I could espy at
the north-west point the pretty township of Hoylake (famous
for its golf course), and several other residential places. It may
be noted with interest that the Wirral portion of Cheshire is the
only maritime part of the county named. Curiously enough, the
Wirral peninsula reminds me very strikingly of the Dunbarton
peninsula, bounded by Loch Long, the Clyde, and the Gareloch,
a detailed description of which I have already given in the
previous chapter.

Candidly, the Welsh coast-line did not make a great impression
upon me, until we were approaching the Isle of Anglesey and the
Menai Straits. True enough, I had been right in the heart of
the Scotch Highlands, and been to several of its more famous
Lochs, as' already indicated in my last record, but from Menai
Bridge to Carnarvon, and from thence to Llanberis, is one of
the most beautiful railway journeys I have undertaken. It is
not so majestic as miles upon miles of the Scotch country I had
left behind me with so much real regret, but the bubbling waters
of the River Seiont, the beautiful Menai Straits, with Anglesey
just across the water, and, as we approached Llanberis, and wound
upwards in the direction of the mountains for some distance, with
the tail end of Llyn Padarn, one of the Llanberis lakes, on our
left, the sight was one I shall never forget.

I saw Puffin Island sticking out in the Irish Sea off the south-
east coast of Angelsey, not far from prettily wooded Beaumaris,
and the mention of Puffin Island reminds me that between
Sandycroft and Bangor I saw more sea-birds in a single journey
than I had observed during the whole of my six weeks' pilgrimage
in bonnie Scotland. This is interesting. We left the Holyhead
express at Bangor, picking up the track of that line again at Menai
Bridge, although not travelling upon it, as our way lay south-
west.

The suspension bridge ,as well as Stephenson's tubular

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 175

railway bridge over the straits at Menai, are noted as remark-
able feats of engineering, and across the water, on Anglesey,
saw, perched on a hillside, the monument erected by the owner of
the island. Anglesey is a very pleasant place, and some day I
look forward to spending a holiday there. In the meantime, I
have had just a peep, sufficient enough to whet my appetite.

As we got nearer to Llanberis, with the Elidir mountains on
our left, and the Snowdon range immediately ahead of us, a
delightful prospect opened out to view. On the opposite side
of the lake, a splendid sheet of water two miles long and a quarter
of a mile broad, fine craggy scenery was presented to view such
as I had not seen anywhere in Scotland, though, true enough,
the American visitor to Scotia is reputed to have said that he
could not see the scenery because of the mountains ! The vari-
coloured wooded slopes of the former are, as" the guide-book will
tell you, " reflected in the lake which washes their feet." On the
opposite shore we noticed the mineral railway, and then, frown-
ing down upon us, the great slate quarries on the precipitous
side of the mighty rock came into view.

Llanberis is situated, as it were, in a huge basin, and it is
partly sheltered by trees. Just beyond the station, right at the
point, and clustered among the trees, is Dolbardan Castle. Just
a solitary tower is all that remains of the noble edifice, guarding,
sentinel -like, the entrance to the famous Pass of Llanberis and
the Upper Valley, overlooking Llyn Peris.

Dolbardan Castle must, of necessity, be of great antiquity,
and some, who ought to know, tell us that it is of pre -Norman
origin ! It is probable that this rugged district was much fre-
quented during the contentious times of Vortigern, while some
assert that this castle formed a retreat, or meeting place, for
Llewelyn's lieutenants, and it is reputed to have been the prison
wherein Owen, Llewelyn's traitor brother, was confined.

The monarch of Welsh mountains — Snowdon — may be
approached from various points. Unlike Ben Nevis, far away
in Inverness-shire, ponies are not available, at least so far as I
was able to ascertain, but this still leaves two ways of ascending
to the summit of Snowdon. The reader may remember that,
when writing up my journey to Fort William, I mentioned, as
an item of interest, that it was now proposed to construct a
railway up Ben Nevis, and that already a start had been made
by the conversion of the old observatory on the summit into a
hotel.

176 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Snowdon is the monarch mountain of both England and Wales,
and as I had just recently returned from the Highlands, where I
saw, but did not ascend, Ben Nevis, I count myself fortunate in
seeing two of the highest mountains in Britain during one holiday.
With our present-day craze for getting as high as we can in the
world, aeroplaning among and above the clouds, erecting giant
towers, wheels, and flip-flaps, small wonder, perhaps, that those
who find themselves in the vicinity of Snowdon possess a great
desire to get to the top. If you are the owner of a decent pair
of legs, fair nerves, and a lover of pure mountain air, the ascent
of Snowdon is not really a difficult matter. The last lap, so to
speak, is a trifle " nervy," even along the recognised path from
Llanberis, but there are very few accidents, unless the climber
chooses his own pathway. Then there is trouble.

Time being precious, I chose the less arduous journey, taking
my seat in the comfortable little train at Llanberis (the Mountain
Railway Station is just a few minutes' walk from the terminus
of the L. and N.W.R.), having nothing further to do than to
sit still, gaze wonderingly out of the open windows, and make
my peace with all the world. It is an interesting experience to
those who have never done it before. The reader may perhaps
try to imagine what it is like to sit in a little toy train, just one
coach, that is all, with the engine in the rear, and meditate upon
the fact that, as soon as the signal is given to be " off," one is
going to commence train-climbing to a height of 3560 feet !

The journey is started. We are all agog with excitement,
for even alluring guide books whet one's appetite for travel, but
one can hardly realise that he is going above the clouds, to ascend
in a comfortable seat to a lofty height, and to witness the romantic
and awful grandeur of it all ?

We at once realise that we are ascending, though the train
starts apparently from a dead level. The fore-part of the one
carriage is pitched above us, for we are in the last seat, next to
the Swiss-made engine, which is in the rear. We proceed very
cautiously all the way. As a matter of fact, it is a five miles'
journey from Llanberis Station to Snowdon Summit, and it
takes about an hour and a quarter to do it ! This will give
an idea of the slowness of the journey, and the rise thereof.

First we go through a tree-laden area, with the housetops far
below us, reaching, in a few minutes, one of the finest bits of
country it is possible to imagine. We can see, as we approach it
on the left, the famous Llanberis waterfall, for we are travelling

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 177

on the edge of a great tree-sloped chasm. We pass over the River
Afon Hwch (Afon means a river), reaching a fine masonry
viaduct of fourteen arches, each of 30 ft. span. The gradient
is 1 in 8J at this point. Besides carrying the line upwards, this
huge structure serves another purpose, for it enables the traveller
to obtain a grand view of the whole length of the Ceunant Mawr
(or great chasm) up to the famous waterfall. A second viaduct
is reached before our initial excitement has abated. This latter
structure is placed at the right hand top corner of the chasm, and
from this point a full view is obtained of the splendid fall of
water, and the deep ravine immediately below. We are still
climbing upwards. The country now traversed is typical moor-
land. Sheep are placidly grazing, and we notice, with interest,
that they have long woolly tails.

We now reach the first station on the line — it is only a mere
hut — but nobody wishes to alight or get aboard, and we do not
stop. On either side of us the route is still moorland, but ahead
of us we can plainly see the grand old monarch, and the succeed-
ing ranges in majestic array. It hardly seems possible that we
are really ascending Snowdon, and shall find ourselves eventually
on the summit, perched up 3560 feet. From the first station,
Snowdon summit is about four miles to the southward, and the
line runs tolerably direct towards it. Another bridge, with a
50 ft. span, is gone over, and, on the right, we observe the pretty
waterfall of Ceunant Bach (Bach means little, small).

From this point we ascend for some two miles the long slope
of Llechog, with a ridge on our left, which at present hides the
world-famous Pass of Llanberis from view. The long open
valley on our right is Cwm Brwynog (Cwm means a valley or
dingle), and right across the valley there is a series of small hills
such as the noble Eilio, Moel Coch (Moel means a conical hill,
Coch means red), and Moel-y-Cynghorion (the Hill of Councils).
Our journey is becoming more awe-inspiring every moment, and
we really begin to realise now the exact nature of our expedition.

There is still no open view on the left, for the ridge afore-
mentioned prevents it. Everything at present is ahead, and on
our right, and as we reach station number three we notice a
small chapel, as well as the halfway hous'e, which has this curious
lettering upon its door : " Noah's Ark, Satanus non est. Holme
and King, contractors."

We are now going up and up the slope of Llechog, and soon
after passing the halfway house, where, by the way, we take

M

178 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

in water, a view is obtained of the peaks of the two Elidirs on
the other side of Llanberis Pass. That is on our left, and we
are fast preparing for an opening-out on that side, but not just
yet. Turning to our right again, we see in front of us a frowning,
black, perpendicular precipice stretching from east to west as
if to form an end to the glorious valley of Cwm Brwynog. The
name of this in English is Black Precipice. I dare not venture
its Welsh equivalent ! Looking ahead, and then westward, a
magnificent spectacle is being opened out before us. Some lakes,
far below and also away from us, come into focus, looking strangely
lifeless and lonely, and then right above the precipice of Clogwyn
Du (Dhu or Dulas means black, or dark, Clogwyn means a preci-
pice), a stretch of evenly sloping ground is seen, with the little
railway track running upwards from left to right. The terror
of it now dawns upon those of us who are at all " nervy." Are
we really going over the narrow edge of that awful percipice,
on an apparently narrow ledge of rock, about 1000 feet above
the lake lying beneath ? Yes, it is so, but, whilst meditating, we
see the slope more plainly and find, after all, that it is not nearly
so terrible as it looked from below. It was near here that the
mangled body of the Rev. H. W. Starr was picked up in 1847.

We are now just three miles from Llanberis, and have gained
the highest point of Llechog. Here there is a sudden break on
the left, where we have the first view into Llanberis Pass. We
are looking down almost perpendicularly from a rocky plateau.
The bottom of the valley, lit up by sunlight, is plainly to be seen,
for I noticed a Kestrel hovering quite low down, and the high
road and stream could be easily discerned — 2000 feet below !
The scene is truly one of awful grandeur, and I have never seen
anything like it on all my travels. The journey was amply
repaid as a result of that one sight alone. It will never be effaced
from my memory, and for, sheer majesty, beats everything Scot-
land had to offer me. We were all spellbound, enraptured,
glorified. When in this state of mind we were hardly prepared
to reach Snowdon's summit, which we did successfully a few
moments later. We again crossed the Llanberis Pass, and then
to the right, so as to traverse the steep track we had seen with
such terror from below". The view from there is magnificent.
Glimpses could be obtained of the Irish Sea, and, far across, the
Wicklow Mountains, with the 3000 ft. height of Lugnaquilla,
could be plainly discerned.

Really, I never picked up so much geographical knowledge

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 179

as on this holiday ! At our feet was the sequestered village of
Llanberis, looking like a toy city ; then the paths to the summit
from the famous Pass, as well as from Capel Curig and the
Snowdon ranger path, came into view, and we at last reached the
terminus on the western side of the monarch. On the left of
the platform, the visitor attains the very peak of the mountain
at the cairn. The views from the summit are indescribable,
and must be left for a more facile pen than mine. But I have
ascended Snowdon !

When at Chester I traced the source of the Kiver Dee, up which
I have sailed past Eaton Hall, making a detour to Hawarden
so as to sit in the pew once occupied by Mr Gladstone, of whom
I am a hero -worshipper, and to visit the finely-timbered park
in which the great statesman wielded his axe.

The Wirral peninsula, a happy hunting ground for the
naturalist, retains pleasant memories, for it was there in the
bleak days of gusty March that I watched the Oyster-catchers
feeding upon the mussels at low tide, and a lecturing tour took me
into Liverpool daily across the broad expanse of the River Mersey.

FIG. 75. — CORMORANT.

Chester enabled me to make acquaintance with centuries long
since past, and the bird and plant life from the Ribble at Preston,

180 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

up to Morecambe Bay, not forgetting leafy Lytham and noisy
Blackpool, have also claimed my attention. Off Lytham I have
watched large companies of seabirds dabbling in the mud, among
which I specially remember a Cormorant (Fig. 75), whose clever
exploits at catching fish I have never seen surpassed.

I have seen large Salmon from the window of the Bluebell
Hotel at Annan, near Dumfries, in the river after which this
pleasant Scotch town is named, and which is fed from the Moffat
Hills, near Ecclefechan, the birthplace of Carlyle. Opposite
the hotel, was the Academy at which the great man went to
school, now a solicitor's office. A saunter to the Solway Firth
from this point is linked up with happy associations, and around
several inland Lochs between Dumfries and Glasgow I have
searched for birds, plants, and stray trout.

The rocky Ayrshire coast, from Colmonell in the south to
Wemyss Bay in the north, with rugged Ailsa Craig standing out
like a grim sentinel in the Clyde, has also been visited by me
during holidays of yore.

FIG. 76. — TERX ix FLIGHT.

In the lovely Island of Arran some of my most treasured
experiences as a Naturalist have been obtained. Its coast,
glens, burns, moors, hills, and mountains, have fascinated my
nature soul to a degree that is inexpressible. I have seen the

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 181

best part of the British fleet at anchor in Brodick Bay, speared
for flat fish in the Clyde, rambled among the profusion of wild
flowers (and especially marsh plants near the shore), and
gathered Mushrooms on the steep slopes of Dunfion, to the con-
sternation of the natives who could not understand the diet
of an Englishman which included Paddock Stools ! Down by
the shore I have watched the Tern (Fig. 76) scanning the water
for food, and focussed my glasses upon the Gannets as they
soared aloft, and then, with breakneck speed, the birds dashed
headlong to the sea with a mighty splash, as if a torpedo had
suddenly exploded, and sent up showers of spray.

I have sailed right round Arran so as to obtain a better idea of
its coast-line, bathed in the Clyde and Kilbrennan Sound, and
been to Campbeltown, not to drink whisky but to eat Scotch
cakes, and to see the Atlantic breakers dashing upon the shore
at Machrihanish. From that point I had my only view, so far,
of the Emerald Isle, where I espied Fair Head off the Mull of
Kintyre.

Many of the watering places on the Clyde, such as Rothesay,
Dunoon, Millport, and the rest, have all claimed me as a visitor,
and will, I hope, yet again.

A few notes concerning a visit I paid to the Great Cumbrae
may here be given. I had frequently passed close to the Cumbraes
(for there is a Little Cumbrae close at hand, and both of them
have broken away from the larger island upon which Rothesay
is situated), but never landed there before.

What took me to the Great Cambrae was an invitation I
received, when staying in Scotland, to visit the Marine Biological
Station, at Millport. The station belongs to, and is controlled
by, the Marine Biological Association of the West of Scotland,
the President, on the occasion of my visit, being Sir Archibald
M'Innes Shaw, LL.D., of Glasgow.

From Fairlie we took a small coasting steamer to the Great
Cumbrae, landing at the first port of call, Keppel Pier, Millport.
Millport itself is round the corner, in a wide sweeping bay, and
quite a popular resort for Scotch folk during the holiday season.

We spent all the morning going over the Biological Station,
which is admirably conducted by the superintendent, Mr Richard
Elmhirst, F.L.S., preparatory to the arrival of the large and
distinguished party of members and friends, who came down
by special steamer from Glasgow about midday. The Millport
Biological Station was founded by Dr David Robertson, known

182 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

as the Cumbrae Naturalist, and the original " Station " consisted
of a sort of Noah's ark, perched high and dry upon the rocks.
To-day, a handsome and well-equipped building, with super-
intendent's house close by, stands out boldly as a lasting monu-
ment to the illustrious founder, and in the museum there are
gathered together his wonderful collections of animals and
plants of the Clyde area. Soon after the arrival of the large
party of members and friends, a meeting was held in the museum,
which was presided over by the Kev. John Smith, D.D., of
Partick, who, on behalf of the President and General Committee,
welcomed the members and visitors to the Station.

Dr James F. Gemmill, M.A., of Glasgow University, who has
taken such an immense practical interest in the Station, followed
with a business-like statement, outlining the nature of the scientific
and educational work recently carried out at the Station, and
inviting attention to the many interesting exhibits which had
been arranged for inspection. Dr Gemmill particularly empha-
sised the great economic value of the research work at the Station,
and the benefit to the community at large of the knowledge
gained as a result of such research.

FIG. 77. — HERMIT CRAB IN WHELK SHELL.

Mr C. R. Cowie, Convener of the Finance Committee, referred
in a most interesting speech to the educational work at the
Station, its claim upon the public, its interest and use to teachers,
and others, for original work in regard to increasing their know-
ledge of the fauna and flora of the Clyde area.

Then followed Sir David M'Vail, who expressed thanks on
behalf of the visitors, and pointed out that great benefit would
accrue if a series of consecutive lectures and demonstrations
could be arranged at the Station.

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 183

Dr John Hutchison associated himself with the vote of thanks,
and referred in feeling terms to his association, as a boy, with
the founder, Dr David Robertson. The meeting then terminated,
whereupon various small sections were formed for a tour of
inspection. The treasures of the museum were closely inspected,
as well as the living tenants of the large tank aquariums, the
class laboratories, and the research work rooms. To attempt a
detailed account of all to be seen and learned as a result of a
visit to a marine biological station, such as that at Millport,
would, in a few notes, be courting the impossible. Suffice it to
say, that, to an inland naturalist such as myself, the visit I was
enabled to make under such auspices, was a practical education.
To see at first hand, living inhabitants of the deep in their own
sea water, as living, and, let us hope, as happy creatures, was an
experience not easily forgotten. One can only hope that such
valuable work as is being carried out on the Clyde will receive
the support it so richly deserves, and that upon our English
coast similar stations will be put into operation, with a Govern-
ment grant towards their upkeep.

Other more famous Lochs and Islands on the west coast of
Scotland northwards to Skye have also a never-to-be-forgotten
niche in my storehouse of journeys round the British coast,
as to which I have already written at some length in the previous
chapter, and I may conclude this very rapid peep at my various
itineraries by relating a few experiences inland at Paisley.

Of Paisley itself, the less said the better. Candidly, I do not
care for the place. I suppose it is like most other cities where
there is extreme wealth, for here, sure enough, is also extreme
poverty. The dominant factor in the prosperity of Paisley is
the cotton industry, and when I saw an army of thousands of
employees (mostly young girls) leaving work in a solid mass I
was greatly impressed with the scene before me.

Perhaps, I had better say straight away that Scotch towns
in general do not appeal to me, and Paisley is one of these, and
therefore no exception to the rule. The reason is not far to seek,
As the reader may already know, the tenement system holds
good in Scotland, and to one hailing from a Garden City, " where
all is bright and beautiful, and only man is vile," the tenement
system is somewhat distressing. One block of tenement dwell-
ings pointed out to me at Shawlands Cross, Glasgow, contained,
so I was told, at least 2000 people : men, women, and children !
Needless to say, there are no gardens to these tenements, and

184 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

the consequence is the children have to play in the stone passage
leading to the various flats, or in the road or pathway adjoining.
True, there are nice open spaces to be found for the seeking.
There are several in the neighbourhood of Paisley (though not
nearly sufficient), and near Glasgow I visited the famous Rouken
Glen Park, and Queen's Park.

Whenever I see the Scotch tenement children, they appear to
be eating. But it is not porridge that is being stowed away so
much as bread and jam. There are many little " stowaways "
among Scotch bairns, and they must love bread and jam. In
consequence, their faces often betray the unmistakable trade-
mark of jam or marmalade ! The men folk almost invariably
wear caps, and smoke clay pipes with metal tops. I do not
know why they favour the latter, and, as my host at Langcraigs
is not a devotee of " the weed that cheers," he has been unable
to enlighten me on the subject.

The women folk rarely wear hats, just throwing a shawl over
the head and shoulders. The older women look jaded and care-
worn. The responsibility of domestic affairs seems to be writ
upon their brows, yet the children appear to be dirty and mostly
uncared for ! This does not apply to all of them, but the majority
of the tenement children thus appeared to me.

Yet, in spite of this, the boys and girls seem to be happy.
If making a noise is anything to go by, they are indeed in
happyland.

It is interesting to watch young Scotland in the making.
The great game here among the working classes is bowls, and
the way in which the greens are kept is very pleasant to witness.
I was much struck one Saturday afternoon when walking to
Langcraigs from Paisley Centre, for I had several examples of
the Scotchman's love of recreation and sport.

At Ferguslie I watched Drumpellier give a good hiding at
cricket to the first-named team. It is a ripping ground, the
haunt of cricketers in Summer, and seagulls in Winter.

Adjoining the cricket ground there are several tennis courts,
which were all occupied at the time of my visit, and, not far
away, I witnessed a football match, and in the next ground a
bowls match ! Just over the road, the elite of Paisley were
busily engaged playing golf, and the boys in the street were
engaged at marbles, or " bools." I like to watch these hard-
handed sons of toil playing bowls. One can see at a glance the
Scotchman's care and shrewdness. There is nothing hasty in

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 185

the methods employed. I noticed the same trait at the Ferguslie
cricket match. Each batsman played the ball carefully, all
along the carpet as we cricketers say, but one Drumpellier
batsman opened his shoulders and actually hit two fours
in succession.

I like the game of bowls. It keeps the working-man employed
in his leisure hours. It takes him into the fresh air. It brings
him into social intercourse with his fellow-man. It provides him
with sport, recreation, and exercise combined. But, for all the
world, I do not think I could show so much excitement as these
folks do when the wily ball, so weighty and ill-controlled by the
mere tyro, makes its way towards the white " jack." The
partners rush up the green, and, when a fine shot has been made,
hastily shake hands and congratulate one another. I listened
to their lingo. It made a great impression upon me, for the
simple reason that I could not understand a word of it. Still,
it was all very interesting, and gives one a broader outlook upon
life's horizon. What the women and young girls do in their
spare time I am at a loss to understand. The picture palaces,
of course, claim a great many patrons, and, on Saturdays and
Sundays, the walk to the bonnie wee well on the famous Gleniffer
Braes is a great institution.

I was staying on one occasion within a stone's throw of these
famous Gleniffer Braes, which have been immortalised in song
and verse by Scotch writers. Macdonald's Well, the " Bonnie
Wee Well on the breist o' the Brae," has long been famous, and
the good folk of Paisley peregrinate thither in great numbers,
especially in the quietude of a Sabbath evening. As one mounts
gradually upwards, it is obvious to the pedestrian that, on reach-
ing the summit of the brae, a panorama will be stretched out
below and beyond such as might favourably compare with any-
thing else in Scotland. Certainly, at the moment, I can only
recall three of the scenes which have made such an indelible
impression upon my memory, namely, the view of Glasgow, as
seen from where the cannons stand in Queen's Park, and the
views of Edinburgh and neighbourhood, as seen from the Castle
and Arthur's Seat.

In view, therefore, of the magnificent view to be obtained
from the top of the Gleniffer Braes, I did not want any pressing
to accept an invitation to go to the " Bonnie Wee Well," in com-
pany with a friend one evening in September. On turning round
after reaching the top of the brae — which hereabouts has been

186 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

purchased by the Corporation of Paisley and Provost Robertson,
for the purpose of extending the public benefits of a large health-
giving open space, and partly for the protection from pollution
of the line of water supply — a wonderful scene presented itself.
Below us the large town of Paisley was spread out as on a map.
The famous Cotton Mills ; the Cornflower Works ; the very
handsome Coats Memorial Church ; the stately homes of Paisley's
rich folk fringing the outside of the town, and, away beyond,
the City of Glasgow, and the valley of the Clyde, flanked by the
Kilpatrick Hills, were all plainly to be seen, indeed the details
visible are past description, or even enumeration, here, for, away
to the north, some 26 miles as the crow flies, I could plainly discern
the summit of Ben Lomond, and right away to the west I could
even observe in the warm evening glow the Paps of Jura ! At
a convenient place on the hillside, Provost Robertson has had
erected on a marble pedestal a distance and direction plate of
immense interest to the resident, or visitor. This takes the
form of a flat engraved bronze plate, and in the centre of it are
these words : " This spot is 600 feet above sea level, and is in
Lat. 55'49 N. and Lon. 4 '28 W. The figures represent the
distance in miles from here as the Crow flies."

From the central circle bearing the above inscription various
lines radiate to North, South, East, and West, pointing to
different places. Thus, looking due north, I discovered Loch
Katrine was 29 miles away. Then looking due south I found
Kilmarnock was 14 miles distant. On my left-hand side (west)
the handsome bronze plate informed me that the popular seaside
resort of Rothesay was 23 miles distant ; that the name of the
mountain I could so easily see was Misty Law (1663 feet high),
10 miles away ; that Millport, on the Great Cumbrae (about
which I have already written), was 18| miles distant, and that
Lochwinnoch, where I fished and caught nothing on my first
visit to Scotland sixteen years ago, was only 6J miles away.
To the south-west was Ireland, 76J miles ; Ardrossan, 18J miles ;
and Ailsa Craig, 49 miles. Looking north-west, I learned that the
Gareloch was about 16 miles distant, and that it was 22 J miles
to the head of the Holy Loch. Loch Lomond, the guide-
plate told me, was 14| miles away ; that the Kilpatrick Hills
on the other side of the Clyde were 10 miles away ; that Stirling,
. with its famous Castle, was 29 miles away ; that Glasgow Cross
was 9 miles distant ; Edinburgh, 49 ; and Carlisle, 88 miles away,
almost due south-east.

ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 187

I never remember a geography lesson either in or out of school
from which I gained so much information as on the occasion
referred to, and I venture to suggest that a similar erection should
be made by the Government Survey on various high points in
every county in Britain.

CHAPTER XIII

HOMEWOOD

IN the last chapter I asked the reader to accompany me along
a good stretch of the British coast-line, but I am reminded by a
recent stay at a rural retreat at home in Hertfordshire that
there is no need to go far away in search of wild nature. I
fully recognise that the observant traveller receives a first-hand
education in various departments of life, but I have nevertheless
a wholesome respect for those who, like Gilbert White of Selborne,
either, by force of circumstance or choice, restrict attention to
a careful survey of their own parish.

It is appropriate, too, that Homewood should have a special
chapter accorded to it in this volume, for my friends there' were
the only ones who heard " My Life as a Naturalist " read when
in manuscript form. To their encouragement and appreciation
I hereby acknowledge my whole-hearted indebtedness.

Homewood is, as its very name implies, a home in a wood ;
it is not the home-wood one often finds on large estates, where the
wood nearest the big house is so-called. Surrounded by fine
Oaks and sturdy Hornbeams, environed with pleasant gardens,
wreathed, at the time of my visit in early June, with blue of
Lupins and Cornflowers, flaring red of giant Pseonies, rich yellow
clusters of Corydalis, delicate pink Azaleas, and the rest, Home-
wood was a delightful demesne, in which a somewhat fatigued
author could spend a never-to-be-forgotten week-end, so as to
enjoy a mind restfulness from his literary labours.

When I retired to rest on the first evening of my visit, the
weird churring of a Nightjar near my bedroom window was, of
itself, sufficient to remind me of the throbbing heart of the country
in which I was sojourning, and, at four a.m. next morning, a
Cuckoo was persistently calling from almost exactly the same
place occupied by the night bird during the cover of darkness.
After that auspicious awakening, surely nn appropriate welcome
for the birth of another glorious June day, there was restricted
slumber for even a tired naturalist. At the Cuckoo's challenge,

188

HOMEWOOD 189

all the birds of the neighbourhood bestirred themselves, and
soon, as I lay there amidst a perfect tfbrrent of bird music, I
distinctly heard the notes of twelve different songsters. Most
beautiful of all was a melodious Blackcap, of whose great reputa-
tion as a songster I had been reading to the Homewood circle
the previous evening (see Chapter V.). It was curious, to say
the least, that within a few hours I should hear, so close to the
open bedroom window, a very fine Blackcap uttering to perfec-
tion the song of the Thrush, as well as its own melodious reper-
toire, a matter which was discussed with interest over the break-
fast table later in the morning. A Lesser Whitethroat was very
insistent in its song not many paces away, and I feel confident
had a nest in the hawthorn hedge bordering the kitchen garden.
In the fields surrounding the pleasaunce, awakened Skylarks
rose in rapturous roundelay at the break of dawn, and crested
Lapwings screamed with sheer delight. Not far away, earlier
in the year, this bird deposited its four pear-shaped eggs in the
footprint of one of the plough horses (Fig. 78).

J\B

FIG. 78. — EGGS OP LAPWING.

Close to the terrace where I rest this quiet Sabbath morning,
sheltered from the strong wind and refreshed by the glorious
inbreathing of the sunlit air, a Tree Pipit is heard singing in
perfect rhapsody. It nests somewhere among the dense tufts
of grasses under the shade of an Oak towering in the foreground,
but, so far, its homestead has escaped detection. Its watch-
tower is a dead branch of the Oak in front of me, and, from this
coign of vantage, the lyrical bird pours forth its sweet lilting song.
A Pied Wagtail comes to drink at the water vase near the stone

190 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

steps, the crevices of the latter being festooned with various
dwarf plants which blossom from early Spring to Autumn. The
Wagtail is followed later by a gaudy male Chaffinch, his ruddy
breast all aglow with a feast of colour.

One of the characteristic plant associations of Homewood's
undergrowth is the Bramble, hence the number of shy Warblers,
Chiff-Chaffs, Willow Wrens, Blackcaps, and Whitethroats which
haunt this Hertfordshire homestead. Its cousin, the Dewberry,
is already in flower, but the Bramble's " blossomy diadem," as
Owen Meredith would say, is not just yet. When the fragile
blossoms do unroll, crumpled in bud, open wide in after time, the
Ringlet Butterfly will be a constant visitor. Later still, when
the rich clusters of blackberries appear, the hungry Greenfinch,
Thrush, Starling, and other fruit-loving birds, will take toll from
the luscious berries. And so will man !

Let us saunter into the wood, where, under the shade of the
trees, we shall find it cool and refreshing this June morning, for
the sun is getting higher in the Heavens, and the comparative
quietness of the birds betokens the coming heat of noonday.
Do I not remember my visit to this pleasant little wood one
wintry day last January ? The whole woodland was then
enveloped in snow and frost. At midday a rapid thaw set in,
and, as I trudged through the slush at nightfall, I was still full of
hope for better and brighter days. Now that happy consumma-
tion has come to pass. What magic has happened in the mean-
time, in spite of wars that rage, and governments that fall !

I have with me for quiet meditation and inspiration this day
in June a copy of the Selected Poems of Robert, first Earl of
Lytton (Owen Meredith), and, as I turn casually over the leaves
of this fragrant volume, fresh from the hands of the poet's loving
consort, my hostess to-day, my eye alights on never-to-be-for-
gotten word pictures, which I recite aloud to myself as
emblematical of the Spring that has just passed : —

" The Violets meet, and disport themselves,

Under the trees, by tens and twelves.
The timorous Cowslips, one by one,

Trembling, chilly, atiptoe stand
On little hillocks and knolls alone ;

Watchful pickets, that wave a hand
For signal sure that the snow is gone,

Then around them call their comrades all
In a multitudinous, mirthful band ;

HOMEWOOD 191

Till the field is so fill'd with grass and flowers

That wherever, with flashing footsteps, fall
The sweet, fleet, silvery April showers,

They never can touch the earth, which is

Cover'd all over with Crocuses,
And the clustering gleam of the Buttercup,
And the blithe grass blades that stand right up
And make themselves small, to leave room for all

The nameless blossoms that nestle between
Their sheltering stems in the herbage green ;

Sharp little soldiers, trusty and true,

Side by side in good order due ;
Arms straight down, and heads forward set,

And saucily-pointed bayonet."

Thus Owen Meredith sings in his beautiful poem " The Thistle,"
a flower's ballad which I commend the reader to become intim-
ately acquainted with at the earliest opportunity.

I notice, as I pass on my way rejoicing, that the rich golden
catkins of the male Sallow-bush on the right of the wood, in the
clearing made to receive the home, have now departed, and the
plant is in full leaf, but, on the opposite side of the drive, a mass
of yellow Broom is afire with glory, and lights up the place in
which it flourishes with matchless beauty.

The Anemones, which I stooped to caress on my last visit in
April, have lost their fragile sepals (there are no petals), but I
am able to discover the head of dry seeds which I find, on exam-
ination, are easily detached, and promise well for another season
yet to be. There is a sudden disturbance of this quiet Sabbath
hour, for a pilfering Jay darts across my green pathway, followed
by a screaming Thrush, the latter much distressed because the
former had purloined one of its callow young. The thief !

The snaky heads of Bracken are craftily unfolding and adding
a new grace to the woodland vista at my feet, and the delicate
leaves of the Wood Sorrel — a reveller in damp, shady places —
are spread wide open after closure during the night hours.

The Wild Cherry has by leafy June shaken off its full bridal
garments and is now in fruit, but its leaves are fresh and green,
and appear intact. The Hornbeam's leaves, however, are all
more or less riddled with holes, sure evidence that there are hosts
of larvae here which find the leaves of this plant suitable to their
" taste." I pass on my way enchanted, a suitable word to employ,
because, near by, the Enchanter's Nightshade is fast making
headway, though, let it be written, I have never been able to

192 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

discover why this familiar woodland plant has acquired the
forepart of its English name.

I reach a less-frequented path, which runs horizontally across
the wood. It is damp in places, and, as I wander along, patches
of Wood Loosestrife, or Yellow Pimpernel, greet me, together
with Tormentil, and tall spikes of Bugle.

Homewood is for the most part an Oak-wood, with Hornbeams
and Brambles as close companions. Where the Hornbeam has
formed a dense plant-association, there is little chance for any
other vegetable growth to anchor, for, on my right, there is
little, or no, undergrowth. The grassy pathway divides the
Hornbeam plantation from the richly-studded Oakland on my
left, but here the Bramble and other plants are able to nourish
owing to the tallness of the Oaks allowing free access of light
and air. The Hornbeam colony shuts out the light, and nought
but fallen leaves carpet the ground beneath the green canopy
above. Crane Flies are disporting themselves in the taller
herbage, and move reluctantly onward even when coaxed so to
do, and a belated Jack-in-the -Pulpit (Wild Arum) provides an
object lesson for my hostess, who has now joined me.

C XT

j. 79. — NEST AND EGGS OF TURTLE DOVE.

The bright pink petals of Herb Robert light up the scene here-
abouts, and a Turtle Dove slips quietly off her frail platform
of sticks, among which two milk-white eggs seem perilously
suspended (Fig. 79).

Already the June sunshine is warning us of the feast of Wild
(and Garden !) Strawberries, which will soon be ready for man
and beast. The green fruits are well formed, and I remember

HOME WOOD 193

how the luscious berries quenched my thirst when I visited
Homewood last Summer time.

Where the wood is of a more open character, a stately Birch
rears its queenly head, and graceful Bluebells still linger in a
belt of blue. A week previous I gathered near here both
Primroses and Bluebells in blossom at the same time. They
were growing side by side, surely an uncommon event in rural
England worthy of 'note.

Swifts are careering above the tree-tops at breakneck speed,
screaming as they go ; Swallows are twittering pleasantly as
if to give thanksgiving on the Lord's day for the great abundance
of insect life which the glorious Summer weather of May and
early June brought unto them, and a loud-voiced Wren, not to be
despised because of smallness of stature, suddenly bursts into
song from the briar bush opposite. On disturbing the singer, it
creeps, mouse-like, through the bushes, and then flits in front
of us more like a butterfly than a bird. The cause of its jubilancy
is now apparent, for, among a mass of dead bramble leaves, its
globular nest is deftly woven. A Chaffinch has young in a haw-
thorn bush not far away, and is so conscious of protection that,
as we peer in, the female bird sits tight upon her well -fledged
young. So well-grown are the latter, that it is with difficulty
we are able to discern young birds from old. We remark upon
the smallness of the family nursery for such big chicks, and then,
her patience exhausted, the mother-bird leaves her homestead,
and utters repeated calls of distress. Her mate is perched on
a neighbouring tree, and cheers her with his high-pitched love-
song. But it is all to no purpose, as the weeping female has
all her thoughts centred upon the well-being, and safety, of
her expectant brood. Fearful lest our presence should disturb
her unduly, we hie away, to discover, a few yards distant, the
mossy nest of a Hedge Accentor, difficult of access. The
young have flown, but an addled, or infertile, egg remains in
the nest as evidence of this faithful little bird's presence in
almost the same spot, where, in previous years, it has reared a
family.

I retrace my footsteps towards the house, greeted, in passing,
by a friendly Goat, tethered among luxuriant grass near the
entrance gates, and, later, by the newest arrival at Homewood
in the person of Brownie, a six weeks' old Terrier pup. Brownie,
full of play, persists in following me, and is intensely interested
in my bird nesting expedition. Tung, up at the window, is far

194

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

less friendly, for he resents the appearance of this Terrier stranger,
but will doubtless have concluded peace terms before an auto-
graph copy of this volume is added to the other loving tomes in
the Homewood library.

And so the pleasant day passes, by means of walks and talks
in wood and garden, and by the firelight's gleam. Happy hours
are all too quickly spent, and, when the household has retired
and left me strangely alone, the call of a wandering Tawny Owl,
just aroused from slumber, sends a shudder coursing through
my veins, and I too steal quietly to rest.

FIG. 80. — TAWNY OWL.

Reaching my bedroom, I cannot even now finally retire, for
a beautiful full June moon invites me to lean out of the window,
and listen to the gentle lullaby produced by the wind among
the heavily-foliaged trees. The Owl is closer now, and, without
warning, a Nightingale within earshot utters a rippling note, and
ceases as suddenly as it began. It sounded strange during the
shadowy stillness of the moonlit hour.

I have taken the precious volume of " Selected Poems " to

HOMEWOOD

195

my bedroom, and, as my midnight supplication, I repeat softly
with Owen Meredith :—

" Thou — God ! before whose sleepless eye not even in vain the Sparrows fall,
Receive, sustain me ! Sanctify my soul. Thou know'st, Thou lovest all.
Too weak to walk alone — I see Thy hand : I falter back to Thee."

And then — to slumber until the Cuckoo again awakened me.

CHAPTER XIV

THE WILDERNESS

" The Muse of Rural Life, I link the races,

Nature renews my chaplet with her Mays ;
To thee the Lark sings as it sung to Horace,
And here, as in Ustica, Horace sings."

THUS wrote Bulwer Lytton when he planned the Horace garden
at Knebworth, the stately Hertfordshire home of the Lyttons,
and adjoining this secluded garden there is situate the Wilderness
I have to write about in this Chapter. This latter was designed
by Kobert, First Earl of Lytton, Courtier and Poet, in 1881.

Although called the wilderness from the fact that here Nature
is allowed to follow her own unfettered coufse, if I was invited
to act as sponsor at a rechristening of this charming and never-
to-be-forgotten retreat, I would name it the Naturalists' Paradise.
This memorable May-day, as I wandered amid the tangled grasses
of the wilderness and looked at the blue sky above, there stole
into my heart thoughts that, as Wordsworth would say, " do
lie too deep for tears." From bush and copse, briar and thorn,
there resounded sweet bird music from a thousand instrumental
throats, which acted and reacted as Spring magic upon the two
silent witnesses of this jubilancy of song. Sprightly Chaffinches,
their wings flashing with white as they darted past, vied with
one another in supremacy of voice, and with Willow Warblers
— the piccolo soloists — melodious Blackcaps, and persistent
Chiff-Chafls, largely constituted the chief performers in the
feathered choir of the wilderness.

To one not versed in bird music, or knowing little of the renewal
of Nature's chaplet with the May, about which the famous
Novelist wrote, as set out at the head of this chapter, the wilder-
ness would doubtless prove just a pleasant place in which to
wander, and that is all. To the devoted student of Nature,
however, it is a happy hunting ground for wild creatures — both
animals and plants — the like of which I have never known
excelled in a given area.

196

THE WILDERNESS 197

The casual visitor would, of necessity, stand spellbound when
one of the stately trees, bushes, or shrubs, now festooned with
a wealth of gracious blossom, came into view, but the Nature
worshipper must needs obey the command which comes to him
to go down on bended knee, so as to serve the double purpose of
seeing the flowers to better advantage, silhouetted against the
blue of a cloudless sky, and to utter silent supplication for the
privilege of witnessing such a sight in rural England in the merry
month of May.

The grasses are studded with the faint lilac of departing
Cuckoo flowers, which are here discovered in various gradations
of colour. In the cool shade of the Horace garden, which is
entirely canopied with green, the blossoms of this plant are all
silver- white , as Shakespeare pictured them. Out in the open
the colour, although subdued, is more noticeable. Over the
surface of the silent pool in this secluded retreat, guarded by the
time-worn statues which Bulwer Lytton erected and epitaphed,
whole regiments of airy insects coquet in a shaft of sunlight,
which glints through an opening in the trees, and even the faint
wind that is stirring is sufficient to change their course, first this
way, and then that.

Fish are sunning themselves near the surface, startling the way-
farer with their sudden splash, and a sedate Robin utters its
plaintive dirge from the sturdy limb of an aged Oak overhanging
the water.

The sweet-scented Poet's Narcissus peoples the wilderness
with graceful dignity and matchless beauty, replacing the golden
glory of the curtseying Daffodil, which flourishes here in large
numbers earlier in the year, but now only traceable by its masses
of green, sword-shaped leaves. The pure white blossoms of the
Wild Strawberry strike the eye as cool and refreshing in the
torrid heat of this glorious May day, and the bright blue of the
Bugle adds a touch of colour to the ground, where, by its presence,
one is made aware of the dampness of the surroundings. A
patch of blue Speedwell anchored hard by might well have fallen
from the sky above, so matchless is its purity and comeliness.

In a dense colony of Rose bushes, which promise well for the
crowning of the Queen of Flowers in leafy June, a lyrical Black-
cap and his solicitous consort have placed their fragile cradle.
It is deftly suspended among the maze of prickly branches, and,
as we peer into the tangled growth, the female bird slips silently
off her n£st, whilst the male, revelling in the pleasant anticipa-

198 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

tion of baby birds yet to be born, utters a super-song, excellent
in quality, rich in sweet cadence, as if to cheer the brooding
dame.

Willow Warblers abound in the wilderness, for they find the
large tufts of grass suitable places in which to secrete their oval-
shaped nests, profusely lined with feathers. It needs a practised
eye, and an earnest search, to discover the well-hidden home-
stead of this Summer visitor, and its cousin, the Chiff-Chaff,
likewise a tree dweller, also resorts to the earth when entering
upon domestic duties.

Beds of Stinging Nettles are allowed to run riot in the wilder-
ness, and keen competition exists among the new growths to
catch up in stature the browned stems of last year. Here search
may be made for the banded Snail, as well as the larvae £>f the
Small Tortoiseshell and Peacock Butterflies, and the frail nest
of the Greater Whitethroat. A great haunter of Nettles, small
wonder, perhaps, that county people have christened this feathered
acrobat the Nettle Monger, or Creeper, for it loves to dwell among
these plant warriors when Summer time comes round again.

Peering into the tall Poplars we discover, after much searching,
a few stray eggs of the Puss Moth, proving that the female insect
which pupated last June has made a safe exit from her remark-
able cocoon, placed perchance upon the trunk of the tree. She
lived for some weeks last year as a voracious larva, feeding upon
the leathery leaves until such time as she had eaten sufficient to
enable her to be prepared for a period of quiescence as a pupa
until May of the succeeding year.

Around the hawthorn bushes a dipterous insect, known as
Saint Mark's Fly, is disporting itself in large numbers. As we
look up we are able to see quite plainly the curious way in which
the legs are held hanging downwards, and the mourning attire
that is worn. The presence of this insect probably accounts for
several pairs of Spotted Flycatchers which haunt the wilderness,
for, as we look towards the dark recess of an adjacent tree, we
are almost sure to discern the unmistakable form of this most
useful bird. If we stalk it close enough we shall be able to hear
the rapid snap of the beak, telling of another insect prisoner
safely interned, and, as if in thanksgiving for such an abundant
food supply near at hand, the wary bird, soberly clad and un-
obtrusive, utters a subdued " utick, utick," by way of bene-
diction. The fly-catching of this little-known bird is remarkable.
The insect legions of which it rids the air must go to m^ke up a

THE WILDERNESS 199

stupendous total during its sojourn among us. It is pleasant
to see it haunting the old wall near the kitchen garden, where it
has nested in previous years, and to realise that, although in the
Autumn it tripped away to Africa, it has safely returned to the
old-loved spot, so that this pleasant wilderness shall not mourn
its loss.

From the thick shade of a fast-blossoming thorn a Turtle
Dove is incessantly uttering its amorous love-song, soothing to
the ear, and possessing a rustic simplicity all its own. Presently
the bird takes to wing, but we notice how noiseless it is as com-
pared with the restless manoeuvres of the clamorous Ring Dove,
which, unlike the Turtle Dove, is a resident in the surrounding
woods. As the Summer visitor sweeps through an open vista,
it displays a prominent fan-shaped tail having white edges, and
pleases our sense of sight as the distant voice of a vagrant Cuckoo
does our sense of hearing.

Various species of Titmice simply revel in the wilderness, and
the Great Tit is particularly gladsome this May morning, for his
high-pitched metallic notes ring out loud and clear. He, at
least, is determined to assert himself in the riot of bird song
which gives to our present hunting ground one of its greatest

200

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

charms. I have visited the wilderness in the early days of a
New Year, and even then the lilting song of a solitary Mistle
Thrush acted as an overture for the great orchestra to which
I am such an attentive listener to-day.

High up in a spruce fir a Greenfinch is responding to the
love passion that is within him, and I never remember hearing
this bird sing to greater advantage. On occasions this bird de-
ceives the listener with the variety of the notes it utters, and I
have often been perplexed as to its identity.

Swifts are careering through the air at breakneck speed, their
sickle-shaped wings plainly visible against the clear sky ; Starlings
hawk in the air after insect prey, and chatter indescribable notes
when their fly-catching is suspended.

A Cockchafer falls at our feet. We pick it up for an examina-
tion of its fan-like antennae, the joints of which are now folded
up, and, after remarking that this insect is one of the favourite
repasts of the Nightjar, we give the creature its liberty, and pass
on to sights and sounds anew.

We cannot help noticing a whirr of wings towards the Horace
garden, a sudden disturbance of the sublime peace which there
prevails. A brace of Partridges have taken up their abode in
the wilderness, and the Terrier which followed us loyally all day
had put the birds to flight. Hence the commotion.

FIG. 82. — WILD RABBIT

Rabbits are likewise sent speeding away hot afoot from the
seclusion of a neighbouring thicket, and a crafty Weasel only

THE WILDERNESS 201

just escaped with its life by scampering up the bole of a giant
tree, where, in the large growth of a witches'-broom, it was able
to take cover until the danger that threatened had passed.

Swallows and Martins pursue their aerial course the whole
day long, taking toll of the insect life that abounds in the wilder-
ness as a corollary of the luxuriance of the vegetation. The
former nest in the water tower of the mansion, and dart with
unerring aim through the lead lights where the glass is vacant.
As one stands watching them, it is astonishing to notice the ease
and facility with which ingress is obtained, and pleasant to reflect
that these harbingers of Summer are increasing their numbers
here year by year.

A Blue Tit has a cosy nest and eggs in one of the nesting boxes
put up for the birds, but the Linnet prefers to choose one of the
yew hedges as a nesting site. Sometimes the Blackcap shows
a partiality for small holly bushes in the coppice adjoining the
wilderness, surely an unfamiliar nesting haunt, and, amid the
broad leaves of the sycamore, the rarer Garden Warbler delights
to wander, pouring out meanwhile its little varied, but beautiful,
song. He who has not heard a Garden Warbler sing at its best
has yet to make acquaintance with one of the finest British song-
birds the wilderness shelters.

FIG. 83. — GOLDFINCH.

202 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Taking cover from the noonday heat under a wide-spreading
Oak of massive grandeur, we begin to moralise upon the service
rendered by Nature study to this, the twentieth century, especi-
ally as we are inspired by the lyrical notes of a Goldfinch (Fig. 83)
in the tree overhead. It is a new bird for wilderness and garden,
and we are delighted to both see and hear it, because last year we
had strong suspicion that it was one of the rare bird tenants
hereabouts, but could not settle the point satisfactorily.

Coming back to our moralising after this pleasant diversion,
we may interpolate that, apart from the delight which Nature
gives to every normal person, its study is capable of far-reaching
service in human development, and, once we realise this effect
on the individual, we can perhaps appraise its value collectively
in the education of the race.

Training the eye and ear brightens the intelligence, for example,
when the children of the school gardening class, these little
planters and growers — sowers and reapers — begin to take an
interest in their work, and have to deal with proper names, as
well as keep correct details, as they are driven with increased
zest to consult their books for information. Thus these young
cultivators, led from careful attention to a few forms of life,
become observant of many, and a weekly ramble out-of-doors —
such as all schools should encourage under the expert guidance
of a Field Naturalist — would prove much more thought-provoking
than indoor cramming.

These healthy lessons, systematically associated with practical
ground-work, soon establishes a love for Nature which leads
from the particular to the universal, and is indestructible in later
life. Besides this, I am convinced that Nature study tends to
foster accurate statement, candour of mind, and breadth of
outlook upon life.

To the town-bred, dim-ev,ed childern of the cigarette — blow-
ing their smoke between — the field is a dull wilderness, and far
different to the wilderness among whose glories we are now
seated, whereas to those who were country-bred the landscape
is vivid with life, its seasonal and diurnal changes possessing an
inexhaustible charm. The true country-lover finds Mother Earth
abounding in pleasurable toils, and manifold endearments !

Not that these influences fail to break in everywhere, and
inundate all places, but in the city they find people preoccupied.
There, one is too busy with things which do not really matter to
take pleasure in them. As to the invasion of what is called Wild

THE WILDERNESS / 203

Nature into the crowded haunts of men, we all know the ubiquity
of the bird, and in regard to vegetable life, it was found a few
years since that no less than twenty-eight wild flowering plants
had established themselves within two years on a building plot
in Farringdon Street — struggling to see the skies. Nevertheless,
the city somehow deadens that finer sense of the potencies of
Nature which cannot fail to awaken in the wilderness.

Emerson reminds us that in solitary places, at the gates of
the forest, is to be found a sanctity which shames our religions,
and somewhere speaks of this enchantment as medicinal for body
and soul.

" The forest is my loyal friend, like God it useth me."

He says the meeting of the sky and earth may be seen from the
nearest hillock, as well as from the tops of the Alleghanies. And
we are elsewhere admonished that differences exist, not so much
in Nature, as in the eye of the beholder.

The Naturalist, dealing with a first-hand study of live, not
dead, things, does not suffer from the limitations incident to
certain specialists. However grouped or distributed, all the
subjects of his study are, more or less, interdependent, and bound
together, so that he can, like Macgillivray the ornithologist, take
all natural science for his province.

A sincere study of Nature seems calculated to inspire, if not
a scientific, a sympathetic imagination, and a livelier feeling for
" things both great and small." Its service will stir the heart as
well as the intellect. The better we understand our neighbours,
the more we learn the fascinating life histories of plants and
animals, the kindlier is the interest we are inclined to take in
them. And the fuller knowledge we get of sentient life generally,
the clearer will grow our insight into the marvellous environment
which hems us all in.

Our motto here in the wilderness may appropriately be that
of our English Nature Poet : "To the solid ground of Nature
trusts the mind which builds for aye," and I may well conclude
by quoting some striking aphorisms of Goethe, translated by
Huxley. As these are as arresting to-day as when written, no
apology is needed for recalling some of them : —

" Nature ! She surrounds us and locks us in her grasp :
powerless to leave her, and powerless to come closer to her. She
speaks to us incessantly, yet betrays not her secret. Individuality
seems to be all her aim, and she cares nothing for individuals.

204 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

She is always building up, and always destroying. Her workshop
is inaccessible. Nature lives in her children only, and the Mother,
where is she ? There is constant life, motion, and development
in her, and yet she remains where she was. Of rest she knows
nothing, and to all stagnation has affixed her curse. The mean-
ing of the whole she keeps to herself, and no one can learn it of
her. Who does not see her everywhere, sees her nowhere aright.
She rejoices in illusion. If a man destroys this in himself and
others, she punishes him like the hardest tyrant. If he follows
her in confidence, she presses him to her heart as it were her
child.

" Her children are numberless. To none is she wholly a
niggard ; but she has her favourites, on whom she lavishes much,
and for them she makes many a sacrifice. Life is her fairest
invention, and Death her device for having life in abundance.

"Her crown is love— through love alone can we come near
her. She isolates everything that she may draw everything
together. With a draught from the cup of love she repays for
a life of trouble. She has placed me in this wx>rld : she will
also lead me out of it. I trust myself to her."

Thus far Goethe, and I will finish with four lines from an
unknown author : —

"Though baffled seers cannot impart,
The secret of its labouring heart,
Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast
And all is clear from East to West."

Thus did the wilderness inspire me, and the memories of that
gorgeous May day will often come back to me like a draught of
Spring sunshine, whenever my wayward soul requires a stimulant,
such as Nature alone has to offer.

CHAPTER XV

BOUND HOUSE AND GARDEN

A GARDEN in the country may be made not only a pleasant
(and profitable) part of one's home-life, but may also become
the visiting, or abiding, place of a number of interesting creatures,
which can be watched to great advantage under constant observa-
tion close at hand. Many people complain of the lack of oppor-
tunity they possess for studying Nature, yet they have around
them in the garden an abundance of wild life which is worthy of
careful study. There, one will discover friends, as well as foes,
and, to those who pursue the matter intelligently, it will come
as a surprise when the meagre list of serious enemies is made out.
There always appears to be some compensating advantage, for
Nature never allows her wonderful balance to be upset, and is
for ever striving to do her utmost to give all her children a fair
chance in the struggle for existence.

It has long been my opinion that everyone who owns a garden
should possess some knowledge of natural history, as, not only is
additional pleasure acquired as a result, but such knowledge
can be put to practical use in the cultivation of flowers, fruit, and
vegetables, where, under less happier circumstances, blunders
are sure to be made.

To enjoy a garden to its fullest extent it is preferable to plan
and plot a rough, unbilled area oneself, and, although I am con-
stantly visiting other gardens which sometimes make me envious,
perhaps because they are more pleasantly situated, I would not
exchange my own 747 square yards of ground for a like area
elsewhere, because I happen to be my own designer, and my own
gardener.

Let me tell you how my garden was planned, and planted.
When I first took over my plot it was covered with rough grass
and a profusion of wild flowers, such as Bindweed, Dandelion,
Parsnip, Kagwort, Thistle, and the rest. It sheltered countless
numbers of insect and other pests, and was made up of stiff clay
soil. The point occurred to me that, to obtain any real measure

205

206 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

of success, the first thing to do was to entirely destroy as many
of the weeds and animal pests as possible, and it was also im-
portant to bear in mind the easier working of the clay land in
days to come. I had the top spit of earth removed all over the
plot, and, having built up two large heaps, I burnt same for
several days, until the weedy sods had been transformed into
rich red earth, such as one sees on railway banks. Meanwhile,
the soil was double -trenched all over, and, when this was com-
pleted, the burnt earth was spread over the surface, and then
the whole dug over again. All was then ready for staking out
and planting. The two large heaps were kept afire with small
coal night and day, and, although it was an expensive initial
item, it has proved its worth over and over again.

The ground sloped naturally from south to north, or back to
front, and, as I was keen upon having a level tract of lawn, it
was necessary to transfer many barrow loads of soil so as to
make up the ground where the fall was lowest near the house,
and work towards the higher ground in the rear. This having
been successfully accomplished, and the grass plot measured
and staked out, the next item was to prepare a five feet six inches
wide border on either side, running lengthwise from the end of
the lawn nearest the house, to where the ground was now banked
up at its natural level.

As with most people who make a garden, I was anxious to do
all that was possible to get same established as quickly as possible,
but I realised that before this could be accomplished it was
necessary to have a living barrier all round my plot (east, west
and south), so as to secure shelter from the wind, and to afford
privacy. I, therefore, planted Birches, Laurels, Limes, Poplars,
Sycamores, and a few Cypresses along the west border, close to
my boundary line, carrying same right to the end of the plot,
thence along the southern extremity, and as far as the raised
portion of the ground on the east, marked slope on plan (Fig. 84).
The reason I did not extend this living fence right along the east
boundary line was that the border there planned was for Roses,
and the trees and bushes of my neighbour on that side already
made a fair screen for the Queen of Flowers without being too
close, and thus impeding their growth. Laburnum, Mountain
Ash, Sea Buckthorn, Spindle, Syringa, a seedling Hawthorn or
two already in situ on the opposite side of my eastern border,
made a capital boundary, and Roses to be grown to perfection
must be allowed plenty of light, air, and room. I raised the

ROUND HOUSE AND GARDEN 207

two borders as high as possible, and allowed a gentle slope length-
wise for drainage, banking up the edges with turf. The two
steep banks at the end of the lawn I also treated in a like manner.
The western border was reserved for perennials such as Aubretia,
Corydalis, Lilies, Yellow Loosestrife, Pinks, Polyanthus, Primrose,
Sedum, Solomon's Seal, Violet, and small flowering shrubs such
as Berberis, Box, Cotoneaster, Cupressus, Flowering Currant,
Laurustinus, Lavender, Olearia, Osmanthus, Rosemary, Veronica,
Yew, and others.

Right round the edge of both borders I planted Emperor
Daffodils, which increase their number of blossoms each year.
In 1915 there were 210 blossoms ; in 1916, 320, and in 1917, 500.
I leave the bulbs in the ground all the year through, taking care
when forking over, or hoeing, not to damage same.

The top part of the garden (E and G on plan) was reserved for
a few fruit trees and vegetables, the former consisting of Apples,
Pears, and Plums, with Mint, Parsley, Sage, and Thyme.

After the lawn was finished, I found it had worked out larger
than I anticipated, the border on either side looked too narrow,
and the whole plot rather ill-balanced. Rather than increase
the width of the east and west borders after becoming established,
I made a two-feet wide border about four feet away, of sufficient
length (40 feet) to take twelve Cordon Apple trees on each side,
with an Espalier Pear the same distance in front of the steep
banks at the end of the grass (see C on plan, page 209). Where
this narrow border ended near the house, I placed a rustic arch on
either side so as to form an entrance walk to the borders. The
a«rches are now covered with the American Pillar Rose, and, to
form an opening in the narrow border at the end, I inserted a
wire arch with the same accommodating Rose on either side,
and this has now rounded off the scheme to advantage.

The Cordon Apples I planted on the -east side were Bismarck,
Beauty of Bath, Cox's Orange Pippin, King of the Pippins, and
Warner's King, and on the west side Allington Pippin, Blenheim
Orange, Devonshire Quarrenden, Gascoigne's Scarlet Seedling,
and Worcester Pearmain. The two Espalier Pears on either
side of the middle arch near the steps (H) are Fertility, and
Flemish Beauty. My other fruit trees in the little patch of higher
kitchen garden at the rear (E) are : —

Apples : Allington Pippin, Beauty of Bath, Domino, Early
Margaret, James Grieve, Grenadier, Lane's Prince Albert,
Loddington Seedling, Lord Derby, and Peasgood's Nonsuch.

208 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Pears : Louis Bon of Jersey, Williams' Bon Chretien, and
Winter Nelis.

Plums : Kirk's Blue Plum, Kivers's Early Prolific, and
Victoria.

I plant Potatoes for main crop, and also manage to find room
for a few Beans, Cabbages, Carrots, Onions, Parsnips, -and Peas.
The front garden of the house has the American Pillar Rose as
a living fence, with a substantial square arch of the same prolific
climber over the gateway, and three small shrubberies, mostly
consisting of Evergreens, such as Aucuba, Box, Euonymus,
Cypress, Holly, Portugal Laurel, Veronica, and Yew, with decidu-
ous shrubs such as Arbutus (Strawberry Tree), Berberis, Coton-
easter, Forsythia, Judas Tree, Pyrus, and Spiraea.

This brief survey will give the reader a fair idea of the number
and kind of plants which have habitation in rny garden, and as
the total is considerable for so small a plot, and they are increasing
in size each year, small wonder need exist at the variety of wild
life which my garden shelters. The prevailing wind is south-
west, and, knowing this beforehand, decided me to plant
mostly Evergreens as western and southern boundaries,
with, as I have proved, most satisfactory results. I use
bone meal as a fertiliser, and rarely water. I believe in
feeding from below ground, rather than cold shower baths from
above.

The simple outline plan on page 209 will afford a better idea
than a written description of how my garden looked when com-
pleted. The scale is 20 feet to 1 inch. The following are the
explanations of the initial letters :' —

A. Rose border, 5 feet 6 inches wide.

B. Grass Walks between two borders, 3 feet 9 inches wide.

C. Cordon Apple borders, 2 feet wide.

D. Herbaceous border, Flowering Shrubs, etc., 5 feet 6 inches

wide.

E. Small Vegetable and Fruit Garden.

F. Ashphalted T-shaped path.

G. Top border for Cordon Fruit Trees, 6 feet wide.
H. Steps from lawn to kitchen garden.

J. Ornamental Iron Flower Vase on pedestal, containing
Geraniums. This acts as a set piece for the whole garden.
Width of garden, 43 feet. Length of back garden, 116
feet.

l?tQ. 84.— PLAN OF GARDEN. (For details see text, p. 208.)

210

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

I have noted over fifty different kinds of bird visitors in the
garden, and, as far as I can tell, none of these perpetrate any
harm worth mentioning. Sparrows build their untidy homes
every year in the nest boxes close to the dining-room door, and,
although they are fond of nipping off the petals of Primrose or
Polyanthus in Spring, they do far more good than harm. They
pick off Aphides and caterpillars, and are fond of catching
Gnats.

The Robin is a constant visitor, and it is delightful to watch
this lustrous-eyed bird of stately gait and ruddy breast bathing
in the earthenware pan of water which we put out for the birds
all the year round. Once only has the Redbreast nested in the
garden, but it was an auspicious event, as I introduced into the
nest an egg of the Yellow Bunting, with the result that the Robins
not only reared their own young, but also brought -up the baby
Bunting, whose picture is here shown.

FIG. 85. — Youxa YELLOW BUNTING.

Our nesting boxes always attract Blue and Great Tits, and
their visits are doubly welcome in Winter, when we fill coconut
husks with boiled fat. We are never tired of watching their
engaging exhibitions of balancing on the suspended husk, and

ROUND HOUSE AND GARDEN

211

noting the unfailing regularity with which they contrive to
arrive for their own provender at our mealtime.

In the Laurel, Yew, and Arbor Vitas, the sooty Blackbird,
speckled Thrush, and homely Hedge Accentor nest every year,
and great pleasure is derived from watching the fledglings until
they leave the nest. Swallows, Martins, and Swifts wheel round
the house and garden all through the long days of Summer, and
impudent Starlings perch on the chimney pots, and utter in-
describable notes when in a jocund frame of mind.

Saucy Jays come to steal the stray peas early in the morning ;
the handsome Bullfinch is also an early visitor, when the fruit
buds are ready, and White-
throats, both Lesser and
Greater, together with Willow
Wren and Chiff-Chaff, come
to feed on the Apple and
Rose Aphis. I do not grow
soft fruits so that I know
what attracts them, and,
moreover, I have watched
these soft-bitted birds at their
useful work.

The Chaffinch is, for some
unknown reason, a rare garden
visitor with- me, but the
Greenfinch is fond of eating
the seeds of a Teasel plant
which I found attracted this species, and the sprightly Gold-
finch, and even the wee Goldcrest, visits the shrubs in the front
garden for insect food. Cotoneaster berries, richly decorative
in Autumn, are much sought after by Thrushes, Blackbirds,
and Redwings, and what few snails there exist are made short
work of by the first -named.

The Cuckoo often flies over during May and June, and I
frequently espy a Kestrel hovering aloft in search of prey.
At night the ghostly form of a Barn, or Long-eared, Owl flits
by the garden lover in the fading light, and the Little Owl
is a frequent haunter of the immediate neighbourhood. I am
fortunate in my bird tenants as, opposite my house, there
is a wooded area of eighty acres, which, if permitted to
remain untouched, will for many years constitute a pleasant
sanctuary for wild life, and it is largely owing to this that

FIG. 86. — LONG-EARED OWL.

212

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

so many wild creatures tenant my little plot, and bring joy
unto my heart.

In some extraordinary way Wild Rabbits manage to get into
the garden underneath the wire fence (put up to keep Rabbits
and Dogs at bay !), but they only come occasionally, and fortun-
ately restrict attention to the luscious clover which I sowed on

my lawn so as to ensure
\ some amount of moisture

(and greenery) in dry
weather, when the grass
becomes scorched. It is
the best dry-weather plant
with which I am acquainted,
and can be strongly re-
commended to those whose
lawn has been made upon
dry soil, such as, after
burning, mine has proved
to be.

My stock of Earthworms
is increasing now that the
burnt earth has had time
to recover, and the soil is
more humid, but, in spite
of this, the Mole is an in-
frequent visitor, although of
common occurrence in the
adjoining fields.

The Brown Rat some-
times scuttles across one's
path at nightfall, but is
in no way troublesome, and the House Mouse is rarely
seen. Its cousin, the Long-tailed Field Mouse, however, lives
underground in the garden, as two freshly- worked holes (one among
the plants of the western border, and another in one of the steep
grass banks dividing lawn from kitchen garden), amply demon-
strate. Sometimes this agile little beast comes into the house,
and, although it does not appear to be guilty of purloining food,
the good housewife cannot tolerate it in the upstair cupboards,
and its numbers have, in consequence, to be reduced.

It affords me great pleasure to know that this elegant little
mammal finds my garden a suitable place in which to reside,

FIG. 87. — LONG-TAILED FIELD MOUSE.

ROUND HOUSE AND GARDEN 213

and, although I rarely catch sight of it in the daytime, I am made
aware of its presence by inserting a leaf, or piece of paper, in the
entrance to its home, for, sure enough, the tell-tale stoppage
always disappears by the following morning.

I cannot exactly discover what the Long-tailed Field Mouse
lives on in my garden as, except when the potato tubers are
formed, and the peas are sown, I can find no evidence of any
depredation. I believe it collects hips and haws in Winter, and
that it has the habit of taking these wild fruits into a nesting box
which then serves as a larder. I find many remains there each
Spring, when I clean the bird homes out ready for their feathered
tenants, and I strongly suspect the mammal under review as
the culprit. I have disturbed it several times when thus engaged.
Birds also use the boxes in Winter for roosting purposes.

Sometimes the Bank Vole comes to see me, and its near relative
the Short-tailed Field Vole, but they are not residents, as the
conditions are apparently too artificial to be suited to their
needs. The former delights in ivy-covered banks and copses,
and there search should be made for it. It is a winsome little
beast.

The Pipistrelle Bat hides by day somewhere in the neighbour-
hood, and at night steals from its retreat to hawk over the garden
for winged prey, and its larger cousin, the Long-eared Bat, may
be espied at nightfall taking toll, maybe, of the cockchafer, or
an assortment of large moths which fly in at the open doorway
when the gas is lit.

FIG. 88. — LONG-EARED BAT.

The burnt soil seems to have discouraged both Slug and Snail,
and I rarely see either, excepting small specimens of the first
mentioned, and for this I am devoutly thankful. Nor can I
discover any serious trace of their ravages.

My greatest enemies may be counted on the fingers of one
hand, consisting of larvae which eat my Eose leaves and flower

214

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

buds, Wasps when the fruit is ripening, and the amazing Aphis
which infests the Rosebuds and Apples. To cope with the
Green Fly is a formidable task, and I have never discovered any
more satisfactory method, distasteful though it is, than picking
them off, and crushing between thumb and finger.

I may here give a brief alphabetical list of my favourite Roses,
which I grow successfully for pleasure, and not for exhibition :—
Betty, Caroline Testout, Grass An Teplitz, Harry Kirk, Hugh
Dickson, Joseph Hill, Lady Battersea, Lady Hillingdon, Lyon,
Madame Abel Chatenay, Marie Van Houtte, Melaine Soupert,
Mons Paul Lede, Pharasaer, Viscountess Folkestone, and over

the verandah, that sweetly-

\ J scented and clean-growing

'••-.. ,..-•'' climber, Allister Stella

Grey. All these varieties
are profuse bloomers, and
may be safely recom-
mended to any of my
readers desirous of having
a small collection of these
beautiful garden flowers.
Of the large array of
Butterflies, Moths, and
other insects of the
garden it is not possible

for me to set out even a bare list. None, with the exception
of the Winter and Codlin Moths, perpetrate any great harm,
and I do not kill either larva, pupa, or adult insect of any
others, excepting these. At least, I do not follow the precept
of a relative of my own, who has an extraordinary desire
to kill every living thing found in his garden, except the
plants he has himself put in, and those, at best, are very
poor specimens.

There are some plants I grow in my garden because they are
an attraction for certain kinds of insects. Such, for example,
is the Sedum. I cannot give the variety, but it is of compact
growth, has large heads of pink blossom in the Autumn, at a
time when the mixed border requires brightening, and it is of
unfailing attraction for that handsome Butterfly, the Red
Admiral. I always look forward with pleasant anticipation to
the advent of the Sedum's flat heads of bloom, and the visit of
gay-clad Red Admirals, whose brilliant colours are beautifully

FIG. 89. — RED ADMIRAL
BUTTERFLY.

ROUND HOUSE AND GARDEN

215

set off by the pink flowers whose wares are a sure lure for this
reveller in the Autumn sunshine.

Of miscellaneous garden inhabitants there is not a lengthy
list. Centipedes scuttle from beneath clods of earth, fallen
leaves (Laurels are a great nuisance when shedding their coats,
or when browned during a severe Winter), and other objects,
and the sluggish Millipede may occasionally be discovered.

Spiders of various kinds tenant the garden, and are entirely
beneficial, and, if an old Toad
or two are introduced, ad-
ditional benefits will accrue.
The Toad is likely to make
a more lengthy stay in a
garden than the Frog, as it
is less given to roaming, and,
having found a suitable en-
vironment, takes kindly to it
year after year.

The wily Hedgehog has at-
tempted to inspect my garden

plot, and one day a Hare bolted like a flash from under my feet
as I opened the front gate. A proud Cock Pheasant, much to
my delight, stalked in the latter one Summer's day as I sat
writing at the open study window.

Brimstone Butterflies are fairly constant visitors owing to
the near presence of the favourite food plant of the larva —
Buckthorn — which grows in the hedge opposite. The Large and
Small Garden White Butterflies are with us whenever the sun
shines, together with velvety Peacocks, Small Tortoiseshells,
and Orange Tips.

From this brief resume the reader will obtain an impression
of the keen delights which a garden brings to a lover of Nature,
such as myself, and of the happy hours one may spend there in
the fresh air, under the open sky, with soaring Larks and tinkling
Meadow Pipits near at hand, and a wealth of floral treasures
waiting to be caressed.

FIG. 90. — GARDEN WHITE
BUTTERFLY.

CHAPTER XVI

MY COUNTRY STUDY

MY country study is a very pleasant sanctum, and, as I pass so
many hours of my life therein, it is appropriate that a niche
should be found for it in this book, especially as the book itself
was written within its inviting portals.

Although facing north, and, therefore, cold in Winter, in
Spring, Summer, and Autumn it is a welcome retreat, where one
is able to gather his thoughts together for presentation to listener
or reader.

The outlook from my study window is, for the best part of the
year, refreshing and stimulating. As I write, I have almost within
my grasp graceful clusters of the orange blossoms of Darwin's Bar-
berry. The fine colour is lit up by the western sun, the rays of
which fall warmly upon my face as I am seated at the writing-
table this gorgeous evening in May. To the right of me a fine
shrub of Portugal Laurel is putting on new growth, and trans-
forming itself into a pyramid of green, as compared with the dead
brown leaves which it recently possessed, the result of the severe
Winter of 1916-17, and, near by, the delightful yellowy- green of
Cupressus Stewartii, a favourite evergreen of mine, just catches
my eye. Adjoining it, the golden chains of Laburnum blossom,
and the unmatched beauty of a Pink Hawthorn, add a feast of
colour, which, when one is straining for inspiration, is a tonic for
both body and mind. As I have already told in the previous
chapter of the plants which grow in my front garden, and the
American Pillar Rose arch, which is one livid mass of colour when
June is here, I need not elaborate further. I should tell the
reader, however, that my country study looks out upon the
Icknield Way from which, as I write, a fussy Humble Bee has
just flown in through the open window. Hence this note !

This Icknield Way is the chief surviving ancient trackway
connecting East Anglia, and the whole eastern half of the regions
north of the Thames, with the west and the western half of the
south of England. It is a pre-Roman road, of great historical

216

MY COUNTRY STUDY 217

and topographical significance, and many British and Roman
remains have been discovered hereabouts since my country
study was first occupied a few years ago. Only a short distance
away, in a gravel pit just off the Icknield, a late Celtic Cinerary
Urn was unearthed by a workman in October 1912. It contained
calcined bones, and a bronze connecting-link of a belt. Of
elegant design and beautiful workmanship — a fine example of
the early potter's art — the vessel measures 15 inches in height,
with a maximum diameter of 6.3 inches. It may now be seen
at Letchworth Museum, of which I have made mention in the
concluding chapter.

Rudely fashioned flint implements made and used by early man,
are constantly being picked up close to the study, and I discovered
a few fragments, with fossil Belemnites and Gryphsea incurva,
when the foundations for my house were excavated. I have
also found several in the garden. Hard by, there are several
Tumuli, and the site of a Roman Camp and Villa.

On the north side of the Icknield Way, looking from the study
window, there is a belt of woodland consisting of Maple, Fir,
Crab, Ash, Oak and other trees, and these form the northern
boundary of an open space known as Norton Common. For
some distance the Icknield borders this tract of country as it
passes through Letchworth, and on the south side of the old road
our pleasant country homes form the southern boundary. This
old-established Common of Norton dates back to the time of
Offa, King of Mercia, of whom I have already had something to
relate in Chapter II. It is the sole surviving piece of primeval
scrub in the district, all the other land having been reclaimed
by the builder and husbandman, and the former remains to-day,
as I wander past gnarled Hawthorns, rank Elders, sturdy Buck-
thorns, fruiting Blackthorns, budding Dogwood and Privet, and
the rest, as it was in Celtic days, when, perchance, the British
Chief whose remains were interred in the Cinerary Urn, already
referred to, roamed about here in centuries long since gone by.
Perchance, he tended his herds on the very spot upon which
this house of " Verulam " now stands.

When King Offa gave the adjacent old-world village of Norton
(now part of Letchworth) to the Monks of St Albans some time
prior to A.D. 793, the whole of the district now known as Letch-
worth Garden City was scrub, but, as Norton Common, which I
see from my window, is the catchpit between two ridges of rising
ground, it was apparently deemed unworthy of draining for

218 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

cultivation purposes. That attempts were made at drainage,
grass-strewn hill and furrow tracks, still in evidence on Norton
Common, tend to prove, but this untilled area remained, and to
its unsuitability for cultivation we owe this unique relic of a
bygone age.

Wandering daily upon this fine open stretch of eighty acres,
only a stone's throw from the writing-table, my thoughts are
often far away in the misty past. As I traverse parts of the
grassy Icknield Way to-day, I am also carried back to the long
ago, when men of the Stone Age fashioned their flints for war
or chase, when swarthy Britons drove their herds along it, and
later, when Roman chariots swept by.

" Give me," says Hazlitt, " the clear blue sky over my head,
and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me,
and a three hours' march to dinner — and then to thinking ! "
If Hazlitt traversed some of the winding stretches of the Icknield
Way, as did poor Edward Thomas of never-to-be-forgotten
memory, now lying " Somewhere in France," he must have
practised the noble art of thinking very often, at least, that is
my own experience, as I sit in the quietude of my study this
evening, amidst these old-time associations.

The Icknield Way is one of the most famous of our ancient
British roads, and may have been originally an Ox drove. An
old Charter is said to exist which refers to it as " the Way the
Cattle go," and Thomas says that one writer has gone one better,
and boldly derived the name from the British Yken, or Ychen,
meaning Oxen.

I must not dilate at greater length upon this fascinating road-
way, or I shall be accused, and rightly so, of undue transgression,
but I mention these surroundings of my country study as showing
how, to one keenly sensitive of the mysterious influence of bygone
days, such an environment may help to mould one's character,
and build up one's ultimate career. To me it is a privilege to
have residence upon this old roadway, and to daily peregrinate
its winding tracks over hill and dale, where the wild birds sing,
and the wild flowers revel in the chalk strata, where the foot-
prints of antiquity may be discovered at almost every step.

Upon my desk I invariably have before me for mental con-
sumption a weekly calendar of Thoughts. To-day it is from
a woman's rosary I am able to sustain myself. Lilian Whiting
is the author, and in " The World Beautiful " she writes : —

" A little margin for the stillness and leisure of growth — the

MY COUNTRY STUDY 219

time to think — is the only corrective for the rush and stress of
practical life."

As I enter the study, these weekly excerpts serve as my daily
supplication all through the year. May they never grow less !

Visitors to my hermitage, who are of a literary, or thinking,
turn of mind (and they mostly come under one, or both, of these
heads), remark upon the comprehensiveness of my little Library,
and, as I myself scan my shelves, I sometimes think, when sur-
rounded by so many treasured tomes on the entrancing subject
of Natural Science, of those boyhood days about which I have
already written at some length in my opening chapter. Then I
had no books to consult, none to aid, elucidate, or inspire ; now
the great difficulty is to pay due regard to the many authors
represented in the collection.

This chapter must not savour too much of a Bookseller's or
Publisher's catalogue, but there are a few works to which I must
refer, so as to justify the title selected at the head of this section.

To the late F. Edward Hulme's " Familiar Wild Flowers "
I owe a debt of gratitude I can never hope to repay, except as
a faithful disciple of the wildlings about which he wrote so charm-
ingly, and so faithfully pictured. John's " Flowers of the Field,"
Hayward's " Botanists' Pocket Book," and " Illustrations of
the British Flora," drawn by W. H. Fitch and W. G. Smith,
have also proved of invaluable assistance in my Botanical studies,
whilst, when requiring (as one so often does) to know something
of the " secret of a weed's plain heart," I search for stimulus
among the precious pages of Hugh Macmillan's " The Poetry
of Plants," and am never disappointed.

Read Macmillan on the beautiful symbol of self-sacrifice,
evidenced by the formation of a flower, brimful of scientific fact
imparted in the most delightful and suggestive poetic vein, and
be exceeding glad that, as Macmillian says, " Science has anointed
our blind eyes with its own magic eye-salve, and enabled us
indeed to see men as trees walking. We see our own human
nature reflected in the nature of the flowers of the field in a
previously unknown way. We see the analogue of the mother's
bosom in the milky substance of the two cotyledons of the seed
for the primary nourishing of the young embryo which they
contain. We see the lover's joy in the Spring blossoming of
the flowers, and the loveliness with which Nature adorns her
bridal bower. ... It is not perfect creation, complete at once,
that we see, but God sowing seeds, making things to grow by

220 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

outside circumstances and living forces within ; slow, gradual
evolution from the nebula to the full-orbed star, and from the
chaotic star to the skilfully ordered and richly -furnished earth,
fit to be man's dwelling-place, and the scene of probation for
immortal souls."

I turn, as often as I can, to the inspiriting pages of Coulson
Kernahan's " Dreams, Dead Earnest and Half Jest." Kernahan,
as a young man, was a friend of my family, and we used to welcome
him at the old home at St Albans many years ago. I have read
and re-read his " I Believe " in the " Wildflower and the Dawn,"
and " A Dog in the Pulpit," and I am like a giant refreshed.
Light reading and deep thinking, such as Kernahan has given us,
are alike stimulating, but one quotation from " I Believe " must
suffice. Says Kernahan : —

" The Great Secret, the Secret of Life and Death, of Birth and
the Beyond, of Man's Destiny and God's Being, is still to seek —
my boyish star-searching notwithstanding — but now when I
am no longer a boy, I never seem so near the hiding place of the
secret as when I look into the heart of a flower."

My old friend Aflalo's " Sketch of the Natural History (Verte-
brates) of the British Islands " has for several years been an
honoured and altogether useful volume on my shelves, and the
charming works of W. S. Furneaux, " The Outdoor World,"
"Life in Ponds and Streams," "The Seashore," and "Field
and Woodland Plants " have all proved of inestimable service.

W. H. Hudson's " British Birds," Gerald Leighton's " British
Serpents " and " British Lizards'" ; poor Edward Connold's
" British Vegetable Galls," and E. W. Swanton's " British Plant
Galls " and " Fungi " ; Ray Lankester's " Extinct Animals "
and " Science from an Easy Chair " ; Foster-Melliar's " Book
of "the Rose"; Lydekker's sumptuous tomes in " The Royal
Natural History " ; the Hertfordshire volumes in " The Victoria
History of the Counties of England " ; Daydon Jackson's " A
Glossary of Botanic Terms " ; Kirby's " Butterflies and Moths
of Europe " ; Avebury's " British Flowering Plants " (a treasured
presentation volume) ; Hseckel's " Evolution of Man " ; Darwin's
" Variation of Animals and Plants " ; Warde Fowler's " A Year
with the Birds " and " Summer Studies of Birds and Books " ;
Carpenter's " Insects, Their Structure and Life " ; Maunders's
" The Heavens and Their Story " ; Pemberton Lloyd's " The
Months of the Year " ; Thomson's " The Biology of the Seasons "
and " Introduction to Science " ; Emerson's Complete Works ;

MY COUNTRY STUDY 221

Ball's " The Earth's Beginning " ; Cundall's " Every Day Book
of Natural History " ; Buckland's " Curiosities of Natural
History " ; Bateman's " Fresh Water Aquaria " ; Scharff's
" History of the European Fauna " ; Paterson's " Notes of an
East Coast Naturalist," " Nature in Eastern Norfolk," and
"Man and Nature on Tidal Waters"; Peckham's "Wasps,
Social and Solitary"; Geikie's and Lyell's "Geology";
Shakspere ; Fabre's " Life and Love of the Insect " ; Darwin's
" Descent of Man " and " Origin of Species " ; Step's " Wayside
and Woodland Blossoms " ; South's " Butterflies and Moths of
the British Isles " ; Baikie's " Peeps at the Heavens " ; Hooker's
" Students' Flora of the British Islands " ; Mrs Gatty's " Parables
from Nature " ; quaint old Culpeper's " British Herbal " ;
Rimmer's " Land and Freshwater Shells of the British Isles " ;
Synge's " Story of the World " ; Pryor's "Flora of Hertford-
shire " ; Sutton Palmer's " Bonnie Scotland," and, of course,
a choice selection of the Poets, all these find an honoured place
in my little library for reference and inspiration.

There are, too, a number of presentation volumes from living
authors, and others who have passed hence. Of these I do not
feel disposed to write, nor even to mention by name, as the
cherished inscriptions upon the fly-leaves bear the imprint of
friendships which have become cemented as the years rolled by,
never, let us hope, to be broken, until the final chapter comes to
be written.

There are other rows of books upon my shelves which modesty
forbids me to mention, and of which this present volume now
forms a part. I can only interpolate here that my literary work
has afforded me considerable pleasure, and, as Arthur Paterson
would facetiously remark, " a good deal of scribbling." I have
never awakened one morning, as the usual story goes, to suddenly
find myself famous, or, for that matter, infamous, but that my
books have been received with favour is testified by the several
editions through which they have passed, and the many volumes
of press cuttings, letters from unknown correspondents and
well-known persons, which for a long time I have collected and
preserved in chronological order. These scrap-books are of
themselves an adequate index to my life, as they also contain
printed copies of most of my literary contributions during the
last twenty-eight years, with records of my lectures, doughty
deeds upon the cricket field, and other things incidental to my
life as a Naturalist, and lover of outdoor pursuits.

222 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

My only " collection " in the study is a complete set of the eggs
of British nesting birds. I am not, and never will be, a clutch
collector, more scientifically accurate and valuable though it
may be. One egg of each species is all I possess, and these are
mounted on grey-toned cards, and afford a great amount of
pleasure to my visitors, especially the juvenile section of the
community, representatives of which gloated with delight at
a sight of an egg of the Golden Eagle, Osprey, and other rarities
this May morning. Eggs mounted in this way are extremely
useful for classes, photographing, and other purposes, and have
the additional advantage of taking up very little room. This is
an important item to remember in a small country study such as
I possess.

Above my desk there is displayed in coloured silks a beautiful
spray of Wild Roses and Forget-me-nots, the loving handwork
of my saintly grandmother, whose love of Nature amounted
almost to a passion. This last token was completed just before
she died. It serves to remind me day by day of what I myself
owe to inherited tendency, and may fittingly conclude this, the
sixteenth chapter, of my " Life," in the failing light of a May
evening, when spirited Thrushes are chanting a parting lullaby,
bidding all creatures to slumber at the close of day.

CHAPTER XVII

WITH ROD AND LINE

MANY, both great and small, are the fishes I have caught with rod
and line, and, although I angle no more, having long since given
up the " gentle art " as Walton would say, a place must assuredly
be found for a few of my fishing experiences in this volume.

As indicated in the opening chapter, " How I Became a
Naturalist," angling had for me, as a small boy, youth, and young
man, an indefinable charm. It took me into the open air, it
enabled me to study at close quarters many aquatic creatures,
and, even if my creel was often empty, I was able to spend long
days by the water's side, which helped to cement more firmly the
inherent love I possessed for Wild Nature.

I remember how expectantly we used to look forward to those
fishing expeditions, always in private waters, and how, on the
night previous to the excursion, great preparations were made,
getting rods, tackle, food, and bait together. On many a stormy
night I have been out of doors searching for Earthworms upon
the grass plot, vainly endeavouring to rescue a fat lobworm
from its subterranean dwelling-place, and, at the same time, to
keep the candle from blowing out. We rarely commandeered
any other bait except worms, and nearly always secured a supply
under the cover of darkness, when these useful mould-makers
steal above ground for the purpose of obtaining food, so as to
deposit their casts, and perpetuate their race.

My earliest recollection of being by the water's edge watching
a float goes back some thirty-six years, when my family (great
fishers all !) used to regularly visit the fine expanse of the River
Lea in Brocket Hall Park, the seat of Lord Mountstephen. In
those days the present owner of the estate was in Canada, making
railways and fortune with Lord Strathcona, and the Earl Cowper
was, I believe, then in residence. Brocket Hall acquires its
name from Sir John Brocket, who died in 1599, and whose tomb
is in Hatfield church. Lord Palmerston resided at the former,
and died there in 1865. It was a wonderful place in which to

223

224 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

angle, the river then teeming with large fish as it does now. Our
catches were phenomenal, and the chief difficulty was as to how
best to carry the fish home. Perch, Rudd, Tench, Roach, Pike,
Carp, and other coarse fish fell to our rods in large quantities. I
must have been very young when we angled at Brocket Hall,
because I distinctly remember on my first expedition seeing in the
river there what I, in my childish imagination, believed to be a
small Crocodile basking near the surface. It sent a kind of terror
through my boyish frame, and I fled from the water's edge in
great distress. I now know, of course, that Crocodiles (either
small or big) do not inhabit the River Lea, and the object account-
able for my perturbed state of mind was a small Jack sunning
his dappled body in the motionless way these fish are wont to do.

FIG. 91. — RUDD.

I remember, too, the Grey Wagtail, which always haunted the
waterfall on the right of the fine stone bridge where the water
leaves the park to form the broadwater at historic Hatfield,
where I have also angled.

The keeper at Brocket Hall used to be a very accommodating
person in those days of long ago, for he always invited us to put the
written permit into our pockets again, as it would serve another time!

I was, like my father and grandafther, a bottom angler (the
Cuckoo is calling so persistently as I write that I find it difficult
to concentrate my thoughts upon bygone fishing days !), and
although I am aware that, to those who pursue the more noble
art of fly-fishing, the former is regarded as a discreditable pastime,
as such I have caught a variety of fishes, and angled in deep
ditches, small ponds, and other situations where it would be
difficult for a fly fisherman to successfully make a cast.

Lake fishing was always a strong favourite with me, especially
if the water was fringed with aquatic herbage, and there were
cool recesses between the lily leaves where I could discover a
likely hole. Back waters of rivers, such as the sluggish Colne

WITH ROD AND LINE 225

near Watford, were also frequent retreats which lured me, and
there I have caught (but not with much favour) wriggling Eels
in plenty. On one occasion towards the close of my fishing
career, I landed a male and female Eel within five minutes of
one another. Both fish measured exactly three feet in length,
and were the thickness of my wrist.

Happy days were those that I spent by the Colne at Bricket
Wood. There was keen competition among the party for posses-
sion of a favourite Roach swim and a well-known Perch hole.
There were Crayfish there, too. This latter is, of course, a
crustacean, and I used to wade into the shallow parts of the
stream, and catch with my hands a number of these fresh-water
Lobsters. Large Chub haunted a deep channel under overhang-
ing trees, but I cannot remember that we ever succeeded in landing
one of these wary monsters.

FIG. 92. — TROUT.

Just before the River Colne joins the Ver, the latter pleasant
stream meanders rapidly over a gravelly bed, and it was there
our lobworm sometimes meant a deadly bait for a lazy Trout.
This reminds me that the greatest day I ever experienced with
this sporting fish was somewhere in the same vicinity. One memor-
able day ten brace of Trout fell to my own rod from a shallow
stream which emerged from the lake in a fine old-timbered park.
Each fish averaged over two pounds in weight, and, in addition,
a number of coarse fish were also included in the day's bag.

It may not have been true sport, but a very happy fisherman
left the river-side at nightfall, when the heavy mist proclaimed
the close of day, and quivering Bats heralded the approach of
night. I have seen Pike caught in the lake I have in mind up
to twenty pounds, but the largest catch of this fish of which I
have a record fell to three rods in Leicestershire on January 30th,
1903, when twenty-six fish, weighing 236 pounds, were secured.
The largest Pike that has passed through my hands weighed

226 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

twenty-six pounds, and the two largest Brown Trout eight
pounds, and seven and three-quarters. These three fish are
now in Letchworth museum.

When the late Madame de Falbe resided at Luton Hoo, fishing
in the lake formed there by the River Lea was strictly preserved,
but, on the late Sir Julius Wernher coming into possession of the
estate, I was, with my father, one of the first to fish there. I
have no definite record of the number, or weight, of the fish we
caught, but I remember that, in addition to a number of Pike
(one of thirteen pounds, a finely-marked specimen, is now pre-
served in Letchworth museum), and large Perch up to four pounds,
in one swrim, just over the rushes close to the shore, my father
caught fifty-nine large Roach and Rudd, and sixty fell to my
own rod. We fished within half a dozen paces of one another,
and, perhaps, that was the greatest day's angling I ever had.

Fishing stories are always regarded, and perhaps rightly so,
with suspicion, but I shall never forget Groom, the river keeper,
trudging to the station ahead of us with a wheelbarrow full of
fish, perhaps a couple of hundredweight in all !

PIG. 93. — ROACH.

We had another memorable day at the Hoo later on, and secured
a big haul, but, when the lake was cleared of its coarse fish, and
Trout were introduced, our fishing days there came to an end.

I have caught Rudd up to four and five pounds in weight,
fishing without a float, and baiting with dry bread. I shall never
forget the beautiful bronze sheen upon the broad flat sides of
this handsome fish as it was brought to land, nor the large
Roach (up to two pounds) which fell to my rod in other favourable
retreats.

Kingfishers have dashed down stream and hovered over my
large jackfloat, mistaking the white upper part for a silvery
fish at the surface ; Swallows and Dragonflies have perched upon
my rod, and, on one excursion when fishing at the pondyards,

WITH ROD AND LINE 227

near St Albans, a large Pike darted at my float, evidently mis-
judging it for something far more appetising than a ball of painted
cork. These pondyards were, it is interesting to note, made by
Sir Francis Bacon, after he became Lord Chancellor in 1618,
when he built a third house close by, called Verulam House.
Nothing remains of this third house except a portion of the
servants' quarters. The present mansion of Gorhambury is
the fourth house built on the estate.

I have caught fine fish in the old fish-pool of the monastery
at St Albans, and the historical associations of the spot made
such an excursion as memorable as the finny tribe which I lured
to their doom.

Those patient hours by the water's side among birds, beasts,
insects, and flowers were not ill-spent, even if fish were few.
They were not idle hours. Some fresh sight, or sound, was always
to be recorded, and enforced patience in those angling days
served as a capital apprenticeship for more observant and blood-
less vigils in the years to follow.

I have fished on a broiling hot day in July (shall I ever forget
Diamond Jubilee Day, 1897 ?), when lo ! I have toiled all day and
caught nothing, and I have set out on an expedition when it
was raining in torrents, and it has never ceased the whole day
through. I have angled in fair weather and foul, and have always
gone forth with a strong will, and a light heart, at the prospect
of another full day in the heart of rural England.

I have many a time been by the water's edge long before the
overnight dew had left the lush meadows, and the water was
gin-bright at the rising of the sun. A scorching hot day followed,
and sport was poor. I have arrived at a favourite fishing ground
when a heavy thunderstorm has suddenly rent the heavens.
Torrential rain has poured down, and, in the course of an hour, I
have watched the river rising until it overflowed its banks, and
the low-lying ground was flooded for several acres. Fishing
under such conditions is out of the question, and I remember we
used to sit on a certain eminence and watch the haycocks float-
ing down stream, and the Water Voles, which, driven from their
tunnels in the banks, had to swim to land for safety. It was
an attractive sight to watch these delightful little mammals
coming towards the hedgerow, bordering the hill upon whicn
we were seated, and compensated at least one juvenile member
of the party for the lack of opportunity of going a -fishing.

I have caught Dace up to one pound in weight, and this may be

228

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

considered a really good fish, but there is a specimen in Letch-
worth museum, caught in the River Ivel, near Baldock, which
turned the scale at one pound eight ounces, whi'ch is surely almost
a record for this small species.

FIG. 94. — DACE.

On the Norfolk broads we used, when I was a boy, to catch
boat-loads of fat Bream and small Eels, but it was poor sport,
and I could never understand why, at the end of the day, all the
fish were thrown away. The Bream is not of sportive disposition.
It is a tender-mouthed fish, and, when it secures the bait, it rises,
and thus releases one's float, until the latter falls over flat on the
water. Then is the time to strike.

It was on the broads I first made acquaintance with the Great
Crested Grebe and Bearded Tit, and, although I have returned
in later years to watch both birds and fish, rather than to catch
them, it is up to me to admit that, had it not been for my ex-
periences with rod and line, I should not have had an opportunity
of being introduced to these two rare British birds so early in
life. When other fish failed me, I used to seek out the social
Gudgeon, which, of all fresh-water fishes, seems to prefer the
bed of a fast-running stream, especially where there is a gravelly
bottom.

But the Gudgeon is a very fastidious creature in regard to its
diet, and, if the fish are not on the feed, it is almost impossible
to get them to partake of the tempting morsel that is offered.

'WITH ROD AND LINE 229

Sometimes, in sheer despair, one of the little company will snatch
at the bait more in anger than otherwise.

This is a bony little fish, and affords a certain amount of sport
for one so small, as also does the banded Minnow, which is so
voracious that, lighting upon a shoal, one is able to catch them
one after the other in quick succession. I baited with caddis
and blow-fly larvae in those unregenerate days, and found
Mftmows greedily took them, and were thus lured to their doom.

EIG. 96. — MINNOW.

Happy as were the days which I spent for many years with
rod and line, I must now make an open confession to the reader.
I have no desire to fish any longer, and have faithfully adhered
to a decision I reached some years ago. I love now to watch
rather than catch these tenants of our fresh waters, and to learn
something of their life histories. I may be hypersensitive, but
I cannot nowadays take any part in destroying wild life, either
animal or plant, and hold that everything has a right to occupy
its place in the economy of Nature. I cannot definitely decide
whether fishing is correctly described as a cruel sport, but I do
unhesitatingly regard it, in these later years, as a distasteful one,
and such as no true lover of Nature can participate in. Although
I owe part of my education as a field naturalist to my days with
rod and line, I often wish during my maturer years that I had
taken no part in such expeditions as I have drawn attention to
in this chapter.

I make a clean breast of it, and confess I am a keen humani-
tarian, a lover and keeper of peace, a reveller in quiet country
pursuits and pleasures, an admirer of books, and men, and things.

In " De Profundis," Robert, Lord Lytton, has given us a fish
fable in song. It purports to be an agitated conversation between
a tiny Tench (what fat " doctors " I have caught at Aldenham
Abbey and Sopwell in days gone by !) and an old fat Carp. The
tiny Tench was dissatisfied with its lot, and wanted wings, so that
it could soar and hover in sweet air, and thus be freed from its
stagnant element. The old fat Carp, being more experienced,

230

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

offered the gurgling Tench some sound advice, telling the little
fish to make itself contented, to swim as it had fins, and that
" wishes are ways to pain."

" ' Nay,' sigh'd the Tench, ' doth the Almighty Whale

Plague us with wishes, only to deny 'em ?
Oh ! but for wings ! ' — ' Stuff worms and stop thy wail,'
The Carp said, ' Carpe diem ! ' '

But, in spite of. this entreaty, the tiny Tench continued its
wailings and the cool-bellied Carp its simple philosophy, saying :

" ' For fishes out of water, what are they ?
Neither flesh, fowl, nor fish !

They from their natural element ascend,
Drawn by a hook : at that hook's end, a string :

At that string's end, a rod : at that rod's end,
Death. And the quivering

Thou takest for the thrill of inspiration,

Is but the agony of idiots hook'd,
The victims of their own imagination,

Fisht for, and caught, — then cook'd.' "

Thus the story continues, the sage counsel of the Carp being
for the tiny Tench to make itself content, to keep at the
bottom of the pond, and to beware of the crafty Pike. The end
comes when both small Tench, and plump Carp, find themselves
in the same dish which was to feed the fatted prior ; thus sage,
or simple, fish come at last to the frying-pan.

* — "te

FIG. 97. — MUTE SWAN AND CYGNETS.

CHAPTER XVIII

MY DOG, AND ANOTHER

WHEN Peter first arrived, h$ travelled by train in a small wooden
box about the same size as one of the wretched little prison-cages
one sometimes sees hung outside a cottage containing a captive
bird. On opening the box at the station, just a small black
downy ball standing on four legs, with beady black eyes, stepped
out, glad that the journey by rail was at an end. We at once
fell in love with this little pet Pomeranian dog, and, as I write,
he is curled up on the study table with his foxy head as close to
the writing-pad as he dares to venture. Peter is never happy
unless he is in the study with me, and it is appropriate that he
should be in close proximity to my manuscript paper when his
little life-story is being written. If the door is closed, he pats
it with his small paws, and thus asks to be admitted. He shows
every evidence of knowing my exact whereabouts.

Since he arrived as a -little mite a few months old, Peter has
altered considerably. He was born at St Albans as a toy Pom.
We first saw him being exercised along the Eoman Causeway,
near the site of Verulam (see Chapter II.), and, if we had followed
the directions given to us as to his diet, he would doubtless have
remained a toy dog until now. The amount of food prescribed
per diem was, however, so limited that the mere sake of keeping
the little fellow of small proportions did not appeal to me. We,
therefore, increased his food supply as we thought fit, and he
waxed exceedingly.

Peter has a noble pedigree which would, if set out, fill the whole
of this printed page. It is hidden away in a disused archive,
for, if the truth be told, pedigrees of animals kept as pets do not
appeal to me so much as a constant companion, such as a frolic-
some little dog whose friendship is one of the most delightful
things in existence. (As I write these words Peter looks up at
me, and places his foxy head half-way over the writing-pad, as if
to emphasise his immense interest in what is happening as my
fountain pen glides smoothly over the paper !)

232

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

The old saying, " Train up a child in the way it should go,"
applies equally well to a dog. From the first, Peter has been
scrupulously clean and well-behaved (his left paw has just come
perilously near the wet ink), and I quite believe the dog responds
by good manners and immense faithfulness as his only means of
demonstrating the care which is bestowed upon him. Here is

Peter, a striking likeness,
showing him in a very
characteristic attitude.
/ My dog is a great per-
sonality in the household.
He insists (and usually suc-
ceeds) in knowing exactly
what is taking place in the
daily routine, and seems
acquainted with all the
movements of the persons
with whom he is brought
into contact. He has ac-
companied me on many of
my travels. He has been
to Ben Nevis, and to the
summit of Snowdon.

Although every day may
be alike to him, he appears
to enjoy each moment of
his existence, and, except
when overtired after return-
ing home from an extended outdoor excursion, the wee
mite (for there isn't very much of him even now) is always
good-tempered. (The left foot is half-way across the written
sheet now, and the dog looks in a philosophic mood ! He is
lying lengthwise right along my writing-pad, and refuses to budge.
Having just come in from an outing, I am loth to disturb him !)
He accompanies me every morning and night on my saunters
round Norton Common, and, like myself, must know almost
every bush, tree, and pathway. He always runs sideways, with
nose to ground, and, as he is given to following " trails," we
attach a bell to his collar so as to be able to follow his exact
whereabouts in the undergrowth. Although not a poacher, he
invariably chases birds away from the shallow pan of water put
out in the garden, and one day he came trotting down the lawn

FIG. 98. — MY DOG, PETER.

MY DOG, AND ANOTHER 233

bearing a Rabbit almost as big as himself ! (Peter's right paw
has contrived to advance perilously close to my manuscript
sheet, and a wet nose is pressing at my elbow. I am now writing
at an acute angle, but Peter remains unperturbed !)

Like most dogs, Peter has his favourite resting-places. When
I enter the house after a lengthy, or temporary, absence, his first
place of refuge is my lap, upon which he at once springs and
curls himself up like a Dormouse entering its Winter sleep. At
other times he makes himself comfortable upon a mat on the
upstairs landing, where he can survey all that goes on above and
below, or, in Winter, he lays full stretch on the mat before the
fire. As it is as black as himself, it is sometimes difficult to find
him ! At night he retires into a wicker basket, and is carried
upstairs, and placed on a chair by the bedside. Nine times out
of ten, however, he steals cautiously from his basket during the
midnight watch, and makes himself comfortable at the foot of
the bed. (Peter has now placed the whole of his body over my
manuscript, and I had to write this note after he had removed !)

We give him one good meal at midday, and half a dozen
small puppy biscuits for supper. He is a mark on ginger biscuits
(for which he waltzes round very prettily on his hind legs to the
delight of children), chocolate, pieces of apple, and tea. He
refuses to eat shop cake or pastry, and is evidently as old-fashioned
in this respect as his master ! (I am turned right off the large
writing-pad now, and am working as best I can at the very edge
of the table ! Peter snorts ! He is very tired to-night.)

Peter is a capital little house dog (I am back at the centre of
the writing-table again now), and barks persistently when the
front gate is opened, or shut. Some of the itinerant vendors
who visit us have been heard to remark that " the little 'uns
are very often worse than the big 'uns." If making a noise is
anything to go by, I agree.

This faithful little dog of mine then, so gentle and affectionate,
withal so sensitive, is part and parcel of my own existence. It
may appear childish to make such an open confession, but it is
so. His pretty little ways, as he greets one with prancing front
paws, his cleanly habits, companionship, and response to coaxing,
endear him to us all. I am willing to confess that tears were
shed when we mourned the loss of a Persian kitten (Peter has
just risen, and walked right across my sheet of wet manuscript,
smudging it en route I), but as to what would happen if little
Peter was taken from us I do not care to predict.

234

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

He is a mark on flies, moths, and humble bees, but, since a
wasp's barbed dart became embedded in his sensitive nose a
year or two ago, he has not meddled with that insect again.

But pedigree dogs are not the only ones that make companion-
able hounds, and many a poor, half-starved mongrel may be
trained as an affectionate pet. Such a dog is Jummie, whose
portrait is here seen.

FIG. 99. — JUMMIE.

Jummie sat for his picture until word was given that the trying
ordeal was over (Peter has just growled at a passer-by), and to
see this clever mongrel attired in an old hat, collar and tie,
wearing spectacles, and holding a pipe, is an apt example of
what kind training, and good nourishment, is capable of
accomplishing. Jummie lives on terms of great friendship with
a sagacious Jackdaw and a tabby cat, and he is the second dog
I had in mind when I decided to devote this short chapter to
my own little pet, and — another.

CHAPTER XIX

YOUNG NATURALISTS IN THE MAKING

NATURE Study, as I have already indicated in Chapter III., now
finds an honoured place in every school in the land, and experi-
ence teaches me it is one of the most eagerly anticipated lessons
in the school curriculum. Occasionally — and especially among
senior girls — one finds a certain indifference on the part of a
small proportion of one's pupils, but, among the hundred or
so under my own personal charge, I could count on the fingers
of one hand those who regard the study of Nature as a subject
only fit for the kindergarten, and as of little, if any, interest to
them.

It is a privilege of which I am duly sensible to have a share in
encouraging a love of Nature among these lads and lasses, and
I fully realise that, as they grow up to be men and women, they
will keenly appreciate the opportunities which were presented
for outdoor studies during their school careers.

It is pleasant, and indeed important, to recognise that these
young naturalists in the making will, in after-life, reap material
benefit from their juvenile experiences, for those of us who have
grown up under such benign influence can faithfully testify as
to the immense advantage of such an important factor in one's
early education.

When I enter the class-room in Winter, or take the children
out of doors in Spring and Summer, expectancy always runs
high, and although at times my young charges are in such jubilant
spirits that it is with difficulty one is able to obtain the concen-
tration necessary for serious work, an appeal to their finer senses,
and code of honour, has a magnetic effect.

" What is the lesson to-day, Sir ? " or " Where are we going
to-day, Sir ? " greets me from a hundred lusty throats as soon
as I am within earshot, each week of my life. There is very
little grumbling, an absence of shirking, and a co-operative
interest which makes the teaching of such a subject as that
under review a living revelation, and constant joy.

235

236

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Pockets are emptied of curious-shaped flints (mostly curious
shaped and that is all !), coins, birds' skulls, sharks' teeth,
pieces of pottery, and other paraphernalia, and, even after school
hours, my house is a sort of receiving station for the flotsam and
jetsam of country objects whose identity the children are anxious
should be determined. I endeavour at all times to encourage
these young people to regard me as guide, philosopher, and friend,
and to so point the way as to let them realise the great joy which
the study of living things, as well as the mighty past, have brought
into my own life.

FIG. 100. — FOSSIL AMMONITE.

A rudely-worked flint implement, a sprig of larch fir, a dead
flycatcher, a puss moth, an ammonite, a boar's tooth, a fragment
of a belemnite or fossil oyster, such are a few of the objects
before me on the study table as I write, recently brought
into me for identification by these young naturalists in the
making.

A country walk is to them a scientific exhibition, full of interest
and wonder. Their keen young eyes detect things which older
folk pass heedlessly by. Objects which escape the notice of a
trained eye, even after a lifetime of devotion, are discovered

YOUNG NATURALISTS IN THE MAKING 237

on every expedition we take together, and hardly a day passes
when some new secret is not unravelled.

A fund of humour often creeps* unconsciously into Nature
lessons in class, and I had an apt example of this recently when
I was telling the pupils of Raphael's picture of " The miraculous
draught of Fishes." I was pointing out that the great Italian
painter made two grievous errors in his picture, for he painted
his Lobsters red, and there are no Lobsters in the Sea of Galilee !
But the point of my story is that, on asking the boys : " Now,
who was Raphael ? " one young hopeful replied without a
moment's hesitation : " Please, Sir, he used to play for Surrey ! "

The children use note and sketch books, and, when the weather
is unpropitious, they visit the local museum, where they find
objects of natural and human history displayed connected with
the past and present life of their own neighbourhood. I have been
much impressed with the importance of this fact in regard to
the boys and girls who are my own pupils. A regional museum
enables them to concentrate their attention in a way that cart-
loads of curios would not do. A museum deserving of support
should be a storehouse of regional objects, not a miscellaneous
assortment of Egyptian mummies and shattered aeroplanes,
a sort of Bagdad bazaar. Rather it should be the aim of a local
museum to set out in natural sequence the Geological, Archaeo-
logical, Periodical, Zoological, and Botanical features of the
neighbourhood in which it is situated, and should be made so
attractive as to invite inspection, rather than to present the
appearance of a deadhouse, or mortuary, as so many provincial
museums unfortunately do.

Having a local museum close at hand, which school children
can visit, either in class, or individually, affords them a living
interest in it, and although the one with which I am myself in-
timately associated has only been in existence a matter of three
years, our museum at Letchworth already contains a number
of objects collected by the children themselves, and in which
they take especial pride.

Perhaps the bird collection makes the strongest appeal to both
girls and boys, but girls in particular. They are encouraged to
sketch these in black and white, or coloured chalks, during the
course of an hour's visit, and to make original notes regarding
same. This head and hand work impresses the form, colour,
and general appearance of a bird upon them, and I have been
surprised many times when a young child has accurately identi-

238 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

fied a bird out-of-doors. Upon asking for information on the
point, I have, in reply to my query, received the immediate
response : " Please, Sir, I sketched it at the museum ! "

Next to the birds, prehistoric and Roman remains prove of
unfailing interest, especially if accompanied (as they always
should be) with maps, pictures, diagrams, and any other matter
that is likely to make the object exhibited of real interest, and easy
understanding.

When out-of-doors, detailed notes are made of both animal
and plant life, always bearing in mind the nature of the environ-
ment which is being explored, and now we have commenced to
go one better, and have instituted a little regional survey work,
about which I have written in the succeeding chapter.

These young people do not forget their powers of observation
even when engaged upon the cricket, football, or hockey field,
and I have heard a centre forward, as he dashed up the field of
play with the ball at his toe, suddenly exclaim : "Please, Sir,
what bird is that flying over," and, to-day, as we played cricket,
and a bird suddenly burst into song in an adjoining meadow,
one of the keenest young cricketers at the school stopped short,
as he made his way to the crease, and dramatically remarked :
"Hark! hark! the Lark !"

Although, owing to force of circumstances, these school classes
have to more or less visit the same Nature retreats year after
year, I find that, with few exceptions, the children rarely tire of
the old haunt, and, in several instances, their memorising puts
older people to shame.

My work for many years past has brought me into close touch
with young people. Most of my books have been written speci-
ally for them, and, as a result, my post-bag often brings me com-
munications from distant parts of the Empire.

My kinema and other lectures have also introduced me to
a large number of boys and girls who do not come under my
direct influence in the schools that I visit, and, as evidence of
this, it may here be stated that, at a course of twenty-two kinema
lectures given by me at the Letchworth Picture Palace last
Winter, there was an attendance of ten thousand people, most of
whom were children who came regularly each Saturday after-
noon. I have given several courses of these lectures at Letch-
worth and elsewhere, and have sometimes adopted the plan of
offering book prizes for the best illustrated essays sent in. The
result in this direction has been most encouraging, and in several

YOUNG NATURALISTS IN THE MAKING 239

instances truly remarkable, as the sketches had to be drawn, and
notes made, from memory, the pictures, of course, being shown
in the dark, moving quickly across the screen.

In April 1909 I founded, in response to entreaties from various
parts of the world, the Young Naturalists' League, which now
has a membership of nearly ten thousand boys and girls. The
idea of founding the league occurred to me by reason of the
large number of letters I was continually receiving from unknown
correspondents who had read my books. They often asked
questions, and suggested that means should be at their disposal
for the interchange of ideas, exchange of specimens and notes, and
pleading for a co-operative association which should link them
together. The members selected their own league motto :— -
" One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin,"

and the interest created has exceeded my most sanguine
expectations.

The young people for whom it was primarily originated have
become thoroughly enthused, and Nature study lessons, both
in and out of school, have, I am told, been attended to with
greater intelligence. Increased interest and observation have
been aroused. This augurs well for the teacher, because the child
is, as a result, keener in perception, its powers of intelligence
and other traits are awakened, stimulated, and fostered, and the
result must, of necessity, be eminently satisfactory from many
points of view.

Several tributes have been sent in from schoolmasters and
others as to the interest evinced by scholars since the league
was started, and one enthusiastic head teacher writes : —

" The league has been the means of interesting our boys in
the study of Nature to an extent almost incredible, and the
good it is doing, and, I hope, will continue to do, is inestimable."

A few simple rules were adopted which each member pledges
himself, or herself, to loyally keep, thus : —

I. To take an intelligent and observant interest in Natural History.
II. To protect and preserve animals and plants, and not to pluck or
uproot the last-named indiscriminately.

III. To be kind and considerate towards both wild and domestic animals,

and to cause no creature needless pain.

IV. To attend studiously to lessons at school, and especially to help the

teacher when Nature Study is being taught.

V. To keep a Nature notebook, or diary, in which to record, when possible,
such notes as are of interest.

240 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

VI. To interest others in studying wild animals and plants, and to en-
deavour to learn of their uses and value.
VII. To treat pets kept in captivity humanely, and to look after their

comfort in every way.

VIII. To endeavour to obtain new members of the league.
IX. To read wholesome books, and send in any interesting notes, or queries,

that come under notice.

X. To help make the league known, and to faithfully carry out the
rules above set out.

Many branches of the league have been formed as far apart
as Accra (Gold Coast) and Aberdare ; Nottingham and Ceylon ;
West Ham and Malta ; Derby and Egypt ; Crewe and Toronto ;
and in this way members are brought into personal touch with
one another, so that their varied studies have a collective interest.
Thus, with my own Nature classes, this large family of league
members, and some thousands of readers of my popular books
in school and at home, I experience a real joy in having had the
opportunity afforded of encouraging, and assisting, the rising
generation to take an intelligent interest in the things around
them. Moreover, in view of the information I have here im-
parted, of which the reader may not have been cognisant, I feel
amply justified in my choice of title of this, the nineteenth,
chapter of my " Life."

CHAPTER XX

THE NEW DOMESDAY

THE varied experiences which I have chronicled in this volume
have, as a natural course, brought me into close association
with many places, men, and things. As I have tried to set out
in the different departments into which this sketch of my " Life
as a Naturalist " is divided, I have been linked up the whole of
my career with both natural and human history, and, although
I have for many years kept a faithful diary record as a permanent
reference of my own personal observations, it has of late become
manifest to me that a splendid co-operative work is awaiting
all those knowledge-seekers who are willing to assist in what
is now called regional survey, or, in other words, the New
Domesday. If this idea is co-operatively adopted, individual
effort will, in course of time, become of both local and national
importance and usefulness, and the humblest investigator may
take part in thus rendering service to the State through even
the eyegate of his, or her, own parish.

Since saintly Osmund undertook the Domesday Book in
1085-7, which was the record of a statistical survey of England,
a great volume of water has flowed under the bridge, and,
although county and local histories have been, and are still
being, published, the time has arrived when local Natural History,
Scientific, and other kindred Societies should institute a com-
plete survey of their own respective districts, under the general
superintendence and encouragement of a duly constituted body,
such as the provisional Committee for the Development of Regional
Survey, the South-Eastern Union of Scientific Societies, the
British Association, or one of the learned Societies. As a matter
of fact, this most interesting and important work, which, to attract
more than passing attention, I have christened " The New
Domesday," has already been commenced by a few enthusiasts
scattered about the country, but it needs more concentrated
and collective effort if the scheme is to be carried out in its
entirety.

241

242 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

My own life has taught me to recognise the great importance
of such a survey-record as I have in mind, and I would include
within its fold everything of interest, for even isolated facts,
when properly strung together, have a knack of dovetailing into
a well-planned scheme, so that a worker in any department for
which he, or she, is fitted, is encouraged to proceed with a very
desirable end in view. Every class of student can assist in this
organised study of a region which may be approached from every
conceivable aspect, and " the co-relation of all aspects, so as to
give eventually a complete picture of the region surveyed, both
in its past history and present features, and from these to indicate
its probable future development. . . . Further, the relation of
the various branches of study to the same region, brings together
in a very living way the specialists in each of them who are still
too apt to work in watertight compartments." Thus writes my
friend, Mr C. C. Fagg, in an excellent paper read before the Library
Association and the Library Assistants' Association at Caxton
Hall in 1916.

Although as old as the hills in one sense, this New Domesday,
as I call it, or regional survey, owes its more modern inspiration
to Professor Patrick Geddes, who undertook a pioneer survey of
the city of Edinburgh, as displayed in his " Outlook Tower "
there. Another pioneer who is deserving of mention was the
late Professor Herbertson, who carried the idea to Oxford, where
it became a leading feature of the Geographical school, and Dr
H. R-. Mill has also helped the movement forward in various
influential ways, not the least of which was a series of papers
written in 1895-6, in which he specifically advocated the regional
description of the British Isles.

In addition to the practical support which can be accorded to
this scheme by various local research societies, several schools,
in which there is an enthusiast as principal, or upon the staff,
have commenced operations, and I see no reason why this should
not be indefinitely extended. Boy scouts, Girl Guides, Guilds,
Rambling Clubs, and the rest might very well assist, under the
organisation of a local Scientific Society, or Regional Survey
Committee, and from my own experience I have no hesitation
in testifying as to the interest created, the personal and collective
knowledge that is acquired, and the keenness displayed by young
people in this all-important work.

Various schools, under the most excellent School Journey
Association (now in its twenty-first year), have for several years

THE NEW DOMESDAY 243

past taken their pupils, and staff, into country districts for a
week's survey holiday, or educational excursion, and several
guide-books that have been prepared, and which have come into
my hands, admirably portray how thoroughly such undertakings
are planned and carried out.

Let me briefly set out one such guide-book, issued, curiously
enough, by Kentish Town Road L.C.C. school, which has as its
headmaster, Mr G. G. Lewis, one of the pioneers in this really
splendid movement, which should never lack funds, and should
be State-aided.

The guide-book before me (Folkestone, Easter 1910) is of
handy size (7f ins. by 5| ins. ) and is well bound. On the inside page
of the cover " Our Party " (Staff and Pupils) is listed, and the
opposite title-page affords the information that in 1906 Chepstow
was explored; 1907, Abergavenny; 1908, Shanklin; and 1909,
Stroud. " Our Aims " are next enumerated, and these may,
with advantage, be given here : —

I. To bring teachers and scholars into closer touch with each other.
II. To foster habits of good fellowship, self-reliance, and unselfishness.

III. To develop powers of observation of natural objects.

IV. To investigate the causes which produce scenery.

V. To secure rock, plant, and animal specimens unobtainable on school

journeys near London.

VI. To extend the knowledge of mankind, past and present.
VII. To gain health and vigour from a week's life at the seaside.
VIII. To learn how to spend a holiday intelligently and happily.

Next comes useful hints on " What to take," then follows a
detailed programme for each day's stay. Particulars are given
of the railway route to be taken, nature of the soil, important
towns, distances from London, notes on railway construction, and
a map. A few notes follow devoted to Folkestone and a plan
of the town, then Harbours, Lightships, and Lighthouses, with
capital illustrations of types of " Ships that pass," illustrated
descriptions of Dover, Deal, Walmer, Sandgate, Hythe, Dun-
church, and the Warren. There is a page mapped out for Tides,
as also the Straits of Dover, Channel Tunnel, Boulogne, Canter-
bury (with a Cathedral plan and notes), History of Architecture,
plan of Folkestone district, Seashore Animals and Plants, Waves
and Pebbles, Capes and Bays, Birds of the Cliff and Hedge (all
these sections are excellently illustrated), Notes on Sketching
and Simple Seascapes, Contour Notes and Map, Rocks of Kent,
Coal and Iron, Gault Fossils (most praiseworthy illustrations on

244 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

two pages), Geological Map, L'Entente Cordiale, Defence, Soldiers
and Sailors, Star Notes and Map, Music and Words for Grace
and Evening Hymn, Canterbury Tales, Register of Marks ob-
tained, blank page for Report, Index, and, finally, a series of
Short Lessons delivered on such diverse subjects as Martello
Towers and Sea Birds, the Heavens and the Channel Tunnel,
Canterbury Tales and Seaweeds, Farm Life and Hermit Crabs.

The benediction is appropriately devoted to " Our Friends "
who assisted in making this memorable expedition possible, and
what Kentish Town Road and other schools have accomplished
at Folkestone, and elsewhere, can be undertaken by many other
schools in their own districts as an aid to the New Domesday of
which I am a faithful disciple and enthusiastic advocate.

The zeal for conservation of objects and records is increasing
all over the world in every centre of civilisation, as Mr Bruce
Cummings points out in an illuminating essay, entitled " The
Art of Perpetuation," in " Science Progress " (April 1917). All
this is on the right lines, and I have given prominence to the
exploits of the schoolboys of Kentish Town Road because I am
impressed with the supreme importance of enlisting the sympathy,
and support, of young people in this survey of their own country.
Such original work is an education of itself, and no objection
should be raised to this outdoor survey by the authorities, though,
as we know from bitter experience, how slow they are to move,
and how progress is often impeded.

Science, which, after all, is well-organised common sense, as
Huxley expressed it, will be recognised more than ever in the
days to come, and it is as well to lay our plans ahead in the hope
that, when the time arrives, those of us who are destined to play
an important part in this regional survey work may not be found
wanting.

Cummings says that " Conservation is a natural tendency of
the mind. One might lay down a certain law of the conservation
of consciousness to indicate our extreme repugnance to the
idea of anything passing clean away into the void. What in-
sinuating comfort in those words that every hair of our heads
is numbered ! " And, later on, he says : " Every man, willy-
nilly, collects and preserves, for his consciousness is, of itself, an
automatic collecting instrument, and his memory a preservative.
After a life of it, a man's mind is a museum, a palimpsest, a hold-
all." But it is up to all of us who have thus conserved, to per-
petuate our store of knowledge, for it is within my own (and

THE NEW DOMESDAY 245

many others') experience that local worthies (sometimes self-
educated and unable to write down) pass away, and their life's
information, gathered at first hand, dies with them. This should
not (and must not) be, and the sooner we get to work on this
New Domesday the better.

It is not within my province to elaborate in great detail
how such a regional survey should best be conducted, but it
may here be stated that conciseness is an ideal that should be
aimed at, and a series of faintly-printed one-inch maps, supple-
mented with notes and illustrations, should form a basis of the
records. The present need of the movement, as Mr Fagg points
out, is what may be termed a conspectus setting forth in outline,
and in detail, the field to be surveyed. " If," he says, " we had
a good general conspectus, it could be adapted to the needs of
any given region by the local Survey Society."

Perhaps a few brief notes may be given by way of suggestion.
The first decision to be arrived at is the region, to be surveyed.
Maps on the one-inch scale will, as a rule, be large enough for the
records, but for field work the six-inch maps are the most gener-
ally useful. A parish basis is, perhaps, preferable to any other,
but these suggestive ideas are merely set out for what they may be
worth, and to help forward the New Domesday which I have in
mind, and upon which, as a matter of fact, I am now at work in
my own district.

A point not to be lost sight of is to keep in view the work of
kindred Societies and helpers, so that there is a co -related interest,
and overlapping may thus be avoided.

A good geological map of the district to be surveyed is most
essential, and a contour map is also of importance. Both these
maps should also be reproduced in transparent form so as to
place over other maps, as, by these comparative means, much
interesting information is pertinently displayed.

Meteorological maps are essential, as also maps devoted to
Sources and Flow of Streams, Communications, Footpaths,
Railways, and Accessibility to Railway Stations, Population,
Civil Organisation (Past and Present), Ecclesiastical Parishes,
Archaeology, Buildings, Ponds, Pits, Animal and Plant Life, and
the rest.

The regional study of vegetation has already made consider-
able progress during the twentieth century. Field botany is
coming unto its own, and the results already obtained have been
admirably summarised in " Types of British Vegetation," edited

246 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

by Mr A. G. Tansley. Dr C. E. Moss lias also issued through
the Cambridge University Press a good example of a modern
vegetation survey in " The Vegetation of the Peak District,"
and, whilst animal life does not lend itself so readily to ecological
treatment, there are tremendous possibilities in regard to birds,
as I have shown in a humble way in my " Bird Studies " (C.U.
Press, 1914).

Many more sub-headings might be suggested; in fact, the
greater the number, the greater the value and interest of the
work, but a general summary of a scheme suggested by Mr Fagg
may here be given. It so happens, says the author, " that the
sub-division in the first summary happens to be ninefold, and is
thus well adapted to a decimal notation, the cipher being avail-
able for methodology." Here is Mr Fagg's infectious outline :—

(9) Incipient Evolution.

(8) Social Evolution. (7) Historic Development.

(Interpretative. ) (Descriptive. )

(6) Primitive Man.
(5) Animal Life.
(4) Vegetation.
(Edaphic Ecological Factors.) (Climatic Ecological Factors.)

(3) Orography and Hydrography.
(1) Geology. — — (2) Meteorology.

Mr Fagg's brief explanation of this scheme must be added so
as to make same more lucid. He writes :—

" In making a regional study, the Geology of the region is of
the first importance. It is the bedrock, both literally and meta-
phorically speaking, upon which all else is built.

" Partly dependent upon the Geology, partly competing with
it as an influence upon life (and largely reacting upon it), is the
Meteorology of the region, the rain and sunshine, wind and
temperature. The interplay of meteorological phenomena and
geological formations determines the Hydrography — that is,
the surface and underground drainage — of the region, and gives
rise also to the denudation of the rocks.

" Directly dependent upon the Geology and Meteorology is
the Vegetation, which in turn reacts upon them. Dependent
again upon the Vegetation, Climate, and Geology, and reacting
in a multitude of ways upon the first and last, is the Animal
Life. Finally, we name Mankind as dependent upon the whole
environment, and to an ever-increasing extent master of it. It
is in Mankind and his contemporaries that we find a link with

THE NEW DOMESDAY 247

recent Palaeontology, and we have to follow his career from his
advent in our region, through the realms of Archaeology and
History, to that of Modern Sociology.

" Primitive Man is worthy of a place to himself, and from the
dawn of history the human survey is better divided into two
parallel branches. The one which I have provisionally called
' Historical Development ' will take each of the many sub-
divisions of Social Study, e.g. Population, Language, Land
Tenure, Housing, Family Life, Local Administration, and so
forth, and describe its development from the earliest times to
the present with an unlimited degree of detail, while the other,
which I have called ' Social Evolution,' will aim at reconstructing
as a whole, and estimating the significance of, each successive
phase of human history. Such a study is at once the most
important, and the most difficult, part of a regional survey, but,
based as it will be upon an appreciation of all the underlying
factors, it cannot fail to throw much light upon current social
phenomena, and enable us to appreciate, if not to direct, the
incipient tendencies of social evolution in our region."

The interest created among the members of the Letchworth
and District Naturalists' Society, since the idea of this new local
Domesday was first mooted, has been most marked, and several
field excursions are now devoted to this important work. As an
instance of what a great deal of useful information can be collected
during one Saturday afternoon excursion, I may cite a visit paid
during this Summer to the neighbouring village of Pirton.

Pirton may be of no interest to the general reader, but it will
serve to show what information may be acquired concerning our
local villages under the scheme in view. The party was in charge
of an amateur regional surveyor (Sir Ronald Ross says in
" Science Progress " (April 1917), that he is beginning to think
that almost all big scientific work is done by amateurs, or, at
least, by men who were amateurs when they did the work ; and
that professional scientists write the text-books and obtain the
credit !), who deputed the various members to undertake certain
sectional work.

Our local outline plan of a regional survey is as follows :— .

SUGGESTED OUTLINE SCHEME OF REGIONAL SURVEY
I. GEOLOGY AND METEOROLOGY.

Soil and subsoil. Water supply. Rainfall.

Nearest heights. Nature and analysis of water. Prevailing winds.

Ponds and streams. Fossils. Drainage.

248 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

II. BOTANY AND AGRICULTURE.

Hedge trees and shrubs. Prevailing species.

Number and kind of trees in each case : — A. On Village Green.

B. In Churchyard. C. In fields abutting on Village. D. In

Village lanes. E. Very old or large trees.
Wild flowers in Village hedgerows, fields, copses, etc., with special

notes on plant associations.
Character of crops and produce.
State of Village gardens, orchards, and contents.

III. ORNITHOLOGY.

Established haunts of Summer and Winter migrants, and resident

species.

Rookeries and number of nests.
House Martins and nests.
General notes on characteristic local birds.

IV. ARCHEOLOGY AND ANTIQUITIES.

Old buildings, farms, tithe-barns, houses, tumuli, earthworks,
terraces, traces of open fields, prehistoric and early historic
remains (including flint, bronze, and iron implements).

V. ROADS AND LANES.

British, or Roman, roads, or trackways.

Green or metalled roads, and present state of same.

Names of all roads and lanes.

VI. VILLAGE LEGENDS, SONGS, OR FOLK-LORE.
Bygone or present Village characters.

VII. HOUSES.

Number of houses in Village, with shops and trades.

Houses with dates, fire-signs, and unusual characteristics,

Houses with thatched roofs.

Number of Public -houses and signs.

Names of these, and whether off or on License.

VIII. POST OFFICE.

Call and ascertain : —

How many houses (to check own census).

Commonest names of people, peculiar names, and oldest families.

Which Public -houses are tied or free.
• Old inhabitants.

Natives who have made their mark.

Institutions and places of worship (in use or derelict).

Landowners, Allotments, Glebe, or Common Lands.

Get as full particulars as possible of all these, and, if not obtain,
able, obtain reference to someone else if possible.

THE NEW DOMESDAY 249

IX. CHURCH.

Is it locked, and, if so, where is key kept.

Acquire fullest possible knowledge from clergyman or verger.
Learn of errors (if any) in previous information, or new
discoveries and data.
X. GRAVESTONES.

Peculiar gravestones, epitaphs, prevailing or peculiar names,
Eminent persons, very old interments, records of old age, etc.
XI. SCHOOL.

Whether endowed or private.

Number of scholars and staff, and character of school.
XII. SPECIAL LOCAL NOTES.
Village industries.
Carriers.

Nearest market town.
Descendants of famous men or women.
Any other information worth recording.

This, to say the least, is fairly comprehensive, and, although
blanks may be drawn in several sections, to be filled in during
succeeding visits, one hour at Pirton resulted in the following
information being collected : — the young people in the expedi-
tion were set to work to count the trees en route, and at one point
62 Elms, 2 Willows, and 2 Oaks were " surveyed." Along Leg
of Mutton Lane (why so called ?) 29 Elms, 7 Oaks, 9 Beeches,
5 Poplars and Willows came into the census. The acquisition
of this information meant keen observation, and the young folks
were very ready to assist.

Sixty-seven slate -roofed buildings were recorded, including the
Constabulary, a Glove Factory, Vicarage, School, Post Office,
and four Shops. There were further houses otherwise roofed,
and 20 thatched buildings, including 18 Cottages and 2 Barns.

There are 2 Grocers in the Village, a Tobacco-dealer, a Boot-
maker, a Nurse and Midwife, and 4 Almshouses. Altogether,
there are about 200 Houses and 9 Farms in the Village (a Gazetteer
in 1861 gave 188).

The commonest names are Baines, Burton, and Walker. There
is the name Halfpenny, and the strangely different, yet similar,
names of Throssell, Thrussell, and Trussell, whose families are
distinct.

Besides the Church, there are Wesleyan and Baptist Chapels,
an old Wesleyan Chapel now used as a Sunday School, and there
are a Church of England Sunday School and an Elementary
Council School.

250 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

There are 9 Public-houses, and their signs are : — Blacksmiths'
Arms, Cat and Fiddle, The Fox, Live and Let Live, Old Hall,
Red Lion, Royal Oak, Shoulder of Mutton, and White Horse.
Only one of these (the Royal Oak) is a free house.

Landowners are Davis, Delme-RadclifTe, Gurney, Handscombe,
and Walker.

There are allotments at Bury Field, Hill Close, Willow Close,
and the Common.

There is a Village Green, and about 40 acres of Glebe Land.

The longest-lived family is the Handscombes, of whom several
have attained an age of ninety and over. At the time of our
survey there were three over eighty still alive, and one died in 1916
leaving great-great-great-grandchildren.

There is no local knowledge of any natives who have become
famous.

The Charities include 4 Almshouses, two of which were erected
from the Hammond Charity, consisting of the rent from 6 acres
of land at Punch's Cross, a portion of which is also applied to
put boys out as apprentices.

Three members of the party were deputed to survey the grave-
stones in the churchyard, but those at Pirton seemed singularly
uninteresting. The earliest decipherable tomb was dated 1760.
The commonest names were Handscombe, Lake, Trussell and
its variants, Wood, and Woolston. There were only two epi-
taphs worth recording, and these need not be repeated here. The
record of age was borne by a stone of the Handscombe family,
which elicited the information that the two members buried
there attained the ages of ninety and ninety-two years.

Making the acquaintance of an intelligent native who was
proud of his village and its associations, the information was
acquired that the stone used for the recent addition to the church
(the familiar " Church " or Totternhoe Stone) was dug from a
pit on Glebe Land between Pirton and Holwell. This pit, it
appears, is remarkably prolific in fossils, and there is a wonder-
fully fine fossil fish preserved in a case in the church. A splendid
fragment of ammonite is built into the wall over the door, and
there is another huge piece of the same extinct monster lying in
a heap near by.

This communicative inhabitant also informed us that the only
school that the village formerly had was a Straw Plaiting School,
where this work was then the foremost object of concern, and
education was of secondary importance. Further, he expressed a

THE NEW DOMESDAY 251

wish that someone, or some Society, would interest themselves
in the antiquities of the village !

The glove industry, recently introduced into the village from
Leicester, began in a very small way with only two workers.
It has been so successful that a commodious workroom has been
erected, and about forty girls and women are now employed. The
wages earned, and the character and conditions of the employ-
ment, appear to be greatly appreciated by the villagers.

Progress, however, in this Hertfordshire village of Pirton,
which lies singularly away from any main road, and is very
isolated at the foot of the chalky Chilterns, is by no means
rapid. Most of the houses are very old, and, although some
may be regarded as picturesque in their setting, one might
prophesy that modern cottages and arrangements would tend
to raise the average age of decease, which, judging from the
gravestone records, is not too high.

Here, as elsewhere, there was during our visit great activity
in garden and allotment, and evidence of cultivation appeared
to be thorough and remunerative.

I have not recorded any information in the archaeological or
antiquarian sections, as it is not necessary to cover but only to
check (or supplement) work already done in these important
departments. A bibliography of regional surveying is one
of the urgent needs of the movement, for, although the literature
upon the subject is as yet small, the amount of material, pub-
lished and otherwise, stored up by individuals and Societies, is
enormous. Bibliographies of local data would prove an invalu-
able help to the regional surveyor, and, if this department is
placed in the hands of a competent person, the result obtained
cannot be over-estimated. The collecting, annotating, analysing,
and collating of local surveys is also of vast importance, and a
working committee might be appointed which should be respon-
sible for this happy consummation of the New Domesday now
in the making.

If, added to this regional survey work, a local Society or
Institution has a Regional Museum, or the opportunity of found-
ing one, an immense asset will be added for handing on to posterity.
The Letchworth Society (of which I am the Honorary Secretary
and Curator) is in the happy position of possessing such a regional
museum. A few general particulars may here be given of the
aims, objects, and accomplishments of this Society : —

It is managed by a council of nine members, and its work is

252 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

carried out by sectional recorders and curators in various
departments of Natural Science. The property of the Society
is vested in three trustees, who, under a trust deed, possess
certain powers which they may, or may not, put into operation,
but for which ample provision has been made.,. Weekly rambles
are held from April to September, with monthly meetings in
Summer, and fortnightly in Winter. Annual reports are pre-
sented on the subjects of Meteorology, Botany, Lepidoptera,
Ornithology, and other branches, whilst lantern lectures and
papers on a variety of subjects are also given.

During its existence the Society has been active in many
directions, and one important feature of its work is collecting
and classifying local documents relating to the history and
folk-lore of the district, together with press cuttings, photos,
drawings, maps, biographies, books by local authors, and
manuscripts.

As soon as the Society had found a home, and had more facilities
to offer to its members, its membership increased by leaps and
bounds, for, -as in June 1914, it only had a membership of fifty,
to-day it is the largest Society in Letch worth, with a total rapidly
approaching three hundred. This being so, the income of the
Society has increased sufficiently to warrant expenditure on
various incidentals necessary for the furnishing and upkeep of
a small museum, together with the purchase of specimens, and,
with the generous assistance of- many well-wishers, the Society
now finds that the first part of the building is already full up.
The present building is only the commencement of a much larger
undertaking.

Complete plans have already been prepared, and these provide
for a three -storied Georgian building consisting of various rooms
and offices, with a large single-storey building at the east end
to form the larger museum. The present building, as a matter
of fact, will eventually merge into an entrance hall, and may
hereafter contain examples of local arts and crafts. It is so
constructed that, when an enlargement is effected, the same may
be carried out without any material alterations being necessary,
and the cases and cabinets have been so designed that they can
be applied to the larger building. The problem of enlargement
is now occupying the attention of the Society, and it is hoped
that means will be forthcoming to enable this to be accomplished
in the near future, as, in the meantime, offers of exhibits are
being received which cannot at present be shown, owing to lack

THE NEW DOMESDAY 253

of accommodation. Any contributions towards the enlargement
fund will be very gratefully accepted by the author of this volume.

As an instance of the present status of the Society, it may here
be mentioned that it is affiliated to the British Association,
Hertfordshire Natural History Society, School Nature Study
Union, Selborne Society, the South-Eastern Union of Scientific
Societies, and the Watson Botanical Exchange Club.

Letchworth museum is, to an extent, mapped out on the
space-for-time principle, so ably illustrated at the educational
museum at Haslemere founded by the late Sir Jonathan Hutchin-
son, but whilst it has not been possible in the room at disposal
to carry this out in its entirety at Letchworth, an attempt has
been made in a series of six mahogany cases. A coloured chart
shows the comparative duration of the geological periods illus-
trated by these six wall cases.

The cases illustrate the development of life on the earth from
the earliest geological records to the present day. For con-
venience, the space behind each glass door is here referred to as
one case, and numbered I. -VI. from the left. The last two of
these cases are devoted to remains — almost all local — of the
Human Race, first in the " Stone Ages," then in the " Bronze "
and " Iron " Ages, thus bringing the record of man up to historical
times.

It should be noted that the fossil exhibits are arranged in
ascending scale of life, from the Sponges, Corals, and Sea-Urchins
of the lowest shelf, to the Vertebrates — or Backboned Animals —
of the top shelf (in which, however, Vegetable forms are also
included). It is thus possible to study more easily the develop-
ment of a particular class or family, e.g. the Brachiopods, or the
Ammonites, through successive geological eras.

Cases I. -III. correspond broadly with the three great geological
eras : Palceozoic, Mesozoic, and Tertiary, giving special promi-
nence to the Chalk Age (a subdivision of the Cretaceous period
of the Mesozoic era) as being the local " formation " — that is,
the ground beneath us dates from this age, as may be seen from
the " section " map displayed. A series of reconstructed maps
inside the cases shows the successive rise and fall of the land
surface of what is now the British Isles, which has caused these
remains to be accumulated beneath the sea, and preserved by
the sediment falling upon them.

Case IV. is devoted to local remains from the " Boulder -clay "
and " drift gravels " which have been transported by ice, and

254 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

deposited over the chalk in the neighbourhood of Letchworth
during the glacial epoch, and to the present day survivors of
some of the types found earlier in fossil form.

For the relative time to be assigned to these different periods,
the chart already referred to should be consulted.

The cases contain movable sloping shelves, and the specimens
are mounted on wooden blocks. Wherever possible, diagrams,
maps, and other illustrations, including photographs, are
exhibited.

Having outlined the contents of the first four cases, we reach,
in the fifth compartment, specimens illustrating the first evidence
we have of the human race in Britain, examples being shown of
the age of stone tools. Letchworth and district is particularly
rich in prehistoric remains, and, since the museum was instituted,
many valuable local finds have been forthcoming in this direc-
tion, including an ancient British gold coin of about 150 B.C.,
which is a barbarous copy of the Greek art exhibited in the
beautiful gold staters of Philip II., King of Macedon, father of
Alexander the Great (382-336 B.C.). The Letchworth specimen
was found in a celery trench in September 1915. The Society's
collection of stone implements at present contains Flint Arrow
Heads, Scrapers, Hammer Stones, Pounders, Knives, and other
tools representative of the Palaeolithic and Neolithic periods,
together with a few specimens of the Bronze and Early Iron
Ages. It has been fortunate in having had presented to it a
number of exhibits from the well-known collections of the late
Mr William Ransom, of Hitchin, and, in course of time, should
possess a representative collection of the oldest objects which
were indisputably made by man.

A varied collection of Roman remains of local occurrence
are exhibited, such as Bone Pins and Needles, Stylos, Lamps,
Bottles, Samian Ware, Buckles, Armlets, Bracelets, Tear Bottles,
Fragments of Pottery, Unction Glasses, Coins, and other Roman
objects. At Great Wymondley the remains of a Roman Villa
were discovered, and excavated, in 1885, from which several
exhibits are shown. A plan of the villa is exhibited in the case
containing these.

Coming to more historic times, there is being gathered together
a collection of objects illustrative of the development of man's
handicraft through the centuries, such as Mediaeval Spoons,
Phials, Arrow Heads, Horseshoes, Buckles, Elizabethan Tobacco
Pipes, Sixteenth Century Watering Pots and Glass Bottles, Wig

THE NEW DOMESDAY 255

Curlers of the early Georgian period, Old Fire Signs and Leather
Bucket, Brass Rubbings, Tokens, obsolete domestic and agri-
cultural utensils, and several other exhibits which need not be
detailed. The idea is that in the larger building, to be erected
hereafter, each period of man's history upon earth shall be shown
in chronological sequence, so that there shall be illustrated a series
of regional exhibits of the life of the human race.

In addition to the foregoing, Letchworth museum contains
well-arranged collections of Local Animals (Birds, Fishes, Insects,
Mammals, Mollusca) and Plants, as well as Rocks and Minerals,
British, Roman, and English Coins, Birds' Eggs and Skulls, a
remarkable series of whole -plate photographs of British Trees
set out in pairs, Summer and Winter, together with the boles
of some thirty species, and a Natural Science and Town-planning
Library.

All this work has been accomplished in less than three years,
and as, in after time, it will continue to remind my successors of
the work which I have myself been privileged to undertake,
and which I hope to be spared to carry on for many years to
come, it may well serve as a fitting conclusion to this account of
my " Life."

It is always pleasant to reflect that one has occupied an
honourable position, and to build up a permanent record of
one's energies, for, after all, the best " degree " one can obtain
is exemplified in work actually accomplished. One cannot, it
seems to me, graduate to better advantage, or under happier
conditions, than in the university of life, for, under these circum-
stances, one is best able to serve the community in which he
lives, and to make his influence felt in the sphere in which he
moves. Such being the case, I am content to leave whatever
value at which my own efforts may be appraised to the judg-
ment of my fellows, conscious of the fact that, in thus rendering
service, the pleasure derived, and, incidentally, the broadened
outlook upon life that is obtained, is ample compensation for the
labour entailed.

My own life, as I have endeavoured to set forth in this volume,
has been one continuous round of knowledge -seeking and un-
alloyed delight, and, as such, I have faithfully related my
experiences in the pleasant anticipation that the reader will
have been both interested and impressed.

APPENDIX

The following is a chronological List of the Author's more important books : —

A Year with Nature (Drane).

Country Rambles (Drane).

Every Boy's Book of British Natural History (R.T.8.).

Fifty-two Nature Rambles (R.T.S.).

The Story of Insect Life (Kelly).

The Story of the Sea and Seashore (Kelly).

The Boy's Own Nature Book (R.T.S.).

The Insect Book (Lane).

Animals at Home (Dent).

The Young Botanist (Methuen).

The Open- Air Nature Book (Dent).

Nature-Stalking for Boys (Dent).

Trees and Shrubs of the British Isles (Dent).

The Animals and Their Story (Kelly).

The Young Naturalist (Methuen).

British Nesting Birds (Dent).

The Animal Kingdom (Dent).

The Book of the Zoo (Dent).

The Young Ornithologist (Methuen).

Bird Life of the Seasons (Black).

A Year in the Country (Headley).

Wild Flowers of the Hedgerow (Laurie).

Wild Flowers of the Wood (Laurie).

The Circling Year (Nelson).

The Natural History of the Garden (Black).

The Book of Nature (Frowde & Hodder).

The Wonders of Bird Life (Milner).

Bird Studies (Cam. Univ. Press).

The Boy's Book of Pets (Grant Richards).

Nature's Wonderland (Pilgrim Press).

The Young Observer's Handbook (M'Bride).

My Life as a Naturalist (Palmer tt- Hay ward).

256

INDEX

NOTE. — The names of all animals and plants are printed in italics, so
as to distinguish from the general entries, and to facilitate easier reference.

" A Day in Spring, and other

Poems." 2-4
A Parody in Verse, 17
A Royal Pupil, 3
Abbot Allfric, 23
Abbot Ulsiiras, 30
Aberdeen, 167, 173
Abergavenny, 243
" Adam and Eve," 154
Adder, 104
Adrian IV., 30
Agrimony, Hemp, 142
Ailort, 164
Ailsa Craig, 180, 186
Aims of School Journeys, 243
Alaudidce, 88
Aldenham Abbey, 229
Alder, 142
Ammonite, 170, 236
Anemone, Wood, 128, 144, 152, 191
Anglesey, Isle of, 174-5
Angling Experiences, 223
Animals, Plants, and Minerals, 18
Annan, 180
Anstey's Cove, 168
Appendix of my Books, 255
Apple Trees in my Garden, 207
Ardlui, 157
Ardrossan, 186
Argyll, Duke of, 154
Argyll's Bowling Green. 155
Argyllshire Coast, 154, 162
Arisaig, 161
Aristotle, 32
Arran, Isle of, 108, 137, 154, 171,

180, 181
Arrochar, 157
Arrowhead, 137

Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh, 185
Article, My first Published, 12
Arum, Wild, 110, 192

Ash, 122

Ashdown, C. H., 24, 30
Ashridge, 108
Aspen, 123, 148
Asphodel, Bog, 137
Atlantic Ocean, 165, 181
Autumn Commences, 138
Avebury, Lord, 45
Avocet, 98
Ayrshire Coast, 180
Ayton, William, 5
Azalea, 188

B

Babbacombe, 168

Bacon, Francis, 17, 30, 227

Bacon, Sir Nicholas, 29

Baldock, 68

Ball, John, 29

Ball, Sir Robert, 46

Balmoral, 173

Banavie, 163

Bangor, 174

Bass Rock, 1 73

Bat, Long-eared, \ 16

„ Pipistrelle, 23
Battle of Glen Fruin, 164
Bayley, Thomas Haynes, 3
Beachy Head, 169
Beaumaris, 174
Bedford, Duke of, 108
Bedstraw, Northern, 137
Bee, Honey, 113
„ Humble, 114, 146
,, Lea] -cutter, 114
Beech, 121, 136
Bees, 111, 113, 124, 131, 142
Beetle, Cardinal, 130

„ Cocktail, I W

,, DeviVs Coach Horse, 116

„ Dor, 147

257

258

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

tie, Great Water, 110

Oil, 110-11

Sexton, 116

Stag, 115-6

, Whirligig, 117

Beetles, 115

Bell, W. H., 26

Ben Achallader, 159

Ben a Chaistel, 159

Ben Creachan, 159

Ben Dowran, 159

Ben Lomond, 157, 186

Ben Lui, 158-9

Ben More, 157

Ben Nevis, 156, 161-2, 175-6

Ben Odhar, 159

Ben Vannoch, 159

Benediction, A, 22

Berners, Dame Juliana, 28

Berry Head, 168

Berwick, 173

Bible, The, 19

Birch, 122, 193

Bird Problems, 85

" Bird Studies," 246

Bird's Eggs, My Collection of, 222

Birds, My Favourite Song, 73
„ My First Study of, 11, 18
„ of the Garden ,* 2 10- 11
,, Red-letter days among, 48

Birds' Nest Orchid, 136

Birdwood, Sir George, 21

Birthplace of Author, 1

Blackbird, 83, 91-2

Blackcap, 26, 75-7, 91, 134, 141, 189,
190, 196-7, 201

Blackpool, 180

Black thorn, 42, 140

Blackwood, Algernon, 46

Blair Atholl, 159

Blairmore, 154

Blakeney, 170

Blatchford, Robert, 170

Blizzard, the Great, 123

Bluebell, 193

Blythswood, Lord, 154

Boa Constrictor, a large, 172

Boadicea, 24, 25

Boleyn, Anne, 28

Bonchurch, 169

Bonnie Prince Charlie, 164

Bonnie Wee Well, 185

Book, Author's Fiftieth, 12

Books by the Author, 256

Books in Author's Library, 219-
221

Books, value of, 38

Boscobel Wood, 151
j B.O.U.,85
i Bournemouth, 169
' Bowls, Game of, 185
i Boydell, Alderman, 2

Bracken, 191

Bramble, 132-4, 147, 192

Breakspear, Nicholas, 30

Bream, 141, 228

Breydon, Norfolk, 67

Bricket Wood, 225

Bridge of Orchy, 159

Bridge of Roy, 161

Bridlington, 172

Brighton, 169

" British Birds," 92, 94

British Causeway, 23

British Cold Coin, a rare, 254

Brixham, 168

Broadland, 169

Brocket Hall, 223

Brocket, Sir John, 223

Brodick Bay, 181

Broom, 19l"

Brownie, the pup, 193

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 132

Browning, Robert, 20

Brownlow, Earl, 108

Bryony, Black, 145
„ White, 125

Buckthorn, Purging, 135, 146

Bugle, 192, 197

Bullfinch, 88, 171

Bunting, Corn, 54, 88
Reed, 137
Yellow, 54, 210

Burnham Thorpe, 170

Burton, Richard, 17

Bute, Isle of, 154

Butterflies of the Garden, 215

Butterfly, Brimstone, 114, 146
Clouded Yellow, 47
Grayling, 146, 169
Meadow Brown, 146-7
Orange-tip, 114, 146
Painted Lady, 47, 141
Peacock, 134, 146, 198
Red Admiral, 134-5, 214
Ringlet, 146-7, 190
Skipper, 146-7
Small Blue, 146
Small Copper, 146
Small Tortoiseshell, 146,

198
W all Brown, 146

INDEX

259

c

Caddis Fly, 110

Ceesar, Julius, 24-6

Caledonia, Forest of, 159

Caledonian Canal, 163

Cambridgeshire, 132

Cambridge University, 6

Campbell, R. J., 10

Campbell, Thomas, 156

Campbeltown, 181

Canary, 68

Candytuft, Bitter, 130

Canna, Isle of, 165

Capel Curig, 179.

Carlisle, 186

Carlyle, Thomas, 180

Carnarvon, 167, 174

Carp, 229-30

Cassivelaunus, 24-6

Castle Rising, 170

Celandine, Lesser, 126-7, 146

Celtic Cinerary Urn, 217

Centipede, 148, 215

Ceunant Mawr, 177

Chaffinch, 60, 74, 88, 190, 193, 196

" Chambers's Journal," 103

Chapman, George, 17

Charles II., 29

Charter, The First British, 25

Chaucer's " January and May," 2

Chepstow, 243.

Cherry, Wild, 124, 191

Chester, 167, 179

Chesterton, G. K., 11

Chestnut, Horse, 121, 123

Chickweed, 146

Chiff-Chaff, 53-4, 74, 142, 190, 196,

198

Chiltern Hills, 169
Christianity, 26
" Christ in Carnival," 13
Chub, 243
City life, 11
Cley, 170
Clogwyn Du, 178
Clyde Fauna, 182-3
Clyde, River, 108, 154, 174
Clyde Valley, 186
Clynder, 153-4

Coarse Fish at Brocket Hall, 224
Cockchafer, 147, 200
Coke, Earl of Leicester, 170
Colmonell, 180
Coltsfoot, 124
Columbus, 19

I Colwyii Bay, 174
' Common People, 35

Common Things, 35

Confession, an open, 229

Coningsby, Thomas, 28

Connold, Edward, 169

Conservation, 224

Con way, 174

Coolin Hills (Skye), 165

Cooper, Rev. A. N., 172

Coot, 99

Cormorant, 180

Corn Bluebottle, 152

Cornflowers, 188

Corvidce, 85

Corydalis, 188

Cotton Grass, 137

Coulport, 155

Cove, 154-5

Cowie, C. R., 182

Cowper, William, 17
| Cowper, The Earl, 223

Cowslip, 152

Crake, 99

Crane, African Crowned, 70

Crane Fly, 192
I Crayfish, 225
j Crianlarich, 157-8
I Cricket, Field, 111-3
| „ House, 112-3

Cricket Records, 8

Crocodile, A, 224

Cromer, 170

Cromwell, 19, 28

Crow, Carrion, 85-6

Crowfoot, 128

Bulbous, 128
Water, 137

Cuckoo, 9, 39, 48, 72, 74, 94-5, 115,
143, 188, 195, 224

Cuckoo Flower, 58, 197

Culpepper's " Herbal," 12

Cumbrae Naturalist, The, 182

Cummings, Bruce, 244

Curlew, 69, 98, 108, 162

Curlew-Sandpiper, 98

Cwm Brwynog, 177-8

Cycling, 9

D

Dace, 227

Daffodil, 42, 143, 197
" Daily Graphic," 51
"Daily News," 51
Daisy, 46, 78, 92, 140

260

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Dandelion, 127
Dartmoor, 137
Darwin, Charles, 6, 34, 85
Dee Estuary and Elver, 174, 179
Deer, Red, 108
Deeside, 173
Deganway, 174
" De Profundis," 229
Devil's Coach Horse Beetle, 116
Devon, 137
Dewberry, 190
Diamond Jubilee Day, 227
Dipper, 93
Dixon, Charles, 76
Dog's Mercury, 144
Dogwood, 134, 145-6
Dolbardon Castle, 175
Domesday, The New, 241
Dormouse, 101
Douglas, James, 14
Dove, Ring, 99, 148, 199
„ Turtle, 72, 192, 199
Dover, 169

Dragon Fly, 1, 9, 110, 118-9, 226
Druids, 26, 120
Drumpellier, 184
Ducks, 199
Dumfries, 180
Dunbarton, 153, 174
Dundee, 158, 173
Dunfion, 181
Dunoon, 154, 181
Durham, 172

E

Eagle, Golden, 108
Earthworm, 212
Eastbourne, 169
Eaton Hall, 179
Ecclefechan, 180
Ecology, 18
Edinburgh, 185-6
Edward L, 28
Ed, 225, 228
Eilio, 177
Elder, 135, 145
Elidir Mountains, 175, 178
Eliot, George, 144
Elm, Common, 123

„ Wych, 124
Elmhurst, R., 181
Emerson, R. W., 203
Emperor Daffodils, 207

Enchanter's Nightshade, 191
English Independence, Father of, 26
Epochs in National Life, 26
Euripides, 36
Evans, W., 92

Fagg, C. C., 242, 245-6

Fair Head, Ireland, 181

Fairlie, 181

Falcon, Peregrine, 169

Fame Islands, 172

Ferguslie, 184

Ferns, 161

Fieldfare, 70, 152

Fife, 173

Filey, 172

Finches, 87

Fir, 122-3, 154, 157

Firth of Forth, 173

Firth of Tay, 158

Fish Fable, A, 229-30

Fishing, 9, 223

Flamborough Head, 172

Flies, Golden, 47

Flinders, Cap. Matthew, 6

Flowering Rush, 137

Flycatcher, Spotted, 56, 74, 198

Folkstone Guide Book, 243

Football, 9

Footpaths, 125

Forfar, 173

Forget-me-not, 9

Fort Augustus, 161

Fort William, 156, 158, 160-3, 175

Forth Bridge, 173

Fox, 106-7

France and Plants, 78

Franklin, Benjamin, 6

French Alpine Club, 162

Friendship, 20

FringittidoB, 87

Frog, 141, 215

" From Palaeolith to Motor Car,'

170
Furze, Western, 137

G

Gannet, 97, 173, 181

Garden, a description of Author's,

206

„ Birds, 210-11

INDEX

261

Garden Butterflies, 215

„ Enemies, 213-4

,, How I made my, 205

,, Insects, 214

Mammals, 212-3

„ Plan, description of, 208
Gareloch, 154-5, 174, 186
Garelochhead, 154, 150
Garrick, David, 28-9
Gatty, Mrs, 119
Geddes, Prof. P., 242
Geese, 99

Gemmill, Dr J. F., 182
Generation, the rising, 20
Geological Periods and Exhibits, 253
Gladstone, W. E., 179
Glasgow, 155-6, 180, 183-4, 186
Glasgow's Highland Estate, 155
Glasgow, Port, 154
Glasgow University, 6
Gbnfinnan, 164
Glen Fruin, 164
Gleniffer Braes, 185
Glen Nevis, 162
Glen of Sorrows, 164
Glen Roy, 161
Glen Spean, 161
Glow-worm, 148, 16C
Goat, a friendly, 193
Goatfell, 108, 137, 154
Goethe, 203
Golden Rod, 161
Goldfinch, 57, 202
Goose, Pink-fooled, 64, 170
Goosegrass, 146
Gorham, Geoffrey de, 28
Gourock, 154
Grace Darling, 172
Grampians, 158
Grandfather, my, 1, 113
Grandmother, my, 1, 222
Grass of Parnassus, 137
Grass Snake, 169
" Great Britain Illustrated," 5
Great Cumbrae, 181, 186
Great Grandfather, my, 6
Great Wymondley, Roman Villa at, !

254 •
Grebe, 99

Grebe, Great Crested, 228
Greeks and Tree Worship, 32
Greenfinch, 54, 87, 190, 200
Greenock, 154
Grouse, 108, 159
Gudgeon, 228
Guillemot, 98

Gull, Black-headed, 172

„ Herring, 165
Gulls, 70, 172-3

H

Haeckel, 18

Halfway House (Snowdon), 177

Hare, 105-6, 215

Haslemere Museum, 253

Hastings, 169

Hatfield, 223-4

Ha warden, 179

Hawfinch, 53-4, 87

Hawthorn (May), 124, 133, 145 6

Hay ling Island, 169

Hazel, 138, 144

Hazlitt, 218

Heacham, 170

Heather, 137

Hebrides, Western, 165

Hedge Accentor, 7, 193

Hedgehog, 104-5, 215

Helensburgh, 154-5

Heliotrope, Winter, 138

Helleborine, While, 136

Henry VI., 29

Henry VIII., 28

Henslow, Prof., 6

Herbaceous plants, 207

Herberton, Prof., 242

Herb Paris, 136

Herb Robert, 192

Heredity, 38

Heron, 67-8

Herring, 168

Hertford, 2

"Hertfordshire Standard," 12

Highland Memories, 153

Hirundinidce, 94

Hitchin, 53, 69

Hoddesdon, 18

Hogg, James, 78

Holkham, 170

Holly, 124

Holme, 171

Holyhead, 174

Holy Loch, 154, 186

Homewood, 188

Hony, G. Bathurst, 92

Hope's Nose, 168

Horace Garden, Kneb worth, 196

Hornbeam, 124, 188, 191-2

Hotels at Fort William, 162

Hover Fly, 114

262

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Hoy lake, 174

Humble Bee Fly, IU

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, 29

Hungerford, Mrs, 80

Hunstanton, 170

Hunter's Quay, 154

Hutchinson, Horace, 87

„ Sir Jonathan, 253

Hutchison, Dr John, 183
Huxley, Thomas, 203, 244

Icknield Way, The, 75, 216

Initiation, 39

Innellan, 154

Insects, 110

„ of the Garden, 214

Insomuch, John, 28

Inspiration from Nature, 40

Inverness, 161, 163

Ireland, 186

Irish Sea, 174, 178

Irvine, Alexander, 40, 45

Island of Eigg, 165
Muck, 165
Rum, 165
Skye, 165
Wight, 169

Italy, 123

Jack (Fish), 224
Jackdaw, 54, 66
Jack-in-the- Pulpit, 192
Jack o' Legs, 121
Jay, 65, 142, 191
Jefferies, Richard, 11, 169
Jellyfish, 168
Jennings, Lady Alicia, 29
Jubilee, My Literary, 12

K

Kaufman, 11

Kentish Town Road L.C.C. School,

243

Kent's Cavern, 168
Kernahan, Coulson, 34, 220
Kestrel, 9, 61-3, 96-7, 178
Kilbrennan Sound, 181
Kilcreggan, 154

Kilnmrnock, 186
Kilmun, 154
Kilpatrick Hills, 186
Kincardine, 173
King Edred, 28
Kingfisher, 68, 96, 226
Kings Cross, 163
Kings Lynn, 170
Kinlochiel, 164
Kneb worth. 196
Knight, Charles, 12
Knockderry Castle, 154
Knowledge, the quest for, 32
Lamb, Charles, 1, 18

„ Mary, 18
Lambs, 138"

Lapwing, 58, 70, 74, 95, 189
Laniidce, 90

Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 2
Lstchworth, 55, 75, 80, 120, 155,

183, 217
Letch worth Museum, 61, 226, 228,

237, 251-5
Letchworth Naturalists' Society,

247, 251-5
Lewis, G. A., 243
Life's Maxims, 21
Lime, 124

Lincoln, President, 19, 35
Linnean Society. 85
Linnet, 54, 88, 201
List of Author's Books, 256
Little Cumbrae, 181
Liverpool, 179
Lizard, 72, 92, 144
Llanberis, 174-9

Pass, 178
Waterfall, 176
Llandudno, 174
Llechog, 177-8
Llewelyn, 175
Llyn Padarn, 174
Llyn Peris, 175
Lobster, 237
Loch Ailort, 164
Loch Eil, 162-4
LochGoil, 153, 155-6
Loch Katrine, 186
Loch Lomond, 153-5, 157, 164, 186
Loch Long, 153-7, 174
Loch Moran, 165
Loch Ness, 161
Loch Ossian, 160
Loch Shiel, 164
Loch Treig, 160
Loch Tulla, 159

INDEX

263

Lochwinnoch, 186
Lollards, the, 29
London, 25

Loosestrife, Purple, 142
" Lord Ullin's Daughter," 156
Lowerison, Harry, 170
Lowestoft, 170
Lugnaquilla, 178
Lulworth Cove, 169
Lupin, 188
Luton Hoo, 226
Lydekker, Richard, 49
Lytham, 180

Lytton, Bulwer, 18, 196-7
Lytton, Robert, first Earl of, 18,
190, 196, 229

M

Mablethorpe, 172

Macdonald's Well, 185

Mace,. Great Reed, 141

Macgillivray, 203

Machrihanish, 181

Mackay, Eric, 78

Macmillan, Hugh, 219

Madame de Falbe, 226

Magic of the Seasons, 138

Magna Charta, 19

Mallaig, 155-6, 158, 162-5

Marnbeg, 154, 156

Mammals, 101

Mammals of the Garden, 212-3

"Manchester Guardian," 79

Mandarin Duck, 70

Mandeville, Sir John, 30

Maple, 123, 134, 145-6

Margate, 169

Marigold, Marsh, 58, 127, 152

Marine Biological Association, 181

Markwick, William, 50

Marram Grass, 172

Martin, House, 68, 94, 149, 201

„ Sand, 94
Marvel, Ik, 125
Massey, Gerald, 17
Mayfly, 9, 149
Men and Trees, 120
Menai Bridge, 174

„ Straits, 174

„ Suspension Bridge, 174
Mercia, King of, 26
Meredith, George, 78

Owen, 18, 190, 195

Merlin, 170

Mice, 101

Mignonette, Wild, 130, 132

Mill, DrH.R., 242

Millipede, 215

Millport, 181-3, 186

Milton, John, 2 '

Minnow, 9, 229

Mistletoe, 121

Misty Law (Mountain), 186

Modan, 154

Moel Coch, 177

Moel-y-Cynghorion, 177

Moffat, 180

Mole, 62

Moncreiff, Hope, 164

Mongrel Dogs, 234

Montgomery, W., 78

Moorhen, 55, 99, 142

Morecambe Bay, 167, 180

Morning, a May, 23

Moss, DrC.E., 246

MotacillidcK, 88

Moth, Drinker, 115

„ Humming-bird Hawk, 114

„ OakEggar,ll5

„ Privet Hawk, 114

„ Tiger, 115
Mountstephen, Lord, 223
Mouse, Field, 62

„ Harvest, 101*2.
„ Long -tailed Field, 102
Mull of Kintyre, 181
Museum, a regional, 237
Mushrooms, 181
Mussel, 171-2, 179
M'Vail, Sir David, 182
My Books, Classes, Lectures, and

Po'stbag, 238
My Country Study, 216
My Dog, and another, 231-4
My Nature guide and interpreter, 1
My Scrap Books, 221

N

Napoleon, 19

Narcissus, 127

Nash, J. K.,92
! " Natural History of Selborne," 12

Nature all a-burst, 23
„ and the child, 41
„ a great testimony to, 35

264

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Nature Christening, my, 6

,, Inheritance, 1

„ Poetry and Prose, 46

„ Study, 18, 32-3

„ Service of, 202-3
Nelson, Horatio, 170
Nequam, Alexander', 30
Nesting Boxes, 51, 210
Nettle, Stinging, 115, 127, 198

„ White Dead, 45, 127
Nevis Burn, 162-3
Nightingale, 35, 50, 54, 74, 79, 80-1

88, 122, 171, 194
Nightjar, 95-6, 147-8, 188
" Night Thoughts," 18
Norfolk Broads, 228
Norfolk Howards, 94
Northumberland, 172
Norton Common, 75, 80, 135, 217
Nuthatch, 48, 94

O

Oak, 120-1, 140, 144, 151, 188-9,

192

Oak Apple Gall, 151-2
Oban, 158
Odin, 121

Offa, King of Mercia, 24, 26-7
Offley, 26
Old Hunston, 171
Old Man's Beard, 130
Optimist, an, 19
Orchid, Bee, 136

Early Purple, 136
„ Fly, 136
„ Frog, 136
„ Pyramidal, -136
„ Spotted, 136
Orchids, 136
Osmund, Saint, 241
Otter, 68

" Our Favourite Song Birds," 76
Outlook Tower, Edinburgh, 242
Overstrand, 170
Owl, Barn, 57, 96

„ Little, 96

„ Long -eared, 67, 96

„ Short-eared, 96

„ Tawny, 63, 96, 194
Oxford, author's association with,

2

Oyster, 169, 172
Oyster -catcher, 172, 179

Paddock Stools, 181
PciKony, 188
Paisley, 183-6
Palmerston, Lord, 223
Paps of Jura, 186
Paridce, 89
Paris, Matthew, 30
Parsley, Hedge, 129, 146
Parsnip, Cow, 130, 151

Yellow, 131

Parson, the Walking, 172
Parthenogenesis, 1 52
Partridge, English, 95, 99, 104, 152,

200

Partridge, French, 99
Paterson, A., 169, 221
Peacham, Henry, 18
Pear, 143

Pears in my Garden, 208
Peasants' Revolt, 24, 27
Pengelly, Wm.,168
Perch, 9, 226
Perth, 158

Peter, my Dog, 231 -3
Petrel, Fulmar, 98-9
Pheasant, 72, 99, 104, 107, 215
Picea pectinata, 154
" Pictorial Museum of Animated

Nature," 12

Pictures by Richard Westnll, 3
Pictures by William Westnll, 5
Pike, 225-6
Pike, O. G., 98-9
Pilewort, 127
Pimpernel, Bog, 137
Pine, 122
Pipit, Meadow, 51, 89, 108, 169

„ Rock, 169

„ Tree, 73, 82, 122, 151,189
Pirton, a Survey of, 247-51
Plant growth, 151
Plant life near my Study, 216
Plants on Norton Common, 217
Plantain, Great Water, 137
Plover, Golden, 152

„ Ringed, 95, 170
Plums in my Garden, 208
Pochard, 97

Poem by Owen Meredith, 190-1
Poetry and Nature, 14
Poetry by the Author, 13, 15
Poetry by Richard Westall, 4
Poets and the Skylark, 78
Poets, Hertfordshire, 17

INDEX

265

Poet's Narcissus, 197

Point of Sleat, 165

Pompeii, 24

Pond, a sunlit, 141

Poole Harbour, 169

Poplar, 23, 122-3, 142, 151, 198

Poppy, 130-2, 152

Poppyland, 132

Porpoise, 168

Portincaple, 155

Portsmouth, 169

Present-day problems, solution of,

20

Prestatyn, 174
Preston, 179

Primrose, 8, 129, 144, 193
Privet, 145
Puffin Island, 174
Python, 172

Q

Quin, 29

"Quarterly Review," 111-3
Queen's Park, Glasgow, 184-5
Queen Eleanor, 24, 28
Queen Elizabeth, 24, 29, 113
Queen Mary, 3
Queen Victoria, 3
Queries about Birds, 100

H

Rabbit, 104, 200
Rahane, 154, 156
Raleigh, Prof., Sir W., 113
Ramsgate, 169
Rannoch Moor, 158-9
Ransom, Wm., 254
Raphael, 237
Rat, Black, 172
„ Brown, 102
Raven, 86
Redbreast, 23, 59, 72, 74, 92-3, 100,

197, 210

Redhead, Wm., 29
Redshank, 170-1
Redstart, Black, 63

,, Common, 64

Redwing, 70, 152
Regional Survey, 241-55
Religion and Science, 32
Religion and the State, 26

Rhyl, 17*4
Richard III., 27
Ridgway, Emily, 8
Ring Ouzel, 172
River Afon Hwch, 177
„ Clyde, 180-1

Come, 224-5

Dart, 168

Dee, 179

Exe, 168

Gade, 149

Ivel, 228

Lea, 224, 226

Mersey, 179

Ribble, 179

Seiont, 174

Tay, 158-9, 173

Teign, 168

Ver, 225
Roach, 226
Roberts, Morley, 22
Robertson, Dr David, 181, 183

Provost, 186
Robin Hood, 121

Roman Camp and Villa, Letch-
worth, 217, 254
Roman Capital of Southern Britain,

23

Roman Deities, 26
Roman Fibula, discovery of, 25
Roman remains at Letch worth, 254
Rook, 54, 65-6, 68, 85-7
Roses, a list of garden, 214
Rosneath Castle, 154
Ross, Sir Ronald, 247
Rothesay, 181, 186
Rouken Glen Park, 184
Round House and Garden, 205
Row, 154

Royal Society, The, 51
Rudd, 226
Rules of Young Naturalists' League,

239-40

Ruskin, John, 31
Ryde, 169

S

Sainfoin, 131

Saint Alban, 23-6

Saint Albans, 1,23,26,28

Battles of, 24, 29, 30
„ Bell of Great Gabriel

at, 28

Bull Ring at, 29
„ Castle Inn, site of, 29

266

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

St Albans, Cathedral of, 25*-6

Church of St Michael, 30
Church of St Peter, 30
Church of St Stephen, 30
Clock Tower at, 28
Cricket Club at, 28
Crusader's Tomb at, 30
Curfew Bell at, 28
Eleanor Cross at, 28
„ Famous Scholars at, 30
Fighting Cocks Inn, 28
French Row, 28
French Prisoners, 28
George Street, 28
Gorhambury, 30, 227
„ Grammar School at, 10,

27-8

Great Gateway, 27-8
Hall Place, 29
High Street, 28
Holmhurst Hill, 25
Market Day, 29
„ Museum, 29

Old Christopher Inn, 28
Old Fishpool, 227
Old Moot Hall, 29
„ Pageant, 24
,, Pemberton's Almshouses,

29

Pondyards, 226
,, Roman City, site of, 25
„ Roman Cursus, site of, 29
„ Roman Forum, site of, 30
,, Roman Lake, site of, 23

Sopwell, 229

,, Sopwell Nunnery, 28
St Peters Street, 29, 30
The Book of, 28
Town Hall, 29
„ Verulam House, 227

Waxen Gate, 28
Saint Amphibalus, 26
Salix herbacea, 137
Salmon, 173, 180
Sallow, 142, 191
Saltney, 174
Samian Ware, 25
Sandringham, 170
Sandycroft, 174
Saxons, 121
Scarborough, 59, 172
Scheme for regional survey, 247-9
School Journey Association, 242
" Science Progress," 244, 247
Science, the testimony of, 20, 33
Scott, Captain, 35

Scott, Clement, 132, 170
Scotch characteristics, 184
Scotch Railway facilities, 155
''Scottish Naturalist," 02
Sen Lavender, 170
Sea Magpie, 172
Sea Swallow, 1 72
Seasons, The, 152
Sedum, 135, 214
Seed, the story of the, 44
Seedlings, 146

Shakespeare, 2, 19, 30, 58, 111-3, 197
Shandon, 154, 156
Shanklin, 169, 243
Shaw, Sir A. M'Innes. 181
Sheep, 9, 158, 177
Sheld-duck, 97
Shelley, 78
Shrew, 144

Shrike, Red-backed, 90
Shrub, smallest British. 137
Skye, Isle of, 167, 183
Skylark, 58, 74, 77, 82, 88, 143-4.
189

„ Verses on the, 15
Slugs, 213

Smith, Rev. John, 182
Snail, Roman, 136
Snails, 198, 213
Snipe, 58
Snowdon, 174-7
Snowdrop, 42
Socrates, 36
Solomon, 32
Solway Firth, 167, 180
Somerset, Duke of, 29
Southend, 169
Southgate, Frank, 170
South wold, 169
Sparrow Hawk, 71, 94-6
Sparrow, House, 53, 62, 72, 87, 210

., Tree, 53, 87
Spectator, 79
Spean Bridge, 160, 161
Speeton Cliffs, 172
Speedwell, 197
Spider, 215

Spring commences, 138
Spring of 1917, 139
Squirrel, 39
Starling, 135, 190, 200
Starr, Rev. H. W., 178
. Start Point (Devon), 167
Stephenson's Tubular Railway

Bridge, 174
Stickleback, 72

INDEX

267

Stirling Castle, 186

Stitchwort, Greater, 129, 146

Stoat, 68, 103-4

Stonechat, 72, 92

Stone Curlew, 70, 97-8

Stonehaven, 173

Stone implements, 254

Stothard, 3

Strathcona, Lord, 173, 223

Strawberry, Wild, 192, 197

Strone, 153-4

Stroud, 243

Stuart, Muriel, 13

St Albans Head, 169

St Mark's Fly, 198

St Pauls Walden Bury, 68

Sullivan, Sir Edward, 111-2

Summary of regional survey scheme,

246

Summer commences, 138
Summer Woods, 148
Sundew, 137
Swallow, 9, 23, 50, 69, 94, 143, 149,

193, 201, 226
Sweet Ciceley, 146
Swift, 69, 193, 200
Swinburne, Algernon, 169
Sycamore, 123-4
Sylvidce, 90

Tankerfield, George, 28
Tansley, A. G., 246
Tarbet, 157
Tay Bridge, 158, 173
Tayport, 173
Teacher, the Nature, 37
Technical terms, 18
Tench, 229, 230
Tern, 172, 181

' The Extra Day," 46

' The Great Play," 22

' The Guardian Angel," 20

' The Harvest Storm," 3

' The Priest of Spring," 11

' The Thistle," 191

' The World Beautiful," 128
Thomas, Edward, 218
Thrush, MisUe, 63, 78, 91-2, 143

„ Song, 13, 78-9, 91-2, 100,

144, 190-1

„ Verses on the, 13
Tit, Bearded, 228
„ Blue, 52-3, 68, 89, 90, 201, 210

Tit, Coal, 53, 89

„ Great, 53, 89, 92, 199, 210

„ Long-tailed, 52, 89, 90

„ Marsh, 89
Titlark, 82
Titmice, 51, 89, 199
Toad, 215
Tormentil, 192
Torquay, 168
Totnes, 168

Traveller's Joy, 129, 146
Trees and Flowers, 120
Trees and Shrubs of my Garden, 206-

208

Tree Worship, 120
Tressilian, Chief Justice, 29
Trout, 68, 149, 180, 225-6
Tulla Water, 159
Tulloch, 160
Tung, 193
Turdidce, 91
Turner, W. M., 125
Tutsan, 137
Tyndrum, 158-9
" Types of British Vegetation," 245

Vegetables in my Garden, 208

" Vegetation of the Peak District,"

246

Ventnor, 169
Verulam, 23-5, 28

Earl of, 30
Violet, 125-6
Viper's Bwjloss, 130
Voles, 101
Vortigern, 175

W

Wading Birds, 98

Wadhurst, 94

Wagtfiil, 9, 58, 64, 89, 189

„ ' Grey, 224
Wales, 174

Walton, Izaak, 8, 18, 223
Warbler, Dartford, 169

Garden, SI, $1,134, 201
„ Grasshopper, 84

Sedge, 73, 137

k., Willow, 73, 83, 142, 190,
196, 198

268

MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST

Warbler, Wood, 136

Warp and Woof of Life, 19

Wat Tyler, 27

Water Boatman, 117

Water Measurer, 117

Water Mint, 134, 137

Water Kail, Gl, 99

Water Scorpion, 117

Water Soldier, 141

Water Vole, 9, 142, 227

Weasel, 104, 200

Weeds of my Garden, 205

Wells, Norfolk, 64, 170

Wemyss Bay, 180

Werner, Sir Julius. 226

Westall, or Westell, Etymology of,

2
Westall, Jerome, 2

John, 6

Martha, 2

Owen, 2

Richard, 2

William, 2, 5
Westell, Beatrice Daisy, 6

William, 1

West Highland Railway, 156
Weymouth, 169
Whistlefield, 155-6
Whit by, 172
White, Gilbert, 12, 50, 85, 94-5,

188

White Rock Rose, 168
Whitethroat, Greater, 74, 90, 134, 190,

198

Lesser, 90, 135, 189
Whiting, Lilian, 218
Whitstable, 169
Whittier, 144

Wicklow Mountains, 178

Wild Duck, 56, 92, 97

Wilderness, The, 196

William of Orange, 168

Willoiv, 124

Willow Herb, 142

Wind Flower, 128

Windsor Castle, 3

Winkle, 169

Winter commences, 138

Winter, 1916-17, 69

Wirral Peninsula, 167, 174, 179

With Rod and Line, 223

Woburn, 108

Wonder, the faculty of, 19

Wood Loosestrife, 192

Woodpecker, Great Spotted, 59

Green, 58, 142
„ Lesser Spotted, .~>s

Wood Sorrel, 191
Woods and Forests, 121
Wordsworth, Wm., 7, 10, 41. 78, 126,

196

Woundwort, 146
Wren, 93, 124, 193
Wryneck, 53, 87

Yarmouth, 170

Y.M.C.A., 40

York, 25

Young, Dr, 18

Young Naturalists in the Making,

235-40

Young Naturalists' League, 239-40
Youth, perpetual, 20

THE "WONDERLAND'
NATURE LECTURES

BY

W. PERCIVAL WESTELL, F.L.S.

THE Author of " My Life as a Naturalist " exhibits on the
platform the infectious enthusiasm and first-hand knowledge
displayed in this and his many other volumes.

The slides illustrating his Popular Lectures are unsurpassed,
and he holds an unique position as one of the -few all-round
Naturalists who is able to bring before his audience indelible
word-pictures of his experiences in the field.

THE "WONDERLAND" NATURE LECTURES

ILLUSTRATED WITH LANTERN SLIDES
1. BEHIND THE SCENES AT THE | 10. SEEN UNDER A MICROSCOPE.

Zoo.

2. BIRD LIFE OF THE SEASONS.

3. BRITISH BIRD LIFE.

7. MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST.
*8. NATURE'S WONDERLAND IN

COLOUR.
9. NATURE IN MOVING PICTURES.

11. THE CIRCLING YEAR.

12. THE LIFE-STORY OF THE

CUCKOO.

4. BRITISH SONG BIRDS. }3 TH£ NATURAL HISTORY OF

5. CO-OPERATION IN NATURE. TRE GARDEN

6. HAUNTS AND HABITS OF

„ 14. 1 HE WONDERLAND OF BIRDS.

BRITISH BIRDS.

15. THE WONDERLAND OF

FLOWERS.

16. THE WONDERLAND OF

INSECT LIFE.

•x-

W holly illustrated with beautiful slides in Natural Colour Photography

KINEMATOGRAPH demonstrations can also be arranged for
dealing with Bird, Insect, Marine, Pond, Plant and other forms of Life

Sole Managers and Agents

THE LECTURE LEAGUE

33 STRAND, LONDON, W.C. 35 CAMBRIDGE RD., SEAFORTH, LIVERPOOL

riVEESITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY,
BERKELEY

THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW

Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of
f °c Per volume after the third day overdue, increasing
to ?1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in
demand may be renewed if application is made before
expiration of loan period.

SEP 13 1973

SEP 10

50m-7,'29

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY