Skip to main content

Full text of "Birds of the plains"

See other formats 


BIOLOGY 

LIBRARY 

G 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

BOMBAY  DUCKS:  An  account  of 
some  of  the  Every-day  Birds  and  Beasts 
found  in  a  Naturalist's  El  Dorado  *^y 
With  Numerous  Illustrations  from 
Photographs  of  Living  Birds  by 
CAPTAIN  F.  D.  S.  FAYRER,  I. M.S. 

ANIMALS  OF  NO  IMPORTANCE 
THE  INDIAN  CROW :  HIS  BOOK 


•»  f 


*s. 


r*^- 


THE   GREY   PELICAN.      (PELKCANUS   PHII.ll'l'ENSl: 
(A  Lird  of  tke  Plains) 


BIRDS  OF 
THE  PLAINS 

BY  DOUGLAS  DEWAR,  F.Z.S.,  I.C.S. 
WITH  SIXTEEN  ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS  OF  LIVING  BIRDS 
BY  CAPTAIN  F.  D.  S.  FAYRER,  I.M.S. 


LONDON:   JOHN  LANE  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
NEW  YORK :  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY  MCMIX 


'•"    •  .'•*  I  *..* 
.*.    .  .        •        *    *      •      «.>'••<*** 

•'•    :;:  ••••:    ..%*-,  .J 


-  [BRAR1 

G 


WILLIAM  BRENDON  AND  SON,  LTD.,  PRINTERS,    PLYMOUTH 


PREFACE 

IT  is  easy  enough  to  write  a  book.     The  difficulty 
is   to   sell  the  production  when   it  is   finished. 
That,    however,    is    not    the   author's    business. 
Nevertheless,  the  labours  of  the  writer  are  not 
over  when  he  has  completed  the  last  paragraph  of  his 
book.     He  has,  then,  in   most  cases,  to  find  a  title 
for  it. 

This,  I  maintain,  should  be  a  matter  of  little  difficulty. 
I  regard  a  title  as  a  mere  distinguishing  mark,  a  brand, 
a  label,  a  something  by  which  the  book  may  be  called 
when  spoken  of — nothing  more. 

According  to  this  view,  the  value  of  a  title  lies,  not 
in  its  appropriateness  to  the  subject-matter,  but  in  its 
distinctiveness. 

To  illustrate :  some  years  ago  a  lady  entered  a  book- 
seller's shop  and  asked  for  "  Drummond's  latest  book — 
Nux  Vomica"  The  bookseller  without  a  word  handed 
her  Lux  Mundi. 

To  my  way  of  thinking  Lux  Mundi  is  a  good  title 
inasmuch  as  no  other  popular  book  has  one  like  it. 
So  distinctive  is  it  that  even  when  different  words 
were  substituted  the  bookseller  at  once  knew  what  was 
intended.  That  the  view  here  put  forward  does  not 


283627 


vi  PREFACE 

find  favour  with  the  critics  may  perhaps  be  inferred 
by  the  exception  many  of  them  took  to  the  title  of  my 
last  book — Bombay  Ducks. 

While  commending  my  view  to  their  consideration, 
I  have  on  this  occasion  endeavoured  to  meet  them  by 
resorting  to  a  more  orthodox  designation.  I  am,  doubt- 
less, pursuing  a  risky  policy.  Most  of  the  reviewers 
were  kind  enough  to  say  that  Bombay  Ducks  was  a 
good  book  with  a  bad  title.  When  criticising  the 
present  work  they  may  reverse  the  adjectives.  Who 
knows?  -  - 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  BRITISH  BIRDS  IN  THE  PLAINS  OF  INDIA     .  i 

II.  THE  BIRD  IN  BLUE 10 

III.  SPARROWS  IN  THE  NURSERY         .        .        .16 

IV.  THE  CARE   OF  YOUNG   BIRDS   AFTER  THEY 

LEAVE   THE   NEST 23 

V.  THE  ADJUTANT  BIRD    .        .        .        .        .  29 

VI.  THE  SARUS 35 

VII.  THE  STABILITY  OF  SPECIES  ....  40 

VIII.  THE  AMADAVAT 46 

IX.  THE  NUTMEG  BIRD 52 

X.  THE  DID-HE-DO-IT 56 

XI.  COBBLER  OR  TAILOR? 62 

XII.  A  CROW  IN  COLOURS 68 

XIII.  UP-TO-DATE  SPECIES  MAKING  73 

XIV.  HONEYSUCKERS 78 

XV.  A  HEWER  OF  WOOD 84 

XVI.  A  FEATHERED  SPRINTER      ....  89 

XVII.  A  BIRD  OF  CHARACTER        ....  94 

XVIII.  SWIFTS 99 

XIX.  BIRDS  AS  AUTOMATA 104 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XX.  PLAYING  CUCKOO     .        .        .  .     in 

XXI.  THE  KOEL 117 

XXII.  THE  COMMON  DOVES  OF  INDIA       .        .124 

XXIII.  DOVES  IN  A  VERANDAH  ...  130 

XXIV.  THE  GOLDEN  ORIOLE      .        .        .        .     135 
XXV.  THE  BARN  OWL      .        .        .        .        .140 

XXVI.  A  TREE-TOP  TRAGEDY     .        .        .        .145 

XXVII.  Two  LITTLE  BIRDS          .        .        .        .150 

XXVIII.  THE  PARADISE  FLYCATCHER    .        .        .156 

XXIX  BUTCHER  BIRDS 163 

XXX.  DUCKS 1 68 

XXXI.  A  DETHRONED  MONARCH        .        .        .173 

XXXII.  BIRDS  IN  THE  RAIN         .        .        .        .178 

XXXIII.  THE  WEAVER  BIRD         .        .        .        .183 

XXXIV.  GREEN  PARROTS 190 

XXXV.  THE  ROOSTING  OF  THE  SPARROWS  .        .     197 

XXXVI.  A  GAY  DECEIVER    .  ...     202 

XXXVII.  THE  EMERALD  MEROPS  ....     208 

XXXVIII.  Do  ANIMALS  THINK?      .        .        .        .213 

XXXIX.  A  COUPLE  OF  NEGLECTED  CRAFTSMEN    .     219 

XL.  BIRDS  IN  THEIR  NESTS    .        .        .        .224 

XLI.  BULBULS 229 

XLII.  THE  INDIAN  CORBY         ....     235 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACING  PACK 

THE  GREY  PELICAN  (Pelecanus  philippensis),  A  BIRD  OF 

THE  PLAINS Frontispiece 

THE  WHITE-BREASTED  KINGFISHER  (Halcyon  smyrnensis)  4 
THE  REDSHANK  (Totanus  caldidris\  ONE  OF  THE  BRITISH 

BIRDS  FOUND  IN  INDIA 8 

THE  INDIAN  ROLLER,  OR  "BLUE  JAY"  (Coracias  indicd]  12 

THE  INDIAN  ADJUTANT  (Leptoptilus  dubius)     ...  28 

»                  »)                      •>->                »            •'        •         •  34 

LOTEN'S  SUNBIRD  (Arachnechthra  lotenia}  ....  78 

(Note  the  long  curved  bill,  adapted  to  insertion  in  flowers. ) 

THE  YELLOW  SUNBIRD  (Arachnechthra  zeylonicd)     .        .  80 

NEST  OF  LOTEN'S  SUNBIRD 82 

(Notice  that  it  is  built  in  a  spider's  web.) 

LOTEN'S  SUNBIRD  (HEN)  ABOUT  TO  ENTER  NEST     .       .  90 

THE  INDIAN  SPOTTED  OWLET  (Athene  drama)         .        .  94 
THE  INDIAN  PADDY  BIRD  (Ardeola  grayii)       .       .        .114 

THE  COMMON  KINGFISHER  (Alcedo  ispida\  ONE  OF  THE 

BRITISH  BIRDS  FOUND  IN  INDIA        .       .       .       .  144 

THE  INDIAN  KITE  (Milvus  govindd) 148 

THE  GREY-NECKED  CROW  (Corvus  splendens)    ...  190 

THE  BENGAL  RED-WHISKERED  KuLEVL(Otocompsaemeria)  230 


BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 


BIRDS  OF  THE  PLAINS 


BRITISH    BIRDS    IN    THE    PLAINS 
OF    INDIA 

MOST  birds  are  cosmopolitans  and  belong 
to    no    nationality.       Strictly   speaking, 
there  is  only  one  British  bird,  only  one 
bird  found  in  the  British  Isles  and  no- 
where else,  and  that  is  the  red  grouse  (Tetrao  scoticus). 

For  this  reason  some  apology  seems  necessary  for 
the  heading  of  this  article.  "Birds  common  to  the 
Plains  of  India  and  the  British  Isles  "  would  doubtless 
be  a  more  correct  title.  However,  I  write  as  an 
Englishman.  When  I  meet  in  a  foreign  land  a  bird 
I  knew  in  England  I  like  to  set  that  bird  down  as  a 
fellow-countryman. 

In  India  most  of  the  familiar  birds :  the  thrush,  the 
blackbird,  the  robin  redbreast,  the  wren,  the  chaffinch, 
and  the  blue  tit  are  conspicuous  by  their  absence ;  their 
places  being  taken  by  such  strange  forms  as  mynas, 
bulbuls,  seven  sisters,  parakeets,  etc.  The  Englishman 
is  therefore  prone  to  exaggerate  the  differences  between 
the  avifauna  of  his  own  country  and  that  of  India.  The 
B 


BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

is  ^indeed  great,  but  not  so  great  as  is 
generally  supposed. 

A  complete  list  of  British  birds  comprises  some  four 
hundred  species  ;  of  these  nearly  one-half  occur  in  India. 
But  a  list  of  British  species  is  apt  to  be  a  misleading 
document.  You  may  keep  a  sharp  look-out  in  England 
for  a  lifetime  without  ever  setting  eyes  on  many  of  the 
so-called  British  birds.  Every  feathered  thing  that  has 
been  blown  by  contrary  winds,  or  whose  dead  body  has 
been  washed  by  the  waves,  on  to  the  shores  of  Albion 
has  been  appropriated  as  a  British  species.  This  sounds 
very  hospitable.  Unfortunately  the  hospitality  is  of 
a  dubious  nature,  seeing  that  every  casual  bird  visitor 
promptly  falls  a  victim  to  the  gun  of  some  self-styled 
naturalist.  Having  slaughtered  his  "  feathered  friend  " 
the  aforesaid  naturalist  proceeds  to  boast  in  the  press  of 
his  exploit. 

I  do  not  deem  it  correct  to  speak  of  these  occasional 
visitors  as  British  birds.  On  the  other  hand,  I  think 
we  may  legitimately  call  the  birds  we  see  constantly  in 
England,  at  certain  or  all  seasons  of  the  year,  English 
birds.  Of  these  many  are  also  found  in  India.  More 
of  them  occur  in  the  Punjab  than  in  any  other  part  of 
the  country  because  of  our  long  cold  weather,  and 
because,  as  the  crow  flies,  if  not  as  the  sahib  travels,  the 
Punjab  is  nearer  England  than  is  any  other  province. 

The  ubiquitous  sparrow  first  demands  our  attention. 
This  much-abused  little  bird  is,  thanks  to  his  "  push," 
quite  as  much  at  home  in  the  "  Gorgeous  East "  as  he 
is  in  England.  He  is  certainly  not  quite  so  abundant 
out  here;  the  crows  and  spotted  owlets  take  care  of 


BRITISH   BIRDS   IN   PLAINS   OF   INDIA    3 

that.  They  are  very  fond  of  sparrow  for  breakfast. 
Nevertheless,  Passer  domesticus  is  quite  plentiful  enough 
and  is  ever  ready  to  nest  inside  one's  bungalow. 

The  Indian  cock  sparrow  differs  slightly  in  appear- 
ance from  the  English  bird,  having  more  white  on  the 
sides  of  his  neck.  This  is  not,  as  might  be  supposed, 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  is  not  coated  with  soot  to 
such  an  extent  as  the  cockney  bird.  Every  widely 
distributed  species,  including  man,  has  its  local  pecu- 
liarities, due  to  climatic  influences,  isolation,  and  other 
causes.  If  the  isolation  be  maintained  long  enough  the 
process  of  divergence  continues  until  the  various  races 
differ  from  one  another  to  such  an  extent  as  to  be 
called  species.  Local  races  are  incipient  species,  species 
in  the  making.  The  barn  owl  {Strix  flammea]  is  another 
case  in  point.  This  is  a  familiar  owl  in  England,  and 
is  common  out  here,  but  not  nearly  so  abundant  as  the 
little  spotted  owlet  that  makes  night  hideous  by  its 
caterwaulings.  The  Indian  barn  owl,  which,  in  default 
of  barns,  haunts  mosques,  temples,  deserted  buildings, 
and  even  secluded  verandahs,  differs  from  our  English 
friend  in  having  stronger  claws  and  feet,  and  the  breast 
spotted  instead  of  plain  white.  These  trivial  differences 
are  not  usually  considered  sufficient  to  justify  the  division 
of  the  barn  owl  into  two  species. 

Some  of  our  English  birds  assume  diminutive  pro- 
portions in  India,  as,  for  example,  the  kingfisher  and 
the  raven.  This  may  perhaps  be  attributed  to  the 
enervating  Indian  climate.  The  common  kingfisher 
(Alcedo  ispida)  is  exceedingly  common  in  all  parts  of 
India  except  the  Punjab.  It  does,  indeed,  occur  in 


4  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

that  province,  but  not  abundantly.  The  commonest 
kingfisher  in  the  Land  of  the  Five  Rivers  is  the  much 
more  splendid  white-breasted  species  (Halcyon  smyr- 
nensis),  which  may  be  recognised  by  its  beautiful  blue 
wings  with  a  white  bar,  and  by  its  anything  but 
melodious  "  rattling  scream." 

This  winter  the  ravens  are  invading  Lahore  in  very 
large  numbers.  It  is  impossible  not  to  notice  the  great 
black  creatures  as  they  fly  overhead  in  couples  or  in 
companies  of  six  or  eight,  uttering  solemn  croaks. 

But  the  Indian  raven,  large  as  it  is,  is  a  diminutive 
form  ;  its  length  is  but  twenty-four  inches  as  compared 
with  the  twenty-eight  of  its  English  cousin.  Moreover, 
there  are  slight  anatomical  differences  between  the  two 
races;  hence  the  Indian  bird  was  at  one  time  considered 
to  be  a  separate  species  and  was  called  Corvus  law- 
rencii.  There  certainly  does  seem  to  be  some  justi- 
fication for  this  procedure,  since  the  Indian  raven  has 
not  the  solitary,  shy,  and  retiring  disposition  of  the  bird 
at  Home.  It  consorts  with  those  feathered  villains  the 
Indian  crows,  and,  like  them,  thieves  from  man  and 
delights  to  tease  and  annoy  birds  bigger  than  itself  by 
pulling  their  tail !  But  there  exist  ravens  of  all  sizes 
intermediate  between  the  large  European  form  and  the 
small  Indian  one,  so  that  it  is  not  possible  to  find  a 
point  at  which  a  line  may  be  drawn  between  them. 
For  this  reason  the  Indian  raven  is  now  held  to  be  one 
and  the  same  species  as  the  English  bird — Corvus  corax. 

Two  cousins  of  the  raven,  namely,  the  rook  and  the 
jackdaw,  also  occur  in  the  Punjab.  They  both  visit  us 
in  the  cold  weather  and  fraternise  with  the  common 


THE    WHITE-BREASTED    KINGFISHER.       (HALCYON    SMYRNENSIS) 


BRITISH   BIRDS    IN   PLAINS   OF   INDIA    5 

crows.  The  rook  may  be  readily  distinguished  from 
these  by  the  bare  whitish  patch  of  skin  in  front  of  its 
face.  Last  year  hundreds  of  rooks  were  to  be  seen  in 
the  fields  between  the  big  and  the  little  Ravi.  They 
are  not  so  abundant  this  winter  owing  to  the  compar- 
ative mildness  of  the  weather. 

The  jackdaw  is  very  like  Corvus  splendens  in  appear- 
ance. It  may,  however,  be  easily  distinguished  by  its 
white  eye.  There  is  at  present  a  jackdaw  in  confine- 
ment in  the  Lahore  "  Zoo." 

The  coot  (Fulica  atra)  is  another  bird  common  at 
Home  which  is  also  abundant  in  India.  He  needs 
no  description,  being  familiar — too  familiar — to  every 
sportsman  in  India.  He  is  the  "  black  duck  "  of 
Thomas  Atkins  that  remains  on  the  jhil  after  all  the 
duck  have  disappeared.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that 
the  bird  is  not  a  duck,  but  a  water-hen  that  apes  the 
manners  of  one.  His  black  plumage,  white  face,  and 
the  difficulty  he  experiences  in  rising  from  the  water 
prevent  him  being  confounded  with  a  duck. 

Ornithological  text-books  tell  us  that  the  skylark 
(Alauda  arvensis)  visits  India  during  the  winter.  This 
may  be  so,  but  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  one  in 
the  Punjab.  I  have  seen  thousands  of  the  Indian 
skylark  (Alauda  gulgula) — a  very  similar  bird,  which  is 
said  to  soar  and  sing  "just  as  the  lark  in  England  does." 

As  a  rule  it  soars  only  at  daybreak.  There  are  in 
India  so  many  birds  of  prey,  ever  on  the  look  out  for 
quarry,  that  our  larks  are  not  able  to  sing  with  im- 
punity at  heaven's  gate.  They  usually  put  forth  their 
vocal  efforts  from  a  less  exalted  platform. 


6  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

"The  eel's  foe,  the  heron"  (Ardea  cinered)^  need  not 
detain  us  long,  although  he  is  a  common  bird  in 
both  England  and  India,  for  the  Punjab  is  too  dry  to 
be  a  favourite  resort  of  waders.  There  is,  however,  a 
heron  in  the  "Zoo"  at  Lahore  who  lives  happily  enough 
among  the  ducks  and  storks  in  spite  of  the  way  in 
which  the  kites  worry  him  when  he  is  at  supper. 

The  blue-rock  pigeon  (Columba  livid)  is  another 
English  bird  found  in  the  Punjab.  This  must  not 
be  confounded  with  its  cousin  (Columba  intermedia)  the 
very  common  Indian  blue  pigeon,  of  which  so  many 
have  taken  up  their  quarters  in  the  Montgomery  Hall. 
The  European  form  is  not  nearly  so  abundant,  and  is 
distinguished  by  its  paler  colour  and  by  the  fact  that  its 
lower  back  is  white  instead  of  bluish  grey. 

The  family  of  birds  of  prey  affords  us  a  large  number 
of  species  common  to  England  and  India.  Almost  all 
the  well-known  English  raptores  are  found  in  India 
— the  peregrine  falcon,  the  marsh  harrier,  the  hen- 
harrier, the  merlin,  the  kestrel,  the  sparrow-hawk,  and  the 
buzzard.  All  these  are  considerably  more  abundant  in 
India  than  in  the  British  Isles. 

Thus  far  we  have  spoken  chiefly  of  birds  that  are 
found  in  the  plains  of  India  all  the  year  round.  We 
have  now  to  deal  with  migrants.  As  was  to  be 
expected,  many  of  these  are  common  to  Hindustan  and 
to  England. 

Surprising  as  it  may  seem,  stationary  birds  are  the 
exception  rather  than  the  rule.  The  majority  of 
species,  like  viceroys  and  lieutenant-governors,  divide 
their  time  more  or  less  equally  between  two  different 


BRITISH  BIRDS  IN  PLAINS  OF  INDIA  7 
places.  It  is  by  no  means  always  easy  to  determine 
whether  any  particular  species  is  a  migrant  one  or  not. 
The  mere  fact  that  specimens  of  it  are  seen  in  any 
given  place  at  all  seasons  of  the  year  is  not  sufficient  to 
prove  that  it  is  non-migratory.  For  the  birds  of  a 
species  we  saw  six  months  ago  are  not  necessarily  the 
same  ones  that  we  have  with  us  to-day.  To  take  a 
concrete  example,  the  crested  lark  (Galerita  cristata)  is 
found  in  Lahore  all  the  year  round,  but  is  far  more 
plentiful  in  summer  than  in  winter,  which  is  the  only 
time  when  it  is  seen  in  England.  The  species  is 
therefore  a  migratory  one. 

The  general  rule  as  regards  migratory  birds  is  that 
they  breed  in  the  north  and  then  go  south  for  a  season 
to  enjoy  themselves.  Great  Britain  is  further  north 
than  India  and  has  a  much  colder  climate,  hence  we 
should  expect  birds  to  crowd  to  India  for  the  pleasant 
cold  weather  and  go  to  England  for  the  genial  summer. 
This  does  happen  to  a  large  extent.  Yet  there  are 
surprisingly  few  birds  which  winter  in  India  and 
summer  in  England.  The  only  common  ones  that  I 
can  call  to  mind  are  the  wagtails,  the  pipits,  and  the 
quail  (Coturnix  communis).  There  are  two  reasons  for 
this.  The  first  is  that  migration  takes  place  in  a  more 
or  less  northerly  and  southerly  direction,  and  the 
British  Isles  are  not  due  north  of  India.  The  second 
reason  is  that  England  is  a  long  way  south  of  the  Arctic 
Circle.  Its  winter  is  therefore  not  cold  enough  for  the 
taste  of  many  birds.  Geese,  ducks,  and  snipe  are  cold- 
loving  creatures.  Their  idea  of  nice  mild  weather  is 
the  English  winter  !  In  order  to  avoid  anything  in  the 


8  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

shape  of  heat  they  migrate  very  far  north  in  summer, 
and  in  winter,  being  driven  southwards  by  the  intense 
Arctic  cold,  spread  themselves  all  over  the  temperate 
zone.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  full  and  the  jack 
snipe,  the  grey  lag-goose,  the  mallard,  the  gadwall,  the 
pintail  and  the  shoveller  ducks,  the  widgeon  and  the  teal, 
are  winter  visitors  both  to  India  and  the  British  Isles. 
But  whereas  snipe,  geese,  and  most  ducks  leave  India 
for  the  hot  weather,  many  of  them  remain  in  Great 
Britain  for  the  summer  and  nest  there.  It  is  probable 
that  the  birds  which  spend  the  winter  in  Great  Britain 
go  further  north  to  breed,  their  place  in  the  British  Isles 
being  taken  by  species  thai;  have  wintered  in  Africa. 
The  north  of  Scotland,  even,  is  too  far  south  to  serve  as 
a  breeding  place  for  some  species.  The  little  jack  snipe 
(Gallinago  gallinuld)  is  one  of  these ;  he  never  breeds 
in  England,  whereas  the  common  or  full  snipe  (Galli- 
nago ccelestis)  does.  Hence  the  former  is  set  down  as  a 
migrant  in  England,  while  the  latter  is  thought  to  be  a 
permanent  resident.  In  point  of  fact  both  are  migrants, 
as  we  see  in  India,  but  while  some  full  snipe  find  a 
Scotch  summer  cool  enough  for  them  to  breed  in,  all 
jack  snipe  find  it  insufferably  hot. 

A  curious  fact  regarding  snipe  in  India  is  that  these 
birds  appear  in  the  south  earlier  than  they  do  in  the 
north.  I  do  not  know  the  earliest  date  after  the  end  of 
the  hot  weather  on  which  a  snipe  has  been  shot  in  the 
Punjab, but  believe  it  to  be  considerably  later  than  the  last 
week  in  August,  at  which  time  snipe  are  regularly  shot 
in  the  Madras  Presidency.  This  is  not  what  we  should 
have  expected.  It  is  but  reasonable  to  suppose  that 


THE    REDSHANK.       (TOTANUS   CALIDRIS) 
(One  of  the  British  birds  found  in  India) 


BRITISH   BIRDS   IN   PLAINS   OF   INDIA    9 

the  earliest  birds  to  arrive  in  India  would  take  up  their 
winter  quarters  in  the  north,  and  that  the  later  arrivals, 
finding  all  eligible  residences  in  the  north  already 
occupied,  would  go  farther  afield.  The  only  explana- 
tion of  the  phenomenon  which  occurs  to  me  is  that  the 
most  northerly  birds  are  the  first  to  feel  the  approach- 
ing Arctic  winter  and  so  are  the  first  to  migrate.  These, 
when  they  arrive  in  India,  find  the  northern  portion  of 
the  peninsula  too  hot  for  them,  so  pass  on  southwards 
until  they  come  to  the  places  where  the  temperature  is 
at  that  season  lower. 

This  article  has  already  reached  an  undue  length, 
yet  quite  a  number  of  birds,  more  or  less  common  in 
England  and  in  India,  have  not  been  mentioned.  On 
this  account  I  owe  apologies  to  the  cuckoo,  the  stint, 
the  sandpiper,  the  redshank,  the  ringed  and  the  Kentish 
plovers.  But  the  names  of  these  and  of  eight  score 
others,  are  they  not  written  in  the  appendix  ? 


THE    BIRD    IN    BLUE 

A  I  write  my  tympanic  membranes  are  being 
somewhat  rudely  shaken  by  the  clamorous 
voices  of  a  brood  of  young  blue  jays,  which 
are  in  a  nest  somewhere  in  one  of  the 
chimneys  of  my  bungalow. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  blue  jays  the  site  they 
have  chosen  for  their  nursery  is  an  admirable  one ; 
indeed,  had  the  architect  of  the  bungalow  received  a 
handsome  "tip"  he  could  not  have  provided  the  birds 
with  more  comfortable  accommodation. 

The  shaft  of  the  chimney  is  not  straight,  as,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  it  should  be.  At  a  few  feet  from  the 
top  it  is  bent  at  a  right  angle,  and  runs  horizontally  for  a 
short  distance  before  it  again  assumes  what  I  consider 
to  be  its  normal  course. 

The  architect  was,  however,  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
may  appear,  for  it  is  quite  impossible  to  clean  properly 
the  chimney  of  his  design  ;  it  must  therefore  take  fire 
sooner  or  later,  and  the  fire  may  spread  and  result  in 
the  destruction  of  the  house.  The  re-erection  thereof 
would  of  course  mean  more  work  for  the  said 
architect. 

The  blue  jays  are  as  satisfied  as  the  designer  with  the 
chimney,  because  the  horizontal  portion  forms  a  shelf 

10 


THE   BIRD   IN   BLUE  11 

upon  which  they  can  lay  their  eggs.  These  are  visible 
neither  from  above  nor  from  below,  and  they  are  as 
inaccessible  as  invisible,  for  the  chimney  is  so  narrow  as 
to  baffle  all  attempts  at  ascent  or  descent  on  the  part 
of  human  beings. 

The  blue  jays  make  good  to  my  ear  what  they  deny 
my  eye.  The  young  hopefuls  utter  unceasingly  a  loud 
cry  resembling  that  of  some  creature  in  distress.  This 
is  what  I  have  to  listen  to  all  the  time  I  am  in  the 
bungalow.  Outside,  the  parent  birds  make  the  welkin 
ring  with  their  raucous  voices.  Never  were  father  and 
mother  prouder  of  their  offspring  or  fonder  of  pro- 
claiming the  fact.  When  not  cumbered  about  much 
serving  they  squat  either  on  the  roof  or  on  a  blue  gum 
tree  hard  by,  and,  at  regular  intervals,  utter  a  short, 
sharp,  harsh  "  Tshow."  This  is  emphasised  by  a  jerk  of 
the  tail ;  the  blue  jay  does  nothing  without  first  consult- 
ing its  caudal  appendage. 

On  the  occasions  when  I  made  vain  attempts  to 
obtain  a  look  at  the  young  birds  the  parents  took  to 
their  wings,  and,  as  they  sped  through  the  air,  uttered 
cries  so  harsh  and  dry-sounding  as  to  make  me  feel 
quite  thirsty ! 

The  blue  jay  is  so  familiar  to  us  Anglo-Indians  as  to 
need  no  description.  We  have  all  admired  the  bird  as 
it  lazily  sailed  through  the  air  on  outstretched  pinions 
of  pale  blue  and  rich  ultramarine.  We  have,  each  of  us? 
watched  it  perched  on  a  railing  looking  out  for  its  insect 
quarry.  It  is  then  comparatively  inconspicuous,  its 
neck  and  wing  coverts  being  the  hue  of  a  faded  port- 
wine  stain.  We  have  seen  it  pounce  upon  some  object 


12  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

too  small  for  us  to  distinguish,  and  either  devour  it  then 
and  there  or  bear  it  off  in  triumph. 

We  all  know  that  the  bird  is  not  a  jay  at  all,  that  its 
proper  name  is  the  Indian  roller  (Coracias  indica\  that 
it  is  related  to  the  kingfisher  family,  and  that  it  is  called 
a  jay  merely  on  account  of  its  gaudy  plumage. 

Next  to  its  colour  the  most  striking  thing  about  the 
blue  jay  is  its  wonderful  power  of  flight.  Ordinarily  the 
bird  is  content  to  flap  along  at  an  easy  pace,  but,  when  it 
likes,  it  can  move  for  a  little  as  though  it  were  shot  out 
of  a  catapult ;  moreover,  it  is  able  to  completely  change 
its  course  with  startling  rapidity  ;  hence  even  the  swiftest 
birds  of  prey  find  it  no  child's  play  to  catch  a  roller  bird. 
A  good  idea  of  its  aerial  performances  may  be  obtained 
by  watching  it  attack  a  kite  that  persists  in  hovering 
about  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  nest.  Blue  jays,  like 
king-crows  and  doves,  are  exceedingly  short-tempered 
when  they  have  young. 

This  species  seems  to  indulge  in  very  little  sleep ;  it 
is  up  betimes,  and  may  be  seen  about  long  after  every 
other  day  bird,  with  the  possible  exception  of  the  king- 
crow,  is  fast  asleep. 

The  blue  jay  is  a  good  friend  to  the  gardener,  since 
it  feeds  exclusively  on  insects  and  small  animals.  Jerdon 
cites  as  the  chief  articles  of  its  diet,  large  insects,  grass- 
hoppers, crickets,  mantidae,  and  beetles,  with  an  occa- 
sional field-mouse  or  shrew.  To  this  list  he  might  have 
added  frogs  and  small  snakes. 

At  most  seasons  of  the  year  the  blue  jay  strikes  one 
as  a  rather  sluggish  bird,  being  content  to  squat  on  a 
perch  for  a  great  part  of  the  day  and  wait  patiently  for 


THE   INDIAN    ROLLER,    OR    "BLUE  JAY."      (CORACIAS    IXDICA) 


V        ./••,••:: 

•  •    •?  :  '..* 


THE   BIRD   IN   BLUE  13 

quarry  to  come  its  way.  At  the  breeding  season,  how- 
ever, it  becomes  very  sprightly.  It  is  then  more  than 
usually  vociferous  and  indulges  in  a  course  of  aerial 
gymnastics.  It  may  be  seen  at  these  throughout  the 
month  of  March,  now  towering  high  above  the  earth, 
then  dropping  headlong  down,  to  suddenly  check  itself 
and  sail  away,  emitting  the  while  the  hoarsest  and 
wheeziest  notes  imaginable,  and  behaving  generally 
like  the  proverbial  March  hare.  These  performances 
are  either  actual  love-making  or  a  prelude  to  it.  By 
the  end  of  March  the  various  birds  have  sorted  them- 
selves out,  and  then  the  billing  and  cooing  stage  begins. 

At  this  season  the  birds  are  invariably  found  in 
pairs ;  the  cock  and  hen  delight  to  sit  side  by  side  on 
some  exposed  branch.  Like  the  young  couples  that 
moon  about  Hyde  Park  on  Sundays,  blue  jays  do  not 
mind  spooning  in  public.  As  the  sexes  dress  alike 
it  is  not  possible  to  say  which  of  a  couple  is  the 
cock  and  which  is  the  hen.  Under  such  circumstances 
naturalists  always  assume  that  the  bird  which  makes 
the  advances  is  the  cock.  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that 
this  assumption  is  justified.  Among  human  beings  the 
ladies  very  frequently  set  their  caps  at  the  men.  Why 
should  not  the  fair  sex  among  birds  do  likewise  ? 

In  many  species  the  sexes  dress  differently,  and  it  is 
then  easy  to  discover  which  sex  "  makes  the  running," 
and  in  such  cases  this  is  by  no  means  always  the  cock. 
I  have  seen  one  hen  paradise  flycatcher  drive  away 
another  and  then  go  and  make  up  to  a  cock  bird.  Simi- 
larly I  have  seen  two  hen  orioles  behave  in  a  very  un- 
ladylike manner  to  one  another,  all  because  they  both  had 


14  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

designs  on  the  same  cock.  He  sat  and  looked  on  from 
a  distance  at  the  contest,  and  would  assuredly  have 
purred  with  delight  had  he  known  how  to  do  so  !  But 
of  this  more  anon.  The  blue-jay  lovers  sit  on  a  branch, 
side  by  side,  and  gaze  upon  one  another  with  enraptured 
eyes.  Suddenly  one  of  them  betakes  itself  to  some 
other  tree,  uttering  its  hoarse  screeches  as  it  flies.  Its 
companion  follows  almost  immediately  and  then  begins 
to  bow  and  scrape,  puff  out  its  neck,  slowly  wave  its 
tail,  and  utter  unmusical  cries.  The  bird  which  is  being 
thus  courted  adds  its  voice  to  that  of  its  companion. 
The  raucous  duet  over,  silence  reigns  for  a  little.  Then 
one  of  the  birds  moves  on,  to  be  followed  by  its  com- 
panion, and  the  above  performance  is  repeated,  and  will 
continue  to  be  repeated  dozens  of  times  before  the 
birds  give  themselves  over  to  family  cares. 

The  greatest  admirer  of  the  blue  jay  could  not  call 
its  nest  a  work  of  art.  The  eggs  are  laid  in  a  hole  in  a 
tree  or  building.  Usually  the  hole  is  more  or  less  lined 
by  a  promiscuous  collection  of  grass,  tow,  feathers,  and 
the  like,  but  sometimes  the  birds  are  content  to  lay 
their  eggs  in  the  bare  cavity. 

The  blue  jay,  although  so  brazen  over  its  courtship, 
strongly  objects  to  having  its  family  affairs  pried  into, 
so  if  you  would  find  its  nursery  you  must,  unless  you 
are  lucky,  exercise  some  patience.  The  birds  stead- 
fastly refuse  to  visit  the  nest  when  they  know  they  are 
being  watched.  If  patience  be  a  virtue  great,  the  blue 
jay  is  a  most  virtuous  bird,  for,  if  it  is  aware  that  it  is 
being  observed,  it  will  take  up  a  perch  and  sit  there  for 
hours,  mournfully  croaking,  rather  than  betray  the 


THE   BIRD   IN   BLUE  15 

whereabouts  of  its  eggs  or  young.  Most  of  the  nests 
I  have  seen  have  been  discovered  by  accident.  For 
example,  when  going  along  a  road  I  have  had  occasion 
to  look  round  suddenly  at  some  bird  flying  overhead 
and  caught  sight  of  a  roller  entering  a  hole  in  a  tree. 

Some  days  ago  I  was  out  with  a  friend,  when  we  saw 
a  hoopoe,  with  food  in  its  mouth,  disappear  into  a  hole 
in  the  wall  of  a  Hindu  temple.  The  aperture  was  about 
seven  feet  from  the  ground,  so,  in  order  to  look  into  it, 
I  mounted  my  friend's  back.  While  I  was  investigating 
the  hoopoe's  hole,  a  blue  jay  flew  out  of  another  hole  in 
the  wall  within  a  yard  of  my  face ! 

Like  Moses  of  old,  I  turned  aside  to  investigate  this 
new  wonder,  and  found  that  the  hole  went  two  and  a 
half  feet  into  the  wall,  and  that  its  aperture  was  a 
square  six  inches  in  both  length  and  breadth.  The 
floor  of  this  little  alcove  was  covered  with  earth  and 
tiny  bits  of  dirty  straw,  which  may  or  may  not  have 
been  put  there  by  the  blue  jay.  On  this  lay  a  clutch  of 
four  glossy  white  eggs,  nearly  as  large  as  those  laid  by 
the  degenerate  Indian  murghi.  Fortunately  for  those 
blue  jays  I  am  not  an  egg  collector.  As  it  was,  I  did 
remove  one  of  them  for  a  lady  who  was  anxious  to  have 
it,  but  this  was  not  missed.  Birds  cannot  count. 


SPARROWS    IN    THE    NURSERY 


i 


sparrow,  as  every  Anglo-Indian  knows, 
is  a  bird  that  goes  about  dumping  down 
nests  in  sahibs*  bungalows.  It  is  greatly 
assisted  in  this  noble  work  by  the  native  of 
India,  who  has  brought  to  the  acme  of  perfection  the  art 
of  jerry-building.  In  the  ramshackle,  half-finished 
modern  bungalow  the  rafters  that  support  the  ceiling 
never,  by  any  chance,  fit  properly  into  the  walls.  There 
are  thus  in  every  room  a  number  of  cracks,  holes,  and 
crevices  in  which  the  sparrows  love  to  nest.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  these  are  not  at  all  safe  nesting  places. 
Apart  from  the  fact  that  the  nest  is  liable  to  be  pulled 
down  at  any  moment  by  an  angry  human  being,  the 
situation  is  dangerous,  because  there  is  nothing  to 
prevent  a  restless  young  bird  from  falling  out  of  the 
nest  and  thus  terminating  a  promising  career.  A  few 
days  ago  a  servant  brought  me  a  baby  sparrow  that  had 
fallen  out  of  a  nest  in  the  pantry.  I  always  feel  inclined 
to  wring  the  neck  of  any  sparrow  that  fate  has  put 
within  my  grasp,  for  I  have  many  a  score  to  pay  off 
against  the  species.  Upon  this  occasion,  however,  I 
felt  mercifully  inclined,  so  took  the  young  bird,  which 
was  nearly  covered  with  feathers,  and  offered  it  bread 
soaked  in  milk.  This  it  swallowed  greedily.  When 

16 


SPARROWS    IN   THE   NURSERY          17 

the  youngster  was  as  full  up  inside  as  the  Hammersmith 
'bus  on  a  wet  day,  I  told  the  bearer  to  put  it  in  the 
cage  in  which  my  amadavats  dwell.  When  I  left  for 
office  I  directed  the  man  to  feed  the  new  arrival.  On 
my  return  in  the  evening  the  bearer  informed  me  that 
the  young  hopeful  had  declined  its  food.  Now,  a  young 
sparrow  refuses  to  eat  only  when  it  is  stuffed  to  the 
brim.  It  was  thus  evident  that  its  parents  had  found  it 
out  and  were  feeding  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  nest 
from  which  it  came  was  in  the  pantry  on  the  east  side 
of  the  house,  while  its  new  quarters  were  in  the  west 
verandah. 

The  next  day  a  second  sparrow  fell  out  of  the  nest  in 
the  pantry  and  was  also  consigned  to  the  amadavats' 
cage.  At  bed -time  that  night  I  took  a  look  at  the 
birds,  and  found  that  the  two  young  sparrows  had 
tucked  themselves  snugly  in  the  seed  tin !  The  next 
morning  a  third  sparrow  from  the  same  nest  was 
brought  to  me ;  it  was  put  in  the  cage  along  with 
its  brethren.  As  my  office  was  closed  on  the  day  in 
question,  I  had  the  cage  placed  in  front  of  my  study 
window.  I  could  thus  watch  the  doings  of  the  latest 
additions  to  my  aviary.  The  hen  sparrow  does  the 
lion's  share  of  the  feeding ;  she  works  like  a  slave  from 
morning  to  night.  At  intervals,  varying  from  one  to 
ten  minutes,  throughout  the  day  she  appears  with  a 
beakful  of  food,  which  consists  chiefly  of  green  cater- 
pillars. 

It  is  the  custom  to  speak  of  the  sparrow  as  a  curse  to 
the  husbandman.  The  bird  is  popularly  supposed  to 
live  on  grain,  fruit,  seedlings,  and  buds — those  of 
c 


18  BIRDS  OF  THE   PLAINS 

valuable  plants  by  preference.  There  is  no  denying 
the  fact  that  the  sparrow  does  devour  a  certain  amount 
of  fruit  and  grain,  but,  so  far  from  being  a  pest,  I 
believe  that  the  good  it  does  by  destroying  noxious 
insects  far  outweighs  the  harm.  Adult  sparrows  fre- 
quently feed  on  insects.  I  have  watched  them  hawking 
flies  in  company  with  the  swifts,  and  the  skill  displayed 
by  the  "spadger"  showed  that  his  was  no  'prentice 
hand  at  the  game. 

Sparrow  nestlings  in  the  early  stages  are  fed  almost 
exclusively  on  caterpillars,  grubs,  and  insects.  As  there 
are  usually  five  or  six  baby  sparrows  in  a  brood,  and  as 
these  have  appalling  appetites,  they  must  consume  an 
enormous  number  of  insects.  Let  us  work  out  a  little 
sum.  We  may  assume  that  the  sparrow  brings  at 
least  three  caterpillars  in  each  beakful  of  food  she 
carries  to  her  brood.  She  feeds  them  at  least  fifteen 
times  in  the  hour,  and  works  for  not  less  than  twelve 
hours  in  the  day.  I  timed  the  sparrows  in  question  to 
commence  feeding  operations  at  5.30  a.m.,  and  when  I 
left  the  bungalow  at  6  p.m.  the  birds  were  still  at  it. 
Thus  the  hen  sparrow  brings  in  something  like  540 
insects  per  diem  to  her  brood.  She  feeds  them  on  this 
diet  for  at  least  twenty  days,  so  that  the  brood  is  re- 
sponsible for  no  less  than  10,000  insects,  mostly  cater- 
pillars, before  its  units  are  ready  to  fend  for  themselves. 
According  to  Hume,  the  sparrow  in  India  brings  up 
two  broods  in  the  year.  I  should  have  doubled  this 
figure,  since  the  species  appears  to  be  always  breeding. 
But  it  is  better  to  understate  than  exaggerate.  We 
thus  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the  hen  sparrow 


SPARROWS   IN   THE   NURSERY          19 

destroys  each  year  over  20,000  insects,  mostly  injurious, 
in  the  feeding  of  her  young.  Add  to  this  number  those 
she  herself  consumes,  those  the  cock  eats,  and  those  he 
brings  to  the  nest,  and  you  have  a  fine  insect  mortality 
bill. 

The  movements  of  the  mother  bird  when  feeding 
her  young  are  so  rapid  that  it  is  not  easy  to  determine 
what  it  is  she  brings  to  the  nest,  even  though  the  objects 
hang  down  from  her  beak  ;  the  same  applies  to  the  cock. 
In  order  to  make  quite  certain  of  the  nature  of  the  food 
she  was  bringing,  I  sought,  by  frightening  her,  to  make 
her  drop  a  beakful ;  accordingly,  at  one  of  her  visits  I 
tapped  the  window-pane  smartly  just  as  she  was  about 
to  ram  the  food  down  the  gaping  mouth  of  a  young 
bird.  She  flew  off  chirruping  with  anger  and  alarm, 
but  kept  her  bill  tightly  closed  on  the  food  she  was 
carrying.  As  the  parents  had  to  feed  the  young  ones 
through  the  bars  of  a  cage  the  process  required  some 
manipulation,  and,  in  spite  of  its  care,  the  bird  some- 
times dropped  part  of  its  burden  ;  but,  almost  before 
I  had  time  to  move,  it  had  dashed  down  to  the  ground 
and  retrieved  it.  However,  by  dint  of  careful  watching 
I  managed  to  bang  the  window  immediately  after  the 
hen  had  dropped  something  of  a  dark  colour.  Having 
frightened  her  away  I  rushed  outside  and  found  that  the 
object  in  question  was  part  of  a  sausage-shaped  sac 
containing  a  number  of  tiny  green  grubs.  After  a  few 
minutes  the  hen  returned  with  her  beak  full.  Her  fright 
had  made  her  suspicious,  so  she  perched  on  the  verandah 
trellis-work  and  looked  around  for  a  little.  Nine  times 
she  flew  towards  the  cage,  but  on  each  occasion  her 


20  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

courage  failed  her,  to  the  intense  disgust  of  her 
clamouring  brood.  At  the  tenth  attempt  she  plucked 
up  sufficient  courage  to  feed  the  young  birds. 

At  a  subsequent  visit  she  dropped  a  caterpillar,  and 
I  frightened  her  away  before  she  could  retrieve  it.  I 
found  it  to  be  alive  and  about  an  inch  in  length. 

On  another  occasion  I  saw  her  ramming  something 
black  down  the  throat  of  a  young  hopeful.  Frightening 
her  away,  I  went  outside  and  found  the  youthful  bird 
making  valiant  attempts  to  swallow  a  whole  mulberry. 
But  it  was  not  often  that  she  gave  them  fruit ;  green 
caterpillars  formed  quite  nine-tenths  of  what  she  brought 
in ;  the  remainder  was  composed  chiefly  of  grubs,  with 
an  occasional  grasshopper  or  moth.  As  the  young 
grew  older  the  proportion  of  insect  food  given  to  them 
diminished  until,  when  they  were  about  twenty-two 
days  old,  their  diet  was  made  up  principally  of  grain. 

The  day  on  which  the  third  young  sparrow  was  put 
into  the  cage  was  a  warm  one,  so  at  2  p.m.,  when  the 
shade  temperature  was  about  115°,  I  brought  the  cage 
into  the  comparatively  cool  bungalow,  for  the  sake  of 
the  amadavats.  The  cock  sparrow  witnessed  the  re- 
moval of  the  cage  and  did  not  hesitate  to  give  me  a  bit 
of  his  mind.  In  a  minute  or  so  the  hen  returned  with 
her  beak  full  of  green  caterpillars.  When  she  found 
the  cage  gone,  she,  too,  expressed  her  opinion  of  me 
and  of  mankind  in  general  in  no  uncertain  terms.  It 
was  the  last  straw.  Earlier  in  the  day  I  had  removed 
one  of  the  baby  sparrows  from  the  cage  and  placed  it 
in  a  cigar-ash  tray  outside  the  cage.  The  hen  had 
affected  not  to  notice  that  anything  had  happened,  and 


SPARROWS   IN   THE   NURSERY          21 

fed  it  in  the  ash-tray  as  though  she  were  unconscious 
of  the  removal.  When,  however,  the  whole  cage  and 
its  contents  disappeared  it  was  quite  useless  for  her  to 
pretend  that  nothing  was  wrong,  so  she  treated  me  to 
her  best  "  Billingsgate." 

After  the  cage  had  been  inside  for  about  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  the  young  "spadgers"  began  to 
feel  the  pangs  of  hunger,  and  made  this  known  by 
giving  vent  to  a  torrent  of  chirrups  which  differed  in 
no  way  from  those  that  make  the  adult  so  offensive. 
All  that  the  poor  mother  could  do  was  to  answer  from 
the  outside.  I  felt,  that  afternoon,  that  I  was  paying 
off  with  interest  some  of  my  score  against  the  sparrow. 

The  next  day  I  did  not  take  the  cage  into  the  bunga- 
low, because  I  wanted  to  ascertain  whether  sparrows 
feed  their  young  throughout  the  day,  or  whether  they 
indulge  in  a  noonday  siesta.  They  kept  it  up,  at  their 
respective  rates,  throughout  the  day,  although  the  ther- 
mometer in  the  shade  must  have  risen  to  115°.  After 
the  hen  had  disburdened  herself  of  the  food  she  brought, 
she  would  perch  for  a  moment  on  the  trellis,  and  pant 
with  open  beak  as  though  she  were  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted. 

I  have  long  been  trying  to  ascertain  how  birds  in  the 
nest  obtain  the  liquid  they  require.  Do  the  succulent 
caterpillars,  on  which  young  sparrows  are  fed,  provide 
them  with  sufficient  moisture,  or  do  the  parents  water 
them?  Although  I  spent  several  hours  in  watching 
those  sparrows,  I  am  not  able  to  answer  the  question 
satisfactorily.  I  placed  a  bowl  of  water  on  the  ground 
near  the  cage,  hoping  that  this  would  tempt  the  hen 


22  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

bird  to  drink,  and  that  I  should  see  her  carry  some  of 
the  liquid  to  her  offspring.  But  she  took  no  notice  of 
the  water.  She  certainly  used  to  come  to  the  cage 
sometimes  with  her  beak  apparently  empty,  and  yet 
insert  it  into  the  open  mouth  of  a  young  one.  Was 
she  then  watering  the  nestling,  or  did  her  beak  hold 
some  small  seeds  that  did  not  protrude?  It  seems 
incredible  that  unfledged  birds  exposed  to  the  tempera- 
ture of  an  Indian  summer  require  no  water ;  neverthe- 
less, I  never  actually  saw  any  pass  from  the  crop  of  the 
parents  to  those  of  the  youngsters. 


THE   CARE   OF   YOUNG   BIRDS 
AFTER    THEY    LEAVE    THE    NEST 

IT  has  been  urged  as  an  objection  to  the  Darwinian 
theory  that  Natural  Selection,  if  that  force  exists, 
must  tend  to  destroy  species  rather  than  cause 
new  ones  to  come  into  being.     Nearly  all  birds 
leave  the  nest  before  they  are  fully  developed.     When 
they  first  come  out  of  the  nursery  they  have  attained 
neither  their  full  powers  of  flight  nor  complete  skill 
in  obtaining  food.     Every  young  bird,  no  matter  how 
fine  a  specimen  it  be,  leaves  the  nest  an  inexperienced 
weakling,  and  can  therefore  stand  no  chance  in  com- 
petition with  the  fully  grown  and  experienced  members 
of  the  species.     Natural  Selection  takes  an  individual 
as  it  finds  it  and  pays  no  attention  to  potentialities. 

That  such  an  objection  should  have  been  urged 
against  the  theory  of  Natural  Selection  is  proof  of  the 
fact  that  naturalists  are  inclined  to  forget  that,  with 
many,  if  not  all,  species  of  birds,  the  duties  of  the 
parents  towards  their  offspring  by  no  means  cease 
when  the  young  birds  leave  the  nest. 

The  parent  birds,  in  many  cases,  continue  to  feed 
their  young  long  after  these  are  apparently  well  able 
to  fend  for  themselves.  This  fact  is  not  sufficiently 
emphasised  in  books  on  natural  history.  On  the  other 

23 


24  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

hand,  such  works  lay  stress  upon  the  fact  that  in  many 
species  of  birds  the  parents  drive  their  offspring  away 
from  the  place  of  their  birth  in  order  that  the  numbers 
of  the  species  in  the  locality  shall  not  outgrow  the  food 
supply.  How  far  this  is  a  general  characteristic  of 
birds  I  do  not  know.  What  I  desire  to  emphasise  is 
that  the  driving-away  process,  when  it  occurs,  does  not 
take  place  until  some  time  after  the  young  have  left  the 
nest.  The  fact  that  the  parent  birds  tend  the  young 
long  after  they  have  left  the  nest,  and  even  after  they 
are  fully  capable  of  holding  their  own  in  the  struggle 
for  existence,  disposes  of  the  above-cited  objection  to 
the  theory  of  Natural  Selection.  Nature  is  so  careful 
of  the  young  warriors  that  she  prolongs  the  instinct 
of  parental  affection  longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
So  important  is  it  that  the  young  should  have  a  fair 
start  in  life  that  she  errs  on  the  safe  side. 

It  is  common  knowledge  that  foster-parents  feed 
cuckoos  when  these  have  grown  so  large  that,  in  order 
to  reach  the  mouth  of  their  spurious  babes,  the  little 
foster-mothers  have  to  perch  on  their  shoulders. 

The  sight  of  a  tiny  bird  feeding  the  great  parasite 
is  laughable,  but  it  is  also  most  instructive.  It  demon- 
strates how  thoroughly  bird  mothers  perform  their 
duties. 

Crows  tend  their  young  ones  for  weeks  after  they 
have  left  the  nest.  I  have  had  ample  opportunity  of 
satisfying  myself  as  to  this. 

It  was  my  custom  in  Madras  to  breakfast  on  the 
verandah.  A  number  of  crows  used  to  assemble  daily 
to  watch  operations  and  to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  food 


THE  CARE  OF  YOUNG  BIRDS  25 

thrown  to  them.  They  would  go  farther  when  the 
opportunity  occurred,  and  commit  petty  larceny. 

The  crows  were  all  grey- necked  ones,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  two  belonging  to  the  larger  black  species.  But 
these  latter  are  comparatively  shy  birds,  and  conse- 
quently used  to  hang  about  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd. 

Among  the  grey-necked  crows  was  a  family  of  four 
— the  parents  and  two  young  birds.  Every  day,  without 
fail,  they  used  to  visit  the  verandah  ;  the  two  young 
birds  made  more  noise  than  all  the  rest  of  the  crows 
put  together.  They  were  easily  recognisable,  firstly,  by 
their  more  raucous  voices,  and,  secondly,  by  the  pink 
inside  of  the  mouth.  When  I  first  noticed  them  they 
were  so  old  that,  in  size,  they  were  very  nearly  equal  to 
the  mother.  Further,  the  grey  of  the  neck  was  sharply 
differentiated  from  the  black  portions  of  the  plumage, 
showing  that  they  had  left  the  nest  some  time  ago. 

Unfortunately  I  did  not  make  a  note  of  the  day 
on  which  they  first  put  in  an  appearance.  I  can, 
however,  safely  say  that  they  visited  my  verandah 
regularly  for  some  weeks,  during  the  whole  of  which 
time  the  mother  bird  fed  them  most  assiduously.  It  was 
ludicrous  to  see  the  great  creatures  sidle  up  to  mamma 
when  she  had  seized  a  piece  of  toast,  and  open  their 
red  mouths,  often  pecking  at  one  another  out  of 
jealousy. 

They  were  obviously  well  able  to  look  after  them- 
selves; their  flight  was  as  powerful  as  that  of  the  mother 
bird,  yet  she  treated  them  as  though  they  were  infants, 
incapable  of  doing  anything  for  themselves. 


26  BIRDS   OF  THE  PLAINS 

At  the  beginning  of  the  cold  weather  I  changed 
my  quarters,  so  was  not  able  to  witness  the  break-up 
of  the  crow  family.  Probably  this  did  not  occur 
until  the  following  spring,  when  nesting  operations 
commenced. 

The  feeding  of  the  young  after  they  have  left  the  nest 
and  are  full-grown  is  not  confined  to  crows. 

I  was  walking  one  morning  along  a  shady  lane  when 
I  noticed  on  the  grass  by  the  roadside  a  bird  which 
I  did  not  recognise.  It  was  a  small  creature,  clothed  in 
black  and  white,  which  tripped  along  like  a  wagtail.  It 
had  no  tail,  but  it  wagged  the  hind  end  of  its  body  just 
as  a  sandpiper  does.  While  I  was  trying  to  identify 
this  strange  creature,  a  young  pied  wagtail  came  running 
up  to  it  with  open  mouth,  into  which  the  first  bird 
popped  something.  I  then  saw  that  the  unknown  bird 
was  simply  a  pied  wagtail  (Motacilla  maderaspatensis) 
which  had  lost  her  tail !  The  young  bird  was  fully  as 
large  as  the  mother,  and  having  a  respectable  tail,  which 
it  wagged  in  a  very  sedate  manner,  looked  far  more 
imposing.  The  parts  of  the  plumage  which  were  black 
in  the  mother  were  brownish  grey  in  the  young  bird.  The 
white  eyebrow  was  not  so  well  defined  in  the  youngster 
as  in  the  adult,  while  the  former  had  rather  more  white 
in  the  wing,  but  as  regards  size  there  was  nothing  to 
choose  between  the  two.  The  young  bird  remained  in 
close  attendance  on  the  mother.  It  was  able  to  keep 
pace  with  her  as  she  dashed  after  a  flying  insect.  It  ran 
after  her  begging  continually  for  food.  The  mother 
swallowed  most  of  the  flies  she  caught,  but  now  and 
again  put  one  into  the  mouth  of  the  young  bird,  but  she 


THE   CARE   OF  YOUNG   BIRDS          27 

did  so  very  severely,  as  if  she  were  saying,  "  You  are 
far  too  old  to  be  fed  ;  it  is  no  use  to  pretend  you  cannot 
catch  insects,  you  are  a  naughty,  lazy,  little  bird  ! "  But 
the  lackadaisical  air  of  the  young  one  expressed  more 
plainly  than  words :  "  Oh,  mother,  it  tires  me  to  chase 
insects.  They  move  so  fast.  I  have  tried,  but  have 
caught  so  few,  and  am  very  hungry." 

For  several  minutes  the  young  wagtail  followed  the 
mother ;  then  something  arrested  its  attention,  so  that 
it  tarried  behind  its  parent.  The  mother  moved  away, 
apparently  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  troublesome  child  for  a 
little.  Then  she  suddenly  flew  off.  Presently  the 
young  wagtail  looked  round  for  its  mother,  and  I  was 
interested  to  see  what  would  happen  when  it  noticed 
that  she  had  flown  away.  My  curiosity  was  soon 
satisfied.  Directly  the  young  bird  perceived  that  the 
mother  had  gone,  it  set  itself  most  philosophically  to 
catch  insects,  which  it  did  with  all  the  skill  of  an  old 
bird,  turning,  twisting,  doubling,  with  the  elegance  of  an 
experienced  wagtail. 

I  describe  these  two  little  incidents,  not  as  anything 
wonderful,  but  as  examples  of  what  is  continually  going 
on  in  the  world  around  us. 

The  parental  instinct  is  probably  developed  in  some 
birds  more  than  in  others,  but  I  believe  that  in  all  cases 
the  affection  of  a  bird  mother  for  her  young  persists 
long  after  they  have  left  the  nest,  and  for  some  time 
after  they  are  fully  capable  of  looking  after  them- 
selves. 

Birds  are  born  with  many  instincts,  but  they  have 
much  to  learn  both  before  and  after  they  leave  the  nest 


28  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

It  is  not  until  their  education  is  complete,  until  the 

mother  bird  has  taught  them  all  she  herself  knows, 

until  they  are  as  strong  or  stronger  than  she,  that  the 

young  birds  are  driven  away  and  made  to  look  after 

themselves. 


THE    INDIAN    ADJUTANT.       (LEPTOPTILUS    DUBIUS) 


THE    ADJUTANT    BIRD 


^""  ""^HE  adjutant  bird  (Leptoptilus  dubius)  is  one 
of  Nature's  little  jokes.  It  is  a  caricature  of 
a  bird,  a  mixture  of  gravity  and  clownish- 
-^^  ness.  Everything  about  it  is  calculated  to 
excite  mirth — its  weird  figure,  its  great  beak,  its  long, 
thin  legs,  its  conspicuous  pouch,  its  bald  head,  and  every 
attitude  it  strikes.  The  adjutant  bird  is  a  stork  which 
has  acquired  the  habits  of  the  vulture.  Forsaking  to 
a  large  extent  frogs  and  such-like  delicacies,  which 
constitute  the  normal  diet  of  its  kind,  it  lives  chiefly 
upon  offal.  Now,  most,  if  not  all,  birds  which  feed  on 
carrion  have  the  head  and  neck  devoid  of  feathers. 
This  arrangement,  if  not  ornamental,  is  very  useful. 
The  bare  head  and  neck  are,  as  "  Eha "  remarks,  "  the 
sleeves  tucked  up  for  earnest  work."  The  adjutant 
forms  no  exception  to  the  rule,  it  wears  the  badge  of  its 
profession.  But  let  me  here  give  a  full  description  of 
this  truly  comic  bird.  It  stands  five  feet  in  its  stockings. 
Its  bill  is  over  a  foot  in  length  and  correspondingly 
massive.  As  we  have  seen,  the  whole  head  and  neck 
are  'bare,  except  for  a  few  feathers  scattered  over  it  like 
the  hairs  on  an  elephant's  head.  The  bare  skin  is  not 
lacking  in  colour.  On  the  forehead  it  is  blackish;  it 
becomes  saffron -yellow  on  the  upper  neck,  while  lower 

29 


30  BIRDS   OF  THE  PLAINS 

down  it  turns  to  brick-red.  There  is  a  ruff  of  white 
feathers  round  the  base  of  the  neck.  This  ruff,  of 
course,  appears  entirely  out  of  place  and  adds  to  the 
general  grotesqueness  of  the  bird.  The  back  and  wings 
are  ashy  black,  becoming  slaty  grey  at  the  breeding 
season.  The  lower  parts  are  white. 

As  if  the  creature,  thus  arrayed,  were  not  sufficiently 
comic,  Nature  has  given  it  a  great  pouch  which  dangles 
from  the  neck.  This  is  over  a  foot  in  length  and  hangs 
down  like  a  bag  when  inflated.  It  is  red  in  colour, 
spotted  with  black.  Its  situation  naturally  leads  one  to 
believe  that  it  is  connected  with  the  gullet,  that  it  is 
a  receptacle  into  which  the  bird  can  hastily  pass  the 
garbage  it  swallows  pending  more  complete  disposal. 
But  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  does  not  communicate 
directly  with  the  oesophagus.  Knowing  this,  one  is  able 
to  appreciate  to  the  full  the  splendid  mendacity  of  the 
writer  to  Chambers 's  Journal in  1861,  who  declares  that 
he  witnessed  an  adjutant  swallow  a  crow  which  he 
watched  "  pass  into  the  sienna-toned  pouch  of  the  gaunt 
avenger.  He  who  writes  saw  it  done." 

Note  the  last  sentence.  The  scribe  was  evidently  of 
opinion  that  people  would  not  believe  him,  so  thought 
to  clinch  matters  by  bluffing  !  But,  to  do  him  justice, 
it  is  quite  possible  that  he  did  see  an  adjutant  swallow 
a  crow,  for  other  observers  have  witnessed  this,  but  the 
remainder  of  the  story  rests  upon  the  sandy  foundation 
of  the  imagination.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  we  do 
not  know  for  certain  what  the  use  of  this  pouch  is. 
Blyth  suggested  that  it  is  analogous  to  the  air  cell 
attached  to  one  lung  only  of  the  python  or  the  boa- 


THE   ADJUTANT  BIRD  31 

constrictor,  and,  as  in  that  case,  no  doubt  supplies 
oxygen  to  the  lungs  during  protracted  meals.  The 
bird  can  thus  "  guzzle  "  to  its  heart's  content  without 
having  to  stop  every  now  and  then  to  take  a  "breather." 

But  we  must  return  to  the  appearance  of  the  bird,  for 
the  account  of  this  is  not  yet  complete,  since  no 
mention  has  been  made  of  the  eye.  This  is  white  and 
very  small,  and  so  gives  the  bird  a  wicked,  knowing 
expression,  like  that  of  an  elephant.  Colonel  Cunning- 
ham speaks  of  "  the  malignantly  sneaking  expression  of 
the  pallid  eyes."  This  is  perhaps  a  little  severe  on  the 
adjutant,  but  it  is,  I  fear,  quite  useless  to  deny  the  fact 
that  he  has  "  a  canister  look  in  his  heye." 

A  mere  description  of  the  shape  and  colouring  of  the 
adjutant  does  not  give  any  idea  of  his  comicality.  It  is 
his  acts  rather  than  his  appearance  that  make  him  so 
ludicrous.  Except  when  floating  high  above  the  earth 
on  his  great  pinions  the  bird  always  looks  grotesque. 
To  say  that  he,  as  he  walks  along,  recalls  a  hunch- 
backed old  man  who  is  deliberately  "  clowning "  is  to 
give  a  hopelessly  inadequate  idea  of  the  absurdity  of 
his  movements.  Lockwood  Kipling  is  nearer  the  mark 
when  he  says :  "  For  grotesque  devilry  of  dancing  the 
Indian  adjutant  beats  creation.  Don  Quixote  or  Mal- 
volio  were  not  half  so  solemn  or  mincing,  and  yet  there 
is  an  abandonment  and  lightness  of  step,  a  wild  lift  in 
each  solemn  prance,  which  are  almost  demoniacal.  If 
it  were  possible  for  the  most  angular,  tall,  and  demure 
of  elderly  maiden  ladies  to  take  a  great  deal  too  much 
champagne  and  then  to  give  a  lesson  in  ballet  dancing, 
with  occasional  pauses  of  acute  sobriety,  perhaps  some 


32  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

faint  idea  might  be  conveyed  of  the  peculiar  quality  of 
the  adjutant's  movements." 

Sometimes  the  bird  struts  along  solemnly  with  bent 
back  and  forwardly  pointed  bill,  at  others  it  will  jump 
or  skip  along  with  outstretched  wings  and  clap  its  beak. 
It  cannot  even  stand  still  without  striking  ludicrous 
attitudes.  Seen  from  behind,  it  looks  like  a  little  hunch- 
backed old  man  with  very  thin  legs,  dressed  in  a  grey 
swallow  -  tail  coat.  Adjutants  sometimes  vary  the 
monotony  of  existence  by  standing  on  one  leg ;  occa- 
sionally they  sit  down,  stretching  their  long  legs  out  in 
front,  and  looking  "  as  though  they  were  kneeling  wrong 
side  foremost." 

Colonel  Cunningham  gives  a  most  entertaining 
account  of  the  habits  of  these  birds,  many  of  which 
used,  until  quite  recently,  to  be  seen  about  Calcutta. 
My  observations  are  chiefly  confined  to  birds  in  cap- 
tivity ;  this  perhaps  accounts  for  the  fact  that  they  do 
not  agree  in  all  respects  with  those  of  the  Colonel. 
According  to  him,  adjutants  "are  singularly  ill-tempered 
birds,  constantly  squabbling  with  one  another,  even  in 
the  absence  of  any  cause  of  competition,  such  as 
favourite  roosts  or  specially  savoury  stores  of  offal. 
Even  whilst  several  of  them  are  standing  quietly  about, 
sunning  themselves  and  apparently  buried  in  deep 
thought,  a  quarrel  will  suddenly  arise  for  no  apparent 
reason  ;  and  then  you  may  see  two  monstrous  fowls 
begin  to  pace  around,  cautiously  stalking  one  another, 
and  watching  for  a  favourable  opportunity  of  striking 
and  buffeting  with  beak  and  wings.  The  expression  of 
slow  malignity  with  which  such  duellists  regard  one 


THE  ADJUTANT   BIRD  33 

another  is  gruesome,  and  the  injuries  resulting  from  the 
fray  are  often  ghastly ;  blinded  eyes  and  bloody  cocks- 
combs being  matters  of  everyday  occurrence." 

Captive  adjutants  seem  to  be  most  placid  birds. 
There  are  three  of  them  in  the  "  Zoo  "  at  Lahore,  kept 
in  a  large  park-like  enclosure,  and  I  have  never  seen 
these  fighting.  They  appear  to  be  always,  if  not  on  the 
best  of  terms,  at  any  rate,  indifferent  to  one  another. 
The  three  will  stand  for  many  minutes  at  a  time  in 
a  row,  motionless  as  statues.  Sometimes  a  male  and 
a  female  will  huddle  up  to  one  another  and  remain  thus, 
with  their  heads  almost  touching,  looking  like  carica- 
tures of  Darby  and  Joan. 

The  table  manners  of  adjutants,  like  those  of  most 
other  carrion  feeders,  are  not  polite.  I  will  therefore 
not  attempt  to  describe  them.  In  the  good  old  days, 
feeding  adjutants  used  to  be  a  favourite  pastime  of 
Mr.  Thomas  Atkins  at  Calcutta.  I  regret  to  have  to 
say  that  his  motives  were  not  always  purely  philan- 
thropic. To  connect  two  pieces  of  meat  by  a  long 
string  and  then  throw  them  among  a  crowd  of  adju- 
tants savours  of  practical  joking.  One  bird,  of  course, 
swallows  one  piece  of  meat,  while  a  second  adjutant 
secures  the  other  morsel.  All  goes  well  until  each  of 
the  birds  tries  to  go  its  own  way — then  a  tug-of-war 
results,  fraught  with  gastronomical  disturbance  to  the 
combatants. 

Adjutants   are    nowhere   very   abundant ;    they    are 

nevertheless  spread  over  the  whole  of  Northern  India, 

but    do    not    appear    to    be    found    so    far    south    as 

Madras.     Another  species,  however — the  smaller  adju- 

D 


34  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

tant  (L.  javanicus) — has  been  observed  on  the  Malabar 

coast. 

Some  natives  make  adjutant-catching  their  profession. 
The  birds  are  captured  on  account  of  their  down-like 
feathers,  which  are  of  considerable  commercial  value. 

The  catcher  fits  the  skin  of  an  adjutant  over  his  head 
and  shoulders,  and  in  this  attire  creeps  up  to  a  com- 
pany of  the  birds  as  they  stand  half-asleep,  knee-deep 
in  water.  Great  is  the  surprise  of  the  unsuspecting 
birds  when  one  of  them  is  unceremoniously  seized  by 
the  wolf  in  the  adjutant's  skin. 


THE    INDIAN    ADJUTANT.       (LEPTOPTILUS    DUBIUS) 


THE    SARUS 

HAVING  discoursed  upon  the  adjutant,  it 
seems  but  fitting  that  we  should  turn  our 
attention  to  another  long-shanked  gentle- 
man— the  sarus.  The  adjutant  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  stork,  while  the  sarus  is  a  crane.  I  do  not 
know  whether  this  conveys  very  much  information 
to  the  average  mind.  Most  people  will,  I  imagine, 
"  give  it  up  "  if  asked,  "  What  is  the  difference  between 
a  stork  and  a  crane  ?  "  Yet  there  are  considerable  dif- 
ferences between  the  two ;  they  belong  to  different 
families,  and,  like  rival  tradesmen  of  the  same  name, 
"  have  no  connection  with  one  another."  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  detail  the  anatomical  differences  between  storks 
and  cranes,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  I  myself  do 
not  know  them  all,  nor  have  I  the  least  intention  of 
acquiring  such  knowledge.  It  forms  part  of  the  dry 
bones  of  science,  and  these  are  best  left  to  museum 
ornithologists  to  squabble  over.  There  are,  however, 
one  or  two  simple  points  which  suffice  to  enable  us  to 
distinguish  at  a  glance  a  crane  from  a  stork.  The  hind 
toe  of  the  stork  is  well  developed,  while  that  of  the 
crane  is  small  and  does  not  touch  the  ground  ;  the  con- 
sequence is  that  the  stork  likes  to  rest  on  trees,  while 
the  crane  prefers  to  stand  on  terra  firma  on  its  flat  feet. 

35 


36  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

The  nostrils  of  the  crane  are  half-way  down  the  beak, 
while  they  are  at  the  base  in  the  bill  of  the  stork.  The 
crane  nests  on  the  ground  ;  the  stork  builds  in  a  tree. 
Young  storks  are  helpless  creatures,  while  little  cranes 
hop  and  run  about  from  the  moment  they  leave  the 
egg.  Lastly,  the  crane  has  a  voice,  a  fine  loud  voice, 
a  voice  that  can  be  heard  a  mile  away,  a  voice  like  a 
trumpet,  for  its  windpipe  is  coiled.  King  stork,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  no  voice ;  when  he  wants  to  make  a 
joyful  noise  he  is  obliged  to  clap  together  his  great 
mandibles. 

Cranes  have  been  favourites  with  man  from  time 
immemorial.  The  result  is  that  ancient  and  mediaeval 
writers  have  plenty  to  say  about  them.  Now  the 
naturalist  of  old  considered  himself  in  honour  bound 
to  attribute  some  wonderful  characteristic  to  every 
beast  of  which  he  wrote.  If  he  did  not  know  of  any 
clever  thing  done  by  any  creature,  he  invented  some- 
thing for  it  to  do.  This  method  had  the  advantage  of 
making  natural  history  a  very  exciting  and  interesting 
study.  Cranes  were  supposed  to  perform  all  manner 
of  tricks  with  stones.  As  we  have  seen,  they  are  blessed 
with  powerful  voices,  and,  like  other  loud-voiced  people, 
find  it  difficult  to  keep  silent.  They  are  fully  persuaded 
that  silence  is  golden ;  but,  when  it  comes  to  acting  up 
to  this  belief,  the  flesh  proves  itself  very  frail.  Thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  sagacious  birds,  when  migrating, 
used  to  stop  up  their  mouths  with  stones.  As  they  are 
far  too  well-bred  to  speak  with  the  mouth  full,  they 
were  able  to  maintain  a  decorous  silence  when  travel- 
ling. 


THE   SARUS  37 

I  can  cite  plenty  of  authority  for  this  statement. 
There  is,  in  particular, no  less  a  personage  than  "Robert 
Tanner,  Gent.  Practitioner  in  Astrologie  and  Physic." 
"  The  cranes,"  he  writes,  "  when  they  fly  out  of  Cilicia, 
over  the  mountain  Taurus,  carried  in  their  mouths  a 
pebble  stone,  lest  by  their  chattering  they  should  be 
ceased  upon  by  eagles." 

The  cranes  had  yet  another  use  for  their  stones. 
When  the  main  body  were  resting  at  night,  sentinels 
were  posted  to  guard  against  surprise,  so  that  the  com- 
pany could  go  to  sleep  in  security.  To  ensure  necessary 
vigilance,  the  sentinels  stood  on  one  foot  and  held  in  the 
other  a  large  stone.  If  they  inadvertently  nodded, 
their  muscles  relaxed  and  the  stone  dropped.  This,  of 
course,  used  to  wake  them  up.  Even  Alexander  the 
Great  was  glad  to  learn  a  lesson  from  the  cranes.  He 
used  to  go  to  roost  with,  not  a  stone  in  his  hands,  but  a 
silver  ball,  as  more  befitting  his  royal  dignity.  On  the 
slightest  movement  the  ball  would  fall  and  he  wake  up. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  never  overslept  himself.  We  do 
not  do  such  heroic  things  nowadays ;  nor  do  cranes. 

Cranes  are  birds  which  will  not  stand  nonsense.  The 
pigmies  used  to  go  egg-collecting  among  them ;  the 
result  of  this  was,  to  translate  Homer : — 

When  inclement  winters  vex  the  plain, 

With  piercing  frosts,  or  thick  descending  rain, 

To  warmer  seas  the  cranes  embodied  fly, 

With  noise  and  order,  through  the  midway  sky  : 

To  pigmy  nations  wound  and  death  they  bring. 

Notice  that  as  the  cranes  were  on  the  war-path  there 
was  no  necessity  for  them  to   fill  their   mouths    with 


38  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

stones ;  they  wanted  all  their  lung  power  to  bark  at 
their  pigmy  foes. 

Having  considered  cranes  as  they  are  not,  it  behoves 
us  to  glance  at  them  as  they  are.  The  sarus  is  a  hand- 
some creature.  It  stands  over  five  feet  high.  The 
general  colour  of  the  plumage  is  a  beautiful  French 
grey.  The  head  and  long  neck  are  devoid  of  feathers, 
but  are  covered  with  numerous  tiny  crimson  warts  or 
papillae.  These  assume  a  deeper  hue  at  the  breeding 
season,  which  occurs  from  July  to  September.  There 
is  a  patch  of  grey  on  the  sides  of  the  head.  The  throat 
and  a  ring  round  the  nape  are  covered  with  black  hairs. 

Saruses  feed  upon  vegetable  substances,  insects,  earth- 
worms, frogs,  lizards,  and  other  small  reptiles,  with  an 
occasional  snake  thrown  in  by  way  of  condiment. 
"This,"  remarks  Babu  Ram  Brama  Sanyal,  "shows 
the  kind  of  accommodation  they  must  have." 

Saruses  are  not  gregarious  birds,  but  hunt  in  couples 
and  are  said  to  mate  for  life.  It  is  further  asserted  that 
when  one  of  a  pair  is  killed  the  other  pines  away  and 
dies.  I  believe  this  to  be  true,  although  I  cannot  vouch 
for  it,  and  am  certainly  not  going  to  put  the  statement 
to  the  test  by  shooting  one  of  a  pair  :  for  these  cranes 
are  such  tame,  confiding  birds  that  to  shoot  them  savours 
strongly  of  murder. 

According  to  Jerdon,  a  young  sarus  is  not  bad  eating, 
but  old  birds  are  worthless  for  the  table.  Lucky  old  birds ! 
Saruses  thrive  very  well  in  captivity.  As  they  habitu- 
ally indulge  in  all  manner  of  eccentric  dances  they  make 
most  amusing  pets.  They  are  usually  gentle  and  let 
strangers  caress  them  and  tickle  their  heads.  But  I 


THE  SARUS  39 

always  let  others  try  this  on  for  the  first  time  with  a 
strange  crane,  because  some  birds  resent  this  head- 
tickling  and,  to  again  quote  from  the  worthy  Babu 
above  mentioned,  "  appear  to  exist  only  as  it  were  for 
pecking  at  everything,  bird,  beast,  and  man :  children 
being  the  special  object  of  their  wrath." 

There  are  two  cranes  in  the  "  Zoo  "  at  Lahore ;  they 
are  a  most  mischievous  couple.  They  used  to  be  kept 
with  the  ducks  and  geese,  and  amused  themselves  by 
rooting  up  all  freshly  planted  rushes.  At  feeding  time 
it  was  their  habit  to  hop  from  one  dish  of  food  to 
another  with  outstretched  wings  and  thus  frighten  off 
the  ducks  and  secure  the  lion's  share  for  themselves. 
They  were  then  removed  to  the  enclosure  where  the 
adjutants  are.  They  started  playing  tricks  on  these, 
but  the  adjutant  has  a  powerful  beak  which  he  is  quite 
ready  to  use  when  necessity  arises.  The  result  is  that 
the  saruses  are  not  on  speaking  terms  with  the 
adjutants. 

Unlike  the  adjutant,  whose  nest  is  a  huge  platform 
of  sticks  placed  on  the  top  of  a  very  lofty  tree,  the  sarus 
builds  its  nursery  on  the  ground.  This  takes  the  form 
of  a  large  cone,  several  feet  in  diameter  at  the  base  and 
two  or  three  feet  high.  It  is  composed  of  reeds,  rushes, 
and  straw,  and  placed  by  preference  in  shallow  water. 
Great  care  is  taken  to  keep  the  eggs  above  water  level. 
If,  as  is  apt  to  happen  in  India,  heavy  rain  comes  on 
after  the  completion  of  the  nest,  the  parents  speedily  set 
to  work  to  raise  the  eggs  by  adding  more  material  to 
that  upon  which  they  rest. 


THE   STABILITY   OF   SPECIES 

IF  two  crows  be  taken  to  an  ornithologist  and  he 
be   told   that  one  of  them   was  caught  in   the 
Himalayas    while    the    other    was    captured    in 
Madras,  he  will  not  be  able  to  tell  which  in- 
dividual came  from  which  area :  in  other  words,  the 
crows   of  Madras   resemble   those   of  the   Himalayas. 
This,  of  course,  is  no  unusual  phenomenon.     The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  myna,  the  king-crow,  and  a  great 
many  other  birds  and  beasts.     Yet  the  phenomenon  is 
a  remarkable  one  if  we  take  into  account  the  facts  of 
variation. 

If  several  hundred  thousand  crows  be  collected  and 
carefully  examined,  it  will  be  found  that  no  two  of  them 
resemble  one  another  in  all  respects.  This  being  so, 
we  should  expect  the  crows  of  Madras  to  differ  from 
those  of  the  Himalayas,  since  the  two  environments 
are  so  dissimilar.  We  may  say  with  tolerable  certainty 
that  no  intercrossing  takes  place  between  the  crows  of 
the  two  localities :  for  these  birds  are  stay-at-home 
creatures,  and  do  not  wander  far  afield.  In  this  case, 
therefore,  it  is  not  intercrossing  that  has  prevented  the 
origin  of  local  races. 

A  consideration  of  the  main  causes  which  conduce 
to  the  stability  of  species  may  not  be  devoid  of  in- 

40 


THE  STABILITY   OF  SPECIES  41 

terest;  for  the  subject  is  one  which  has  hitherto  at- 
tracted but  little  attention.  Since  the  Darwinian 
hypothesis  was  given  to  the  world  we  have  heard  so 
much  of  variation  and  the  origin  of  new  species  that 
the  other  phenomenon — that  of  the  fixity  of  species — in 
spite  of  varying  environments  has  been  almost  entirely 
overlooked.  Yet  it  was  just  this  feature  of  animal  life 
that  attracted  the  attention  of  the  older  zoologists  and 
led  them  to  believe  that  species  had  been  created  once 
and  for  all,  and  that,  when  created,  they  were  immutably 
fixed. 

Most  biologists,  if  asked  to  explain  the  comparative 
fixity  of  species,  the  slowness  of  evolution,  would,  I 
think,  refer  to  the  fact  that  variations  appear  to  take 
place  indiscriminately  in  all  directions.  Take,  for 
example,  a  large  number  of  birds  of  any  species  and 
measure  any  one  organ,  let  us  say  the  first  primary 
wing  feather.  Suppose  the  average  length  be  six  inches. 
We  shall  find  that  in  a  considerable  percentage  of  the 
individuals  measured  the  wing  is  exactly  six  inches  in 
length  :  that  six  inches  is  what  we  may  call  the  favour- 
ite or  fashionable  length  of  the  wing.  The  next  com- 
monest lengths  will  be  5-99  and  6'Oi  inches,  and  so  on. 
We  shall  find  that  only  a  very  small  percentage  of  the 
individuals  have  wings  shorter  than  5j  inches  or  longer 
than  6£  inches ;  and  if  we  measured  a  thousand  in- 
dividuals we  probably  should  not  find  any  in  which  the 
wing  was  shorter  than  five  inches  or  longer  than  seven. 

Now,  the  commonly  accepted  theory  is  that  in  those 
cases  where  there  is  free  interbreeding  the  long-winged 
varieties  and  the  short-winged  varieties  tend  to  neutralise 


42  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

one  another,  hence  no  change  in  character  takes  place. 
The  effects  of  variation  are  swamped  by  intercrossing. 
It  is  only  when  intercrossing  is  checked,  as  when 
natural  selection  weeds  out  certain  varieties,  that 
evolution  occurs. 

This  theory,  of  course,  explains,  or  helps  to  explain, 
why  species  are  so  stable ;  but  it  involves  the  assump- 
tion that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sexual  selection 
among  animals  in  a  state  of  nature.  The  theory 
assumes  that  individuals  mate  in  a  haphazard  manner, 
that  a  long-winged  hen  is  as  likely  to  select  a  short- 
winged  husband  as  a  long-winged  one.  Are  we  justified 
in  assuming  this?  At  present  there  is  little  evidence 
on  the  subject.  Evidence  can  only  be  procured  by 
measuring  a  number  of  pairs  of  birds  that  have  mated, 
and  seeing  whether  large  hens  mate  chiefly  with  large 
cocks  or  with  small  cocks,  or  indifferently  with  large  or 
small  cock-birds. 

That  sexual  selection  is  a  reality  and  not  a  mere 
hypothesis  there  can.  I  think,  be  but  little  doubt.  It 
is  with  the  theory  that  supposes  that  the  females  alone 
exercise  selection  that  I  feel  compelled  to  quarrel.  The 
male  selects  his  partner  just  as  much  as  the  female 
selects  hers.  The  choice  is  mutual. 

In  the  Zoological  Gardens  at  Lahore  there  are  a 
number  of  ordinary  coloured  peacocks  and  a  number  of 
albinos.  No  coloured  hen  will  mate  with  a  coloured 
cock  if  she  is  allowed  to  exercise  a  choice  between  him 
and  an  albino.  Here,  then,  is  a  clear  example  of  sexual 
selection. 

Professor  Karl  Pearson  has  spent  much  time  in  trying 


THE   STABILITY   OF   SPECIES  43 

to  discover  whether  there  is  such  a  thing  as  sexual 
selection — what  we  may  call  unconscious  selection — 
among  human  beings.  His  experiments  tend  to  show 
that  there  is. 

If  we  take  a  thousand  married  men  whose  stature  is 
not  less  than  six  feet,  and  a  thousand  also  who  are  none 
of  them  taller  than  5  ft.  8  in.,  we  shall  find  that  the 
average  height  of  the  wives  of  the  former  is  greater 
than  that  of  the  wives  of  the  shorter  men. 

If  wild  animals  display  a  similar  characteristic,  it  is 
evident  that  to  say  that  intercrossing  swamps  variation 
and  causes  species  to  remain  stable  is  not  altogether 
accurate  ;  for,  if  like  select  like  as  partners,  we  should 
expect  a  number  of  races  to  rapidly  arise,  or,  at  any 
rate,  three  races — a  large,  medium,  and  small  one.  So 
far,  however,  as  we  can  see,  species  display  no  such 
tendency.  We  are  therefore  driven  to  the  conclusion 
either  that  there  is  among  species  in  a  state  of  nature 
no  tendency  for  like  individuals  to  select  like  as  their 
partners,  or,  if  there  be  such  a  tendency,  there  is  some 
force  at  work  which  counteracts  it. 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  case  of  the  peafowl  in 
the  Lahore  "  Zoo  "  tends  to  show  that  among  animals 
it  is  dissimilarity,  not  similarity,  that  attracts,  for  the 
coloured  hens  mate  with  white  cocks  in  preference  to 
those  like  themselves. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  hens  select  the  white 
cocks,  not  because  they  are  white,  but  because  of 
the  strength  of  the  sexual  instincts  of  these  latter. 
The  white  cocks  continually  show  off  before  the  hens ; 
the  sexual  desire  is  developed  more  highly  in  them 


44  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

than  in  the  ordinary  cocks,  and  it  is  this  that  attracts 
the  hens. 

We  must  also  bear  in  mind  that  abnormal  variations 
have  a  strong  tendency  to  perpetuate  themselves.  If 
a  white  cock  mates  with  an  ordinary  peahen,  the 
majority  of  the  offspring  are  pure  white. 

If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  sexual  selection,  and 
if  it  be,  as  I  believe,  the  strongest,  the  most  mettle- 
some individuals,  those  in  which  the  sexual  instincts 
reach  the  highest  development,  that  attract  the  opposite 
sex,  then  the  question  arises :  is  there  any  connection 
between  these  characteristics  and  the  size  and  colour 
of  their  possessor  ?  We  are  not  in  possession  of 
sufficient  data  to  answer  this  question  in  the  affirmative. 
Nevertheless  I  believe  that  such  a  relation  does  exist. 

The  researches  of  Professor  Pearson  seem  to  point  to 
the  fact  that  there  exists  a  definite  relation  between 
variation  and  fertility.  For  every  species  there  is  a 
mode  or  typical  size  and  form,  and  from  this  there  are 
deviations  in  all  directions,  and,  speaking  generally,  the 
greater  the  deviation  from  the  mode  the  less  the  fertility 
of  the  individual. 

If  this  be  a  general  law  we  have  here  a  very  potent 
factor  tending  to  make  species  stable.  Those  indi- 
viduals which  deviate  least  from  the  common  type  are 
the  most  fertile  ;  they  produce  the  most  offspring ; 
moreover,  they  are  the  most  numerous,  hence  they,  by 
sheer  force  of  numbers,  keep  a  species  stable.  The 
abnormal  individuals  are  comparatively  few  in  number, 
and  they  beget  comparatively  few  of  their  kind,  so  have 
no  chance  of  establishing  themselves  and  crushing  out 


THE   STABILITY   OF   SPECIES  45 

the  normal  type,  unless  natural  selection  steps  in  to 
their  aid. 

Is  comparative  infertility  the  result  of  feebleness  of 
the  sexual  instinct  ?  If  so,  sexual  selection  must  be 
conducive  to  the  stability  of  species. 

For  if  the  rule  be  the  greater  the  deviation  of  an 
individual  from  the  normal  the  less  the  development  in 
it  of  the  sexual  instinct  and  the  less  its  fertility,  it 
follows  that  an  abnormal  organism  is  less  likely  to 
find  a  mate  than  a  normal  individual  is ;  and  if  it  do 
succeed  in  forming  a  union,  that  union  will  probably 
produce  less  than  the  average  number  of  offspring. 


THE    AMADAVAT 

"  ^^^\  ENTLEMEN,"  said  a  Cambridge  professor 

a          to  his  class,  "  I  regret  that  owing  to  the 

^^  forgetfulness  of  my  assistant,  I  am  unable 

to  show  you  a  specimen  of  the  shell  of  the 
mollusc  of  which  we  are  speaking.  You  have,  however, 
but  to  step  into  the  parlour  of  any  seaside  lodging- 
house  and  on  the  mantelpiece  you  will  see  two  of  the 
shells  in  question."  Every  undergraduate  immediately 
knew  what  the  shell  was  like ;  so  will  my  readers  at 
once  recognise  the  bird  of  which  I  write  when  I  inform 
them  that  the  amadavat  is  the  little  red  bird  with  white 
spots  that  occurs  in  every  aviary  in  India.  The  bird  is, 
indeed,  not  all  red,  but  the  bill  is  bright  red  and  there 
are  patches  of  this  colour  all  over  the  plumage — more  in 
the  cock  than  in  the  hen,  and  more  in  the  former  in  the 
breeding  season  than  at  other  times.  Thus  the  general 
effect  is  that  of  a  red  bird  ;  hence  the  native  name  Lai 
munia,  which,  being  interpreted,  is  the  red  munia.  This 
is  the  proper  English  name  of  the  bird,  although  fanciers 
frequently  call  it  the  red  waxbill.  Men  of  science  know 
it  as  Spor&ginthus  amandava.  I  may  say  here  that  the 
name  avadavat  or  amadavat  is  derived  from  Ahmeda- 
bad,  whence  great  numbers  used  to  be  exported,  for  the 
bird  is  a  great  favourite  in  England. 

46 


THE   AMADAVAT  47 

It  is  the  cage  bird  of  India  par  excellence.  Hundreds 
of  thousands  of  amadavats  must  at  this  moment  be 
living  in  captivity.  The  bird  takes  to  cage  life  as  a 
Scotsman  to  whisky.  Within  five  minutes  of  capture 
the  little  creature  is  contentedly  eating  its  seed  and 
singing  quite  gaily.  This  is  no  exaggeration.  I  was 
recently  out  with  a  friend  when  we  came  upon  a  small 
boy  catching  munias.  We  saw  captured  a  fine  cock 
which  my  friend  purchased  for  two  annas.  Not  hap- 
pening to  have  a  cage  in  his  pocket,  he  put  the  tiny 
creature  into  a  fold  of  his  handkerchief  and  placed  the 
remainder  of  the  handkerchief  in  his  pocket.  While  we 
were  walking  home  our  captive  began  twittering  in 
answer  to  his  companions  who  were  still  free.  If  this 
be  not  philosophical  behaviour,  I  do  not  know  what  is. 

Nothing  is  easier  than  to  catch  munias.  All  that  is 
required  is  the  common,  pyramidal-shaped,  four-anna 
wicker  cage  in  which  birds  are  usually  carried  about  in 
India.  To  the  base  of  one  of  the  walls  of  this  a  flap  is 
attached  by  a  hinge.  The  flap  is  the  same  size  and 
shape  as  the  wall  of  the  cage,  and  composed  of  a  frame 
over  which  a  narrow-meshed  string  net  is  stretched.  A 
string  is  fastened  to  the  apex  of  the  flap.  The  cage, 
with  a  captive  bird  inside,  is  placed  in  the  open  so  that 
the  flap  rests  on  the  ground.  On  this  some  groundsel 
is  thrown.  In  a  few  minutes  a  passing  amadavat  is 
attracted  to  the  cage  by  the  song  of  the  bird  inside. 
The  new-comer  at  once  begins  to  feed  on  the  groundsel. 
Then  the  bird-catcher,  who  is  seated  a  few  yards  away, 
pulls  the  string  sharply,  so  that  the  flap  closes  over  the 
side  of  the  cage  and  thus  the  bird  is  secured.  It  is  then 


48  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

placed  inside  the  cage  and  the  flap  again  set.  In  this 
manner  a  dozen  or  more  amadavats  can  be  captured  in 
an  hour.  As  nine  red  munias  are  sold  for  a  rupee,  and 
as  they  will  live  for  years  in  captivity  and  cost  next  to 
nothing  to  keep,  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  are 
popular  pets. 

Moreover,  the  amadavat  is  no  mean  songster.  "Eha" 
is,  I  think,  a  little  severe  on  the  bird  when  he  states 
that  ''fifty  in  a  cage  make  an  admirable  chorus."  The 
bird  is  small,  so  is  its  voice,  but  what  there  is  of  the 
latter  is  exceedingly  sweet.  Were  its  notes  only  louder 
the  bird  would  be  in  the  first  rank  as  a  songster.  A  rip- 
pling stream  of  cheery  twitters  emanates  unceasingly 
from  a  cage  of  munias.  The  birds  seem  never  to  tire. 
The  cock  frequently  utters,  in  addition  to  this  perpetual 
twitter,  a  warble  of  five  or  six  notes.  The  birds  love  to 
huddle  together  in  a  row  on  a  perch  and  twitter  in 
chorus.  Suddenly  the  chorus  ceases ;  one  of  the  birds 
raises  his  head  above  the  level  of  the  others  and  sings  a 
solo,  while  the  rest  listen  in  silence  with  the  air  of 
connoisseurs.  When  he  has  finished,  another  bird  has  a 
"turn,"  then  another.  The  whole  performance  always 
puts  me  in  mind  of  one  of  those  impromptu  concerts 
which  soldiers  are  so  fond  of  getting  up. 

Quite  apart  from  their  song,  munias  afford  him 
who  keeps  them  much  pleasure,  because  they  are 
most  amusing  birds  to  watch.  They  are  very  fond 
of  heat.  They  are  happiest  when  the  thermometer 
stands  at  about  a  hundred.  When  they  huddle 
together  for  the  sake  of  warmth,  all  are  content  except 
the  two  end  birds,  who  are  kept  warm  only  on  one 


THE   AMADAVAT  49 

side.  No  bird,  therefore,  likes  to  be  an  outside  one 
of  a  row.  If  two  or  three,  sitting  close  together,  are 
joined  by  another,  this  last  does  not  take  up  a  position 
at  the  end  of  the  line.  He  knows  a  trick  worth  two  of 
that.  He  perches  on  the  backs  of  two  in  the  middle 
and  tries  to  wedge  himself  in  between  them.  Some- 
times he  succeeds.  Sometimes  he  does  not.  When  he 
does  succeed  he  frequently  upsets  the  equilibrium  of 
the  whole  row. 

Needless  to  say,  the  birds  roost  huddled  together,  and 
at  bed-time  there  is  great  manoeuvring  to  avoid  an 
outside  position.  Each  tries  to  get  somewhere  in  the 
middle,  and,  in  order  to  do  so,  adopts  one  of  two 
methods.  He  either  flops  on  top  of  birds  already  in 
position,  and,  if  he  cannot  wedge  himself  in,  sleeps 
with  one  foot  on  the  back  of  one  bird  and  the  other 
on  its  neighbour's  back.  The  birds  do  not  seem  to 
mind  being  sat  upon  in  this  way.  The  other  method 
is  for  the  two  outer  birds  to  press  inwards  until  one  of 
those  in  the  middle  of  the  row  is  squeezed  so  hard 
as  to  lose  its  foothold  and  be  violently  ejected  upwards. 
The  bird  thus  jockeyed  out  of  its  position  then  hops  to 
one  end  and  in  its  turn  begins  to  push  inwards,  and  so 
the  process  continues  until  the  birds  grow  too  sleepy  to 
struggle  any  more.  All  this  contest  is  conducted  with- 
out a  sound.  There  is  no  bickering  or  squabbling. 
The  only  thing  I  know  like  it  is  the  contest  in  the 
dining-room  of  an  Indian  hotel,  when  two  "boys," 
each  belonging  to  a  different  master,  seize  a  dish 
simultaneously.  Each  is  determined  to  secure  that 
dish,  and  neither  dares  utter  a  sound  for  fear  of 
E 


50  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

angering  his  Sahib.  Thus  they  struggle  in  grim 
silence.  Eventually  one  is  victorious  and  walks  off 
in  triumph  with  the  dish.  The  defeated  servant  at 
once  accepts  the  situation  ;  so  is  it  with  a  munia  ejected 
from  a  central  position. 

Although  amadavats  are  widely  distributed  in  India 
and  fairly  common  in  most  parts  of  the  country,  they 
usually  escape  notice  on  account  of  their  small  size. 
When  flying  overhead  they  are  probably  mistaken  for 
sparrows.  Moreover,  they  do  not  often  visit  gardens ; 
they  prefer  open  country. 

Amadavats  belong  to  the  finch  family,  to  the  great  tribe 
which  includes  the  sparrow,  the  canary,  and  the  weaver- 
bird.  By  their  coarse,  stout  beak,  tapering  to  a  point, 
you  may  know  them.  The  use  of  this  big  beak  is  to 
husk  grain.  Finches  do  not  gobble  up  their  seed  whole 
as  pigeons  or  fowls  do ;  they  carefully  husk  each  grain 
before  swallowing  it.  Hence  the  meal  of  a  bird  of  this 
family  is  a  somewhat  protracted  affair.  He  who  keeps 
an  aviary  should  remember  this  and  provide  his  birds 
with  several  seed-boxes,  otherwise  one  or  two  bullies 
(for  there  are  bullies  even  among  tiny  birds)  are  apt  to 
monopolise  the  food. 

He  should  also  bear  in  mind  that  Nature  does  not 
provide  her  feathered  children  with  teeth.  Seed-eating 
birds,  therefore,  habitually  swallow  small  stones  and 
pieces  of  grit.  These  perform  the  function  of  millstones 
inside  the  bird.  From  this  it  follows  that  it  is  cruel  to 
keep  seed-eating  birds  without  supplying  them  with 
sand  and  grit. 

The  bone  of  a  cuttle-fish,  tied  to  the  wall  of  the  cage, 


THE   AMADAVAT  51 

is  much  appreciated  by  all  the  finch  tribe  and  helps  to 
keep  them  in  condition. 

The  nest  of  the  amadavat  is  a  large  ball  of  fibrous 
material,  somewhat  carelessly  put  together,  with  a  hole 
at  one  side  by  way  of  entrance.  Winter  is  the  season 
in  which  to  look  for  the  nests,  but  they  are  not  easy  to 
find,  being  well  concealed  in  low  bushes.  Six  pure 
white  glossless  eggs  are  usually  laid. 


THE    NUTMEG   BIRD 


j  ""^HE  nutmeg  bird  or  spotted  munia  (Uro- 
loncha  punctulata}  is  second  only  to  the 
amadavat  as  an  aviary  favourite.  The  two 
species  are  almost  invariably  caged  together* 
This  is,  perhaps,  the  reason  why  I  was  once  gravely 
assured  by  a  lady  that  the  spotted  munia  is  the  hen 
and  the  amadavat  the  cock  of  one  and  the  same  species  ! 
Needless  to  say,  the  birds,  although  relatives,  belong  to 
different  genera.  The  stouter  bill  of  the  spotted  munia 
proclaims  this.  In  colour  the  beak  is  bluish  black  or 
dark  slate  colour,  and  contrasts  strongly  with  the 
chocolate-brown  of  the  head,  neck,  back,  wings,  and 
tail.  The  breast  is  white  with  a  number  of  black  rings, 
which  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  nutmeg-grater,  hence 
the  popular  name  of  the  bird.  Fanciers  go  one  better 
and  call  it  the  spice  bird.  If  in  years  to  come  the 
former  name  be  forgotten,  etymologists  will  put  their 
wise  heads  together  and  puzzle  and  wrangle  over  the 
derivation  of  the  name  "  spice  bird  "  ! 

The  habits  of  the  spotted  munia  are  those  of  the 
amadavat.  Like  the  latter,  it  seems  to  thrive  in  cap- 
tivity ;  it  also  loves  warmth,  and  likes  to  go  to  roost  with 
a  warm  companion  on  each  side  of  it.  Red  and  spotted 
munias  live  together  very  amicably  in  a  cage ;  but  as 

52 


THE   NUTMEG   BIRD  53 

the  latter,  owing  to  their  less  showy  plumage,  are 
usually  in  a  minority,  they  have  to  be  content  with 
outside  positions  at  roosting-time.  Sometimes  my 
munias  take  it  into  their  tiny  heads  to  sleep  on  a  perch 
which  runs  across  a  corner  of  the  cage,  and  is  barely 
long  enough  to  accommodate  them  all.  There  are 
several  other  finer  and  longer  perches,  but,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  they  seem  to  prefer  this  one.  Possibly 
its  breadth  is  better  adapted  to  the  grip  of  their  feet 
than  that  of  any  of  the  others.  I  may  here  say,  in 
parenthesis,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  keep  cage 
birds,  that  every  cage  should  contain  several  perches  of 
varying  diameter,  so  as  to  permit  the  inmates  of  the 
cage  the  luxury  of  a  change  of  grip. 

Well,  when  a  dozen  birds  persist  in  roosting  on  a 
perch  intended  only  to  seat  ten,  at  least  one  of  them  is 
unable  to  find  room  on  the  perch,  and  is  obliged  either 
to  sleep  on  the  backs  of  some  of  his  companions  or 
make-believe  that  he  is  roosting  on  the  perch.  This 
latter  feat  is  accomplished  by  the  bird  clutching  hold  of 
the  two  wires  between  which  the  perch  passes  and 
maintaining  himself  at  an  angle  of  45°  with  the  vertical. 
In  this  attitude  a  bird  will  sometimes  sleep !  Of  course, 
its  body  is  in  part  resting  on  that  of  its  neighbour,  but, 
allowing  for  this,  a  more  uncomfortable  position  is  in- 
conceivable to  a  human  being.  The  spotted  munia, 
however,  seems  to  find  it  tolerably  comfortable. 

Birds  sleep  standing,  often  on  one  leg.  Did  this 
require  any  appreciable  muscular  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  bird  there  could  be  no  rest  in  such  an  attitude,  and 
the  bird  would  fall  off  its  perch  as  soon  as  it  went  to 


54  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

sleep.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  muscles  and  tendons  of 
a  bird's  hind -limb  are  so  arranged  that,  to  use  the 
words  of  Mr.  F.  W.  Headley,  "when  the  leg  bends 
at  the  ankle,  there  is  a  pull  upon  the  tendons,  the 
muscles  are  stretched,  the  toes  are  bent  and  grasp  the 
perch  on  which  the  bird  sits.  Thus  he  is  maintained 
by  his  own  weight,  which  bends  the  leg  and  so  causes 
the  toes  to  grip."  Thanks  to  this  feature  of  their 
anatomy,  passerine  birds  are  able  to  sleep  on  branches 
of  trees  out  of  reach  of  prowling  beasts  of  prey. 

The  great  force  with  which  a  bird  grasps  its  perch 
is  worthy  of  note.  As  every  hawker  is  aware,  a  falcon, 
when  carried  on  the  wrist,  grips  the  leather  gauntlet  so 
tightly  as  to  almost  stop  the  circulation  of  the  blood  in 
the  hand  of  the  carrier.  A  fox  cannot  open  its  mouth 
when  once  its  snout  is  in  the  iron  grip  of  an  eagle. 
Examples  of  the  power  of  the  grip  of  the  foot  of  a 
passerine  bird  will  occur  to  every  one  who  has  had  much 
to  do  with  our  feathered  friends.  Crows  habitually 
roost  in  the  topmost  branches  of  trees,  which  must  be 
very  violently  shaken  in  a  gale  of  wind ;  yet  the  birds 
never  seem  to  lose  their  hold. 

I  have  said  that  the  habits  of  the  spotted  munia  are 
those  of  the  amadavat ;  what  was  said  of  the  latter 
applies  to  the  former,  with  one  exception.  The  spotted 
munia  is  no  songster.  Those  who  keep  the  bird  must 
have  seen  him  go  through  all  the  motions  of  singing, 
with  a  considerable  display  of  energy,  but  scarcely  a 
sound  seems  to  issue.  You  may  perhaps  hear  the 
feeblest  noise,  like  that  made  by  a  wheezy  and  de- 
crepit mosquito.  When  you  see  the  bird's  mandibles 


THE   NUTMEG  BIRD  55 

moving  nineteen  to  the  dozen  with  scarcely  a  sound 
issuing,  you  are  inclined  to  think  that  he  is  either  play- 
ing dumb  crambo  or  that  he  has  taken  leave  of  his 
senses.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  The  bird  is  singing  his 
top  notes,  which  are  doubtless  greatly  appreciated  by 
his  mate.  Sound  is,  as  we  all  know  in  this  scientific  age, 
vibration  appreciable  to  the  ear.  Air  is  the  usual  vibrat- 
ing medium.  Only  certain  vibrations  are  perceptible 
to  the  human  auditory  organ.  Those  having  a  recur- 
rence of  below  thirty  or  above  sixteen  thousand  per 
second  do  not  produce  the  sensation  of  sound  to  the 
average  human  ear.  There  are  thus  numbers  of  vibra- 
tions continually  going  on  which  are  lost  to  us ;  to  this 
category  belong  the  vibrations  in  the  air  produced  by 
the  vocal  cords  of  the  spotted  munia.  The  ear  of  a 
bird  is  constituted  very  differently  from  that  of  man, 
so  that  it  is  not  surprising  if  birds  can  hear  certain 
sounds  imperceptible  to  us  human  beings.  I  may  here 
say  that  the  range  of  the  human  ear  varies  greatly  in 
different  individuals.  Some  men  can  hear  vibrations 
of  which  the  recurrence  is  but  fifteen  in  the  second, 
while  others  are  said  to  appreciate  notes  caused  by  forty 
thousand  vibrations  per  second.  I  have  a  friend  who 
cannot  hear  a  black  partridge  when  it  is  calling ;  its 
notes  are  too  high  for  the  unusually  limited  range  of  his 
ear.  I  do  not  know  if  there  are  any  people  to  whom 
the  note  of  the  nutmeg  bird  sounds  quite  loud ;  if 
there  be,  and  these  lines  meet  their  eye,  I  hope  they  will 
give  their  brethren  of  more  limited  capacity  the  benefit 
of  their  experience. 


THE   DID-HE-DO-IT 

MR.  "  did-he-do-it "  is  a  dandy  of  the  first 
water.     I  should  like  to  add  "and  so  is 
his  wife,"  for  she  dresses  exactly  as  he 
does,    and    is    every    bit    as    particular 
regarding  her  personal  appearance,  but  owing  to  the 
peculiarity  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  tongue,  it  is  incorrect 
to  apply  the  term  "  dandy  "  to  a  lady,  and  there  appears 
to  be  no  feminine  equivalent  of  it.     I  must  therefore 
be  content  to  say  that  Mrs.  Did-he-do-it  is  a  dressy 
little  person.     Before  describing  the  attire  of  the  Did- 
he-do-it  let  me  say  that  the  bird  is  correctly  styled  the 
red-wattled  lapwing.      Ornithologists  used    to   call   it 
Lobivanellus  goensis,  but  this  was  found  to  be  a  bit  of  a 
mouthful  for  even  an  ornithologist ;    accordingly  the 
bird  is  now  named  Sarcogrammus  indicus  for  short. 

The  Did-he-do-it  belongs  to  the  noble  family  of 
plovers.  Its  head,  neck,  and  upper  back  are  black, 
and  the  under  parts  are  white.  A  broad  white  band 
runs  down  each  side  of  the  neck  from  the  eye  to  join 
the  white  of  the  under  parts.  The  wings  are  of  a 
beautiful  greenish-bronze  hue ;  the  legs  are  bright 
yellow.  The  beak  is  crimson -red,  as  is  the  forwardly 
pointing  wattle  which  forms  so  conspicuous  a  feature  of 
the  bird's  physiognomy.  The  lapwing  is  thus  an  easy 

56 


THE   DID-HE-DO-IT  57 

bird  to  identify.  Even  if  you  cannot  see  him,  you 
know  he  is  there  the  moment  you  hear  his  loud, 
shrill  "Did  he  do  it,  pity  to  do  it."  The  only  bird 
with  which  he  can  possibly  be  confounded  is  his  cousin, 
the  yellow- wattled  lapwing  (Sarciophorus  malabaricus). 
This  latter,  however,  has  a  yellow  wattle  and  one 
syllable  less  in  its  cry. 

The  Did-he-do-it  is  a  bird  which  frequents  open 
plains  in  the  neighbourhood  of  water.  I  have  never 
seen  it  perched  on  a  tree,  and  as  it  does  not  possess 
the  luxury  of  a  hind  toe,  I  imagine  that,  like  the  old 
lady  after  a  rough  Channel  crossing,  it  likes  to  feel 
itself  on  "  terra  cotta" 

This  bird  is  not  likely  to  be  seen  within  municipal 
limits,  but  it  is  fairly  abundant  outside  Madras.  It 
feeds  chiefly  upon  insects  and  small  Crustacea.  It  is 
not  a  gluttonous  fowl.  "  Eha  "  declares  that  you  never 
find  it  where  there  is  food  and  that  it  does  without 
sleep,  since  you  never  catch  it  napping.  Jerdon,  how- 
ever, informs  us  that  in  the  South  of  India  it  is  said 
to  sleep  on  its  back  with  its  legs  in  the  air — a  distinctly 
undignified  position  for  a  dandy.  It  sleeps  thus  so  as 
to  be  able  to  catch  on  its  toes  the  sky  in  case  this 
should  happen  to  fall  down.  As  "  Eha  "  says,  the  chief 
point  about  this  truly  native  yarn  is  that  it  is  impossible 
to  contradict  it,  for  who  has  seen  a  lapwing  asleep  ? 

The  nesting  habits  of  the  Did-he-do-it  are  most 
interesting.  Strictly  speaking,  it  does  not  build  a  nest. 
It  scrapes  a  cavity,  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  deep, 
in  some  stony  place.  This  is  the  nest.  Round 
it  there  are  a  few  pieces  of  kankar  or  some  twigs; 


58  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

whether  these  are  brought  thither  by  the  bird,  or  have 
merely  been  brushed  there  in  the  making  of  the  cavity, 
I  know  not.  Very  frequently  the  nest  is  situated 
in  the  ballast  of  the  railway  line.  Sometimes  it  is  so 
placed  that  the  footboard  of  every  carriage  passes  over 
the  head  of  the  sitting  bird.  There  is  no  accounting 
for  tastes  !  Four  eggs  are  usually  laid  ;  they  are  much 
more  pointed  at  one  end  than  at  the  other,  and  are 
invariably  placed  in  the  nest  so  as  to  form  a  star,  the 
blunt  ends  projecting  outwards  and  the  thin  ends  nearly 
meeting  at  the  centre. 

Lapwings'  eggs  are  protectively  coloured.  Being 
laid  in  the  open  and  not  hidden  away  in  a  nest,  it  is 
important  that  they  should  not  be  conspicuous,  other- 
wise they  would  soon  be  espied  and  devoured  by  some 
egg-eating  creature.  Thus  they  are  coloured  so  as  to 
assimilate  with  their  surroundings.  The  ground  colour  is 
greenish  and  is  boldly  splotched  with  sepia,  some  of  the 
splotches  being  darker  than  others.  The  eggs  are  dull 
and  not  glossy,  hence  are  very  difficult  to  distinguish  from 
the  stones  which  lie  round  about  them.  From  the  above 
description  it  will  be  seen  that  the  Did-he-do-it's  egg  is 
very  like  that  of  his  cousin  the  English  plover,  whose 
eggs  are  held  to  be  so  great  a  delicacy.  Why  these 
eggs  are  so  much  esteemed  I  do  not  know.  I  suspect 
that  it  is  because  they  are  difficult  to  find,  and  so 
costly.  If  tripe  and  onions  cost  fifty  shillings  a  pound, 
this  dish  would  probably  form  the  piece  de  resistance  of 
every  millionaire's  banquet. 

The  eggs  of  the  Did-he -do-it,  then,  are  interesting 
as  forming  perfect  examples  of  protectively  coloured 


THE   DID-HE-DO-IT  59 

objects.  As  I  have  previously  remarked,  the  theory  of 
protective  colouration  has  my  deepest  sympathy.  It  is 
an  unfortunate  jade  upon  which  every  biologist  seems 
to  think  that  he  is  entitled  to  take  free  rides  ;  the 
result  is  that  the  poor  beast's  ribs  are  cutting  through 
its  skin  !  For  example,  every  bird's  egg  is  supposed  to 
be  protectively  coloured — even  the  gorgeous  shining 
blue  egg  laid  by  the  seven  sisters,  which  is,  in  truth, 
about  as  much  protectively  coloured  as  the  I  Zingari 
Cricket  Club  blazer  is.  The  majority  of  eggs  are  laid 
in  nests  which  are  either  covered  in  or  more  or  less 
well  concealed  among  foliage,  hence  there  is  no  neces- 
sity for  them  to  be  protectively  coloured.  Dame  Nature 
is  free  to  exercise  on  them  to  the  uttermost  her  artistic 
temperament,  with  the  result  that  there  are  few  things 
more  beautiful  than  a  collection  of  birds'  eggs. 

So  well  do  the  eggs  of  the  lapwing  assimilate  with 
their  surroundings,  that,  if  you  would  discover  a  clutch 
of  them,  your  only  chance  is  to  watch  the  actions  of  the 
possessors  of  the  nest.  But  the  Did-he-do-it  is  a  wily 
bird,  and  if  you  are  not  very  cute  he  will  live  up  to  his 
name  by  "  doing  you  in  the  eye."  He  does  not,  like 
babblers  and  bulbuls,  make  a  tremendous  noise  as  you 
approach  the  nest.  He  assumes  a  nonchalant,  I  might 
say  jaunty,  air,  hoping  thereby  to  put  the  intruder  off 
the  scent.  The  other  day  I  had  the  pleasure  of  circum- 
venting a  couple  of  lapwings.  Feeling  tolerably  certain 
that  a  pair  had  a  nest  on  a  flat  piece  of  ground  near  a 
canal  bank,  I  determined  to  find  that  nest.  My  wife 
accompanied  me.  On  arriving  at  the  spot  we  took 
cover  under  some  trees  and  scanned  the  horizon  with 


60  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

field-glasses,  but  saw  no  trace  of  a  lapwing.  I  began  to 
think  I  had  made  a  mistake.  After  a  time  we  walked 
on  towards  the  canal ;  when  we  had  gone  some  three 
hundred  yards  my  wife  noticed  a  bird  on  a  ridge  by  the 
canal.  By  the  aid  of  glasses  I  saw  it  was  a  Did-he- 
do-it.  We  both  dropped  down  and  watched.  The  bird 
had  "  spotted  "  us,  for  he  had  assumed  the  air  of  an  old 
sailor  who  is  smoking  a  pipe  over  a  mug  of  beer,  the  air 
of  a  man  without  a  care  in  the  world.  Presently  he 
quietly  disappeared  behind  the  little  ridge.  We  then 
made  a  big  detour  so  as  to  reach  the  other  side  of  this. 
Having  arrived  there  we  sat  behind  a  tree.  The  lap- 
wing was  now  eyeing  us  suspiciously.  We  affected  to 
take  no  notice  of  him.  Presently  a  second  Did-he-do-it 
came  out  from  behind  a  clump  of  low  plants  only  to 
disappear  into  it  almost  immediately,  and  then  ostenta- 
tiously reappear  after  a  few  seconds.  Had  we  not 
known  the  wiles  of  the  lapwing  we  should  have  located 
the  nest  behind  that  clump.  But  we  knew  better  and 
waited.  One  of  the  birds  again  disappeared  behind  the 
clump,  but  emerged  at  the  other  side  and  strolled  along 
very  slowly ;  presently  it  came  to  some  stones,  where  it 
stood  motionless  for  a  few  seconds.  It  then  sat  down, 
or  rather  slowly  sank  into  a  sitting  position.  There 
was  no  doubt  that  the  bird  was  now  on  the  nest.  We 
made  for  it.  As  we  approached,  the  bird  that  was  not 
on  the  nest  flew  off,  making  a  noise  with  the  object  of 
putting  us  off  the  scent.  The  lapwing  on  the  nest 
quietly  got  up  and  strolled  off  without  a  sound.  On 
arriving  at  the  place  where  she  had  been  sitting  we 
found  three  eggs.  I  took  one  of  them  for  a  lady  who  was 


THE   DID-HE-DO-IT  61 

anxious  to  have  one.  Meanwhile  both  birds  had  flown 
away  without  making  any  noise.  Having  examined 
the  nest,  we  returned  to  our  watching  place.  In  about 
ten  minutes  the  bird  was  again  sitting  quite  happily. 
She  had  not  missed  the  egg. 


COBBLER  OR  TAILOR? 


f~  ""^HE  disagreement  between  the  popular  and 
the  scientific  name  of  the  tailor-bird 
(Orthotomus  sutorius)  must,  I  suppose,  be 
•^^  attributed  to  the  fact  that  the  average 
ornithologist  is  not  learned  in  the  Classics.  I  freely 
admit  that  I  did  not  notice  the  discrepancy  until  it  was 
pointed  out  to  me.  Orthotomus  sutorius  means,  not  the 
tailoring,  but  the  cobbling  Orthotomus.  It  was,  I 
believe,  Forester  who,  considerably  over  a  century  ago, 
gave  the  bird  the  specific  name  which  it  now  possesses, 
or  rather  the  allied  name,  sutoria.  If  he  wrote  this  in 
mistake  for  sartoria,  the  error  was  a  stroke  of  genius, 
since  the  bird  should  certainly  be  called  the  cobbler 
rather  than  the  tailor.  The  so-called  sewing  of  the  nest 
is  undoubtedly  a  great  performance  for  a  little  bird  that 
does  not  possess  a  workbox.  Nevertheless,  if  the  dirzie 
who  squats  in  the  verandah  did  not  work  more  neatly 
than  the  tailor-bird  he  would  soon  lose  his  place. 
Orthotomus  sutorius  does  not  sew  leaves  one  to 
another,  it  merely  cobbles  them  together,  much  as 
the  "boy"  cobbles  together  the  holes  in  his  master's 
socks. 

When  last  I  wrote  about  the  tailor-bird,  I  had  honestly 
to  admit  that  I  did  not  know  how  the  bird  did  its  work. 

62 


COBBLER   OR  TAILOR?  63 

My  attitude  towards  its  sewing  was  then  that  of  the 
child  who  sings — 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star, 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are  ! 

To-day  I  can  boast  with  the  learned  astronomer — 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star, 
Now  we  all  know  what  you  are  ! 

for  I  have  found  out  how  the  bird  does  its  sewing. 

Some  months  ago  Mr.  G.  A.  Pinto,  a  very  keen 
ornithologist,  informed  me  that  a  tailor-bird  built  regu- 
larly every  year  in  the  verandah  in  front  of  his  drawing- 
room  window.  He  told  me  that  he  had  never  thought 
of  watching  the  stitching  operation,  and  was  much 
surprised  when  I  informed  him  that,  so  far  as  I  knew, 
no  one  had  ever  observed  the  complete  process.  He 
said  that  as  the  bird  would  undoubtedly  begin  building 
shortly,  he  would  follow  the  whole  process  from  the 
other  side  of  the  window.  He  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
It  is  thanks  to  his  patient  watching  that  I  am  in  a 
position  to  pen  this  article.  Towards  the  end  of  May 
the  hen  tailor-bird  began  "prospecting"  for  a  likely  site, 
for  the  hen  alone  works  at  the  nest,  and  selected  a 
Dracana  plant  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  entrance  to 
the  verandah.  One  of  the  leaves  of  the  plant  was  so 
curved  that  its  terminal  half  was  parallel  with  the 
ground.  Upon  this  she  commenced  operations.  The 
first  thing  she  did  was  to  make  with  her  sharp  little 
beak  a  number  of  punctures  along  each  edge  of  the  leaf. 
In  this  particular  case  the  punctures  took  the  form  of 
longitudinal  slits,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  veins  of  the 


64  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Drac&na  leaf  run  longitudinally.  In  leaves  of  different 
texture  the  punctures  take  other  shapes.  Having  thus 
prepared  the  leaf,  she  disappeared  for  a  little  and 
returned  with  a  strand  of  cobweb.  One  end  of  this  she 
wound  round  the  narrow  part  of  the  leaf  that  separated 
one  of  the  punctures  from  the  edge  ;  having  done  this, 
she  carried  the  loose  end  of  the  strand  across  the  under 
surface  of  the  leaf  to  a  puncture  on  the  opposite  side, 
where  she  attached  it  to  the  leaf  and  thus  drew  the 
edges  a  little  way  together.  She  then  proceeded  to 
connect  most  of  the  other  punctures  with  those  opposite 
to  them,  so  that  the  leaf  took  the  form  of  a  tunnel  con- 
verging to  a  point.  The  under  surface  of  the  leaf  formed 
the  roof  and  sides  of  the  tunnel  or  arch.  There  was  no 
floor  to  this,  since  the  edges  of  the  leaf  did  not  meet 
below,  the  gap  between  them  being  bridged  by  strands 
of  cobweb.  This  was  a  full  day's  work  for  the  little 
bird,  and  more  than  sufficient  to  disqualify  her  for 
membership  in  any  trade  union. 

She  next  went  on  to  line  with  cotton  this  cul-de-sac 
which  she  had  made  in  the  leaf.  She,  of  course,  com- 
menced by  filling  the  tip,  and  the  weight  of  the  lining 
soon  caused  the  hitherto  horizontal  leaf  to  hang  down- 
wards, so  that  it  eventually  became  almost  vertical,  with 
the  tip  pointing  towards  the  ground.  When  lining  the 
nest  the  bird  made  a  number  of  punctures  in  the  leaf, 
through  which  she  poked  the  lining  with  her  beak,  the 
object  of  this  being  to  keep  the  lining  in  situ.  It  was 
Mr.  Pinto  who  first  called  my  attention  to  these  punc- 
tures in  the  body  of  the  leaf.  He  informed  me  that  he 
had  never  seen  a  tailor-bird's  nest  in  which  the  lining 


COBBLER  OR   TAILOR?  65 

did  not  thus  project  through  holes  in  the  leaf,  and  that 
when  searching  for  such  nests  he  always  looked  out 
for  this.  My  subsequent  observations  have  tended  to 
confirm  his  statement. 

All  this  time  the  edges  of  the  leaf  that  formed  the 
nest  had  been  held  together  by  the  thinnest  strands  of 
cobweb,  and  it  is  a  mystery  how  these  can  have  stood 
the  strain.  However,  before  the  lining  was  completed, 
the  bird  proceeded  to  strengthen  them  by  connecting 
the  punctures  on  opposite  edges  of  the  leaf  with  threads 
of  cotton.  Her  modus  operandi  was  to  push  one  end  of 
a  thread  through  a  puncture  on  one  edge  and  the  other 
end  through  a  puncture  on  the  opposite  edge  of  the  leaf. 
The  cotton  used  is  soft  and  frays  easily,  so  that  that 
part  of  it  which  is  forced  through  a  tiny  aperture  issues 
as  a  fluffy  knob,  which  looks  like  a  knot  and  is  usually 
taken  for  such.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  bird  makes 
no  knots ;  she  merely  forces  a  portion  of  the  cotton 
strand  through  a  puncture,  and  the  silicon  which 
enters  into  the  composition  of  the  leaf  catches  the 
soft,  minute  strands  of  the  cotton  and  prevents  them 
from  slipping. 

Every  one  must  have  noticed  how  brittle  a  dead  leaf  is. 
This  brittleness  is  due  to  the  silicon  which  is  deposited 
in  the  epidermis  of  the  leaf.  When  the  leaf  is  green  the 
silicon  is  not  so  obvious;  it  is  nevertheless  there.  Some 
leaves  take  up  more  silicon  than  others ;  grasses,  for 
example,  contain  so  much  that  many  will  cut  one's  hand 
if  roughly  plucked.  I  imagine  that  the  tailor-bird  usually 
selects  for  her  nest  a  leaf  or  leaves  in  which  there  is 
plenty  of  silicon.  Thus  the  bird  does  not  make  a  knot 
F 


66  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

as  is  popularly  supposed,  nor  is  there  any  necessity  for 
her  to  do  so.  Sometimes  the  connecting  threads  of 
cotton  are  sufficiently  long  to  admit  of  their  being 
passed  to  and  fro,  in  which  case  the  bird  utilises  the 
full  length. 

I  may  mention  that  when  the  nest,  the  building  of 
which  I  have  attempted  to  describe,  was  about  three 
parts  finished,  Mr.  Pinto  noticed  that  the  bird  had  ceased 
to  work  at  it.  He  was  surprised  and  disappointed.  He 
then  discovered  that  the  little  builder  was  at  work  on  a 
Draccena  plant  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  entrance  to 
the  verandah,  not  two  yards  distant  from  the  first  nest. 
He  was  much  astonished  at  the  strange  behaviour  of 
the  bird,  and  still  more  so  when,  the  next  day,  she  had 
resumed  work  at  her  first  nest,  which  she  completed, 
leaving  the  second  unfinished  at  the  stage  when  the 
punctures  had  been  made  and  the  edges  of  the  leaf 
drawn  together  by  strands  of  cobweb.  Presently  an 
explanation  of  the  bird's  unusual  behaviour  occurred  to 
him.  His  dog  which,  ordinarily,  is  chained  up  at  one 
end  of  the  verandah,  was,  on  the  day  the  tailor-bird  left 
her  first  nest,  fastened  up  in  the  middle  of  the  verandah, 
so  that  the  bird  while  working  at  her  nest  would  be 
within  its  reach.  She  evidently  objected  to  this,  so 
began  a  new  nest;  but  next  day,  when  the  dog  had  been 
removed,  she  returned  to  her  more  advanced  nursery. 
This  accident  of  chaining  up  the  dog  for  one  day  in  the 
middle  of  the  verandah  was  particularly  fortunate,  for  it 
enabled  me  to  examine  carefully  a  nest  in  an  early  state 
of  construction. 

This   account   must,   I   fear,  close  with   a  tragedy. 


COBBLER  OR  TAILOR?  67 

When  the  little  cobbler  had  been  sitting  on  her  eggs  for 
about  ten  days  one  of  the  garden  coolies  broke  them, 
out  of  mischief,  and  thought  he  had  done  a  clever  thing. 
He  is  now  a  sadder  if  not  a  wiser  rascal ! 


A    CROW    IN    COLOURS 


From  bough  to  bough  the  restless  magpie  roves, 
And  chatters  as  she  flies. 


1 


magpie  has  been  well  called  a  crow  in 
gay  attire.  The  two  species  are  related, 
and,  as  regards  character,  they  are  "  birds 
of  a  feather."  Both  are  bold,  bad  creatures, 
both  rogues,  thieves,  and  villains,  and,  as  such,  both 
appeal  to  me.  The  magpie  with  which  we  are  familiar 
in  England  can  scarcely  be  called  an  Indian  bird.  It 
does  disport  itself  in  happy  Kashmir,  and  has  been  seen 
in  the  uninviting  tract  of  land  over  which  the  Khan  of 
Khelat  presides.  But  India,  as  defined  in  the  Income 
Tax  Act,  extends  neither  to  Kashmir  nor  to  Baluchistan, 
hence  Pica  rustica  may  decline  to  be  considered  an 
Indian  subject.  In  this  land  of  many  trials  his  place 
is  taken  by  his  cousins  the  tree-pies.  One  of  these — 
the  Indian  tree-pie  (Dendrocita  rufa) — is  distributed 
throughout  the  plains  of  India,  at  least,  so  the 
books  tell  us.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  never  seen 
the  bird  in  or  about  Madras.  This  is  curious, 
for  Madras  is  a  garden  city  (I  speak  not  of  George- 
town), and  the  bird  ought  to  revel  in  the  well- 
wooded  compounds  which  beautify  the  capital  of  the 
Southern  Presidency.  Lest  its  absence  from  Madras 

68 


A   CROW   IN   COLOURS  69 

be  attributed  to  the  profession  tax,  let  me  say  that  the 
best  legal  authorities  are  of  opinion  that  the  bird  would 
not  be  liable  to  pay  the  tax.  Not  that  it  would  make 
any  difference  if  the  bird  were  liable.  If  I  know  him 
aright,  he  would  say  to  the  importunate  tax  collector, 
"  Go  and  get  your  hair  cut,"  or  words  to  that  effect. 
Nor  is  there,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  anything  in  the 
much-abused  climate  of  Madras  to  frighten  away  the 
bird.  Perhaps  the  doves  are  too  much  for  him.  If 
there  be  one  thing  more  than  another  calculated  to 
disturb  the  easily  upset  equilibrium  of  the  gentle  dove 
it  is  the  sight  of  a  tree-pie.  In  those  places  where  it 
occurs  you  may,  any  day  of  the  week,  see  one  of  these 
long-tailed  rascals  being  pursued  and  buffeted  by  a  pair 
of  irate  and  hysterically  screaming  doves.  In  this 
particular  case  the  doves  have  some  excuse  for  their 
anger.  The  tree-pie,  or  the  Indian  magpie  as  Jerdon 
calls  him,  is,  to  use  a  colloquialism,  dead-nuts  on  a  new- 
laid  egg  for  his  breakfast,  and,  as  doves  always  display 
their  oological  productions  on  a  shakedown  in  a  tree, 
and  as  I  defy  even  a  museum  ornithologist  to  discover 
any  trace  of  protective  colouration  about  the  aforesaid 
oological  treasures,  we  cannot  be  surprised  if  the  tree- 
pie  thinks  that  doves  lay  eggs  for  his  especial  benefit. 
Even  if  the  tree-pie  does  not  happen  to  have  been 
breakfasting  off  their  eggs  the  doves  have  ample  excuse 
for  chastising  him,  for  does  not  tradition  tell  us  that 
Noah's  curse  is  upon  the  bird?  The  rascal  flatly  re- 
fused to  enter  the  Ark  with  the  other  birds,  so  that  the 
Patriarch  had  actually  to  send  Japhet  to  catch  it ! 
Unfortunately,  the  tree-pie  does  not  draw  the  line 


70  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

at  eggs.  It  is  said  that  it  makes  no  bones  about 
devouring  a  young  bird.  I  have  never  seen  the  creature 
commit  this  enormity,  but  Jerdon  is  my  authority  for 
the  fact  that  "  Mr.  Smith "  has  known  a  bird  to  enter 
a  covered  verandah  of  a  house  and  nip  off  half  a  dozen 
young  geraniums,  visit  a  cage  of  small  birds,  begin  by 
stealing  the  grain,  and  end  by  killing  and  eating  the 
birds,  and  repeating  these  visits  daily  until  destroyed. 
Facilis  est  descensus  Averni. 

This  is  only  one  side  of  the  bird's  character.  I  have 
seen  a  tree-pie  literally  obey  the  Biblical  doctrine  of 
turning  the  smitten  cheek  to  the  smiter ;  nor,  so  far  as 
I  know,  did  it,  like  the  well-brought-up  boy,  after 
having  allowed  its  second  cheek  to  be  smitten,  take  off 
its  coat  and  thrash  the  smiter.  The  bird  in  question 
sat  motionless  on  a  branch  with  a  seraphic  smile  on  its 
face,  and  appeared  to  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  two 
little  furies,  in  the  shape  of  fantailed  flycatchers,  were 
making  puny  pecks  at  its  plumage. 

But  before  discoursing  further  upon  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  our  crow  in  colours,  let  me  describe  him. 
What  applies  to  him  applies  to  her.  To  the  human  eye 
there  is  no  external  difference  between  the  two  sexes. 
This  by  way  of  introduction.  The  tree-pie  is  a  foot 
and  a  half  long,  one  foot  being  tail  and  the  remaining 
inches  body.  The  head,  neck,  and  breast  are  sooty 
brown,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  remaining  plumage 
is  reddish  fawn.  The  wings  are  brown  and  silver-grey. 
The  tail  is  ashy  grey  broadly  tipped  with  black.  It  is 
impossible  to  mistake  a  tree-pie ;  there  is  no  other  bird 
like  it.  Its  flight  is  very  characteristic,  consisting  of  half 


A   CROW    IN   COLOURS  71 

a  dozen  rapid  flaps  of  the  wing  followed  by  a  little  sail. 
The  two  middle  tail  feathers  are  much  longer  than  the 
others,  the  pair  next  to  the  middle  ones  are  the  second 
longest,  and  the  outer  ones  shortest  of  all.  The  bird, 
like  all  others,  spreads  out  its  tail  during  flight,  and  the 
expanded  tail  gives  it  a  curious  appearance. 

The  Indian  tree-pie,  as  its  name  implies,  dwells 
principally  in  trees,  and  spends  most  of  its  time  in 
picking  insects  off  the  leaves  and  branches.  When 
fruit  is  in  season,  it  feeds  largely  on  that.  It  moves 
with  great  agility  from  branch  to  branch,  but  it  fre- 
quently descends  to  the  ground  to  feed  and  drink.  It 
does  not,  I  think,  ever  accompany  cattle,  as  does  our 
poor,  persecuted  magpie  at  home.  It  is  a  sociable  bird 
and  is  frequently  seen  in  little  companies  of  six  or 
seven. 

Like  all  socially  inclined  birds,  it  is  very  conver- 
sational. It  has  a  great  variety  of  notes,  many  of 
which  are  harsh  and  angry-sounding,  others  are 
whistling,  metallic  calls,  acceptable  to  the  human 
ear.  The  commonest  of  these  sounds  something  like 
coch-lee,  cock-lee.  If,  in  a  place  where  magpies  abound, 
you  hear  any  new  and  strange  cry,  you  are  tolerably 
safe  in  attributing  it  to  one  of  those  birds. 

The  Indian  pie  is  not  so  expert  a  nest-builder  as  its 
European  cousin.  This  latter,  it  will  be  remembered, 
builds  a  large  domed  structure  of  prickly  twigs  with  an 
entrance  at  one  side,  well  protected  by  thorns.  I  have 
not  been  able  to  discover  why  this  bird  is  at  such  pains 
to  protect  the  entrance  to  its  nursery.  It  is  so  aggres- 
sive and  pugnacious  that  no  sane  thing  in  feathers 


72  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

would  dream  of  attempting  to  rob  its  nest.  One 
ornithologist  has  put  forth  the  brilliant  suggestion 
that  the  protection  is  against  its  brother  magpies.  I 
cannot  accept  this,  for  I  take  it  as  an  axiom  that  where 
one  magpie  can  enter,  there  can  another.  We  must 
also  bear  in  mind  that  the  Indian  species  manage  to 
thrive  very  well  in  spite  of  their  roofless  nests. 


UP-TO-DATE  SPECIES  MAKING 


f~  ~"^HE  ornithological  world  is  peopled  by  two 
classes  of  human  beings.  There  are  those 
who  study  nature  inside  the  museum  with 
the  microscope  and  the  scalpel ;  and  there 
are  those  who  love  to  observe  birds  in  the  open  and 
study  their  habits.  The  former,  if  kept  in  their  place, 
perform  a  very  useful  function,  for  they  co-ordinate 
and  elaborate  the  observations  of  the  field  naturalist. 
They  should  be  most  useful  servants  to  him.  Unfor- 
tunately these  museum  men  are  growing  very  powerful, 
and,  like  trade  unions,  are  beginning  to  dictate  to  their 
masters.  Indeed,  they  bid  fair  to  become  the  masters 
and  turn  the  field  naturalists  into  their  slaves.  The 
chief  aim  of  the  arm-chair  or  museum  ornithologist 
appears  to  be  the  multiplication  of  new  species.  Nowa- 
days more  species  seem  to  be  brought  into  being  by 
these  men  than  by  natural  selection.  When  they  are 
not  manufacturing  new  species,  they  are  tampering  with 
those  that  already  exist. 

I  have  repeatedly  had  occasion  to  speak  of  the  marvel- 
lous, kaleidoscopic  changes  undergone  by  ornithological 
terminology — changes  which  are  the  despair  of  the  field 
naturalist.  I  am  not  a  statistician,  but  at  a  rough  guess 
I  should  say  that  every  species  of  bird  has  its  name 

73 


74  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

changed  about  once  in  each  decade.  The  object  of 
having  a  classical  terminology  is  that  naturalists  of  all 
countries  shall  have  a  common  name  for  every  bird  and 
beast,  and  thus  not  be  at  cross-purposes  when  con- 
versing or  corresponding.  But  this  object  is  most 
successfully  defeated  when  the  classical  name  is  con- 
tinually undergoing  alteration.  It  is  practically  im- 
possible for  any  one  but  the  professional  ornithologist 
to  keep  pace  with  these  changes.  A  poor  dilettante 
like  myself  has  not  a  look  in.  For  example,  I  received 
by  the  last  mail*  the  latest  issue  of  the  Avicultural 
Society's  Magazine  and  noticed  in  it  an  article  on  the 
collared  turtle-dove  of  Burma.  Wondering  what  this 
bird  might  be,  I  looked  at  its  scientific  name  and  found 
it  to  be  Turtur  decaocta.  I  looked  this  up  in  both  Jerdon 
and  the  Fauna  of  British  India^  but  could  not  find  it ; 
nor  could  I  see  any  mention  of  the  collared  turtle-dove. 
On  reading  through  the  paper  I  found,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, that  the  bird  referred  to  was  our  familiar  friend 
the  common  or  garden  Indian  ring-dove,  which  for 
years  has  been  called  Turtur  risorius.  Risorius  was  a 
name  good  enough  for  Jerdon,  Hume,  Vidal,  Legge, 
Barnes,  Reid,  Davison,  and  a  hundred  other  good 
ornithologists ;  but  because,  forsooth,  one  Salvadori 
would  like  a  change,  we  shall,  I  suppose,  be  obliged 
to  adopt  the  latest  new-fangled  appellation. 

The  museum  ornithologist  has  yet  another  craze. 
He  sees  that  there  must  be  some  limit  to  the  present 
multiplication  of  species,  so  he  has  hit  upon  the  brilliant 
idea  of  making  sub-species.  Just  as  the  inhabitants  of 

*  Written  towards  the  end  of  1906. 


UP-TO-DATE  SPECIES  MAKING  75 
every  town  and  village  have  little  local  peculiarities,  so 
have  birds  of  the  same  species  which  live  in  different 
provinces.  The  latest  idea  is  to  make  each  of  these  a 
different  sub-species  with  a  special  name  of  its  own. 
In  the  near  future  the  scientific  name  of  every  bird 
will  be  composed  of  three  parts,  the  generic,  the  spe- 
cific, and  the  sub-specific.  Thus  Mr.  T.  H.  Newman 
has  discovered  that  the  skin  round  the  eye  of  the 
ring-dove  of  Burma  is  not  whitish,  as  it  is  in  India, 
but  yellow  ;  Mr.  Newman  therefore  manufactures  a 
new  sub-species,  which  he  calls  Turtur  decaocta  xantho- 
cyclus  as  opposed  to  the  Indian  bird  which  he  calls 
Turtur  decaocta  douraca.  We  may  consider  ourselves 
lucky  that  he  has  not  made  a  new  species  of  the  Bur- 
mese bird  ! 

This  is  not  an  isolated  case.  Almost  every  unfor- 
tunate species  in  the  universe  is  being  split  up  into  a 
dozen  or  more  sub-species.  Any  local  variation  in  the 
colour  of  the  plumage  is  considered  sufficient  justifica- 
tion for  the  formation  of  a  sub-species,  and  we  shall 
undoubtedly,  ere  long,  hear  of  sub-sub-species  !  ! 

The  hopeless  thing  is  that  any  Juggins  can  make 
new  sub-species.  It  is  as  easy  as  falling  out  of  a  tree. 
Let  me  show  how  it  is  done.  Take  the  common  spar- 
row. This  pushing  little  bird,  this  "  feathered  Hooligan," 
as  Mr.  Finn  calls  him,  is  found  all  over  the  world,  and 
every  one  is  able  to  recognise  the  sparrow  wherever  he 
meets  him  as  the  same  bird  that  insults  people  in 
London.  But  the  sparrows  of  each  country  have  their 
little  peculiarities.  For  example,  the  cock  sparrow  in 
India  has  more  white  on  his  neck  than  his  brother  in 


;6  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

England.  Hence  we  may  make  a  sub-species  of  the 
Indian  bird  and  call  him  Passer  domesticus  indicus. 

Now,  close  and  patient  observation  during  a  pro- 
longed sojourn  in  Madras  has  convinced  me  that  the 
sparrow  in  the  Southern  Presidency  (I  will  no  longer 
call  it  the  Benighted  Presidency,  for  experience  has 
shown  me  that  there  are  other  parts  of  India  far  more 
benighted)  is  quite  twenty  per  cent,  more  impudent 
than  the  sparrows  in  Northern  India.  Hence  we  have 
no  option  but  to  make  a  sub-sub-species  of  him.  Let 
us  call  him  Passer  domesticus  indicus  maderaspatensis. 
We  may  go  even  a  step  further.  The  sparrows  that 
hold  chorus  along  the  ledges  of  the  iron  rafters  of  the 
Connemara  Hotel  are  far  more  insulting  and  exasper- 
ating than  any  other  sparrows  I  have  set  eyes  upon. 
This  surely  is  quite  sufficient  provocation  for  making  a 
sub-sub-sub-species  of  those  birds.  I  propose  to  call 
\htmPasserdomesticus  indicus  maderaspatensis  connemar a 
hotelwalla — a  name  which  I  am  sure  will  be  received 
with  acclamation  both  by  sparrows  and  human  beings. 

But  enough  of  this  foolery.  The  multiplication  of 
species  is  really  a  very  serious  matter,  for  it  is  likely  to 
deter  sane  persons  from  taking  up  the  most  delightful 
of  studies.  If  the  ornithological  societies  of  every 
country  in  the  world  would  combine  to  suppress  the 
evil,  it  could  easily  be  put  down.  But  there  is,  I  fear, 
no  likelihood  of  such  combination,  because  these  socie- 
ties are  composed  mostly  of  museum  ornithologists,  and 
it  is  too  much  to  expect  of  these  men  that  they  will 
voluntarily  suppress  their  chief  enjoyment  in  life.  To 
persuade  them  to  act  in  this  altruistic  manner  it  will  be 


UP-TO-DATE   SPECIES   MAKING          77 

necessary  to  offer  them  a  quid  pro  quo.  The  only  quid 
that  suggests  itself  to  me  is  to  invite  each  of  them  to 
name  a  bird  after  himself.  Let  the  name  of  every  known 
species  (I  mean  proper  and  indisputable  species)  be  put  in 
a  hat  and  let  each  member  draw  one  out.  The  bird  he 
draws  will  henceforth  be  called  after  him.  If  any  birds 
are  left  undrawn  after  every  man  has  shed  his  name  on 
one  species,  the  remainder  could  be  balloted  for,  and 
thus  some  lucky  dogs  would  be  able  to  give  their  name 
to  two  birds.  When  this  is  once  done,  it  should  be  made 
an  offence  punishable  with  death  to  change  the  specific 
name  of  any  feathered  thing.  Newly  discovered  birds 
and  beasts  could,  as  heretofore,  be  named  after  the  happy 
discoverer.  This  proposal  will,  if  adopted,  cure  the  evil. 
My  point  is  that  it  does  not  matter  a  jot  what  a  bird  be 
called  ;  the  important  thing  is  to  give  it  a  fixed  and 
immutable  name,  so  that  we  poor  field  naturalists  shall 
know  where  we  are. 


HONEYSUCKERS 

HONEYSUCKERS    are    birds    that   have 
adopted  the  manner  of  living  of  the  butter- 
fly, and  a  charming  mode  of  life  it  is.     To 
flit  about  in  the  sunshine  and  drink  sweet 
draughts  of  the  nectar  that  lies  hidden  away  at  the  base 
of  the  petals  of  flowers  is  indeed  an  idyllic  existence. 

The  sunbird,  as  the  honeysucker  is  frequently  called, 
is  provided  with  a  curved  beak  and  a  long  tubular 
tongue  to  enable  it  the  better  to  rob  cup-like  blossoms 
of  their  honey.  The  bird  must  perforce  be  very  small 
and  light,  or  it  would  find  it  impossible  to  reach  the 
nectar  of  many  flowers.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is 
almost  as  light  as  air,  so  is  able  to  support  itself  on  one 
flower  when  drinking  honey  from  another.  Sometimes, 
if  no  perch  be  available,  the  little  honeysucker  will 
hover  in  the  air  on  rapidly  vibrating  wings  and  thus 
extract  the  sweets  from  a  flower.  In  this  attitude  it 
looks  very  like  a  butterfly.  I  may  here  mention  that 
sunbirds  do  not  live  exclusively  upon  honey :  they 
vary  this  diet  with  minute  insects  which  they  pick  off 
flowers  and  leaves. 

Honeysuckers  are  frequently  called  humming-birds 
by  Anglo-Indians.  This  is  not  correct.  Humming- 
birds are  confined  to  the  New  World,  and  are  smaller 

78 


LOTEN'S  SUNBIRD.     (ARACHNEC-THKA  LOTEMA) 

(Note  the  long  curved  bill,  adapted  to  insertion  in  JJoivers) 


HONEYSUCKERS  79 

and  more  ethereal  than  our  little  honeysuckers,  but 
their  methods  of  feeding  are  so  similar  that  the  mistake 
is  a  pardonable  one. 

As  every  one  knows,  butterflies  and  bees,  in  return 
for  the  honey  they  receive,  render  service  to  the  flowers 
by  carrying  the  pollen  from  the  stamen  of  one  to  the 
stigma  of  the  other  and  thus  bring  about  cross-fertilisa- 
tion, which  most  botanists  believe  to  be  essential  to  the 
well-being  of  a  species.  Honeysuckers  probably  perform 
a  similar  service,  for,  as  they  flit  from  flower  to  flower, 
their  little  heads  may  be  seen  to  be  well  dusted  with 
yellow  pollen. 

Sunbirds  are  found  all  over  India,  but  they  are  most 
plentiful  in  the  South,  being  essentially  tropical  birds ; 
they  are  merely  summer  visitors  to  the  Punjab ;  when 
the  short,  cold  winter  days  come,  they  leave  that 
province  and  betake  themselves  to  some  milder  clime. 

Three  species  may  be  seen  in  our  Madras  gardens — 
Loten's,  the  purple,  and  the  yellow  honeysucker. 

Of  the  cocks  of  the  first  and  second  species  (Arach- 
nechthra  lotenia  and  A.  asiatica)  it  may  perhaps  be  said 
that  they  are  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  for  their 
plumage  is  a  deep,  rich  purple  with  a  sheen  and  a  gloss 
like  that  on  a  brand-new  silk  hat.  Sometimes  the  bird 
looks  black,  at  others  green,  and  more  frequently 
mauve,  according  to  the  intensity  of  the  light  and  the 
angle  at  which  the  sun's  rays  fall  upon  it.  It  is  not 
very  easy  to  distinguish  between  these  two  sunbirds 
unless  specimens  are  held  in  the  hand,  when  the  violet- 
black  abdomen  of  the  purple  species  can  be  easily 
distinguished  from  the  snuff-brown  lower  parts  of 


8o  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Loten's.  However,  the  latter  has  a  much  longer  and 
stouter  beak,  and  is  very  abundant  in  Madras,  while  the 
purple  bird  is  comparatively  rare,  so  that  the  Madrassi 
is  fairly  safe  in  setting  down  all  the  purple  birds  he  sees 
as  Loten's  honeysuckers.  If,  however,  he  espies  a  purple 
sunbird,  with  an  unusually  short  bill,  a  bird  that  sings 
like  a  canary,  he  may  be  certain  that  that  particular 
one  is  A.  asiatica.  If  the  cock  Loten's  sunbird  is 
clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  that  of  the  yellow 
species  (A.  zeylonicd)  may  be  said  to  be  arrayed  in  a 
coat  of  many  colours,  each  of  which  is  so  beautiful  as 
to  defy  imitation  by  the  painter.  There  is  a  patch  on 
the  crown  which  appears  metallic  lilac  in  some  lights 
and  emerald-green  in  others.  His  neck  and  upper  back 
are  dull  crimson,  the  lower  back,  chin,  and  throat  are 
brilliant  metallic  purple.  The  tail  and  wing  feathers 
are  dark  brown.  There  is  a  maroon  collar  below  the 
throat,  and  the  plumage  from  this  collar  downwards  is 
bright  yellow.  Verily,  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these. 

The  hens  of  all  three  species  are  homely-looking 
birds,  difficult  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other.  The 
upper  plumage  of  each  is  dingy  brown  and  the  lower 
parts  dull  yellow.  Many  ornithologists  declare  that 
sexual  dimorphism,  such  as  is  here  displayed,  is  due  to 
the  greater  need  of  the  hen  for  protection  when  sitting 
on  the  eggs.  These  people  allege  that  if  the  hens  of 
brightly  plumaged  species  were  as  showy  as  the  cocks, 
they  would  be  conspicuous  objects  when  brooding,  and 
so  fall  easy  victims  to  birds  of  prey.  This  is  a  theory 
typical  of  the  arm-chair  naturalist,  or  of  him  who  studies 


THE   YELLOW   SUNBIRD.       (ARACHNEC-THRA   ZEYLOXICA) 


HONEYSUCKERS  81 

nature  through  the  grimy  panes  of  a  museum  window. 
Like  all  such  theories,  it  is  tempting  at  first  sight,  but 
is  untenable  because  it  fails  to  take  cognisance  of  facts 
with  which  every  field-naturalist  should  be  acquainted. 
In  the  first  place,  birds  of  prey  rarely  attack  stationary 
objects  :  they  look  out  for  moving  quarry.  Secondly, 
the  cock  of  many  species,  such  as  the  paradise  flycatcher 
( Terpsiphone  paradisi),  although  he  is  far  more  showy 
than  the  hen,  sits  on  the  eggs  in  the  open  nest  quite  as 
much  as  she  does.  In  this  case  what  is  sauce  for  the 
goose  is  sauce  for  the  gander ;  if  she  needs  protective 
colouring,  so  does  he.  It  is  true  that  the  cock  sunbird 
never  takes  a  turn  on  the  nest ;  he  is  not  a  family  man, 
but  a  gay  young  spark,  who  goes  about  bravely  attired, 
with  his  hand  upon  the  handle  of  his  sword,  ready  to 
draw  it  upon  the  least  provocation.  A  more  pugnacious 
little  bird  does  not  exist.  While  the  hen  is  laboriously 
building  the  wonderful  little  nest,  he  spends  his  time  in 
drinking  and  revelry,  with  an  occasional  visit  to  the 
growing  nursery  to  criticise  its  construction.  Hence  it 
might  seem  that,  in  the  case  of  the  sunbird,  the  above- 
mentioned  explanation  of  the  sexual  dimorphism  is  the 
true  one.  Unfortunately,  the  nest  is  not  an  open  one, 
but  a  little  mango-shaped  structure  with  an  entrance  at 
the  side,  so  that  the  hen  when  sitting  in  it  is  not  visible 
from  above.  In  this  case,  therefore,  as  in  so  many 
others,  we  must  seek  a  new  explanation  of  this  difference 
in  the  appearance  of  the  cocks  and  hens. 

The  nest  is  in  shape  and  size  like  a  mango.  It 
hangs  down  from  the  end  of  a  branch,  or  any  other 
convenient  object.  It  is  composed  of  dried  grass, 


82  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

leaves,  cocoons,  bits  of  paper,  and  any  kind  of  rubbish, 
held  together  by  means  of  cobweb  and  some  glutinous 
substance.  There  is  an  entrance  at  the  side,  over 
which  is  a  little  porch  that  serves  to  keep  out  rain  and 
sun,  but  this  porch  is  seen  in  every  nest,  even  when  the 
bird  builds,  as  it  very  frequently  does,  in  a  verandah. 
A  sunbird  recently  made  its  nest  in  the  verandah  of  a 
friend  of  mine ;  the  latter  came  to  me  and  expressed  his 
contempt  for  the  intellect  of  the  little  architect,  since  she 
had  been  fool  enough  to  construct  a  porch,  although  the 
nest  was  built  under  cover.  He  forgot  that  the  building 
of  nests  is  largely  an  instinctive  act,  that  each  bird 
builds  on  a  fixed  plan,  learned  by  it  in  "  the  school  of 
the  woods." 

The  nest  is  cosily  lined  with  cotton  down.  No 
attempt  is  made  to  conceal  it ;  nevertheless  it  frequently 
escapes  the  notice  of  human  beings,  because  it  does  not 
look  like  a  nest ;  one  is  apt  to  mistake  it  for  a  mass  of 
dried  grass  and  rubbish  that  has  become  caught  in  a 
branch.  A  sunbird  in  my  compound  completely  covered 
her  nest  with  the  paper  shavings  that  had  once  formed 
the  packing  for  a  tin  of  biscuits.  The  khansamah, 
when  opening  the  tin,  had,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind, 
pitched  the  shavings  out  of  the  window  of  the  cook- 
house. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  predacious  creatures  mistake 
the  sunbird's  nest  for  a  mass  of  rubbish ;  but  it  is  so 
well  placed  that  they  cannot  get  at  it.  It  is  invariably 
situated  sufficiently  far  above  the  ground  to  be  out  of 
reach  of  a  four-legged  animal ;  it  hangs  from  an  out- 
standing branch  so  that  no  crow  or  kite  can  get  a 


NEST  OK  LOTEN'S  SUXBIRD 

(Notice  that  it  is  built  in  a  spider  s  ivelf) 


HONEYSUCKERS  83 

foothold  anywhere  near  it,  and  the  squirrel  who  ventured 
to  trust  himself  on  to  the  nest  would,  I  believe,  look 
very  foolish  when  attacked  by  the  owners. 

As  is  usually  the  case  with  birds  that  build  covered 
nests,  the  hen  is  not  at  all  shy.  If  her  nursery  happens 
to  be  in  a  verandah,  she  will  sit  in  it  with  her  head  out 
of  the  window,  and  watch  with  interest  the  owners  of 
the  bungalow  taking  afternoon  tea  three  feet  below  her. 


A    HEWER   OF   WOOD 

NOT  the  least  of  the  many  benefits  which 
birds  confer  upon  man  is  the  unceasing 
warfare  which  the  majority  of  them  wage 
upon  insects.    Insects  may  be  said  to  domi- 
nate the  earth ;    they  fill  every  nook  and  cranny  of  it, 
preying  upon  all  other  living  things  which  they  out- 
number.    If  this  is  the  state  of  affairs  when  hundreds  of 
millions  of  insects  are  devoured  daily  by  their  arch-foes, 
the  fowls  of  the  air,  what  would  it  be  were  there  no 
birds  ?      The  earth  would  certainly  not  be  inhabited  by 
men. 

Most  insectivorous  birds  specialise,  that  is  to  say,  lay 
themselves  out  to  catch  a  particular  class  of  insect. 
Swifts,  swallows,  and  flycatchers  have  developed  pheno- 
menal mastery  over  the  air,  so  prey  upon  flying  insects. 
Mynas,  hoopoes,  "  blue  jays,"  magpie-robins,  and  others 
feed  upon  the  hexapod  hosts  that  crawl  on  the  ground. 
Not  a  few  birds  confine  their  attention  to  the  creeping 
things  that  inhabit  the  bark  of  trees.  Such  are  the 
wryneck,  the  tree-creeper,  and  the  woodpecker.  Of 
these  the  woodpecker  is  chief.  A  mighty  insect  hunter 
is  he,  one  who  tracks  down  his  quarry  and  drags  him 
out  of  his  lair.  How  must  the  insects  which  lie  hidden 
away  in  the  crevices  of  the  bark  tremble  as  they  hear 

84 


A    HEWER   OF   WOOD  85 

this  feathered  Nimrod  battering  at  the  walls  of  their 
citadel ! 

No  bird  is  better  adapted  than  the  woodpecker  to  the 
work  which  nature  has  given  him.  He  is  a  perfect 
hunting  machine,  constructed  for  work  in  trees.  Note 
the  ease  with  which  he  moves  over  the  upright  trunk. 
His  sharp  claws  can  obtain  a  foothold  on  almost  any 
surface.  I  have  seen  a  golden-backed  woodpecker  hunt- 
ing insects  on  a  smooth  well-wheel ! 

His  tail,  which  is  short  and  composed  of  very  stiff 
feathers,  acts  almost  like  a  third  leg.  The  bristle-like 
feathers  stick  in  the  crevices  of  the  bark  and  enable  the 
bird  to  maintain  his  position  while  he  hammers  away 
with  might  and  main.  His  head  is  his  hammer  and  his 
beak  his  chisel.  The  chisel  is  fixed  rigidly  in  the 
hammer  so  that  none  of  the  force  of  the  blow  is  lost. 
It  is  exhilarating  to  watch  a  woodpecker  at  work.  He 
stands  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  the  tip  of  his  tail 
pressed  firmly  against  the  bark,  and  puts  all  he  knows 
into  each  stroke,  drawing  his  head  back  as  far  as  it  will 
go  and  then  letting  drive.  The  manner  in  which  his 
strokes  follow  one  another  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
clever  way  in  which  workmen  drive  an  iron  bar  into  a 
macadamised  road  by  raining  upon  it  blows  with  sledge- 
hammers. Almost  before  the  hammer  of  the  first  striker 
is  off  the  head  of  the  bar  the  second  has  struck  it,  this 
is  immediately  followed  by  the  hammer  of  the  third, 
then,  without  a  pause,  the  first  hammerer  gets  his 
second  blow  home,  and  so  they  continue  until  a  halt  is 
called.  As  a  small  boy  I  would  stand  for  hours  watch- 
ing the  operation.  I  am  ashamed  to  do  so  now,  so 


86  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

have  to  content  myself  with  observing  woodpeckers  at 
work  !  There  are  few  things  more  fascinating  to  watch 
than  an  operation  in  which  skill  and  brute  force  are 
deftly  combined. 

Even  more  useful  than  the  beak  as  a  weapon  is  the 
woodpecker's  tongue.  This  is  such  an  important  organ 
that  its  owner  is  known  in  some  parts  of  England  as  the 
tongue  bird.  It  is  so  long  that  there  is  a  special 
apparatus  at  the  back  of  the  bird's  head  for  stowing  it 
away.  Its  surface  is  studded  with  backwardly  pointing 
bristles  and  the  whole  covered  with  sticky  saliva. 
When  the  woodpecker  espies  a  crack  in  the  bark  it 
inserts  into  it  the  long  ribbon-like  tongue.  To  this  the 
luckless  insects  stick  and  are  ruthlessly  dragged  out  to 
their  doom. 

The  commonest  woodpecker  in  India  is  the  beautiful 
golden-backed  species  (Brachypternus  aurantius).  The 
head  and  crest  of  the  cock  are  bright  crimson,  the 
upper  back  is  a  beautiful  golden  yellow,  hence  the 
popular  name  of  the  bird.  The  lower  back  and  tail  are 
black ;  the  wing  feathers  are  black  and  golden  yellow, 
spotted  with  white,  and  the  sides  of  the  head  show  a 
white  background  on  which  there  is  a  network  of  black 
lines  and  streaks. 

The  hen  differs  from  the  cock  in  having  the  top  of 
the  head  black  with  small  white  triangular  spots. 

The  golden-backed  woodpecker  is  one  of  our  noisiest 
birds.  It  constantly  utters  its  loud  screaming  call,  which 
is  similar  to  that  of  the  white-breasted  kingfisher.  Its 
flight,  like  that  of  most,  if  not  all  woodpeckers,  is  labo- 
rious and  noisy,  the  whir  of  its  wings  being  audible  at  a 


A    HEWER   OF    WOOD  87 

considerable  distance.  The  bird  gives  one  or  two  vig- 
orous flaps  of  its  wings  and  thus  moves  in  an  upward 
direction,  then  it  sails  and  sinks ;  a  few  more  flaps  again 
send  it  upwards,  and  so  it  continues  until  it  reaches 
the  tree  trunk  for  which  it  is  bound. 

I  do  not  think  that  the  woodpecker  ever  takes  a 
sustained  flight.  It  is  seen  at  its  best  when  on  the  stem 
of  a  tree,  over  which  it  moves  with  wonderful  ease  in  a 
series  of  silent  jerks,  like  a  mechanical  toy.  It  always 
keeps  its  head  pointing  heavenwards  and  hops  or  jerks 
itself  upwards,  downwards,  or  sideways,  with  equal  ease, 
just  as  though  it  went  by  clockwork.  It  sometimes 
ventures  on  the  ground,  from  which  it  digs  out  insects. 
On  the  earth  it  progresses  in  the  same  jerky  manner. 

I  have  never  seen  a  woodpecker  sitting  like  an 
ordinary  bird  on  a  perch.  It  is  often  seen  on  branches, 
but  always  lengthwise,  never  sitting  across  the  branch. 
It  can  move  along  the  under  surface  of  a  horizontal 
bough  as  easily  as  a  fly  walks  on  the  ceiling. 

I  sometimes  wonder  how  woodpeckers  roost.  Do 
they  sleep  hanging  on  to  the  trunk  of  some  tree,  do  they 
sit  lengthwise  on  a  branch  as  a  nightjar  does,  or  do 
they  repair  to  some  hole?  I  should  be  inclined  to 
favour  the  last  of  these  alternatives  but  for  the  fact  that 
woodpeckers  seem  to  excavate  a  new  nest  every  year. 
This  would  not  be  necessary  if  each  bird  had  a  hole  in 
which  it  slept  at  night. 

Sometimes  the  bird  digs  out  the  whole  of  its  nest,  but 
this  is  not  usual.  The  woodpecker  belongs  to  the 
"  labouring  classes,"  and,  true  to  the  traditions  of  its 
caste,  it  is  averse  to  work,  so  generally  utilises  a  ready- 


88  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

made  cavity.  It  taps  away  at  tree  after  tree  until  it 
comes  upon  a  place  in  a  trunk  that  sounds  hollow ;  it 
then  proceeds  to  excavate  a  neat,  round  passage  leading 
to  this  hollow.  In  this  ready-made  cavity  it  deposits 
its  white  eggs,  not  troubling  to  add  any  lining  to  the 
nesting  chamber. 

Woodpeckers  in  England  suffer  much  at  the  hands  of 
rascally  starlings.  These  latter  nest  in  holes,  but  not  of 
their  own  making.  If  they  cannot  find  any  ready-made 
hollow  they  listen  for  the  hammering  of  a  woodpecker. 
They  wait  until  he  has  completed  the  nest,  and  then 
take  possession  while  his  back  is  turned.  When  the 
rightful  owner  returns  the  starling  looks  out  of  the 
entrance  with  finely  simulated  indignation  and  asks  the 
woodpecker  what  he  means  by  intruding.  In  vain  does 
the  latter  expostulate.  J*y  suis,  fy  reste  is  the  attitude 
of  the  starling.  The  result  is  that  our  feathered  car- 
penter, not  being  over-valorous,  retires  and  proceeds  to 
hew  out  another  nest.  Woodpeckers  in  India  do  not 
suffer  such  treatment,  for  starlings  do  not  breed  in  this 
country.  Their  cousins,  the  mynas,  are  not  so  im- 
pudent. The  only  Indian  birds  which  nest  in  holes,  and 
have  sufficient  impudence  to  eject  a  woodpecker,  are  the 
green  parrots ;  but  these  breed  in  January,  so  that  their 
family  cares  for  the  year  are  over  long  before  the  wood- 
pecker begins  nest  building. 


A    FEATHERED   SPRINTER 

WHICH  is  the  most  difficult  bird  to  shoot? 
You  may  put  this  question  to  a  dozen 
sportsmen  ;  probably  no  two  will  name 
the  same  bird,  and  each  will  be  able  to 
give  excellent  reasons  why  the  particular  fowl  he  men- 
tions is  the  hardest  to  hit.     The  reason  for  this  diversity 
of  opinion  is  simply  that  there  exists  no  bird  more 
difficult  to  shoot  than  all  others.     Even  as  beauty  is 
said  to  be  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  so  does  the  diffi- 
culty, or  otherwise,  of  shooting  any  particular  species 
depend  upon  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  would-be  slayer. 
To  some  shooters  all  birds,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  the  coot,  are  difficult  to  bring  down,  while  others  are 
able  to  make  every  flying  thing  appear  an  easy  mark. 

To  my  way  of  thinking  the  chukor  (Caccabis  chucar) 
takes  a  lot  of  hitting,  but  this  species  receives  much 
help  on  account  of  its  mountainous  habitat.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  hit  even  a  hoary  old  peacock  if  the  bird  gets  up 
when  you,  already  pumped  to  exhaustion  by  a  stiff 
climb,  are  engaged  in  scrambling  from  one  terraced 
field  to  another  with  your  gun  at  "  safe."  The  chukor, 
thanks  to  the  fact,  conclusively  proved  by  our  friend 
Euclid,  that  any  two  sides  of  a  triangle  are  greater 
than  the  third,  enjoys  so  great  an  advantage  over  the 

89 


90  BIRDS   OF   THE  PLAINS 

wingless  shikari  that  it  would  be  a  contemptible  creature 
were  it  not  difficult  to  shoot.  Were  I  the  leader  of  a 
covey  of  chukor,  I  should  thoroughly  enjoy  an  attempt 
to  shoot  me.  Having  taken  up  a  strategic  position 
near  the  summit  of  a  steep  hill,  I  should  squat  there  in 
full  view  until  the  sportsman  had  by  laborious  effort 
climbed  to  a  spot  some  hundred  and  twenty  yards  from 
where  I  was  sitting ;  I  should  then  gracefully  retire  with 
my  retinue  across  the  khud  to  the  opposite  hill,  and 
watch  with  interest  the  shooter  clamber  down  one 
limb  of  an  isosceles  triangle  and  swarm  up  the  other. 
Some  time  before  he  had  completed  the  operation  I 
should  again  proceed  to  give  him  a  practical  demonstra- 
tion of  the  fact  that  the  base  of  certain  triangles  is  con- 
siderably shorter  than  the  sum  of  the  other  two  sides. 

If  you  take  away  from  the  chukor  his  natural  ad- 
vantages I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  grey  partridge 
(Francolinus  pondicerianus)  is  the  more  difficult  bird  to 
shoot.  This  species  is  common  in  most  parts  of  India, 
yet  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  heard  of  any  one 
making  a  big  bag  of  grey  partridge.  Some  there  are 
who  say  that  the  bird  is  not  worth  shooting.  If  these 
good  folk  mean  that  the  shooting  of  the  partridge  in- 
volves so  large  an  expenditure  of  ammunition  as  to 
deter  them  from  the  undertaking  I  am  inclined  to  agree 
with  them.  Given  a  fair  field  in  the  shape  of  a  plain 
well  studded  with  prickly  pear,  there  is,  in  my  opinion, 
no  bird  more  difficult  to  hit  than  the  grey  partridge.  It 
is,  like  all  game  birds  proper,  a  very  rapid  flier  for  a 
short  distance.  But  it  is  not  so  much  this  which  makes 
it  hard  to  shoot  as  the  rapidity  with  which  it  can  run 


TEN'S  SUNBIRD  (HEN)  ABOUT  TO  ENTER  NEST 


A   FEATHERED   SPRINTER  91 

along  the  ground  and  the  close  manner  in  which  it  lies 
up.  According  to  Mr.  Lockwood  Kipling,  the  grey 
partridge,  as  it  runs,  "  suggests  a  graceful  girl  tripping 
along  with  a  full  skirt  well  held  up."  In  a  sense  the 
simile  is  a  good  one,  for  the  lower  plumage  of  the 
partridge  is  curiously  "  full,"  and  so  does  make  the  bird 
look  as  though  it  were  holding  up  its  skirts.  But  until 
graceful  young  ladies  are  able  to  gather  up  their  ample 
skirts  and  sprint  the  "  hundred  "  two  or  three  yards  in- 
side "  level  time,"  it  will  be  inaccurate  to  compare  the 
tripping  gait  of  the  one  to  the  speedy  motion  of  the 
other.  The  grey  partridge  is  a  winged  sprinter,  a 
feathered  Camilla.  It  can  for  a  short  distance  hold  its 
own  comfortably  against  a  galloping  horse.  Frequently 
have  I  come  upon  a  covey,  feeding  in  the  open  and 
giving  vent  to  the  familiar  call,  and  have  immediately 
proceeded  to  stalk  it  in  the  hopes  of  obtaining  a  couple 
of  good  shots.  Before  getting  within  range,  one  of  the 
birds  invariably  "  spots  "  me  and  gives  the  alarm.  The 
calling  immediately  ceases  and  the  partridges  walk 
briskly  to  cover.  The  instant  they  disappear  I  dash 
towards  the  cover,  hoping  to  surprise  and  flush  them, 
but  they  run  three  yards  to  my  two,  and  by  the  time  I 
reach  the  bushes  into  which  they  betook  themselves 
they  are  laughing  at  me  from  afar. 

Then  the  way  in  which  a  partridge  will  sometimes  lie 
up  in  comparatively  thin  cover  is  remarkable.  One 
day,  when  shooting  snipe  at  sunrise,  I  surprised  a 
partridge  feeding  in  a  field.  I  fired,  but  apparently  did 
not  hit  the  bird,  for  it  disappeared  into  a  clump  of  palm 
trees  and  prickly  pear.  Taking  up  a  position  close  to 


92  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

this  clump,  I  instructed  my  beaters  to  throw  stones  into 
it.  This  they  did,  but  half  a  dozen  stones,  to  say 
nothing  of  as  many  chunks  of  clay  and  the  most 
frantic  yells  and  shouts,  elicited  no  response  from  the 
partridge.  I  therefore  moved  on,  and  the  moment  I  had 
turned  my  back  on  the  clump  the  bird  flew  out !  This 
is  typical  of  my  experience  as  a  partridge  shooter  ;  the 
birds  almost  invariably  get  up  from  cover  at  a  moment 
when  I  cannot  possibly  take  a  shot  at  them.  Well 
might  I  sing  with  Cowper — 

I  stride  o'er  the  stubble  each  day  with  my  gun 
Never  ready  to  shoot  till  the  covey  is  flown. 

For  these  reasons  partridge  shooting  is  to  me  a  par- 
ticularly exasperating  form  of  sport.  There  are  few 
things  more  annoying  than  to  hear — "the  partridge 
burst  away  on  whirring  wings,"  from  a  bush  on  which 
you  have  just  turned  your  back  after  having  thrown 
into  it  half  the  contents  of  a  ploughed  field  ! 

I  am  not  a  bloodthirsty  individual,  and  enjoy  watching 
birds  through  a  field-glass  quite  as  much  as,  if  not  more 
than,  shooting  them  with  a  gun,  but  there  is  something 
in  the  call  of  the  grey  partridge  which  makes  me  want 
to  shoot  him.  His  shrill  "pateela,  pateela,  pateela," 
seems  to  be  a  challenge.  Grahame  sings — 

Cheerily 
The  partridge  now  her  tuneless  call  repeats. 

For  "  cheerily  "  write  "  cheekily  "  and  you  have  a  good 
description  of  the  call  of  our  Indian  grey  partridge, 
which  may  be  heard  in  Madras  every  morning  during 
the  winter  months. 


A   FEATHERED   SPRINTER  93 

This  bird  does  not  build  an  elaborate  nest.  There  is 
no  necessity  for  it  to  do  so.  A  nest  is  a  nursery  in 
which  young  birds  are  for  a  time  sheltered  from  the 
dangers  that  beset  them  in  the  world.  When  they  have 
developed  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  look  after  them- 
selves they  leave  the  nest. 

It  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  gallinaceous 
family  of  birds,  which  includes  grouse,  poultry,  pea-  and 
guinea-fowl,  pheasants,  turkeys,  and  quail,  that  their 
young  are  able  to  run  about  almost  immediately  after 
issuing  from  the  egg.  They  are  born  covered  with 
down,  and  are  thus  at  first  very  unlike  their  parents. 
They  are  in  reality  larvse,  that  is  to  say,  embryonic 
forms  which  are  able  to  fend  for  themselves  with  little 
or  no  assistance  from  their  parents.  They  change  into 
the  adult  form,  not  hidden  away  in  a  nursery,  but  in  the 
open  world. 

The  nest,  then,  of  the  partridge  is  a  very  in- 
significant affair.  It  is  usually  a  depression  in  the 
ground,  so  shallow  as  to  be  barely  perceptible,  and 
always  well  concealed  in  a  bush  or  tuft  of  grass.  Some- 
times the  eggs  are  laid  on  the  bare  soil,  but  more  usually 
the  depression  is  lined  with  grass  or  leaves.  Occasionally 
the  lining  is  so  thick  as  to  form  a  regular  pad.  From 
six  to  nine  whitish  eggs  are  laid.  These  do  not  match 
the  ground  or  material  on  which  they  lie,  hence  cannot 
be  considered  as  examples  of  protective  colouring. 
Their  safety  depends  on  the  fact  that  they  are  hidden 
away  under  a  bush  or  tuft  of  grass.  The  hen,  too,  is  a 
very  close  sitter,  and  her  plumage  assimilates  well  with 
the  surroundings  of  the  nest. 


A  BIRD  OF  CHARACTER 

1HAVE  hinted  more  than  once  at  the  possibility 
of  there  being  some  understanding  between  the 
architect  of  my  bungalow  and  the  feathered  folk. 
On  this  hypothesis  alone  am  I  able  to  account  for 
the  presence  of  a  rectangular  hole  in  the  porch,  about 
eight  feet  above  the  level  of  the  ground,  a  hole  caused 
by  the  deliberate  omission  of  one  or  two  bricks.  The 
scramble  for  this  cavity  by  those  species  of  birds  which 
build  in  holes  is  as  great  as  that  of  Europeans  to  secure 
bungalows  in  a  Presidency  town.  Last  year  a  pair  of 
spotted  owlets  (Athene  brama)  secured  the  prize  and 
reared  up  a  noisy  brood  of  four.  These  were  regarded 
with  mingled  feelings  by  the  human  inhabitants  of  the 
bungalow.  On  the  one  hand,  a  bird  more  amusing  than 
the  clownish  little  owlet  does  not  exist,  on  the  other, 
it  is  excessively  noisy.  Each  member  of  the  family  talks 
gibberish  at  the  top  of  its  voice,  sixteen  to  the  dozen, 
and  as  all  will  persist  in  speaking  at  once,  the  result  is  a 
nocturnal  chorus  that  will  bear  comparison  with  the 
efforts  of  the  cats  which  enliven  the  Londoner's  back 
yard. 

This  year  a  couple  of  mynas  (Acridotheres  tristis) 
secured  the  highly  desirable  nesting  site.  Immediately 
on  entering  into  possession  they  proceeded  to  cover  the 

94 


THE    INDIAN    SPOTTED   OWLET.       (ATHENE    KRAM.\) 


A   BIRD   OF   CHARACTER  95 

floor  of  the  cavity  with  a  collection  of  rubbish,  com- 
posed chiefly  of  rags,  grass,  twigs,  and  bits  of  paper. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  arranging  this  rubbish,  it  was 
bundled  pell-mell  into  the  hole  and  four  pretty  blue 
eggs  were  laid  on  top  of  it. 

One  might  suppose  that  the  more  intelligent  the  bird 
the  greater  the  degree  of  architectural  skill  it  would  dis- 
play. This,  however,  is  not  the  case.  Were  it  so,  crows, 
nynas,  and  parrots  would  build  palatial  nests. 

Mynas  do  not  always  nestle  in  holes  in  buildings ; 
:hey  are  content  with  any  kind  of  a  cavity,  whether  it  be 
!n  a  building,  a  tree,  or  a  sandbank.  In  default  of  a  hole 
:hey  are  content  with  a  ledge,  provided  it  be  covered 
vith  a  roof.  A  few  years  ago  a  pair  of  mynas  reared 
jp  a  brood  on  a  ledge  in  the  much-frequented  verandah 
)f  the  Deputy  Commissioner's  Court  at  Fyzabad. 

To  return  to  the  nest  in  my  porch.  The  eggs  in  due 
:ourse  gave  rise  to  four  nestlings  of  the  ordinary  ugly, 
:riangular-mouthed,  alderman-stomached  variety.  When 
;hey  were  nearly  ready  to  leave  the  nest  I  took  away 
;wo  of  them  by  way  of  rent  for  the  use  of  my  bungalow. 
Fhis  action  was  in  complete  accord  with  oriental  custom, 
.n  India  the  landlord  has,  from  time  immemorial,  taken 
rom  his  tenants  a  portion  of  their  produce  as  rent  or 
and  revenue.  The  Congress  will  doubtless  declare  that 
n  levying  50  per  cent,  of  the  family  brood  I  assessed 
he  family  too  highly ;  but  I  defy  even  a  Bengali  orator 
o  take  33  per  cent,  of  four  young  mynas.  I  might,  it  is 
rue,  have  assessed  the  rent  at  25  per  cent,  but  the  life 
>f  a  solitary  myna  cannot  be  a  very  happy  one,  so  I  took 
:wo,  a  cock  and  a  hen. 


96  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

To  the  ordinary  observer  the  cock  myna  is  as  like  the 
hen  as  one  pea  is  like  any  other  pea.  To  one,  however, 
who  has  an  eye  for  such  things,  the  bigger  head  and  more 
massive  body  of  the  cock  render  him  easily  recognisable 
when  in  company  with  his  sisters.  The  brood  consisted 
of  two  cocks  and  two  hens,  so  that  I  made  a  fair  division. 
Some  there  are  who  may  question  the  ethics  of  my 
action.  I  would  remind  such  that,  incredible  as  it  may 
seem,  the  parent  birds,  in  all  probability,  did  not  miss 
the  two  young  ones.  Birds  cannot  count.  Even  the 
wily  crow  is  unable  to  "  spot "  the  extra  egg  which  the 
koel  has  surreptitiously  introduced  into  the  nest.  It  is,  of 
course,  possible  that  although  those  mynas  could  not 
count,  they  missed  the  two  young  birds  to  the  extent  of 
noticing  that  something  was  wrong  with  their  brood. 
If  they  did  all  I  can  say  is  that  they  concealed  their 
feelings  in  an  admirable  manner,  for  they  continued  to  feed 
the  remaining  young  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
If  it  be  thought  incredible  that  the  young  birds  were  not 
missed,  is  it  not  equally  hard  to  believe  that  not  one  of 
the  lower  animals  can  tell  the  difference  between  two  and 
three?  If  a  dog  has  three  bones  before  him  and  you 
remove  one  of  them,  he  will  not  miss  it  unless  he  sees 
you  remove  it ! 

A  chaprassi  was  appointed  to  nurse  my  two  young 
mynas,  with  instructions  to  keep  them  until  they  should 
become  somewhat  more  presentable.  At  the  end  of  three 
weeks  they  were  adjudged  fit  to  appear  in  public,  being 
somewhat  smaller  and  rather  lanky  editions  of  their 
parents,  with  the  patch  behind  the  eye  white  instead 
of  yellow.  Having  been  taken  from  the  nest  they  were 


A   BIRD   OF   CHARACTER  97 

perfectly  tame,  showing  no  fear  of  man,  and  readily 
accepting  food  from  the  hand. 

Young  nestlings  display  no  fear  of  man,  and  do  not 
appear  to  mind  being  handled  by  a  human  being ;  but 
as  they  grow  older  they  learn  to  fear  all  strange 
creatures,  hence  it  is  that  captive  birds  taken  from 
the  nest  are  always  tamer  than  those  which  are 
caught  after  they  are  fledged.  It  was  amusing  to  see 
the  way  in  which  my  young  mynas  ran  towards  the 
chaprassi when  he  called  "  Puppy,  puppy."  "  Puppy"  is 
apparently  a  term  applied  by  native  servants  indis- 
criminately to  any  kind  of  pet  kept  by  a  sahib. 

Mynas  make  excellent  pets  because  they  are  so  alert 
and  vivacious,  and,  above  all,  because  they  have  so 
much  character. 

A  myna  is  a  self-assertive  bird,  a  bird  that  will  stand 
no  nonsense. 

I  know  of  few  things  more  amusing  than  to  witness  a 
pair  of  mynas  give  a  snake  a  bit  of  their  minds  as  they 
waltz  along  beside  it  in  a  most  daring  manner. 

Owing  to  the  self-assertion  of  the  myna  he  is  apt  to 
be  quarrelsome. 

Street  brawls  are,  I  regret  to  say,  by  no  means 
uncommon.  In  these  two  or  three  mynas  attack  one 
another  so  fiercely  that  they  get  locked  together  and 
roll  over  and  over — a  swearing,  struggling  ball  of  brown, 
yellow,  and  white. 

The  myna,  although  by  no  means  a  songster,  is  able 
to  emit  a  great  variety  of  notes,  all  of  which  must  be 
familiar  to  every  Anglo-Indian. 

A  bird  which  can  produce  a  large  number  of  sounds 
H 


98  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

is  almost  invariably  a  good  mimic,  and  the  common 
myna  is  no  exception  to  this  rule.  In  this  respect, 
however,  he  does  not  compare  favourably  with  the 
grackles  or  hill-mynas,  as  they  are  commonly  called. 
These  can  imitate  any  sound,  from  the  crack  of  a  whip 
and  the  exhortations  of  a  bullock-cart  driver  to  the 
throat-clearing  operation  in  which  our  Indian  brethren 
so  frequently  indulge. 


SWIFTS 

SWIFTS  are  extraordinary  birds ;  there  are  no 
others  like  unto  them;  they  are  the  most  mys- 
terious of  the  many  mysterious  products   of 
natural  selection;  their  athletic  feats  transcend 
the  descriptive  powers  of  the  English  language.     What 
adjective  is  there  of  suitable  application  to  a  bird  that 
speeds  through  the  air  without  an  appreciable  effort  at 
the  rate  of  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  that  traverses  a 
thousand  miles  every  day  of  its  existence  ? 

These  wonderful  birds  are  everywhere  common,  yet 
much  of  their  life  history  requires  elucidation. 

Probably  not  one  man  in  fifty  is  able  to  distinguish 
between  a  swallow  and  a  swift.  Some  think  that  "swift" 
and  "swallow"  are  synonymous  terms,  while  others 
believe  that  a  swift  is  a  kind  of  black  swallow.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  swift  differs  more  widely  from  the 
swallow  than  the  crow  does  from  the  canary.  There  is, 
it  is  true,  a  very  strong  professional  likeness  between 
the  swift  and  the  swallow,  but  this  likeness  is  purely 
superficial  ;  it  is  merely  the  resemblance  engendered  by 
similar  modes  of  obtaining  a  livelihood.  Both  swallows 
and  swifts  feed  exclusively  on  minute  insects  which  they 
catch  upon  the  wing,  hence  both  have  a  large  gape, 
light,  slender  bodies,  and  long,  powerful  wings.  But 
speedy  though  it  be,  the  swallow  is  not  in  the  same 

99 


ioo  BIRDS   OF  THE  PLAINS 

class  with  the  swift  as  a  flyer.  When  both  birds  are 
in  the  hand  nothing  is  easier  than  to  tell  a  swift  from 
a  swallow  or  a  martin.  The  latter  have  the  ordinary 
passerine  foot,  which  consists  of  three  forwardly  directed 
toes  and  a  backwardly  directed  one.  This  foot  enables 
a  bird  to  perch,  so  that  one  frequently  sees  swallows 
seated  on  telegraph  wires.  But  one  never  sees  a  swift 
on  a  perch,  because  all  its  four  toes  point  forward.  It 
cannot  even  walk.  It  spends  its  life  in  the  air.  It  eats 
and  drinks  on  the  wing,  it  does  everything,  except 
sleeping  and  incubating,  in  the  air. 

But  it  is  not  often  that  one  has  a  swallow  or  swift 
in  the  hand  ;  it  is  difficult  to  get  near  enough  to  them 
to  put  salt  on  the  tail,  so  that  it  is  necessary  to  have 
some  means  of  distinguishing  them  when  sailing  through 
the  air.  There  is  a  very  marked  difference  in  the  manner 
in  which  these  birds  use  their  wings.  This  is  inimitably 
described  by  Mr.  E.  H.  Aitken :  "As  a  swallow  darts 
along,  its  wings  almost  close  against  its  sides  at  every 
stroke,  and  it  looks  like  a  pair  of  scissors  opening  and 
shutting.  Now  a  swift  never  closes  its  wings  in  this 
way.  It  whips  the  air  rapidly  with  the  points  of  them, 
but  they  are  always  extended  and  evenly  curved  from 
tip  to  tip  like  a  bow,  the  slim  body  of  the  bird  being  the 
arrow."  As  a  swift  speeds  through  the  air  it  looks  some- 
thing like  an  anchor,  with  a  short  shaft  and  enormous 
flukes.  If  this  be  borne  in  mind,  it  is  scarcely  possible 
to  mistake  a  swift  for  a  swallow.  Swifts  are  abundant  in 
Calcutta,  but  one  is  not  likely  to  come  across  a  swallow 
there  except  when  the  moon  happens  to  be  blue. 

The  two  swifts  commonly  seen  in  Calcutta  are  the 


SWIFTS  ,  :    Mi' 

Indian  swift  (Cypselus  affinis)  and  the  palm  swift  (C. 
batassiensis). 

The  latter  need  not  detain  us  long.  It  is  a  small 
and  weak  edition  of  the  former.  It  builds  a  cup- 
shaped  nest  on  the  under  side  of  the  great  fan-like 
leaves  of  the  toddy  palm. 

The  Indian  swift  is,  in  size  and  appearance,  much 
like  the  swift  which  visits  England  every  summer,  except 
for  the  fact  that  it  has  a  white  patch  on  the  lower  part 
of  the  back.  The  chin  is  white,  but  all  the  rest  of  the 
plumage,  with  the  exception  of  the  above-mentioned 
patch,  is  black  or  smoky  brown. 

This  bird  nests  in  colonies  in  the  verandahs  of  houses 
and  inside  deserted  buildings.  The  nest  is  a  cup- 
shaped  structure,  usually  built  under  an  eave  in  the 
angle  which  a  roof-beam  makes  with  the  wall.  Thus 
the  swift  finds,  ready-made,  a  roof  and  a  couple  of  walls, 
and  has  merely  to  add  the  floor  and  remaining  walls, 
in  one  of  which  it  leaves  a  hole  by  way  of  entrance  to 
the  nursery.  Thus  the  swift  reverses  the  usual  order 
of  things,  which  is  to  erect  a  nest  on  some  foundation 
such  as  a  branch  or  ledge. 

As  we  have  seen,  all  four  toes  of  the  swift  are  for- 
wardly  directed  and  each  is  terminated  by  a  sharp 
hook-like  claw.  Thus  the  swift  is  able  to  cling  with 
ease  to  such  a  vertical  surface  as  that  of  a  wall,  and  is 
therefore  quite  independent  of  any  ledge  or  perch. 
The  nest  is  a  conglomeration  of  grass,  straw,  and 
feathers,  which  are  made  to  adhere  to  one  another,  and 
to  the  building  to  which  the  nest  is  attached,  by  the 
cement-like  saliva  of  the  bird. 


BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

Some  species  of  swift  build  their  homes  entirely  of 
their  glutinous  saliva,  and  so  manufacture  "edible  birds' 
nests."  The  Indian  swift,  however,  utilises  all  manner 
of  material  by  way  of  economising  its  saliva. 

Nest  building  is  a  slow  process.  Each  tiny  piece  of 
material  has  to  be  separately  stuck  on  to  the  structure, 
and  the  saliva,  which  is,  of  course,  liquid  when  first 
secreted,  takes  about  five  minutes  to  dry.  During  the 
whole  of  this  time  the  bird  remains  motionless,  holding 
in  situ  whatever  it  is  adding  to  the  structure. 

I  once  timed  a  pair  of  swifts  at  work,  and  found  that 
on  an  average  they  took  forty-five  minutes  in  bringing 
each  new  piece  of  material.  Much  of  this  time  was  un- 
doubtedly spent  in  seeking  for  food,  for  so  active  a  bird 
as  the  swift  must  have  an  enormous  appetite,  and, 
as  it  feeds  on  the  minutest  of  insects,  must  consume 
thousands  of  them  in  the  course  of  the  day,  each  of  which 
has  to  be  caught  separately.  But,  even  allowing  for 
this,  the  rate  at  which  the  material  is  added  is  very 
slow.  Some  naturalists  declare  that  the  swift  is  unable 
to  pick  anything  off  the  ground.  If  this  be  so,  the  labour 
of  obtaining  material  must  be  great,  for  the  creature 
must  fly  about  until  it  espies  a  feather  or  piece  of  straw 
floating  in  the  air. 

I  am  not  yet  in  a  position  to  say  whether  it  is  really 
impossible  for  the  bird  to  pick  anything  from  off  the 
ground.  I  have  never  seen  it  do  so,  and  it  is  a  fact 
that  the  birds  will,  when  building,  eagerly  seize  anything 
floating  in  the  air.  On  the  other  hand,  the  helplessness 
of  the  swift  when  placed  upon  the  ground  has  been 
much  exaggerated.  It  is  said  that  the  bird,  if  put  upon 


SWIFTS  103 

a  flat  surface,  is  unable  to  rise  and  will  remain  there 
until  it  dies.  Quite  recently  some  Indian  swifts  were 
brought  to  me  and  I  placed  one  of  them  on  my  desk. 
In  less  than  twenty  seconds  the  bird  was  flying  about 
in  the  room.  Then,  again,  the  grasping  powers  of  its 
hook-like  claws  have  been  somewhat  magnified.  The 
bird  in  question  made  several  unsuccessful  attempts  to 
cling  on  to  the  whitewashed  wall,  and  eventually  fell 
to  the  floor,  where  it  was  seized  and  then  liberated  in 
the  open.  It  flew  off  none  the  worse  for  its  adventure. 
Nevertheless,  its  claws  are  very  sharp ;  the  bird  in 
question  stuck  them  quite  unpleasantly  into  me  when  I 
held  it.  A  swift  can  certainly  cling  to  any  vertical 
surface  that  is  the  least  rough. 

Unlike  most  birds,  swifts  use  their  nests  as  houses 
and  sleep  in  them  at  night.  One  frequently  hears 
issuing  from  the  rafters  in  the  dead  of  night  the 
piercing  scream  so  characteristic  of  swifts.  This 
disposes  of  the  silly  story,  so  prevalent,  that  at  evening 
time  the  swifts  mount  into  the  higher  layers  of  the 
atmosphere  and  there  sleep  on  the  wing. 

In  conclusion,  I  must  mention  the  characteristic 
flight  of  swifts  just  before  sundown.  The  birds  close 
the  day  in  what  has  been  called  "  a  jubilant  rout "  ;  as 
if  they  had  not  already  taken  sufficient  exercise,  they  fly 
at  a  breakneck  pace  round  about  the  building  in  which 
their  nests  are  placed,  dodging  in  and  out  of  the  pillars 
of  the  verandah,  and  fill  the  air  with  their  shivering 
screams.  This  seems  to  be  a  characteristic  of  swifts 
wherever  they  are  found. 


BIRDS   AS   AUTOMATA 


j          "^HE   sudden    change   that   comes    over   the 

nature  of  most  birds  at  the  nesting  season  is, 

perhaps,  the  most  wonderful  phenomenon 

in   nature.       Active,    restless   birds,   which 

normally  spend  the  whole  day  on  the  wing,  are  content 

to  sit  motionless  in  a  cramped  position  upon  the  nest  for 

hours  together.     Birds  of  prey,  whose  nature  it  is  to 

devour  every  helpless  creature  that  comes  within  their 

grasp,  behave  most  tenderly  towards  their  young,  actually 

disgorging  swallowed  food  in  order  to  provide  them  with 

a  meal.     Timid  birds  become  bold.    Those  which  under 

ordinary  circumstances  will  not  permit  a  human  being 

to  approach  near  them,  will  sometimes,  while  brooding, 

actually  allow  themselves  to  be  lifted  off  the  nest. 

At  the  breeding  season  intelligence,  which  counsels 
self-preservation,  gives  way  before  the  parental  instinct, 
which  causes  birds  to  expose  themselves  to  danger,  and, 
in  some  cases,  even  to  sacrifice  their  lives  for  the  sake  of 
their  offspring. 

From  the  construction  of  the  nest  until  the  time  when 
the  young  ones  are  fledged  the  actions  of  the  parent 
birds  are,  at  any  rate  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  nest, 
those  of  automata,  rather  than  of  creatures  endowed  with 
intelligence. 

104 


BIRDS   AS   AUTOMATA  105 

On  this  hypothesis  alone  are  many  of  the  actions  of 
nesting  birds  comprehensible. 

That  the  construction  of  the  nest  is  in  the  main  an 
instinctive  habit  and  not  the  result  of  intelligence  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that  a  bird  which  has  been  hatched 
out  in  an  incubator  will,  at  the  appointed  season,  build 
a  nest.  If  birds  were  not  guided  by  instinct  they  would 
never  take  the  trouble  to  do  such  a  quixotic  thing. 
What  benefit  can  they  derive  from  laboriously  collecting 
a  number  of  twigs  and  weaving  them  into  a  nest  ? 

It  is,  of  course,  natural  selection  that  has  originated 
this  instinct ;  for  those  species  in  which  the  parental 
instinct  is  not  developed,  or  in  which  there  is  not  some 
substitute  for  it,  must  inevitably  perish.  When  once 
this  instinct  has  taken  root  natural  selection  will  tend 
to  perpetuate  it,  since  those  species  which  take  the 
best  care  of  their  young  are  those  which  are  likely  to 
survive  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 

Many  instances  can  be  adduced  to  show  how  auto- 
matic are  the  actions  of  birds  at  the  nesting  season. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  bird  lays  an  egg  and 
then  proceeds  to  build  a  nest  on  top  of  it. 

Again,  some  birds  do  not  know  their  own  eggs. 
A  whole  clutch  of  different  ones  may  be  substituted  for 
those  upon  which  the  bird  is  sitting  and  the  bird  will 
not  discover  the  change. 

The  well-known  bird -photographer,  Mr.  R.  Kearton, 
was  desirous  of  obtaining  a  good  photograph  of  a 
sitting  thrush,  and  as  he  was  afraid  that  her  eggs  would 
be  hatched  before  a  fine,  sunny  day  presented  itself,  had 
some  wooden  dummies  made.  These  he  painted  and 


io6  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

varnished  to  look  like  those  of  the  thrush,  and  put  them 
in  the  nest,  wondering  whether  the  bird  would  be  de- 
ceived. He  need  not  have  wondered ;  she  would  probably 
have  sat  upon  the  shams  even  had  they  not  been 
coloured. 

Upon  another  occasion  Mr.  Kearton  replaced  some 
starling  nestlings  by  his  wooden  eggs,  and  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.  "  In  a  few  minutes,"  he  writes, 
"back  came  the  starling  with  a  rush.  She  gazed  in 
wonder  at  the  contents  of  the  nest  for  a  few  seconds, 
but,  quickly  making  up  her  mind  to  accept  the  strangely 
altered  condition  of  things,  she  sat  down  on  the  bits  of 
painted  wood  without  a  trace  of  discontent  in  either 
look  or  action.  Putting  her  off  again,  I  reversed  the 
order  of  things  and  waited.  Upon  returning,  the  starling 
stared  in  amazement  at  the  change  that  had  come  over 
the  scene  during  her  absence ;  but  her  curiosity  soon 
vanished,  and  she  commenced  to  brood  her  chicks  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  way."  Then  Mr.  Kearton  took  out 
the  chicks  and  put  his  fist  into  the  nest,  so  that  the  back 
of  his  hand  was  uppermost.  The  starling  actually 
brooded  his  knuckles.  We  must,  of  course,  remember 
that  a  starling's  nest  is  in  a  hole,  where  there  is  but  little 
light.  But,  provided  the  starling  could  not  see  him,  I 
believe  that  she  would  have  brooded  his  knuckles  in 
broad  daylight. 

Crows,  the  most  intelligent  of  birds,  will  sit  upon  and 
try  to  hatch  golf  balls  and  ping-pong  balls.  One  famous 
kite  in  Calcutta  sat  long  and  patiently  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  make  a  pill-box  yield  a  chick,  while  another  member 
of  this  species  subjected  a  hare's  skull  to  similar  treat- 


BIRDS   AS   AUTOMATA  107 

ment.  Upon  one  occasion  I  took  a  robin's  egg  that  was 
quite  cold  and  placed  it  among  the  warm  ones  in  a 
blackbird's  nest.  The  hen  came  and  brooded  the  egg 
along  with  her  own  without  appearing  to  notice  the 
addition,  although  it  was  much  smaller  than  her  eggs 
and  of  a  totally  different  colour. 

In  the  same  way,  if  a  set  of  nestlings  of  another  species 
be  substituted  for  those  already  in  the  nest,  the  parent 
birds  will  usually  feed  the  new  family  without  noticing 
the  change.  Instinct  teaches  a  bird  to  brood  all  in- 
animate objects  it  sees  in  the  nest  and  to  feed  all  living 
things,  whether  they  be  its  own  offspring  or  not,  and 
many  birds  blindly  obey  this  instinct.  It  is,  of  course, 
to  the  advantage  of  the  species  that  this  should  be  so. 
For  it  is  only  on  very  rare  occasions  that  foreign  objects 
get  into  a  nest,  and  nature  cannot  provide  for  such 
remote  contingencies. 

Similarly,  instinct  will  not  allow  a  bird  to  pay  any 
attention  to  objects  outside  the  nest,  even  though  these 
objects  be  the  bird's  own  offspring. 

As  everybody  knows,  the  common  cuckoo  nestling 
ejects  its  foster-brethren  from  the  nest,  and  if  the  true 
parents  were  able  to  appreciate  what  had  happened, 
how  much  sorrow  among  its  victims  would  the  cuckoo 
cause  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  sorrow  at  all  is  caused. 
Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  the  parent  birds  do  not  miss 
the  young  ones,  nor  do  they  appear  to  see  them  as  they 
lie  outside  the  nest.  In  this  connection  I  cannot  do 
better  than  quote  Mr.  W.  H.  Hudson,  who  was  able  to 
closely  observe  what  happened  when  a  young  cuckoo 
had  turned  a  baby  robin  out  of  the  nest.  "  Here," 


io8  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

writes  Hudson,  "the  young  robin  when  ejected  fell  a 
distance  of  but  five  or  six  inches,  and  rested  on  a  broad, 
light  green  leaf,  where  it  was  an  exceedingly  con- 
spicuous object ;  and  when  the  mother  robin  was  on 
the  nest — and  at  that  stage  she  was  on  it  the  greater 
part  of  the  time — warming  that  black-skinned,  toad- 
like,  spurious  babe  of  hers,  her  bright,  intelligent  eyes 
were  looking  full  at  the  other  one,  just  beneath  her, 
which  she  had  grown  in  her  body  and  had  hatched  with 
her  warmth,  and  was  her  very  own.  I  watched  her  for 
hours  ;  watched  her  when  warming  the  cuckoo,  when 
she  left  the  nest,  and  when  she  returned  with  food  and 
warmed  it  again,  and  never  once  did  she  pay  the  least 
attention  to  the  outcast  lying  there  close  to  her.  There 
on  its  green  leaf  it  remained,  growing  colder  by  degrees, 
hour  by  hour,  motionless,  except  when  it  lifted  its  head 
as  if  to  receive  food,  then  dropped  it  again,  and  when  at 
intervals  it  twitched  its  body  as  if  trying  to  move. 
During  the  evening  even  these  slight  motions  ceased, 
though  the  feeblest  flame  of  life  was  not  yet  extinct ; 
but  in  the  morning  it  was  dead  and  cold  and  stiff;  and 
just  above  it,  her  bright  eyes  upon  it,  the  mother  robin 
sat  on  the  nest  as  before  warming  the  cuckoo." 

Even  those  actions  of  nesting  birds  which  appear  to 
be  most  intelligent  can  be  shown  to  be  merely  automatic. 
Take,  for  example,  the  curious  habit  of  feigning  injury, 
which  some  birds  have,  when  an  enemy  approaches  the 
young,  in  order  to  distract  attention  from  them  to  itself 
and  thus  enable  them  to  seek  cover  unobserved.  This 
surely  seems  a  highly  intelligent  act.  But  birds  some- 
times act  thus  before  the  eggs  are  hatched,  and  by  so 


BIRDS   AS   AUTOMATA  109 

doing  actually  attract  attention  to  the  eggs.  This  action 
is  purely  instinctive,  and  is  perpetuated  and  strengthened 
by  natural  selection  because  it  is  beneficial  to  the  race. 

We  have  seen  how  at  the  nesting  season  all  a  bird's 
normal  actions  and  instincts  are  subordinated  to  those  of 
incubation.  It  is  therefore  but  reasonable  to  suppose 
the  incubating  bird  to  be  in  a  very  peculiar  and  excitable 
state,  a  state  bordering  on  insanity. 

A  bird  in  this  condition  might  be  expected  to  go  into 
something  resembling  convulsions  on  the  approach  of 
an  enemy,  and,  provided  its  acts  under  such  circum- 
stances tended  to  help  the  offspring  to  escape,  and  were 
at  the  same  time  not  sufficiently  acute  to  cause  the 
mother  bird  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  enemy,  natural 
selection  would  tend  to  perpetuate  and  fix  such  actions. 

Want  of  space  prevents  further  dilation  upon  this 
fascinating  subject. 

To  sum  up  the  conclusions  I  desire  to  emphasise.  A 
bird  has  during  the  greater  part  of  its  life  only  to  look 
after  itself,  and  the  more  intelligent  it  be  the  better  will 
it  do  this,  hence  natural  selection  tends  to  increase  the 
intelligence  of  birds.  But,  at  certain  seasons,  it  becomes 
all-important  to  the  species  that  the  adults  should  attend 
to  their  young,  even  at  risk  to  themselves.  To  secure 
this  Nature  has  placed  inside  birds  a  force,  dormant  at 
most  times,  which  at  periodic  intervals  completely  over- 
rides all  normal  instincts,  a  force  which  compels  parent 
birds  to  rivet  their  attention  on  the  nest  and  its  contents. 
Thus  the  sudden  conversion  of  birds  into  automata  is  a 
necessity,  not  a  mere  whim  of  Dame  Nature.  The 
instinct  is  not  of  very  long  duration  ;  for  as  soon  as  the 


no  BIRDS   OF  THE  PLAINS 

young  are  able  to  fend  for  themselves,  the  parents  some- 
times behave  in  what  seems  to  human  beings  a  most 
unnatural  way :  they  drive  off  their  offspring  by  force. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  behaviour  is  quite  natural ;  it 
is  dictated  by  Nature  for  the  benefit  of  the  species. 
Strong  as  the  maternal  instinct  is,  it  is  liable  to  be  over- 
ridden by  stronger  instincts,  such  as  that  of  migration. 
When  the  time  for  the  migratory  journey  comes  round, 
the  parent  birds  will  desert,  without  apparently  a  pang 
of  remorse,  or  even  a  thought,  the  broods  for  whose 
welfare  they  have  been  slaving  day  and  night.  This 
desertion  of  later  broods  by  migratory  birds  is  far 
commoner  than  is  generally  supposed.  In  1826  Mr. 
Blackwell  inspected  the  house-martins'  nests  under  the 
eaves  of  a  barn  at  Blakely  after  the  autumnal  migration 
of  these  birds.  Of  the  twenty-two  nests  under  the  eaves 
inspected  on  nth  November,  no  fewer  than  thirteen 
were  found  to  contain  eggs  and  dead  nestlings. 


PLAYING   CUCKOO 

ORNITHOLOGICAL  experience  led  me 
some  time  back  to  the  belief  that  at  the 
nesting  season  a  bird  becomes  a  creature 
of  instinct,  an  organism  whose  actions  are, 
for  the  time  being,  those  of  a  machine,  a  mere  auto- 
maton. This  view,  which  has  been  set  forth  in  the 
preceding  article,  is  not  held  by  all  naturalists.  I  there- 
fore determined  to  undertake  a  systematic  series  of 
experiments  with  a  view  to  putting  it  to  the  test.  In 
other  words,  I  decided  to  play  cuckoo.  I  selected  the 
Indian  crow  (Corvus  splendens]  as  the  subject  of  my 
experiments,  because  it  is  the  most  intelligent  of  the 
feathered  folk.  If  it  can  be  proved  that  when  on  the 
nest  the  actions  of  this  bird  are  mechanical,  it  will  follow 
that  the  less  intelligent  birds  are  likewise  mere  automata 
when  incubating.  Another  reason  for  selecting  the  crow 
as  my  victim  is  that  I  have  been  investigating  the 
habits  of  the  koel  (Eudynamis  honorata),  which  is  para- 
sitic on  the  crow,  and  in  so  doing  have  had  to  visit  a 
large  number  of  crows'  nests. 

The  crow  lays  a  pale  blue  egg  blotched  with  brown, 
while  the  egg  of  the  koel  is  a  dull  olive-green  also  blotched 
with  brown.  It  is  considerably  smaller  than  the  crow's 
egg.  I  have  seen  dozens  of  koel's  eggs,  but  never  one  that 

in 


H2  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

a  human  being  could  possibly  mistake  for  that  of  a  crow, 
yet  our  friend  Corvus  is  unable  to  detect  the  strange  egg 
when  deposited  in  the  nest  and  sits  upon  it.  It  is  not  that 
birds  are  colour-blind.  The  koel  is  able  to  distinguish 
its  own  egg  from  that  of  the  crow,  for,  after  it  has 
deposited  its  egg,  it  frequently  returns  to  the  nest  and 
removes  one  or  more  of  the  crow's  eggs !  I  am  con- 
vinced that  ordinarily  a  crow  would  have  no  difficulty  in 
distinguishing  between  the  two  kinds  of  egg ;  but  at  the 
nesting  time  it  throws  most  of  its  intelligence  to  the 
winds  and  becomes  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  its  in- 
stincts, which  are  to  sit  upon  everything  in  the  nest. 

I  have  myself  placed  koel's  eggs  in  crows'  nests,  and 
in  every  case  the  crow  has  incubated  the  eggs.  On  one 
occasion  I  came  upon  a  crow's  nest  containing  only  two 
koel's  eggs.  As  the  nest  was  some  way  from  my  bunga- 
low and  in  an  exposed  situation,  I  knew  that,  the 
moment  I  left,  it  would  be  robbed  by  some  mischievous 
native  boy,  so  I  took  the  eggs  and  placed  them  in  a 
crow's  nest  in  my  compound.  This  already  contained 
three  crow's  eggs,  two  of  which  I  moved,  substituting 
the  koel's  eggs  for  them.  The  crow's  eggs  had  only 
been  laid  three  or  four  days,  but  the  koel's  eggs  were 
nearly  incubated,  since  both  yielded  chicks  on  the  third 
day  after  I  placed  them  in  the  nest.  If  nesting  crows 
think,  that  pair  must  have  been  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  speedy  appearance  of  the  chicks ! 

In  all,  I  have  placed  six  koel's  eggs  in  four  different 
crow's  nests,  and  as  I  have  already  said,  in  no  single 
instance  did  the  trick  appear  to  be  detected.  In  the 
majority  of  cases,  I  did  not  trouble  to  keep  the  number 


PLAYING  CUCKOO  113 

of  eggs  in  the  nest  constant.  I  merely  added  the  koel's 
egg  to  those  already  in  the  nest. 

But  I  have  put  my  theory  to  a  much  more  severe  test. 
In  a  certain  crow's  nest  containing  two  eggs  I  put  a 
large  fowl's  egg.  This  was  cream-coloured  and  fully 
three  times  the  size  of  the  crow's  egg,  yet  within  ten 
minutes  the  crow  was  sitting  comfortably  on  the 
strange  egg.  She  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  con- 
siderable addition  to  her  clutch.  She  subsequently 
laid  three  more  eggs,  so  that  she  had  six  eggs  to  sit 
upon,  five  of  her  own  and  the  large  fowl's  egg!  Day 
after  day  I  visited  the  nest  and  watched  the  progress  of 
the  strange  egg.  On  the  twentieth  day  the  chick  inside 
was  moving,  but  when  I  went  to  the  nest  on  the  twenty- 
first  day  I  discovered  that  some  one  had  climbed  the 
tree,  for  several  branches  were  broken.  Two  young 
crows  had  been  taken  away  and  the  fowl's  egg  thrown 
upon  the  ground.  There  it  lay  with  a  fully  formed  black 
chicken  inside!  I  have  that  chicken  in  a  bottle  of 
spirit.  Subsequent  inquiry  showed  that  the  dhobi's  son 
had  taken  it  upon  himself  to  spoil  my  experiment. 
However,  it  went  sufficiently  far  to  prove  that  crows 
may  one  day  become  birds  of  economic  value ;  why 
not  employ  them  as  incubators  ?  Had  the  crow  come 
across  that  chick's  egg  anywhere  but  in  its  nest,  it 
would  undoubtedly  have  made  its  breakfast  off  it. 

I  repeated  the  experiment  in  another  nest.  This 
time  the  chick  hatched  out.  When  it  appeared  the 
rage  of  the  crows  knew  no  bounds.  With  angry 
squawks  the  scandalised  birds  attacked  the  unfortunate 
chick,  and  so  viciously  did  they  peck  at  it  that  it  was 
I 


114  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

in  a  dying  state  by  the  time  my  climber  reached  the 
nest. 

With  a  view  to  determining  at  what  stage  the  incu- 
bating instinct  secures  its  dominance,  I  placed  another 
fowl's  egg  in  a  crow's  nest  that  was  almost  ready  to  re- 
ceive eggs,  wondering  whether  the  presence  of  this  egg 
would  stimulate  the  crow  to  lay,  without  troubling  to 
give  the  final  touches  to  the  nest.  The  bird  devoured 
the  egg.  It  is  my  belief  that  the  acts  of  a  nesting  bird 
do  not  become  completely  automatic  until  it  has  laid 
an  egg  in  the  nest.  If  one  visits  a  crow's  nest  which  is 
in  course  of  construction,  the  owners  will  as  likely  as 
not  desert  it ;  but  I  have  never  known  a  crow  desert  its 
nest  when  once  it  has  laid  an  egg — provided,  of  course, 
he  who  visits  the  nest  leaves  any  eggs  in  it. 

In  another  nest  containing  two  crow's  eggs  I  placed 
a  golf  ball ;  on  returning  next  day  I  found  the  crow 
sitting  tight  upon  her  own  two  eggs  and  the  golf  ball ! 

But  in  another  case,  where  I  had  found  two  eggs  and 
substituted  for  them  a  couple  of  golf  balls,  the  crow 
refused  to  sit.  I  suppose  the  idea  was,  "  I  may  be  a  bit 
of  a  fool  when  I  am  nesting,  but  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as 
all  that!"  I  once  came  across  a  young  koel  and  a  crow's 
egg  in  a  nest.  I  removed  the  former  and  placed  it  in  a 
crow's  nest  containing  four  crow's  eggs.  The  owner  of 
the  nest  showed  no  surprise  at  the  sudden  appearance 
of  the  koel,  but  set  about  feeding  it  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way.  The  young  koel  was  successfully  reared ; 
it  is  now  at  large  and  will  next  year  victimise  some 
crow.  I  may  say  that  no  human  being  could  possibly 
fail  to  distinguish  between  a  young  koel  and  a  young 


THE    INDIAN    PADDY    BIRD.       (ARDEOLA    GRAYIl) 


PLAYING  CUCKOO  115 

crow.  When  first  hatched  the  koel  has  a  black  skin, 
the  crow  a  pink  one.  The  mouth  of  the  crow  nestling 
is  an  enormous  triangle  with  great  fleshy  flaps  at  the 
side ;  the  mouth  of  the  koel  is  much  smaller  and  lacks 
the  flaps.  The  feathers  arise  very  differently  in  each 
species,  and  whereas  those  of  the  crow  are  black,  those 
of  the  koel  are  tipped  with  russet  in  the  cock  and  white 
in  the  hen. 

In  another  nest  containing  a  young  koel  (put  there 
by  me)  and  two  crow's  eggs,  I  placed  a  paddy  bird's 
(Ardeola grayii]  egg,  hoping  that  the  gallant  crow  would 
hatch  it  out  and  appreciate  the  many-sidedness  of  her 
family.  She  hatched  out  the  egg  all  right,  at  least 
I  believe  she  did.  I  saw  it  in  the  nest  the  day  before  the 
young  paddy  bird  was  due ;  but  when  I  visited  the  nest 
the  following  morning  neither  egg  nor  young  bird  was 
there.  It  would  seem  that  the  crow  did  not  appreciate 
the  appearance  of  the  latest  addition  to  the  family  and 
destroyed  it.  It  is,  of  course,  possible  that  the  young 
koel  declined  to  associate  with  such  a  neighbour  and 
killed  it ;  but  I  think  that  the  crow  was  the  culprit,  for 
I  had  previously  placed  a  paddy  bird  nestling,  four 
days  old,  in  a  crow's  nest  containing  only  young  crows, 
and  the  paddy  bird  had  similarly  disappeared. 

These,  then,  are  the  main  facts  which  my  game  of 
cuckoo  has  brought  to  light.  They  are  not  so  decisive 
as  I  had  expected.  They  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
actions  of  birds  with  eggs  or  young  are  not  quite  so 
mechanical  as  I  had  supposed.  Were  they  not  largely 
mechanical  a  crow  would  never  hatch  out  a  koel's  egg, 
nor  would  it  feed  the  young  koel  when  hatched  out ;  it 


Ii6  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

would  not  incubate  a  fowl's  or  a  paddy  bird's  egg,  and 
it  would  assuredly  decline  to  sit  upon  a  golf  ball.  On 
the  other  hand,  were  the  acts  of  nesting  birds  altogether 
mechanical,  the  young  paddy  birds  would  have  been 
reared  up,  and  the  substitution  of  two  golf  balls  for  two 
eggs  would  not  have  been  detected.  There  is  apparently 
a  limit  to  the  extent  to  which  intelligence  is  subservient 
to  blind  instinct. 


THE    KOEL 

AjLO-INDI  ANS  frequently  confound  the  koel 
with  the  brain-fever  bird.  There  is  certainly 
some  excuse  for  the  mistake,  for  both  are 
cuckoos  and  both  exceedingly  noisy  crea- 
tures ;  but  the  cry  of  the  koel  (Eudynamis  honorata) 
bears  to  that  of  the  brain-fever  bird  or  hawk-cuckoo 
{Hierococcyx  varius)  much  the  same  relation  as  the 
melody  of  the  organ-grinder  does  to  that  of  a  full 
German  band.  Most  men  are  willing  to  offer  either  the 
solitary  Italian  or  the  Teutonic  gang  a  penny  to  go  into 
the  next  street,  but,  if  forced  to  choose  between  them, 
select  the  organ-grinder  as  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils. 
In  the  same  way,  most  people  find  the  fluty  note  of  the 
koel  less  obnoxious  than  the  shriek  of  the  hawk-cuckoo. 

The  latter  utters  a  treble  note,  which  sounds  like 
"  Brain  fever."  This  it  is  never  tired  of  repeating.  It 
commences  low  down  the  musical  scale  and  then  as- 
cends higher  and  higher  until  you  think  the  bird  must 
burst.  But  it  never  does  burst.  When  the  top  note 
is  reached  the  exercise  is  repeated. 

The  koel  is  a  bird  of  many  cries.  As  it  does  not,  like 
the  brain-fever  bird,  talk  English,  its  notes  are  not  easy 
to  reproduce  on  paper.  Its  commonest  call  is  a  cres- 
cendo kuil,  kuil,  kuil,  from  which  the  bird  derives  its 

117 


ii8  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

popular  name.  This  cry  is  peculiar  to  the  cock.  The 
second  note  is,  to  use  the  words  of  Colonel  Cunningham, 
"an  outrageous  torrent  of  shouts,  sounding  like  kiik,kuu, 
ktiu,  ktiu,  ktiu,  kuu,  repeated  at  brief  intervals  in  tones 
loud  enough  to  rouse  the  '  Seven  Sleepers.' "  The  koel 
is  nothing  if  not  impressive.  He  likes  to  utter  this  note 
just  before  dawn,  when  all  the  world  is  still.  As  the 
bird  calls  chiefly  in  the  hot  weather,  when  it  frequently 
happens  that  the  hour  before  sunrise  is  almost  the  only 
one  in  the  twenty-four  in  which  the  jaded  European  can 
sleep,  this  note  is  productive  of  much  evil  language  on 
the  part  of  the  aforesaid  European. 

The  koel's  third  cry  is  well  described  by  Cunningham 
as  a  mere  cataract  of  shrill  shrieks — heekaree,  karees. 
This  is  heard  mostly  when  the  hen  is  fleeing  for  dear 
life  before  a  pair  of  outraged  crows.  So  much  for  the 
voice  of  the  koel,  now  for  a  description  of  the  singer. 
The  cock  is  a  jet-black  bird  with  a  green  bill  and  a  red 
eye.  The  hen  is  speckled  black  and  white,  with  the  eye 
and  beak  as  in  the  cock.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  the 
koel  is  a  little  larger  than  the  "  merry  cuckoo,  messenger 
of  spring  "  which  visits  England,  and  it  is  impossible  not 
to  recognise  the  bird. 

This  cuckoo,  like  many  of  its  relatives,  does  not  hatch 
its  own  eggs.  It  cuckolds  crows.  This  is  no  mean 
performance,  for  the  crow  is  a  suspicious  creature.  It 
knoweth  full  well  the  evil  which  is  in  its  own  heart,  and 
so,  judging  others  by  itself,  watches  unceasingly  over  its 
nest  from  the  time  the  first  egg  is  deposited  therein 
until  the  hour  when  the  most  backward  young  one  is 
able  to  fly.  Now,  a  koel  is  no  match  for  a  crow  in  open 


THE   KOEL  119 

fight,  hence  it  is  quite  useless  for  the  former  to  attempt 
by  means  of  force  to  introduce  its  egg  into  the  crow's 
nest.  It  is  obliged  to  resort  to  guile.  The  cock 
entices  away  the  crows,  and  while  they  are  absent  the 
hen  deposits  her  egg. 

Crows  appear  to  dislike  the  cry  of  the  koel  quite  as 
much  as  men  do.  But  whereas  man  is  usually  content 
with  swearing  at  the  noisy  cuckoo,  crows  attack  it  with 
beak  and  claw  whenever  an  opportunity  offers.  This 
fact  is  turned  to  account  by  the  koel.  The  cock  alights 
in  a  tree  near  a  crow's  nest  and  begins  to  call.  The 
owners  of  the  nest,  sooner  or  later,  "  go  for  "  him.  He 
then  takes  to  his  wings,  continuing  to  call,  so  as  to 
induce  the  crows  to  prolong  the  chase.  As  he  is  a 
more  rapid  flier  than  they,  he  does  not  run  much  risk. 
While  the  irate  corvi  are  in  pursuit,  the  hen  koel,  who 
has  been  lurking  around,  slips  into  the  nest  and  there 
lays  her  egg.  If  she  is  given  time  she  destroys  one  or 
more  of  those  already  in  the  nest.  She  does  this,  not 
because  the  crows  would  detect  the  presence  of  an 
additional  egg,  but  in  order  that  her  young,  when 
hatched,  will  not  be  starved  owing  to  the  large  number 
of  mouths  to  feed. 

Crows,  although  such  clever  birds, are,  as  we  have  seen, 
remarkably  stupid  at  the  nesting  season.  They  are 
unable  to  distinguish  the  koel's  egg  from  their  own, 
although  the  former  is  considerably  smaller,  with  an 
olive-green  background  instead  of  a  bluish  one ;  and 
when  the  young  koel  emerges  from  the  egg,  they  are 
unable  to  differentiate  between  it  and  their  own  off- 
spring, although  baby  koels  are  black  and  baby  crows 


120  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

pink,  when  first  hatched  out.  The  koel  nestling  has 
one  point  in  common  with  young  crows,  and  that  is  a 
large  mouth  of  which  the  inside  is  red.  This  is  opened 
wide  whenever  a  parent  approaches,  so  that  the  latter 
sees  nothing  but  a  number  of  yawning  caverns ;  thus 
there  is  some  excuse  for  its  failure  to  distinguish  between 
the  true  and  the  spurious  nestlings. 

To  return  to  the  koel  who  is  laying  her  egg  in  the 
momentarily  deserted  nest.  She  does  not  carry  her  egg 
thither  in  her  beak  as  the  common  cuckoo  is  said  to  do, 
but  sits  in  the  nest  and  lays  it  there.  Sometimes  the 
crows  return  before  she  is  ready  and,  of  course,  attack 
her,  but  as  she  can  fly  faster  than  they,  they  do  not 
often  succeed  in  harming  her,  although  there  are 
instances  on  record  of  crows  mobbing  female  koels  to 
death.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  cuckolding  crows  is 
dangerous  work.  The  life  of  the  cuckoo  is  not  all  beer 
and  skittles,  and  the  birds  seem  to  feel  the  danger  of 
their  existence,  for  at  the  breeding  season  they 
appear  to  be  in  a  most  excited  state,  and  are  manifestly 
afraid  of  the  crows.  This  being  so,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  the  latter  are  responsible  for  the  parasitic 
habit  of  the  koel.  It  is  not  improbably  a  case  of  the 
biter  bit.  Crows  are  such  aggressive  birds  that  they  are 
quite  capable  of  evicting  any  other  bird  from  its  nest  if 
this  be  large  enough  to  suit  their  purpose.  Now 
suppose  a  koel  to  be  thus  evicted  by  force  when  ready 
to  lay;  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  she  might  make 
frantic  efforts  to  lay  in  her  rightful  nest,  and  if  she 
succeeded,  and  the  crows  failed  to  detect  her  egg,  they 
would  hatch  out  her  offspring.  If  the  koels  which  acted 


THE   KOEL  121 

thus  managed  to  have  their  offspring  reared  for  them, 
while  those  that  attempted  to  build  fresh  nests  dropped 
their  eggs  before  the  new  nurseries  were  ready,  natural 
selection  would  tend  to  weed  out  the  latter  and  thus 
the  parasitic  habit  might  arise,  until  eventually  the  koel 
came  to  forget  how  to  build  a  nest. 

In  this  connection  it  is  important  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  nearest  relatives  of  the  koel  are  non-parasitic. 
It  is  therefore  not  improbable  that  in  the  koel  the  para- 
sitic habit  has  an  independent  origin. 

This  instinct  has  undoubtedly  been  evolved  more 
than  once.  It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  similar 
causes  have  led  to  its  origin  in  each  case. 

The  suggestion  I  have  made  is  made  only  with 
reference  to  the  koel,  which  differs  from  other  cuckoos 
in  that  it  dupes  a  bird  stronger  and  bigger  than  itself. 
But  this  is  a  digression. 

If  the  koel  have  time,  she  destroys  one  or  more  of  the 
existing  eggs,  and  will  sometimes  return  later  and 
destroy  others.  Although  the  crow  cannot  distinguish 
between  her  own  and  koel's  eggs,  the  koel  can.  I  have 
come  across  several  crows'  nests  which  each  contained 
only  two  koel's  eggs. 

The  young  koel  is  a  better-behaved  bird  than  some 
of  its  relations,  for  it  ejects  neither  the  eggs  still  in  the 
nest  when  it  is  hatched  nor  its  foster-brethren.  But 
the  incubating  period  of  the  koel  is  shorter  than  that  of 
the  crow,  so  that  the  koel's  egg  is  always  the  first  to 
hatch  out.  The  koel  seems  never  to  make  the  mistake 
of  depositing  its  egg  among  nearly  incubated  ones. 
Thus  the  young  koel  commences  life  with  a  useful  start 


122  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

on  its  foster-brethren.  It  soon  increases  this  start, 
as  it  grows  very  fast,  and  is  ready  to  fly  before  the 
earliest  feathers  of  its  foster-brothers  are  out  of  their 
sheaths. 

It  does  not,  however,  leave  its  foster-parents  when 
able  to  fly.  It  sits  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  makes 
laudable,  if  ludicrous,  efforts  at  cawing.  The  crows 
continue  feeding  it  long  after  it  has  left  the  nest,  looking 
after  it  with  the  utmost  solicitude.  A  young  koel  is 
somewhat  lacking  in  intelligence ;  it  seems  unable  to 
distinguish  its  foster-parents  from  any  other  crow,  for  it 
opens  its  mouth  at  the  approach  of  every  crow,  evidently 
expecting  to  be  fed. 

The  natives  of  the  Punjab  assert  that  the  hen  koel 
keeps  her  eye  on  the  crow's  nest  in  which  she  has  laid  her 
egg  or  eggs  during  the  whole  of  the  time  that  the  young 
cuckoo  is  in  it,  and  takes  charge  of  her  babe  after  it 
leaves  the  nest.  This  assertion  appears  to  be  incorrect. 
I  have  never  seen  a  koel  feeding  anything  but  itself. 
Moreover,  the  koel  lays  four  or  five  eggs,  and  these  are 
not  usually  all  deposited  in  one  nest.  It  would  therefore 
be  exceedingly  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  the  hen  to 
keep  an  eye  on  each  of  her  eggs. 

In  view  of  the  hatred  which  crows  display  towards 
koels  in  general,  naturalists  have  expressed  surprise 
that  the  young  koels  are  not  mobbed  directly  they 
leave  the  nest.  Their  plumage  differs  in  no  way  from 
that  of  the  adult.  It  has  been  suggested  that  young 
koels  retain  the  crow  smell  for  a  considerable  time  after 
they  are  fledged.  This  I  cannot  accept.  The  olfactory 
organ  of  birds  is  but  slightly  developed.  Indeed,  I  am 


THE   KOEL  123 

inclined  to  wonder  whether  birds  have  any  sense  of 
smell.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  crows  look  after 
their  foster-children  most  carefully  for  several  weeks 
after  they  have  left  the  nest,  and  see  that  no  strange 
crow  harms  them. 


THE   COMMON   DOVES  OF   INDIA 


f~  ~"^HE  dove  family  ought  to  have  become 
extinct  ages  ago,  if  all  that  orthodox 
zoologists  tell  us  about  the  fierce  struggle 
for  existence  be  true.  They  form  a 
regular  "  Thirteen  Society."  They  do  everything  they 
should  not  do,  they  disobey  every  rule  of  animal 
warfare,  they  fall  asleep  when  sitting  exposed  on  a 
telegraph  wire,  they  build  nests  in  all  manner  of  foolish 
places,  their  nests  are  about  as  unsafe  as  a  nursery 
can  possibly  be,  and  they  flatly  decline  to  lay  pro- 
tectively coloured  eggs — their  white  eggs  are  a  standing 
invitation  to  bird  robbers  to  indulge,  like  the  Cambridge 
crew  of  1906,  in  an  egg  diet;  yet,  in  spite  all  of  these 
foolhardy  acts,  doves  flourish  like  the  green  bay  tree. 
This  is  a  fact  of  which  I  require  an  explanation  before 
I  can  accept  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Neo-Darwinian 
school. 

There  are  so  many  species  of  dove  in  India  that 
when  speaking  of  them  one  must  perforce,  unless  one 
be  writing  a  great  monograph,  confine  oneself  to  two 
or  three  of  the  common  species.  I  propose  to-day  to 
talk  about  our  three  commonest  Indian  doves,  that 
is  to  say,  the  spotted  dove  (Turtur  suratensis),  the 
Indian  ring-dove  (Turtur  risorius),  and  the  little  brown 

124 


THE   COMMON   DOVES   OF   INDIA      125 

dove  (Turtur  cambayensis).  I  make  no  apology  for 
discoursing  upon  these  common  species.  I  contend 
that  we  in  India  know  so  very  little  about  even  our 
everyday  birds  that  it  is  a  needless  expenditure  of 
energy  to  seek  out  the  rarer  species  and  study  their 
habits ;  we  have  plenty  to  learn  about  those  that  come 
into  our  verandahs  and  coo  to  us. 

The  curious  distribution  of  our  common  Indian 
doves  has  not,  so  far  as  I  know,  been  explained.  In 
very  few  places  are  all  three  common.  One  or  other  of 
them  is  usually  far  more  abundant  than  the  others,  and 
this  one  is  usually  the  spotted  dove.  It  is  the  com- 
monest dove  of  Calcutta,  of  Madras,  of  Travancore,  of 
Tirhoot,  of  Lucknow,  but  not  of  Lahore  or  Bombay  or 
the  Deccan.  Why  is  this?  Why  is  it  that,  whereas 
the  Deccan  is  literally  overrun  by  the  ring-  and  the 
little  brown  dove,  one  can  go  from  Bombay  to  Mala- 
bar without  meeting  one  of  these  species,  but  seeing 
thousands  of  the  spotted  dove  ? 

The  only  explanation  that  I  can  offer  of  this  pheno- 
menon is  that  the  spotted  dove  is  the  most  pugnacious 
and  the  most  pushing ;  that  where  he  chooses  to  settle 
down  he  ousts  the  other  species  of  dove  more  or  less 
completely;  but  he,  fortunately  for  the  other  species, 
does  not  choose  to  settle  down  in  all  parts  of  India. 
He  objects  to  dry  places.  Hence  he  is  not  seen  at 
Lahore  or  in  the  Deccan,  or  in  the  drier  parts  of  the 
United  Provinces,  such  as  Agra,  Muttra,  Etawah,  and 
Cawnpore. 

This  is  only  a  theory  of  mine,  and  a  theory  in  favour 
of  which  I  am  not  able  to  adduce  very  much  evidence, 


126  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

since  my  personal  knowledge  of  India  is  confined  to 
some  half-a-dozen  widely  separated  places.  Moreover, 
this  theory  does  not  explain  the  absence  of  the  spotted 
dove  from  Bombay.  I  should  be  very  glad  to  know  if 
there  are  any  other  moist  parts  of  India  where  the 
spotted  dove  is  not  the  most  abundant  of  the  cooing 
family. 

The  nest  of  the  dove  is  a  subject  over  which  most 
ornithologists  have  waxed  sarcastic.  A  more  ram- 
shackle structure  does  not  exist ;  yet  the  absurd  thing 
is  that  doves  are  most  particular  about  the  materials 
they  use. 

The  other  day  I  watched,  with  much  amusement,  a 
little  brown  dove  at  work  nest  building.  It  was  con- 
structing a  shake-down  in  a  small  Lonicera  bush.  Now, 
obviously,  since  the  nest  is  just  a  few  twigs  and  stalks 
thrown  together,  any  kind  of  short  twig  or  stem  will 
serve  for  building  material.  This,  however,  was  not  the 
view  of  the  dove.  If  that  creature  had  been  construct- 
ing the  Forth  Bridge  it  could  not  have  been  more 
particular  as  regards  the  materials  it  picked  up.  It 
strutted  about  the  ground,  taking  into  its  bill  all  man- 
ner of  material  only  to  reject  it,  until  at  last  it  picked 
up  a  dead  grass  stalk  and  flew  off  with  it  in  triumph ! 

Presumably  doves  take  the  same  trouble  in  selecting 
a  site  for  their  nest,  nevertheless  they  sometimes  event- 
ually choose  the  most  impossible  spot.  Thus  Mr.  A. 
Anderson  has  recorded  the  existence  of  a  nest  of  a 
pair  of  little  brown  doves  that  "  was  placed  close  to 
the  fringe  of  the  kunnaut  of  his  tent  on  one  of  the 
corner  ropes,  where  it  is  double  for  some  six  inches 


THE   COMMON    DOVES   OF   INDIA      127 

and  there  knotted.  The  double  portion  was  just  broad 
enough,  being  three  inches  apart,  to  support  the  nest 
with  careful  balancing ;  the  knot  acted  as  a  sort  of 
buffer  and  prevented  the  twigs  from  sliding  off,  which 
most  assuredly  would  otherwise  have  been  the  case,  for 
the  rope  just  there  was  at  an  angle  of  45°." 

Those  foolish  birds  were  not  permitted  to  bring  up 
their  young,  because  the  tent  had  to  be  struck  before 
the  eggs  were  laid. 

In  Lahore  a  favourite  nesting  site  for  the  little 
brown  dove  is  on  the  top  of  the  rolled-up  portion  of 
the  verandah  chik.  As  the  chik  is  composed  of  stout 
material,  the  rolled-up  portion  forms  an  excellent  plat- 
form some  four  inches  broad.  But  as  the  doves  nest 
just  as  the  weather  is  beginning  to  grow  warm,  the 
little  home  is  apt  to  be  somewhat  rudely  broken  up. 
One  pair,  however,  has  this  year  successfully  reared  up 
two  young  hopefuls  in  a  nest  on  this  somewhat  pre- 
carious site.  The  doings  of  these  form  the  subject  of 
the  next  article. 

I  once  came  across  a  nest  of  this  little  dove  in  a 
low,  prickly  bush  beside  a  small  canal  distributory,  three 
miles  outside  Lahore.  The  dove  appeared  to  have  used 
as  the  foundation  for  its  nest  an  old  one  of  the  striated 
bush  babbler  (Argya  caudatd).  (I  object  to  calling  this 
bird  the  common  babbler,  since,  like  common  sense,  it 
is  not  very  common.)  In  the  same  bush,  at  the  same 
level,  that  is  to  say,  about  a  yard  from  the  ground  and 
only  a  couple  of  feet  from  the  dove's  nest,  was  that  of  a 
striated  bush  babbler  containing  three  dark  blue  eggs. 
This  is  a  case  upon  which  those  who  believe  that  eggs 


128  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

laid  in  open  nests  are  protectively  coloured  would  do 
well  to  ponder. 

There,  side  by  side,  in  precisely  the  same  environment, 
were  two  nests — one  containing  white  and  the  other  dark 
blue  eggs.  Obviously  both  sets  of  eggs  could  not  be 
protectively  coloured  ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  both  clutches 
of  eggs  were  conspicuous  objects.  It  not  infrequently 
happens  that  the  Indian  robin  (  Thamnobia  cambayensis), 
which  lays  white  eggs  thickly  spotted  with  reddish 
brown,  brings  up  a  family  in  a  disused  nest  of  a  striated 
bush  babbler's.  The  eggs  of  this  latter  are  dark  blue. 
It  is  surely  time  that  zoologists  gave  up  throwing  at  us 
their  everlasting  theory  of  protective  colouring.  If  this 
were  a  sine  qua  non  of  the  safety  of  birds'  eggs,  then  the 
whole  dove  tribe  would,  long  ago,  have  ceased  to  exist. 

This  family  presents  the  ornithologist  with  yet 
another  problem  in  colouration.  In  every  species, 
except  the  red  turtle-dove  (Oenopopelia  tranquebaricd], 
both  sexes  are  coloured  alike.  In  this  latter,  however, 
there  is  very  pronounced  sexual  dimorphism.  The 
ruddy  wing  feathers  of  the  cock  enable  one  to  dis- 
tinguish him  at  once  from  his  mate  and  from  every 
other  dove.  Now  the  habits  of  this  dove  appear  to  be 
exactly  like  those  of  all  other  species.  It  constructs 
the  same  kind  of  nest  and  in  similar  situations ;  why 
then  the  sexual  dimorphism  in  this  species  and  in  no 
other  species  ?  If  the  lady  rufous  turtle-dove  likes  nice 
ruddy  wings,  and  thus  the  red  wing  has  been  evolved  in 
the  cock  bird,  why  has  she  too  not  inherited  it?  I 
presume  that  even  the  most  audacious  Neo-Darwinian 
will  not  talk  about  her  greater  need  of  protection  when 


THE   COMMON    DOVES   OF    INDIA      129 

sitting  on  the  nest,  for  if  she  needs  protection,  how  much 
more  so  do  her  white  eggs  ?  Further,  it  is  my  belief 
that  the  cock  bird  takes  his  turn  in  the  incubation. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  I  am  needlessly  poking 
fun  at  modern  biologists.  I  merely  desire  to  call  atten- 
tion to  the  unsolved  problems  that  confront  us  on  all 
sides,  and  to  protest  against  the  dogmatism  of  biology 
which  declares  that  the  Darwinian  theory  explains  the 
whole  of  organic  nature.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  field  naturalist  cannot  but  feel  that 
natural  selection  is  turning  out  rather  a  failure. 

In  conclusion,  one  more  word  regarding  the  red 
turtle-dove.  Its  distribution  has  not  been  carefully 
worked  out,  and  what  we  do  know  of  it  is  not  easy 
to  explain.  Hume  says  that  it  breeds  in  all  parts  of 
India,  but  is  very  capriciously  distributed,  and  he  is 
unable  to  say  what  kind  of  country  it  prefers,  and  why 
it  is  common  in  one  district  and  rare  in  a  neigh- 
bouring one  in  which  all  physical  conditions  appear 
identical. 

It  is  very  common  in  the  bare,  arid,  treeless  region 
that  surrounds  the  Sambhur  Lake.  It  is  common  in 
some  dry,  well-cultivated  districts,  like  Etawah,  where 
there  are  plenty  of  old  mango  groves.  It  is  very  com- 
mon in  some  of  the  comparatively  humid  tracts,  like 
Bareilly,  and  again  in  the  sal  jungles  of  the  Kumaun 
Bhabar  and  the  Nepal  Terai.  On  the  other  hand,  over 
wide  extents  of  similar  country  it  is  scarcely  to  be  seen. 
Doubtless  there  is  something  in  its  food  or  manner  of 
life  that  limits  its  distribution,  but  no  one  has  yet  been 
able  to  make  out  what  this  something  is.  • 


DOVES   IN   A  VERANDAH 

THE  office  building  in  which  for  some  time 
past  I  have  rendered  service  to  a  paternal 
government  was  once  a  tomb.  That  it  is 
now  an  office  is  evidence  of  the  strict 
economy  practised  by  the  Indian  Administration. 
Since  the  living  require  more  light  than  the  dead, 
skylights  have  been  let  into  the  domed  roof.  In  these 
the  brown  rock-chat  (Cercomela  fusca)  loves  to  sit 
and  pour  forth  his  exceedingly  sweet  little  lay,  while 
his  spouse  sits  on  four  pale  blue  eggs  in  a  nest  on  a 
ledge  in  a  neighbouring  sepulchre.  But  it  is  not  of  this 
bird  that  I  write  to-day ;  I  hope  to  give  him  an  innings 
at  some  future  date. 

Two  little  brown  doves  (Turtur  cambaiensis)  first 
demand  our  attention,  since  these  for  a  time  appro- 
priated my  skylights.  This  species  is  smaller  than  the 
spotted  dove  so  common  in  Madras,  and,  to  my  way 
of  thinking,  is  a  much  more  beautiful  bird.  Its  head, 
neck,  and  breast  are  pale  lilac  washed  with  red.  On 
each  side  of  the  neck  the  bird  carries  a  miniature  chess- 
board. The  remainder  of  its  plumage  is  brown,  passing 
into  grey  and  white.  The  legs  are  lake-red. 

It  has  a  very  distinctive  note — a  soft,  subdued  musical 
cuk-cuk-coo-coo-coo.  There  is  no  bird  better  pleased  with 

130 


DOVES    IN    A   VERANDAH  131 

itself  than  the  little  brown  dove.  In  the  month  of 
March  the  two  doves  in  question  were  "  carrying  on  "  in 
my  office  skylight  to  such  an  extent  as  to  leave  no 
doubt  that  they  had  a  nest  somewhere.  I  discovered  it 
on  the  rolled-up  end  of  one  of  the  bamboo  verandah 
chiks.  These  are  not  let  down  in  the  cold  weather,  so 
that  the  doves  had  been  permitted  to  build  undisturbed. 

"Eha"  has  humorously  described  a  dove's  nest  as 
composed  of  two  short  sticks  and  a  long  one ;  that  of 
the  little  brown  dove  is  a  little  more  compact  than  the 
typical  nest,  a  little  less  sketchy,  and  composed  of  grass 
and  fine  twigs.  There  was  plenty  of  room  for  it  on 
the  top  of  the  rolled-up  portion  of  the  chik. 

When  I  found  the  nest  there  were  two  white  eggs  in 
it.  Every  species  of  dove  lays  but  two  eggs.  I  do  not 
know  whether  the  smallness  of  the  clutch  has  anything 
to  do  with  the  helplessness  of  the  young  birds  when  first 
hatched.  Young  doves  and  pigeons  have  not,  like  other 
baby  birds,  great  mouths  which  open  to  an  alarming 
extent.  They  feed  by  putting  their  beaks  in  the  mouth 
of  the  parent  and  there  they  obtain  "  pigeon's  milk," 
which  is  a  secretion  from  the  crop  of  the  old  birds. 

Being  at  that  time  less  versed  in  the  ways  of  the 
little  brown  dove  than  I  now  am,  I  was  under  the  im- 
pression that  this  nest  was  in  rather  a  curious  situation, 
so  I  determined  to  obtain  a  photograph  of  it  with  the 
young  birds.  I  may  here  say  that  I  dislike  photo- 
graphy, and  not  without  cause.  Some  years  ago  I 
visited  the  Himalayan  snows,  and  dragged  up  a  great 
camera  and  a  number  of  plates  to  an  altitude  of  12,000 
feet.  Having  no  portable  dark  room,  I  endured  untold 


132  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

agonies  while  changing  the  plates  under  the  bedclothes. 
Being  anxious  lest  the  light  should  reach  the  exposed 
negatives,  I  wrapped  them  up  very  carefully,  using 
newspaper,  which  was  the  only  wrapping  available. 
When  I  returned  from  the  expedition  I  developed  the 
plates,  but  lo  and  behold !  instead  of  snowy  peaks 
and  sunny  valleys,  advertisements  of  soaps  and  pills 
appeared  on  the  plates.  Why  do  not  books  on  the 
camera  tell  one  not  to  wrap  up  plates  in  newspaper? 
I  made  a  vow  to  leave  photography  to  others,  and  I 
kept  the  vow  until  I  saw  those  young  doves  perched  so 
temptingly  on  the  ckik. 

Having  risked  both  life  and  limb  in  mounting  a  chair 
placed  upon  a  table,  I  obtained  a  "  snap  "  at  the  nest. 
On  developing  the  plate  everything  appeared  with 
admirable  clearness  except  the  nest.  There  was  nothing 
but  a  blur  where  this  should  have  been  ;  the  rest  of  the 
chik  came  out  splendidly.  The  only  explanation  of  this 
phenomenon  that  I  can  offer  is  the  natural  "  cussed- 
ness  "  of  the  camera.  I  have  now  renewed  my  vow  to 
eschew  photography. 

The  first  young  doves  were  successfully  reared.  No 
sooner  had  they  been  driven  forth  into  the  world  than 
the  parents  set  about  repairing  the  nest,  for  doves  are 
not  content  with  one  brood;  when  once  a  pair  com- 
mence nesting  there  is  no  knowing  when  they  will  stop. 
As  it  was  then  April  and  the  sun  was  growing  uncom- 
fortably hot,  the  letting  down  of  the  chik  became  a  matter 
of  necessity,  and  this,  of  course,  wrecked  the  nest.  I 
expected  to  see  no  more  of  the  doves.  In  this  I  was  mis- 
taken. Before  long  they  were  billing  and  cooing  as  merrily 


DOVES   IN   A   VERANDAH  133 

as  before.  A  little  search  showed  that  this  time  they  had 
built  a  nest  on  the  top  of  the  same  chik — a  feat  which  I 
should  have  thought  impossible  had  I  not  seen  the 
nest  with  my  own  eyes.  Some  sacking  was  attached  to 
the  chik,  and  this,  together  with  the  bamboo,  presented 
a  surface  of  about  half  an  inch.  On  this  precarious 
foundation  the  nest  rested  ;  the  twigs,  of  course,  reached 
over  to  the  wall  from  which  the  chik  was  hung.  Thus 
the  nest  received  some  additional  support.  Needless  to 
say,  the  young  birds  had  to  remain  very  still  or  they 
would  have  fallen  out  of  the  nest. 

The  second  and  the  third  broods  were  raised  without 
mishap.  One  of  the  birds  of  the  fourth  family  was  more 
restless  than  his  brethren  had  been ;  consequently  he 
fell  off  the  nest  on  to  the  floor  of  the  verandah.  He  was 
picked  up  and  brought  to  me.  Although  not  strong 
enough  to  walk,  or  even  stand,  he  showed  unmistakable 
signs  of  that  evil  temper  which  characterises  all  doves,  by 
opening  his  wings  and  pecking  savagely  at  my  hand. 
In  spite  of  this  behaviour  I  set  natural  selection  at 
naught  by  putting  him  back  into  the  nest.  He  fell  out 
again  next  day  and  was  again  replaced.  This  time  he 
stayed  there,  and  is  now  probably  at  large. 

When  the  fifth  clutch  of  eggs  was  in  the  nest  my 
chaprassi,  who,  since  I  have  shown  him  how  to  play 
cuckoo,  has  been  upsetting  the  domestic  affairs  of  any 
number  of  birds,  asked  whether  he  might  substitute  two 
pigeon's  eggs  for  those  laid  by  the  dove.  The  substitu- 
tion was  duly  effected  without  rousing  any  suspicions 
on  the  part  of  the  doves.  The  young  pigeons  soon 
hatched  out  and  were  industriously  fed  by  their  foster- 


134  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

parents,  nor  did  these  latter  appear  to  notice  anything 
unusual  when  the  white  plumage  of  the  pigeons  ap- 
peared. Two  days  before  the  changelings  were  ready 
to  fly  a  terrific  storm  arose  and  so  shook  the  chiks  that 
the  poor  pigeons  were  thrown  off  and  killed.  Nothing 
daunted,  the  doves  have  since  successfully  reared  a  sixth 
family !  Can  we  wonder  that  doves  are  numerous  in 
India? 


THE   GOLDEN    ORIOLE 

DAME   Nature  must  have  been  in   a  very 
generous    mood  when   she   manufactured 
golden   orioles,  or  she  would  never  have 
expended  so  much  of  her  colour-box  upon 
them.     Orioles  are  birds  which  compel  our  attention, 
so  brilliant  are  they ;  yet  the  poets  who  profess  to  be 
the  high-priests  of  Nature  give  us  no  songs  about  these 
beautiful  creatures ;   at  least  I   know  of  no  maker  of 
verse,  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Edwin   Arnold,  who 
does  more  than  mention  the  oriole.     Here  then  is  a  fine 
opening  for  some  twentieth-century  bard ! 

Two  orioles,  or  mango  birds  as  they  are  sometimes 
called,  are  common  in  India.  They  are  the  Indian 
oriole  (Oriolus  kundod)  and  the  black-headed  oriole 
(0.  melanocephalus).  The  Indian  oriole  is  a  bird  about 
the  size  of  a  starling.  The  plumage  of  the  cock  is  a 
splendid  rich  yellow.  There  is  a  black  patch  over  and 
behind  the  eye.  There  is  some  black  on  the  tail,  and 
the  large  wing  feathers  are  also  of  this  colour.  The  bill 
is  pink  and  the  eyes  red.  In  the  hen  the  yellow  of  the 
back  is  deeply  tinged  with  green. 

The  black-headed  oriole  may  be  distinguished  by 
his  black  head,  throat,  and  upper  breast.  The  habits 
of  both  species  are  similar  in  every  respect.  The 


136  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Indian  oriole  seems  to  be  merely  a  winter  visitor  to 
Madras,  and  it  is  seen  in  the  Punjab  only  during 
the  hot  weather.  In  the.  intervening  parts  it  may  be 
observed  all  the  year  round ;  hence  the  species  would 
appear  to  perform  a  small  annual  migration,  leaving 
the  South  in  the  hot  weather.  In  those  parts  where 
orioles  are  found  all  the  year  round  it  is  not  improb- 
able that  the  birds  one  sees  in  the  winter  are  not 
those  that  are  observed  during  the  summer. 

The  oriole  is  essentially  a  bird  of  the  greenwood  tree  ; 
if  you  would  see  him  you  should  betake  yourself  to 
some  well-irrigated  orchard.  I  have  never  seen  an 
oriole  on  the  ground;  its  habits  are  strictly  arboreal, 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  be  at  all  particular  about  taking 
cover.  It  perches  by  preference  on  the  topmost  bough 
of  a  tree,  and  if  this  bough  be  devoid  of  leaves,  so  much 
the  better,  for  the  bird  enjoys  a  more  extensive  view  of 
the  surrounding  country.  Very  beautiful  does  such 
a  bird  look,  sitting  outlined  against  the  sky,  as  the  first 
rays  of  the  morning  sun  fall  upon  and  add  fresh  lustre 
to  its  golden  plumage.  Orioles  feed  upon  both  fruit 
and  insects,  and  so  cannot  be  regarded  as  unmixed 
blessings  to  the  agriculturalist. 

As  I  have  already  said,  Dame  Nature  has  been 
exceedingly  kind  to  this  bird  ;  not  content  with  deck- 
ing him  out  in  brilliantly  coloured  raiment,  she  has 
endowed  him  with  a  voice  of  which  any  bird  might 
well  be  proud.  It  is  a  clear,  mellow  whistle,  which 
is  usually  syllabised  as  peeho,  peeho,  or  lorio,  lorio ; 
indeed,  the  name  oriole  is  probably  onomatopoetic. 
In  addition  to  this  the  bird  has  several  other  notes. 


THE   GOLDEN    ORIOLE  137 

These  are  not  pleasant  to  the  ear  and  may  be  described 
as  blends,  in  varying  proportions,  of  the  harsh  call  of 
the  king-crow  and  the  miau  of  a  cat.  The  hen  almost 
invariably  utters  such  a  note  when  a  human  being 
approaches  the  nest ;  but  the  cry  apparently  does  not 
always  denote  alarm,  for  I  have  heard  an  oriole  uttering 
it  when  sitting  placidly  in  a  tree,  seemingly  at  peace 
with  all  the  world ;  but  perhaps  that  particular  bird 
may  have  been  indulging  in  unpleasant  day  dreams ; 
who  knows? 

We  hear  much  of  the  marvellous  nests  of  tailor-  and 
weaver-birds,  but  never  of  that  of  the  oriole.  Natural- 
ists, equally  with  poets,  have  neglected  this  beautiful 
species.  An  oriole's  nest  is  in  its  way  quite  as  wonder- 
ful as  that  of  the  tailor-bird.  If  a  man  were  ordered  to 
erect  a  cradle  up  in  a  tree,  he  would,  I  imagine,  con- 
struct it  precisely  as  the  oriole  does  its  nest.  This  last 
is  a  cup-shaped  structure  slung  on  to  two  or  three 
branches  of  a  tree  by  means  of  fibres  which  are  wound 
first  round  one  branch,  then  passed  under  the  nest,  and 
finally  wound  round  another  bough.  The  nest  is 
therefore,  as  Hume  pointed  out,  secured  to  its  support- 
ing branches  in  much  the  same  way  as  a  prawn  net  is 
to  its  wooden  framework. 

In  places  where  there  are  mulberry  trees  the  oriole 
shaves  off  narrow  strips  of  the  thin,  pliable  bark  and 
uses  these  to  support  the  nest.  Jerdon  describes  one 
wonderful  nest,  taken  by  him  at  Saugor,  that  was 
suspended  by  a  long  roll  of  cloth  about  three-quarters 
of  an  inch  wide,  which  the  bird  must  have  pilfered  from 
some  neighbouring  verandah.  "This  strip,"  he  states, 


138  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"  was  wound  round  each  limb  of  the  fork,  then  passed 
round  the  nest  beneath,  fixed  to  the  other  limb,  and 
again  brought  round  the  nest  to  the  opposite  side  ;  there 
were  four  or  five  of  these  supports  on  either  side."  The 
nest  was  so  securely  fixed  that  it  could  not  have  been 
removed  till  the  supporting  bands  had  been  cut  or  had 
rotted  away.  Here  then  is  an  example  of  workman- 
ship which  the  modern  jerry-builder  might  well 
emulate. 

I  have  made  repeated  attempts  to  see  orioles  at 
work  on  the  supports  of  the  nest,  but  so  far  have  only 
managed  to  observe  them  lining  it.  Upon  one  occasion 
I  came  upon  a  nest  some  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground 
from  which  hung  two  strips  of  fibre  about  sixteen  inches 
long  that  had  been  wound  round  one  branch.  I  waited 
for  some  time,  hoping  the  birds  would  return  and  allow 
me  to  see  them  finish  the  adjustment  of  these  fibres ; 
but  unfortunately  there  was  no  cover  available,  and  the 
oriole  is  an  exceedingly  shy  bird ;  it  will  not  do  any- 
thing to  the  nest  if  it  knows  it  is  being  watched. 

The  completed  nursery,  viewed  from  below,  looks  like 
a  ball  of  dried  grass  wedged  into  the  fork  of  a  branch, 
and  may  easily  be  mistaken  for  that  of  a  king-crow,  but 
this  last  is,  of  course,  not  bound  to  the  branches  like 
that  of  the  oriole. 

A  very  curious  thing  that  I  have  noticed  about  the 
Indian  oriole's  nest  is  that  it  is  always  situated  either 
in  the  same  tree  as  a  king-crow's  nest  or  in  an  adjacent 
tree.  I  have  seen  some  thirteen  or  fourteen  orioles' 
nests  since  I  first  noticed  this  phenomenon,  and  have, 
in  every  case,  found  a  king-crow's  nest  within  ten  yards. 


THE   GOLDEN   ORIOLE  139 

The  drongo  builds  earlier,  for  it  is  usually  feeding  its 
young  while  the  oriole  is  incubating.  It  would  therefore 
appear  that  it  is  the  oriole  which  elects  to  build  near  the 
king-crow.  I  imagine  that  it  does  so  for  the  sake  of 
protection  ;  it  must  be  a  great  thing  for  a  timid  bird  to 
have  a  vigorous  policeman  all  to  itself,  a  policeman  who 
will  not  allow  a  big  creature  to  approach  under  any 
pretext  whatever. 

The  oriole  lays  from  two  to  four  white  eggs  spotted 
with  reddish  brown.  These  spots  readily  wash  off,  and 
sometimes  the  colour  "  runs  "  and  gives  the  whole  egg  a 
pink  hue.  Although  both  sexes  take  part  in  the  con- 
struction of  the  nursery,  the  work  of  incubation  appears 
to  fall  entirely  upon  the  hen.  I  have  never  seen  a  cock 
oriole  sitting  on  the  nest. 


THE    BARN    OWL 


f~  ""^HE  barn  owl  is  a  cosmopolitan  bird.  It 
is  an  adaptive  species,  and  so  has  been  able 
to  make  itself  at  home  all  the  world  over. 
Like  every  widely  distributed  species,  in- 
cluding man,  it  has  its  local  peculiarities.  The  barn 
owls  of  India  are  somewhat  different  from  those  of 
Africa,  and  these  latter,  again,  may  be  readily  distin- 
guished from  those  that  dwell  in  Europe.  This  any 
one  may  see  for  himself  by  paying  a  visit  to  the 
Zoological  Gardens  at  Regent's  Park,  where  barn  owls 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  blink  out  their  lives  in 
neighbouring  cages.  Needless  to  say,  species-mongers 
have  tried  to  magnify  these  local  peculiarities  into 
specific  differences.  The  European  bird  is  known  as 
Strix  flammea.  An  attempt  was  made  to  differentiate 
the  Indian  barn  owl.  If  you  look  up  the  bird  in 
Jerdon's  classical  work  you  will  see  that  it  is  called 
Strix  javanica.  Jerdon's  justification  for  making  a  new 
species  of  it  was  its  larger  size,  more  robust  feet  and 
toes,  and  the  presence  of  spots  on  the  lower  plumage. 
If  such  were  specific  differences  we  ought  to  divide  up 
man,  Homo  sapiens,  into  quite  a  large  number  of 
species :  Homo  major,  H.  minor,  H.  longirostris,  H. 
brevirostris,  etc. 

140 


THE   BARN   OWL  141 

However,  neither  with  the  barn  owl  nor  with  man 
has  the  species-maker  had  his  own  way.  Ornithologists 
recognise  but  one  barn  owl.  This  bird,  which  is  fre- 
quently called  the  screech  owl,  is  delightfully  easy  to 
describe.  Everybody  knows  an  owl  when  he  sees  one ; 
but  stay,  I  forgot  the  German  Professor,  mentioned  by 
Mr.  Bosworth  Smith,  who  held  up  in  triumph  the  owl 
which  he  had  shot,  saying :  "  Zee,  I  have  shot  von 
schnipe  mit  einem  face  Push  cat."  Let  me  therefore 
say  it  is  easy  enough  for  the  average  man  to  recognise 
an  owl,  but  it  is  quite  another  matter  when  it  comes 
to  "spotting"  the  species  to  which  an  individual  happens 
to  belong.  As  a  rule  the  family  likeness  is  so  strong 
as  to  overshadow  specific  differences.  The  barn  owl, 
however,  differs  from  all  others  in  that  it  has  a  long, 
thin  face.  Take  any  common  or  garden  owl,  and  you' 
will  observe  that  it  has  a  round,  plum-pudding-like  head. 
Place  that  owl  before  one  of  those  mirrors  which  make 
everything  look  long  and  thin,  and  you  will  see  in  the 
glass  a  very  fair  representation  of  the  barn  owl.  The 
face  of  this  owl,  when  it  is  awake,  is  heart-shaped ; 
when  the  bird  is  asleep  it  is  as  long  as  that  of  a  junior 
Madras  Civil  Servant  as  he  looks  over  the  Civil  List. 
Whether  awake  or  asleep,  the  bird  has  an  uncanny, 
half-human  look.  It  is  innocent  of  the  "ears"  or 
"  horns  "  which  form  so  conspicuous  a  feature  of  some 
owls.  In  passing,  I  may  say  that  those  horn-like 
tufts  of  feathers  have  no  connection  with  the  well- 
developed  auditory  organ  of  the  owl. 

The  barn  owl's  face  is  white,  as  is  its  lower  plumage, 
hence  it  is  popularly  known  in  England  as  the  white 


142  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

owl.  The  back  and  upper  plumage  are  pale  grey. 
The  tail  is  buff,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  buff  scat- 
tered about  the  rest  of  the  plumage;  it  is  on  this 
account  that  the  bird  is  called  flammea. 

The  barn  owl  is,  I  believe,  common  in  all  parts  of 
India,  but  it  is  not  often  seen  owing  to  its  strictly 
nocturnal  habits.  It  ventures  not  forth  into  the  dazzling 
light  of  day  as  does  that  noisy  little  clown,  the  spotted 
owlet  (Athene  brama).  Should  it  happen  to  be  abroad 
in  daylight  the  crows  make  its  life  a  burden.  Friend 
Corvus  is  a  very  conservative  individual.  He  sets  his 
face  steadfastly  against  any  addition  to  the  local  fauna. 
As  he  seldom  or  never  sees  the  barn  owl,  he  does  not 
include  it  among  the  birds  of  his  locality  ;  so  that  when 
one  does  show  its  face,  the  crows  proceed  to  mob  it. 
Their  efforts  are  well  seconded  by  the  small  fry  among 
birds,  who  seem  instinctively  to  dislike  the  whole  owl 
tribe. 

During  the  day  the  barn  owl  sleeps  placidly  in  the 
interior  of  a  decayed  tree,  or  in  a  tomb,  mosque,  temple, 
or  ruin,  or  even  in  the  secluded  verandah  of  a  bungalow. 
The  last  place  of  abode  is  unsatisfactory  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  owl,  for  Indian  servants  display  an 
antipathy  towards  it  quite  as  great  as  that  shown  by  the 
crows.  They  believe  that  the  owls  bring  bad  luck,  and 
are  in  this  respect  not  one  whit  more  foolish  than 
ignorant  folk  in  other  parts  of  the  world.  This  useful 
and  amusing  bird  is  everywhere  regarded  with  super- 
stitious dread  by  the  uneducated. 

It  lives  almost  exclusively  on  rats,  mice,  shrews,  and 
other  enemies  of  the  farmer.  And  as  an  exceptional 


THE   BARN   OWL  143 

case  it  will  take  a  young  bird,  which  is  usually  a 
sparrow.  Most  people  will  agree  that  we  -can  spare  a 
few  sparrows ;  nevertheless,  that  cruel  idiot,  the  game- 
keeper, classes  the  barn  owl  as  vermin  and  shoots  it 
whenever  he  has  the  chance.  This  is  fairly  often, 
owing  to  the  confiding  habits  of  the  creature.  It  will 
enter  a  bungalow  after  rats  or  moths,  and  will  sometimes 
terrify  the  timid  sleeper  by  sitting  on  the  end  of  his  bed 
and  screaming  at  him  ! 

The  owl  is  blessed  with  an  appetite  that  would  do 
credit  to  an  alderman.  Lord  Lilford  states  that  he  saw 
"  a  young  half-grown  barn  owl  take  down  nine  full- 
grown  mice,  one  after  another,  until  the  tail  of  the 
ninth  stuck  out  of  his  mouth,  and  in  three  hours'  time 
was  crying  for  more."  Let  me  anticipate  the  captious 
critic  by  saying  that  it  was  the  owl  and  not  the  tail  of 
the  ninth  mouse  that,  like  Oliver  Twist,  called  for  more. 
Moreover,  the  tail  did  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  stick 
out  because  the  bird  was  "  full  up  inside."  The  barn  owl 
invariably  swallows  a  mouse  head  first;  it  makes  a  mighty 
gulp,  with  the  result  that  the  whole  of  the  mouse,  except 
the  tail,  disappears.  Thus  the  victim  remains  for  a 
short  time  in  order  that  the  owl  may  enjoy  the  bonne 
bouche.  Then  the  tail  disappears  suddenly,  and  the 
curtain  is  rung  down  on  the  first  act  of  the  tragedy. 
The  second  and  third  acts  are  like  unto  the  first.  The 
last  act  is  not  very  polite,  but  it  must  be  described  in 
the  interests  of  science.  After  an  interval  of  a  few 
hours  the  owl  throws  up,  in  the  form  of  a  pellet,  the 
bones,  fur,  and  other  undigestible  portions  of  his  victims. 
This  is,  of  course,  very  bad  manners,  but  it  is  the  inevit- 


144  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

able  result  of  bolting  a  victim  whole.  One  vice,  alas ! 
leads  to  another. 

Kingfishers,  which  swallow  whole  fish,  likewise  eject 
the  bones.  This  habit  of  the  owl  has  enabled  zoologists 
to  disprove  the  contention  of  the  gamekeeper  that  the 
barn  owl  lives  chiefly  upon  young  pheasants,  The 
bones  found  in  these  pellets  are  nearly  all  those  of 
small  rodents. 

The  screech  owl,  as  its  name  implies,  is  not  a  great 
songster.  It  hisses,  snores,  and  utters,  during  flight, 
blood-curdling  screams,  which  doubtless  account  for 
its  evil  reputation.  It  lays  roundish  white  eggs  in  a 
hole  in  a  tree  or  other  convenient  cavity.  Three,  four, 
or  six  are  laid,  according  to  taste.  I  have  never  found 
the  eggs  in  India,  but  they  are,  in  England  at  any  rate, 
laid,  not  in  rapid  succession,  but  at  considerable  intervals, 
so  that  one  may  find,  side  by  side  in  a  nest,  eggs  and 
young  birds  of  various  ages.  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  owl  derives  any  benefit  from  this  curious  habit. 
It  has  been  suggested  that  the  wily  creature  makes  the 
first  nestling  which  hatches  out  do  some  of  the  incu- 
bating. Pranks  of  this  kind  are  all  very  well  when  the 
nest  is  hidden  away  in  a  hole;  they  would  not  do  in 
an  open  nest  to  which  crows  and  other  birds  of  that 
feather  have  access. 


THE    COMMON    KINGFISHER.       (ALCEDO    ISPIDA) 
(One  of  the  British  birds  found  in  India) 


146  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

The  kite  is  a  very  close  sitter.  Like  the  crow,  she 
knoweth  the  wickedness  of  her  own  heart,  and  as  she 
judges  others  by  herself,  deems  it  necessary  to  con- 
tinually mount  guard  over  her  eggs.  Patience  eventually 
meets  with  its  reward.  Three  weeks  of  steady  sitting 
result  in  the  appearance  of  the  young  kites. 

This  long  and  patient  sitting  on  the  part  of  parent 
birds  is,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  a  most  remark- 
able phenomenon.  No  sooner  do  the  eggs  appear  in 
the  nest  than  the  most  active  little  bird  seems  to  lose 
all  its  activity  and  become  quite  sedentary  in  its  habits. 
Take,  for  example,  the  sprightly  white-browed  fantail  fly- 
catcher (Rhipidura  albifrontata),  a  bird  which  ordinarily 
seems  to  have  St.  Vitus's  dance  in  every  organ  and 
appendage.  This  species  will,  when  it  has  eggs,  sit  as 
closely  or  more  closely  than  a  barndoor  hen,  and  will 
sometimes  allow  you  to  stroke  it.  I  often  wonder  what 
are  the  feelings  of  such  a  bird  when  incubating.  One 
is  tempted  to  think  that  it  must  find  the  process  in- 
tensely boring.  But  this  cannot  be  so,  or  it  would 
refuse  to  sit.  The  fowls  of  the  air  are  not  hampered 
by  the  Ten  Commandments ;  they  are  free  to  do  that 
to  which  the  spirit  moveth  them,  without  let  or  hindrance, 
without  fear  of  arrest  or  prosecution  for  breach  of  the 
law.  Hence  birds  must  positively  enjoy  sitting  on  their 
eggs.  At  the  brooding  season  avine  nature  undergoes 
a  complete  change.  Ordinarily  a  bird  delights  to  ex- 
pend its  ebullient  energy  in  vigorous  motion,  just  as  a 
strong  man  delights  to  run  a  race ;  but  at  the  nesting 
season  its  inclinations  change ;  then  its  greatest  joy  is 
to  sit  upon  its  nest.  Even  as  human  beings  are  suddenly 


A   TREE-TOP   TRAGEDY  147 

seized  with  the  Bridge  craze  and  are  then  perfectly  con- 
tent to  sit  for  hours  at  the  card  table,  so  at  certain 
seasons  are  birds  overcome  by  the  incubating  mania. 
If  my  view  of  the  matter  be  correct,  and  I  think  it 
must  be,  a  sitting  bird  is  no  more  an  object  for  our  pity 
than  is  a  Bridge  maniac.  But  this  is  a  digression. 

Let  us  hie  back  to  our  kite  and  her  family  of  young 
ones  in  their  lofty  nursery.  For  a  time  all  went  well 
with  them.  But  one  day  the  sun  of  prosperity  which 
had  hitherto  shone  upon  them  became  darkened  by 
great  black  clouds  of  adversity.  I  happened  to  pass 
the  nest  at  this  time  and  saw  about  twenty  excited 
crows  squatting  on  branches  near  the  nest  and  cawing 
angrily.  The  mother  kite  was  flying  round  and  round 
in  circles,  and  was  evidently  sorely  troubled  in  spirit. 
She  had  done  something  to  offend  the  crows.  Ere  long 
she  returned  to  her  nest,  whereupon  the  crows  took  to 
their  wings,  cawing  more  vociferously  than  ever.  As 
soon  as  the  kite  had  settled  on  the  nest  they  again 
alighted  on  branches  of  the  tree,  and,  each  from  a  re- 
spectful distance,  gave  what  the  natives  of  Upper  India 
call  gali  galoj.  She  tolerated  for  a  time  their  vulgar 
abuse,  then  left  the  nest.  This  was  the  signal  for  all 
the  crows  to  take  to  their  wings.  Some  of  them  tried 
to  attack  her  in  the  air.  For  a  few  minutes  I  watched 
them  chasing  her.  After  a  little  the  attack  began  to 
flag,  I,  therefore,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  corvi 
were  recovering  their  mental  equilibrium,  and  that  the 
whole  affair  would  quickly  fizzle  out,  as  such  incidents 
usually  do.  Accordingly,  I  went  on  my  way.  Return- 
ing an  hour  later,  I  was  surprised  to  find  the  crows  still 


148  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

engaged  in  the  attack.  Moreover,  the  kite  was  not 
visible  and  the  crows  had  grown  bolder,  for  whereas 
previously  they  had  abused  the  kite  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance, some  of  them  were  now  quite  close  to  the  nest. 
Being  pressed  for  time,  I  was  not  able  to  stay  and  await 
developments.  In  the  afternoon  when  I  again  passed 
the  nest  I  saw  no  kite,  but  the  tree  was  alive  with  crows, 
and  part  of  the  nest  appeared  to  have  been  pulled  down. 
The  nestlings  had  probably  been  destroyed.  Of  this  I 
was  not  able  to  make  certain,  for  I  was  on  my  way  to 
fulfil  a  social  engagement.  I  was,  I  admit,  sorely  tempted 
to  "cut"  this,  and  nothing  but  the  want  of  a  good 
excuse  prevented  my  doing  so.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Burra 
Mem,  I  much  regret  that  I  was  prevented  from  coming  to 
your  tennis  party  this  afternoon  by  a  domestic  bereave- 
ment— of  a  kite,"  seemed  rather  unconvincing,  so  I  went 
to  the  lawn-tennis  party. 

When  I  saw  the  nest  the  following  morning  it  was  a 
total  wreck.  There  were  still  one  or  two  crows  hanging 
around,  and  while  I  was  inspecting  the  ground  beneath 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy  they  amused  themselves  by 
dropping  sticks  on  my  head.  The  crow  is  an  ill- 
conditioned  bird.  I  found,  lying  about  on  the  ground, 
the  dtbris  of  the  nest,  a  number  of  kite's  feathers,  in- 
cluding six  or  seven  of  the  large  tail  ones,  and  two 
crow's  wings.  These  last  furnished  the  clue  to  the  be- 
haviour of  the  crows.  The  kite  must  have  attacked 
and  killed  a  sickly  crow,  in  order  to  provide  breakfast 
for  her  young.  This  was,  of  course,  an  outrage  on 
corvine  society — an  outrage  which  demanded  speedy 
vengeance.  Hence  the  gathering  of  the  clans  which  I 


A   TREE-TOP   TRAGEDY  149 

had  witnessed  the  previous  day.  At  first  the  crows 
were  half  afraid  of  the  kite,  and  were  content  to  call 
her  names ;  but  as  they  warmed  up  to  their  work  they 
gained  courage,  and  so  eventually  killed  the  kite, 
destroyed  her  nest,  and  devoured  her  young.  Thus  did 
they  avenge  the  murder. 


TWO   LITTLE   BIRDS 


i 


is,  hidden  away  in  a  corner  of  North- 
ern India,  a  tiny  orchard  which  may  be 
likened  to  an  oasis  in  the  desert,  because  the 
trees  which  compose  it  are  always  fresh  and 
green,  even  when  the  surrounding  country  is  dry  and 
parched.  Last  April  two  or  three  of  the  paradise  fly- 
catchers who  were  on  their  annual  journey  northward 
were  tempted  to  tarry  awhile  in  this  orchard  to  enjoy 
the  cool  shade  afforded  by  the  trees.  They  found  the 
place  very  pleasant,  and  insect  life  was  so  abundant  that 
they  determined  to  remain  there  during  the  summer. 
Thus  it  chanced  that  one  morning,  early  in  May,  a  cock 
flycatcher  was  perched  on  one  of  the  trees,  preening  his 
feathers.  A  magnificent  object  was  he  amid  the  green 
foliage.  The  glossy  black  of  his  crested  head  formed  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  whiteness  of  the  remainder  of 
his  plumage.  His  two  long  median  tail  feathers,  that 
hung  down  like  satin  streamers,  formed  an  ornament 
more  beautiful  than  the  train  of  a  peacock.  He  was  so 
handsome  that  a  hen  flycatcher,  who  was  sitting  in  a  tree 
near  by,  resolved  to  make  him  wed  her ;  but  there  was 
another  hen  living  in  the  same  orchard  who  was  equally 
determined  to  secure  the  handsome  cock  as  her  mate. 
Even  while  the  first  hen  was  admiring  him,  her  rival 

150 


TWO   LITTLE   BIRDS  151 

came  up  and  made  as  if  to  show  off  her  dainty  chestnut 
plumage.  This  so  angered  the  first  hen  that  she  attacked 
her  rival.  A  duel  then  took  place  between  the  two  little 
birds.  It  was  not  of  long  duration,  for  the  second  hen 
soon  discovered  that  she  was  no  match  for  the  first, 
and  deeming  discretion  to  be  the  better  part  of 
valour,  she  flew  away  and  left  the  orchard  before  she 
sustained  any  injury.  Then  the  triumphant  hen,  flushed 
with  victory,  went  up  to  the  cock  and  said,  "  See  what  I 
have  done  for  love  of  thee.  I  have  driven  away  my  rival. 
Wed  me,  I  pray,  for  I  am  worthy  of  thee.  Behold  how 
beautiful  I  am."  The  cock  looked  at  her  as  she  stood 
there  spreading  her  chestnut  wings  and  saw  that  she 
was  fair  to  gaze  upon.  He  then  fluttered  his  snowy 
pinions  and  sang  a  sweet  little  warble,  which  is  the  way 
a  cock  bird  tells  the  lady  of  his  choice  that  he  loves  her. 

For  the  next  few  days  these  little  birds  led  an  idyllic 
existence.  Free  from  care  and  anxiety,  they  disported 
themselves  in  that  shady  grove,  now  playing  hide-and- 
seek  among  the  foliage,  now  making  graceful  sweeps 
after  their  insect  quarry,  now  pouring  out  the  fulness  of 
their  love — the  cock  in  sweet  song  and  mellow  warble, 
the  hen  in  her  peculiar  twittering  note.  Their  happiness 
was  complete ;  never  did  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  mar  the 
sunshine  of  their  springtime. 

One  day  they  were  simultaneously  seized  by  the  im- 
pulse to  build  a  nest.  First  a  suitable  site  had  to  be 
chosen.  After  much  searching  and  anxious  consultation, 
mingled  with  love-making,  they  agreed  upon  the  branch 
of  a  pear  tree,  some  eight  feet  above  the  ground.  During 
the  whole  of  the  following  week  they  were  busy  seeking 


152  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

for  grass  stems,  which  they  fastened  to  the  branch  of 
the  tree  by  means  of  strands  of  cobweb.  They  did  not 
hunt  for  material  in  company,  as  some  birds  do.  The 
cock  would  go  in  one  direction  and  the  hen  in  another. 
Each,  as  it  found  a  suitable  piece  of  dried  grass,  or  moss, 
or  cobweb,  or  whatever  it  happened  to  be  seeking,  would 
dash  back  joyfully  to  the  nest  with  it  and  weave  it  into 
the  structure.  Sometimes  one  bird  would  return  while 
the  other  was  at  work  on  the  nursery;  the  former  would 
then  sit  near  by  and  wait  until  the  latter  had  finished. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  day  the  nest  appeared  to  the 
uninitiated  eye  merely  a  tangle  of  grass  stems  stuck  on  to 
the  tree,  but  owing  to  the  united  efforts  of  the  energetic 
little  builders,  it  soon  took  definite  shape.  By  the  third 
day  it  was  obvious  that  the  nest  was  to  have  the  form 
of  an  inverted  cone  firmly  bound  to  the  branch  of  the 
tree.  The  birds  took  the  utmost  care  to  make  the  nest 
circular.  In  order  to  ensure  a  smooth,  round  cavity  they 
would  sit  in  it  and,  with  wings  spread  over  the  edge,  turn 
their  bodies  round  and  round.  At  the  end  of  about  five 
days'  steady  work  the  nursery  had  assumed  its  final 
shape.  But  even  then  much  remained  to  be  done.  The 
whole  of  the  exterior  had  to  be  thickly  covered  with 
cobweb  and  little  silky  cocoons.  This  was  two  full  days' 
work. 

Great  was  the  delight  of  the  little  birds  when  the  last 
delicate  filament  had  been  added.  Their  joy  knew  no 
bounds.  They  would  sit  in  the  nest  and  cry  out  in  pure 
delight.  The  whole  orchard  rang  with  their  notes  of 
jubilation.  Then  a  little  pinkish  egg,  spotted  with  red, 
appeared  in  the  nest.  This  was  followed,  next  day,  by 


TWO  LITTLE  BIRDS  153 

another.  On  the  fifth  day  after  its  completion  the 
nursery  contained  the  full  clutch  of  four  eggs. 

Most  carefully  did  the  birds  watch  over  their  priceless 
treasures.  Never  for  a  moment  did  they  leave  them 
unguarded  ;  one  of  the  pair  invariably  remained  sitting 
on  the  nest,  while  the  other  went  to  look  for  food  and 
dissipate  its  exuberant  energy  in  song  or  motion.  Dur- 
ing the  day  the  cock  and  hen  shared  equally  the  duties 
of  incubation,  but  the  hen  sat  throughout  the  night 
while  the  cock  roosted  in  a  tree  hard  by.  So  healthy 
were  the  little  birds  and  so  comfortably  weary  with  the 
labours  of  the  day  that  they  slept  uninterruptedly  all  the 
night  through  ;  nor  did  they  wake  up  when  a  human 
being  came  with  a  lantern  and  inspected  the  nest.  Thus 
some  ten  days  passed.  But  these  were  not  days  of 
weariness, because  the  hearts  of  the  little  flycatchers  were 
full  of  joy. 

Then  a  young  bird  emerged  from  one  of  the  eggs.  It 
was  an  unlovely,  naked  creature — all  mouth  and  stomach. 
But  its  parents  did  not  think  it  ugly.  Its  advent  only 
served  to  increase  their  happiness.  They  were  now  able 
to  spend  their  large  surplus  of  energy  in  seeking  food 
for  it. 

Ere  long  its  brethen  came  out  of  their  shells,  and  there 
were  then  four  mouths  to  feed ;  so  that  the  father  and 
mother  had  plenty  to  do,  but  they  still  found  time  in 
which  to  sing. 

Thus  far  everything  had  gone  as  merrily  as  a  marriage 
bell.  The  happiness  of  those  lovely  little  airy  fairy 
creatures  was  without  alloy.  It  is  true  that  they  some- 
times had  their  worries  and  anxieties,  as  when  a  human 


154  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

being  chanced  to  approach  the  nest;  but  these  were 
as  fleeting  as  the  tints  in  a  sunset  sky,  and  were  half 
forgotten  ere  they  had  passed  away.  This  idyllic  exist- 
ence was,  alas,  not  destined  to  endure. 

One  day,  when  the  man  who  kept  guard  over  the 
orchard  slumbered,  a  native  boy  entered  it  with  the 
intention  of  stealing  fruit.  But  the  pears  were  yet  green, 
and  this  angered  the  urchin.  As  he  was  about  to  leave 
the  grove  he  espied  the  beautiful  cock  flycatcher  sitting 
on  the  nest.  The  boy  had  no  soul  for  beauty ;  he  was 
not  spell-bound  by  the  beautiful  sight  that  met  his  eyes. 
He  went  to  the  tree,  drove  away  the  sitting  bird,  tore 
down  the  branch  on  which  the  nest  was  placed  and  bore 
it  off  with  its  occupants  in  triumph,  amid  the  distressed 
cries  of  the  cock  bird.  These  soon  brought  back  the 
hen,  and  great  was  her  lamentation  when  she  found  that 
that  which  she  valued  most  in  the  world  had  gone.  Her 
sorrow  and  rage  knew  no  bounds.  Poignant,  too,  was 
the  grief  of  the  cock  bird,  for  he  had  been  an  eye-witness 
of  the  dastardly  act.  For  a  few  hours  all  the  joy  seemed 
to  have  left  the  lives  of  those  little  birds.  But  they 
were  too  active,  too  healthy,  too  full  of  life  to  be  miserable 
long.  Soon  the  pleasantness  of  their  surroundings 
began  to  manifest  itself  to  them  and  soothe  their 
sorrow,  for  the  sun  was  still  shining,  the  air  was  sweet 
and  cool,  the  insects  hummed  their  soft  chorus,  and  their 
fellow-birds  poured  forth  their  joy.  So  the  cock  began 
to  sing  and  said  to  his  mate,  "  Be  not  cast  down,  the  year 
is  yet  young,  many  suns  shall  come  and  go  before  the 
cold  will  drive  us  from  this  northern  clime ;  there  is 
time  for  us  to  build  another  nest.  Let  us  leave  this 


TWO   LITTLE   BIRDS  155 

treacherous  grove  and  seek  some  other  place."  The 
hen  found  that  these  words  were  good.  Thus  did  these 
little  birds  forget  their  sorrow  and  grow  as  blithe  and 
gay  as  they  had  been  before.  But  that  orchard  knew 
them  no  more. 


THE    PARADISE    FLYCATCHER 


y          "^HE    cock   paradise    flycatcher   (Terpsiphone 

paradisi\  when  in  full  adult  plumage,  is  a 

bird   of   startling   beauty.      I    shall    never 

forget  the  first  occasion  upon  which  I  saw 

him.     It  was  in  the  Himalayas  when  night  was  falling 

that  I  caught  sight  of  some  white,  diaphanous-looking 

creature  flitting  about  among  the  trees.     In  the  dim 

twilight  it  looked  ghostly  in  its  beauty. 

It  is  the  two  elongated,  middle  tail  feathers  which 
render  the  bird  so  striking.  They  look  like  white  satin 
streamers  and  are  responsible  for  the  bird's  many 
popular  names,  such  as  cotton  -  thief,  ribbon  -  bird, 
rocket-bird.  But  this  flycatcher  has  more  than  striking 
beauty  to  commend  it  to  the  naturalist ;  it  is  of  sur- 
passing interest  from  the  point  of  view  of  biological 
theory.  The  cock  is  one  of  the  few  birds  that  undergo 
metamorphosis  during  adult  life,  and  the  species  furnishes 
an  excellent  example  of  sexual  dimorphism. 

Since  the  day,  some  years  back,  when  I  first  set  eyes 
upon  the  bird,  I  determined  to  learn  something  of  its 
habits;  but  I  had  to  wait  long  before  I  was  able  to 
carry  out  my  determination.  It  was  not  until  I  came 
to  Lahore  that  I  saw  much  of  the  species.  Here  let  me 
say  that  the  capital  of  the  Punjab,  unpromising  as 

156 


THE   PARADISE   FLYCATCHER         157 

it  looks  at  first  sight,  is,  when  one  gets  to  know  it,  a 
veritable  gold  mine  for  the  ornithologist. 

Paradise  flycatchers  migrate  there  in  great  numbers 
in  order  to  breed.  They  arrive  at  the  end  of  April  and 
at  once  commence  nesting  operations.  Before  de- 
scribing these,  let  me,  in  order  to  enable  non-ornith- 
ological readers  to  appreciate  what  follows,  say  a  few 
words  regarding  the  plumage  of  the  bird.  The  young 
of  both  sexes  are  chestnut  in  colour,  with  the  exception 
of  a  black  head  and  crest  and  whitish  under  parts. 
This  plumage  is  retained  by  the  hen  throughout  life. 
After  the  autumn  moult  of  the  second  year  the  two 
median  tail  feathers  of  the  cock  grow  to  a  length  of  six- 
teen inches,  that  is  to  say,  four  times  the  length  of  the 
other  tail  feathers,  and  are  retained  till  the  following  May 
or  June,  when  they  are  cast.  After  the  third  autumn 
moult  they  again  grow,  and  the  plumage  now  begins  to 
become  gradually  white,  the  wings  and  tail  being  the 
first  portions  to  be  affected  by  the  change ;  thus  the  cock 
is  for  a  time  partly  chestnut  and  partly  white,  and  it  is 
not  until  he  emerges  from  the  moult  of  his  fourth 
autumn  that  all  his  feathers  are  white,  with,  of  course, 
the  exception  of  those  of  his  head  and  crest.  The  bird 
retains  this  plumage  until  death.  Cock  birds  breed  in 
either  chestnut  or  white  plumage  ;  this  proves  that  the 
metamorphosis  from  chestnut  to  white  takes  place  after 
the  bird  has  attained  maturity. 

In  Lahore  this  species  nests  in  considerable  numbers 
along  the  well-wooded  banks  of  the  Ravi.  Since  the 
birds  keep  to  forest  country  it  is  not  easy  to  follow  their 
courting  operations  for  any  length  of  time  ;  the  birds 


158  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

engaged  in  courtship  appear  for  a  moment  and  then 
are  lost  to  view  among  the  foliage,  but  the  species  is 
certainly  monogamous,  and  I  think  there  can  be  but 
little  doubt  that  the  hen  courts  the  cock  quite  as  much 
as  he  courts  her.  On  28th  April  I  was  out  with  Mr. 
G.  A.  Pinto,  and  he  saw  a  couple  of  hens  chasing  a  cock 
in  white  plumage.  Presently  one  of  the  hens  drove 
away  the  other,  then  the  cock  showed  off  to  the  triumph- 
ant hen,  expanding  his  wings  and  uttering  a  sweet  little 
song,  like  the  opening  bars  of  that  of  the  white-browed 
fantail  flycatcher  (Rhipidura  albifrontatd).  I  myself 
was  not  a  witness  of  that  incident,  the  birds  not  being 
visible  from  where  I  was  standing  at  the  time ;  but  on 
3rd  June  I  saw  a  cock  bird  in  chestnut  plumage  and  a 
hen  fighting  ;  before  long  the  birds  disengaged  them- 
selves and  the  male  flew  off;  then  a  cock  in  white 
plumage  came  up  to  the  hen  and  gave  her  a  bit  of  his 
mind.  After  this  they  both  disappeared  among  the 
foliage.  Presently  I  saw  two  hens  chasing  a  chestnut- 
coloured  cock.  I  do  not  understand  the  full  significance 
of  these  incidents,  but  they  tend  to  refute  Charles 
Darwin's  contention  that  there  is  competition  among 
cocks  for  hens  but  none  among  hens  for  cocks,  and  to 
show  that  the  hen  takes  an  active  part  in  courtship. 
To  this  I  shall  return. 

It  does  not  seem  to  be  generally  known  that  the  cock 
paradise  flycatcher  is  capable  of  emitting  anything 
approaching  a  song.  Thus  Oates  writes  in  The  Fauna 
of  British  India  of  these  flycatchers,  "  their  notes  are 
very  harsh."  This  is  true  of  the  usual  call,  which  is 
short,  sharp,  and  harsh,  something  like  the  twitter  of  an 


THE   PARADISE   FLYCATCHER         159 

angry  sparrow.  But  in  addition  to  this  the  cock  has  two 
tuneful  calls.  One  resembles  the  commencement  of 
the  song  of  the  white-browed  fantail  flycatcher,  and  the 
other  is  a  sweet  little  warble  of  about  four  notes.  I 
have  repeatedly  been  quite  close  to  the  cock  when  thus 
singing  and  have  seen  his  throat  swell  when  he  sang, 
so  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  notes  being  his. 
He  thus  furnishes  one  of  the  many  exceptions  to  the 
rule  that  brilliantly  plumaged  birds  have  no  song. 

The  nest  is  a  deepish  cup,  firmly  attached  to  two  or 
more  slender  branches ;  it  is  in  shape  like  an  inverted 
cone  with  the  point  prolonged  as  a  stalk.  It  is  com- 
posed chiefly  of  vegetable  fibres  and  fine  grass ;  these 
being  coated  outwardly  by  a  thick  layer  of  cobweb  and 
small  white  cocoons.  Let  me  take  this  opportunity  of 
remarking  that  cobweb  affords  a  most  important  building 
material  to  bird  masons ;  it  is  their  cement,  and  many 
species,  such  as  sunbirds  and  flycatchers,  use  it  most 
unsparingly. 

The  paradise  flycatcher  seems  to  delight  to  build  in 
exposed  situations,  hence  a  great  many  of  their  nests 
come  to  grief,  especially  in  the  Punjab,  where,  if  there 
be  anything  in  phrenology,  the  bumps  of  destructive- 
ness  and  cruelty  must  be  enormously  developed  in 
every  small  boy. 

The  nesting  habits  of  the  paradise  flycatcher  have 
been  described  in  detail  in  the  preceding  article.  They 
are  of  considerable  biological  importance.  I  would  lay 
especial  stress  on  the  active  part  in  courtship  played 
by  the  hen,  the  large  share  in  incubation  taken  by  the 
cock,  and  the  change  in  the  plumage  of  the  cock  bird 


160  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

from  chestnut  to  white  in  the  third  year  of  his 
existence. 

Darwin,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out,  devoted  much 
time  and  energy  in  trying  to  prove  that  there  is  in  most 
species  competition  among  males  for  females,  and  that 
these  latter  are  in  consequence  able  to  exercise  a  selec- 
tion. They  choose  the  most  brilliant  and  beautiful  of 
their  numerous  suitors.  Thus  we  have  what  he  calls 
sexual  selection,  or,  as  I  should  prefer  to  call  it,  feminine 
selection.  On  this  theory  the  poor  cock  exercises  no 
selection ;  any  decrepit  old  hen  is  good  enough  for 
him !  He  is  all  eagerness,  while  the  hen  is  blase  and 
indifferent.  This  theory  is,  I  submit,  improbable  on 
a  priori  grounds.  It  is  certainly  opposed  to  human 
experience,  and  is,  I  believe,  not  borne  out  by  animal 
behaviour. 

I  have  paid  some  attention  to  the  subject  lately,  and 
am  convinced  that  in  most  cases  the  desire  of  the  hen 
for  the  cock  is  as  great  as  the  desire  of  the  latter  for  the 
hen.  It  was  only  this  morning  that  I  watched  two  hen 
orioles  trying  to  drive  each  other  away,  while  the  cock 
was  in  a  tree  near  by. 

To  repeat  what  I  have  already  said,  the  hen  courts 
the  cock  quite  as  much  as  he  courts  her.  When  a 
pair  of  birds  mate  they  are  mutually  attracted  to  one 
another.  That  there  is  such  a  thing  as  sexual  selection 
I  am  convinced,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  this  selection 
is  confined  to  the  hens.  The  hen  selects  the  best  cock 
she  can  get  to  pair  with  her,  while  the  cock  selects  the 
best  hen  available. 

I  speak  here  of  monogamous  species ;  among  poly- 


THE   PARADISE   FLYCATCHER        161 

gamous  ones  there  must  of  necessity  be  considerable 
competition  for  hens. 

The  second  point  upon  which  I  desire  to  lay  stress 
is  the  active  part  taken  by  the  cock  paradise  flycatcher 
in  incubation.  This,  again,  is,  I  believe,  nothing  very 
uncommon,  even  in  sexually  dimorphic  species,  for 
I  have  myself  put  a  cock  minvet  (Pericrocotus  peregrinus) 
off  the  nest.  Yet  this  fact  seems  to  dispose  of  Wallace's 
theory  that  the  more  sombre  hues  of  the  hen  are  due 
to  her  greater  need  of  protection,  since  she  alone  is 
supposed  to  incubate. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  bird  sitting  on  a  nest  is  not,  in 
my  opinion,  exposed  to  any  special  danger,  for  it  seems 
that  birds  of  prey  as  a  rule  only  attack  flying  objects. 

Finally,  there  is  the  extraordinary  metamorphosis 
undergone  by  the  cock  in  his  fourth  year.  It  is 
difficult  to  see  how  this  can  have  been  caused  by  the 
preference  of  the  hen  for  white  cock  birds,  since  a  great 
many  chestnut  ones  are  observed  to  breed ;  the  di- 
morphism must,  therefore,  have  originated  late  in  the  life 
history  of  the  species,  and  although  a  hen  bird  might 
prefer  a  white  to  a  chestnut  husband,  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  she  would  prefer  a  skewbald  one,  and  this 
skewbald  state  must  have  been  an  ancestral  stage  if  we 
believe  that  the  transition  is  due  to  feminine  selection 
of  white  birds.  I  may  be  asked,  "  If  you  decline  to 
believe  that  the  hen  has  greater  need  of  protection 
than  the  cock,  how  do  you  account  for  the  phenomena 
of  sexual  dimorphism,  and  if  it  is  not  sexual  selection 
which  has  caused  the  white  plumage  of  the  cock 
paradise  flycatcher  to  arise,  what  is  it  ?  " 

M 


162  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

This  article  has  already  attained  such  a  length  that 
even  had  I  complete  explanations  to  offer  I  could  not 
set  them  forth  in  this  place.  I  must  content  myself 
with  giving  what  I  believe  to  be  the  key  to  the  solution 
of  the  problem.  I  think  that  there  is  little  doubt  that 
what  a  bird  looks  for  in  its  mate  is,  not  beauty  or  brilliance 
of  plumage,  but  vigour  and  strength.  If  beauty  is  a 
correlative  character  to  strength,  then  the  hen  selects 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  cocks  willing  to  mate  with 
her,  not  because  of  his  beauty,  but  on  account  of  his 
strength;  likewise  the  cock.  Now  there  is  a  very 
intimate  connection  between  the  generative  cells  and 
the  body  cells,  and  the  male  element  tends  to  dissipate 
energy  and  the  female  element  to  conserve  it.  Thus  it  is 
that  the  general  tendency  of  the  cock  is  to  become  gaily 
coloured  and  to  grow  plumes  and  other  ornaments, 
while  the  tendency  of  the  hen  is  to  remain  of  com- 
paratively sombre  hue. 


BUTCHER    BIRDS 

BUTCHER  birds  are  so  called  because  they 
are  reputed  to  have  a  habit  of  impaling  on 
thorns  their  larger  victims,  or  as  much  of 
them  as  they,  owing  to  want  of  accommo- 
dation, are  incapable  of  eating  at  the  time  of  the  murder. 
A  bush  which  displays  a  number  of  impaled  victims — 
young  birds,  lizards,  locusts,  and  the  like — is  supposed, 
by  a  stretch  of  the  ornithological  imagination,  to  look  like 
a  butcher's  shop.  All  that  is  wanted  to  perfect  the  illu- 
sion is  a  sign-board,  bearing  the  legend  "  Lanius  vittatus, 
Purveyor  of  Meat."  I  must  here  admit,  with  charac- 
teristic honesty,  that  I  have  never  set  eyes  upon  such  a 
butcher's  shop,  or  larder,  as  it  should  be  called,  for  the 
shrike  does  not  sell  his  wares — he  merely  stores  them  for 
personal  consumption.  Nor  have  I  even  seen  a  shrike 
impale  a  victim.  My  failure  cannot,  I  think,  be  attri- 
buted to  lack  of  observation  ;  for  I  never  espy  one  of 
these  miniature  birds  of  prey  without  watching  it  atten- 
tively, in  the  hope  that  it  will  oblige  me  by  acting  as  all 
books  on  ornithology  tell  me  shrikes  do.  Every  butcher 
bird  I  have  witnessed  engaged  in  shikar  has  pounced 
down  upon  its  insect  quarry  from  a  suitable  perch, 
seized  the  luckless  victim  upon  the  ground,  imme- 
diately carried  it  back  to  its  perch  and  devoured  it  then 

163 


164  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

and  there.  I  have  seen  this  operation  repeated  scores 
of  times.  I,  therefore,  think  I  am  justified  in  suggesting 
that  the  habit  of  keeping  a  larder  is  probably  restricted 
to  the  larger  species  of  shrike,  and  that  these  only  im- 
pale their  victim  when  there  is  still  something  of  it  left 
over,  after  they  have  eaten  so  much  that  for  the  time 
being  they  cannot  possibly  stow  away  any  more. 
Jerdon,  I  notice,  makes  no  mention  of  ever  having  seen 
a  butcher  bird  behave  in  the  orthodox  manner.  Colonel 
Cunningham,  who  is  a  very  close  observer  of  bird  life, 
says,  as  the  result  of  a  long  sojourn  in  India,  that 
shrikes  "  do  not  seem  very  often  to  impale  their  victims, 
probably  because  these  are  usually  easily  broken  up ; 
but  when  they  have  secured  a  lizard  they  sometimes 
fix  it  down  upon  a  stout  thorn  so  as  to  have  a  point  of 
resistance  whilst  working  at  the  hard,  tough  skin."  If 
any  who  read  these  lines  have  seen  a  shrike's  larder, 
either  in  India  or  in  England,  I  should  esteem  it  a  great 
favour  if  they  would  furnish  me  with  some  account  of  it. 
Let  me  not  be  mistaken.  I  do  not  say  that  butcher 
birds  never  keep  larders,  for  they  undoubtedly  do ;  of 
this  I  am  satisfied.  Thus  Mr.  E.  H.  Aitken  says  of  the 
shrike :  "  It  sits  upright  on  the  top  of  a  bush  or  low 
tree,  commanding  a  good  expanse  of  open,  grassy  land, 
and  watches  for  anything  which  it  may  be  able  to  sur- 
prise and  murder — a  large  grasshopper,  a  small  lizard,  or 
a  creeping  field  mouse.  Sometimes  it  sees  a  possible 
chance  in  a  flock  of  small  birds  absorbed  in  searching 
for  grass  seeds.  Then  it  slips  from  its  watch-tower  and, 
gliding  softly  down,  pops  into  the  midst  of  them  with- 
out warning,  and  forgetting  all  about  the  true  nature  of 


BUTCHER   BIRDS  165 

its  deep  plantar  tendons,  strikes  its  talons  into  the 
nearest.  No  other  bird  I  know  of  makes  its  attack  in 
this  way  except  the  birds  of  prey.  The  little  bird  shrieks 
and  struggles,  but  the  cruel  shrike  holds  fasts  and  ham- 
mers at  the  victim's  head  with  its  strong  beak  until  it  is 
dead,  then  flies  away  with  it  to  some  thorn  bush  which 
is  its  larder.  There  it  hangs  it  up  on  a  thorn  and 
leaves  it  to  get  tender.  .  .  .  This  is  no  fable,  I  have 
seen  the  bird  do  it."  Again,  the  Rev.  C.  D.  Cullen, 
with  whom  I  have  enjoyed  many  an  ornithological 
ramble  in  England  and  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
informs  me  that  once  in  Surrey  he  came  upon  a  shrike's 
larder,  and  on  that  occasion  the  "shop"  consisted  of  the 
legs  of  a  young  green  finch. 

The  usual  food,  then,  of  the  butcher  bird  appears  to  be 
small  insects.  When  a  suitable  opportunity  offers,  the 
larger  species  will  attack  a  lizard  or  a  young  or  sickly 
bird,  especially  a  bird  in  a  cage.  Of  the  rufous-backed 
shrike  Mr.  Benjamin  Aitken  writes :  "  It  will  come 
down  at  once  to  a  cage  of  small  birds  exposed  at  a 
window,  and  I  once  had  an  amadavat  killed  and  partly 
eaten  through  the  wires  by  one  of  these  shrikes,  which  I 
saw  in  the  act  with  my  own  eyes.  The  next  day  I 
caught  the  shrike  in  a  large  basket  which  I  set  over  the 
cage  of  amadavats."  But,  of  course,  it  is  one  thing  to 
catch  a  bird  in  a  cage  and  another  to  capture  it  in  the 
open.  Shrikes  are  savage  enough  for  any  murder,  but 
most  little  birds  are  too  sharp  for  them. 

Fifteen  species  of  shrike  occur  in  India.  The  com- 
monest are,  perhaps,  the  Indian  grey  shrike  (Lanius 
lahtord)  and  the  bay-backed  shrike  (Lanius  vittatus). 


1 66  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

The  latter  is  the  one  that  frequents  our  gardens.  He 
is  not  a  large  bird,  being  about  the  size  of  a  bulbul. 
The  head  and  back  of  the  neck  are  a  pretty  grey.  The 
back  is  chestnut-maroon,  shading  off  to  whitish  near  the 
tail.  There  is  a  broad  black  streak  running  across  the 
forehead  and  through  the  eye,  giving  the  bird  a  grim, 
sinister  aspect.  The  breast  and  lower  parts  are  white  ; 
the  wings  and  tail  black,  or  rather  appear  black  when 
the  bird  is  at  rest.  During  flight  the  pinions  display  a 
conspicuous  white  bar,  and  the  white  outer  tail  feathers 
also  come  into  view.  The  stout  beak  is  black,  and  the 
upper  mandible  projects  downwards  over  the  lower  one. 
This  further  adds  to  the  ferocity  of  the  bird's  mien.  It 
is  impossible  to  mistake  a  butcher  bird  ;  look  out  for 
its  grey  head,  broad,  black  eyebrow,  and  white  breast. 

The  usual  note  of  the  shrike  is  a  harsh  cry,  but  during 
the  breeding  season,  that  is  to  say,  from  March  to  July, 
the  cock  is  able  to  produce  quite  a  musical  song. 

At  all  times  the  butcher  bird  is  a  great  mimic.  I  am 
indebted  to  a  correspondent  for  the  following  graphic 
account  of  his  histrionic  performances  :  "  Of  late  one  of 
these  birds  has  daily  perched  himself  on  a  mem  tree  in  my 
compound  and  treated  me  to  much  music.  His  hours  of 
practice  are  early  in  the  morning  and  at  sunset.  He 
begins  with  his  natural  harsh  notes,  and  then  launches 
out  into  mimicry.  I  gave  him  a  patient  hearing  this 
morning,  and  he  treated  me  to  the  following :  the  lap- 
wing, the  sparrow-hawk,  the  partridge,  the  Brahminy 
minah,  the  kite,  the  honeysucker,  the  hornbill  (of  these 
parts),  the  scream  of  the  green  parrot,  and  the  cry  of 
a  chicken  when  being  carried  off  by  a  kite." 


BUTCHER   BIRDS  167 

The  nests  of  the  various  species  of  shrike  resemble 
one  another  very  closely.  Speaking  generally,  the  nest 
is  a  neatly  made,  thick-walled,  somewhat  deep  cup. 
All  manner  of  material  is  pressed  into  service — grass, 
roots,  wool,  hair,  leaves,  feathers,  pieces  of  rag,  paper, 
fine  twigs,  and  straw.  The  whole  forms  a  compact 
structure  firmly  held  together  by  cobweb,  which  is  the 
cement  ordinarily  utilised  by  bird  masons. 

The  nursery  is  usually  situated  in  a  small  tree,  a 
thorny  one  for  preference,  in  the  fork  of  a  branch,  or 
the  angle  that  a  branch  makes  with  the  main  stem. 
Seen  from  below  it  looks  likes  a  little  mass  of  rubbish. 
As  a  rule  one  or  two  pieces  of  rag  hang  down  from 
it  and  betray  its  presence  to  the  egg-collector. 

The  normal  clutch  of  eggs  is  four.  The  ground 
colour  of  these  is  cream,  pale  greenish,  or  grey,  and 
there  is  towards  the  large  end  a  zone  of  brown  or  pur- 
plish blotches. 

The  shrike  is  not  a  shy  bird.  I  have  sat  within  eight 
feet  of  a  nest  and  watched  the  parents  feeding  their 
young.  No  notice  was  taken  of  me,  but  a  large  lizard 
that  appeared  on  the  branch  on  which  the  nest  was 
placed  was  savagely  attacked.  The  young  seem  to  be 
fed  chiefly  on  large  green  caterpillars. 

Newly  fledged  butcher  birds  differ  considerably  from 
the  adults,  and  while  in  the  transition  stage  are  some- 
times rather  puzzling  to  the  ornithologist. 


DUCKS 


"  f          "HE  duck,"  says  a  writer  in  the  Spectator, 

"is  a  person  who  seldom  gets  his  deserts." 

As  regards  myself  I  cannot  but  admit  the 

truth  of  this  assertion.     I  mean,  not  that  I 

am  a  duck,  but  that  I  have  returned  that  bird  evil  for 

good.    He  has  given  me  much  pleasure,  and  I  have  either 

eaten  or  shot  him  as  a  quid  pro  quo. 

One  of  the  greatest  delights  of  my  early  youth  was 
to  feed  the  ducks  that  lived  on  the  Serpentine.  How 
vividly  do  I  remember  the  joy  that  the  operation 
gave  me !  In  the  first  place,  I  was  allowed  to  enter  the 
kitchen — that  Forbidden  Land  of  childhood's  days, 
presided  over  by  a  fearsome  tyrant,  yclept  the  cook — 
and  witness  dry  bread  being  cut  up  into  pieces  of  a  size 
supposed  to  be  suited  to  the  mastication  of  ducks.  The 
bread  thus  cut  up  would  be  placed  in  a  paper  bag  and 
borne  off  by  me  in  triumph  to  the  upper  regions.  Then 
my  sister  and  I,  accompanied  by  the  governess,  would 
toddle  up  Sloane  Street,  through  Lowndes  Square,  past 
the  great  French  Embassy,  into  Hyde  Park,  along 
Rotten  Row,  and  thus  up  to  that  corner  of  the  Serpentine 
where  the  ducks  were  wont  to  congregate.  There,  amid 
a  chorus  of  quacks,  the  bread  would  be  thrown,  piece  by 
piece,  to  the  ever-hungry  ducks.  The  writer  in  the 

168 


DUCKS  169 

Spectator  states  that  "the  domestic  duck,  unlike  his  wild 
brother,  is  a  materialist,  and  where  dinner  is  concerned 
is  decidedly  greedy."  The  avidity  with  which  the  ducks 
used  to  make  for  those  pieces  of  dry  bread  certainly 
bears  out  this  statement.  Every  time  a  crust  was  thrown 
on  to  the  water  there  would  be  a  wild  scramble  for  it. 
One  individual,  more  fortunate  than  the  others,  would 
secure  it,  and,  sprinting  away  from  his  comrades,  would 
endeavour  to  swallow  it  whole.  I  have  said  that  the 
pieces  of  bread  were  cut  up  into  portions  of  a  size 
supposed  to  be  convenient  for  the  mastication  of  a  duck; 
but,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  cook  invariably  over- 
estimated the  size  of  the  bird's  gullet ;  hence  the  frantic 
muscular  efforts  to  induce  them  to  descend  "  red  lane." 
It  is  a  miracle  that  not  one  of  those  ducks  shared  the 
sad  fate  of  Earl  Godwin. 

Some  of  them  must  certainly  have  lost  the  epithelial 
lining  of  the  oesophagus  in  their  desperate  efforts  to 
dispose  of  those  pieces  of  dry  bread.  An  exceptionally 
unmanageable  morsel  would  be  dropped  again  into  the 
water,  and  there  would  be  a  second  scramble  for  it.  By 
this  time,  however,  it  would  have  become  so  much  softened 
as  to  be  comparatively  easy  to  swallow.  How  we  used 
to  enjoy  watching  the  efforts  of  those  ducks  to  negotiate 
the  pieces  of  bread  !  We  were,  of  course,  blissfully  ig- 
norant of  the  unnaturalnessof  the  process.  Ourgoverness 
used  to  read,  in  preference  to  natural  history,  fiction  of 
the  class  in  which  the  fortunate  scullery-maid  always 
marries  a  Duke.  Thus  it  was  that  my  sister  and  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  wonderful  structure  of  the  duck's 
beak.  We  were  not  aware  that  the  mandibles  were 


i;o  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

lamellated  or  toothed  to  form  a  most  efficient  sieve. 
We  were  not  acquainted  with  the  fact  that  the  natural 
food  of  the  duck  is  composed  of  small,  soft  substances, 
that  as  the  bird  puts  its  head  under  water  it  catches  up 
its  breath  to  suck  in  the  soft  substances  that  may  be 
floating  by,  that  these  become  broken  up  as  they  pass 
through  the  duck's  patent  filter,  only  those  that  are 
approved  being  retained  and  swallowed.  But  the  want 
of  this  knowledge  did  not  diminish  by  one  jot  or  tittle 
our  enjoyment.  When  all  the  bread  was  disposed  of, 
we  would  inflate  and  "  pop  "  the  paper  bag — a  perform- 
ance which  gave  us  nearly  as  much  pleasure  as  feeding 
the  ducks. 

As  I  grew  older  I  came  to  regard  the  feeding  of 
ducks  as  a  childish  amusement,  and  in  no  way  suited 
to  one  who  had  attained  the  dignity  of  stand-up  collars. 
So,  for  some  years,  I  took  but  little  interest  in  the  birds, 
except  on  the  occasions  when  one  confronted  me  at 
table. 

It  has  again  become  a  pleasure  to  feed  ducks,  but  I 
fear  that,  in  spite  of  this,  I  shoot  them  more  often  than 
I  feed  them.  I  must  confess  that,  when  I  see  a  great 
company  of  the  quacking  community,  the  sportsman  in 
me  gets  the  upper  hand  of  the  naturalist,  the  lust  of 
killing  prevails  over  the  love  of  observation.  I  know 
of  few  greater  pleasures  than  to  spend  a  morning  at  a 
well-stocked  jhil  on  a  superb  winter's  day  in  Northern 
India,  accompanied,  of  course,  by  a  number  of  fellow- 
sportsmen  ;  for  duck  shooting  is  poor  sport  for  a  single 
gun.  With  but  one  man  after  them  it  is  the  ducks 
rather  than  the  human  being  who  enjoy  the  sport.  But, 


DUCKS  171 

given  three  or  four  companions,  what  better  sport  is 
there  than  that  afforded  by  a  day  on  a  well-stocked  Jkil? 
At  a  preconcerted  signal  the  various  shooters,  each  in 
his  boat,  put  off  from  different  parts  of  the  bank  of  the 
lake  and  make  for  the  middle,  which  is  black  with  a 
great  company  of  quack-quacks,  composed  chiefly 
of  white-eyed  pochards,  gadwalls,  and  spotted-bills. 
Suddenly  a  number  of  duck  take  alarm  and  get  up ; 
then  the  fun  begins.  For  half  an  hour  or  more  one 
enjoys  a  succession  of  good  sporting  shots ;  the  firing  is 
so  constant  that  one's  gun  grows  almost  too  hot  to  hold. 
Soon,  however,  all  the  duck  that  are  not  shot  down 
betake  themselves  to  some  other  jkil,  and  only  the 
coots  remain. 

Excellent  sport  though  duck  shooting  be,  I  am  thankful 
to  say  that  in  these  latter  days  my  acquaintance  with 
the  duck  tribe  is  not  confined  to  shooting  and  eating 
members  of  it.  I  occasionally  have  the  opportunity  of 
coming  into  more  friendly  relations  with  it. 

The  duck  is  a  bird  worth  knowing.  He  is  a  fowl  of 
character,  a  creature  that  commands  not  only  our  respect, 
but  our  affection.  He  makes  an  excellent  pet,  as  any  one 
may  find  out  by  purchasing  some  bazaar  ducks. 

Some  years  ago  the  cook  of  the  Superintendent  of 
Police  of  a  certain  district  in  the  United  Provinces  pur- 
chased a  couple  of  these  birds.  When  bought  they  were 
in  an  emaciated  condition,  and  it  was  the  intention  of 
the  cook  to  fatten  them  up  and  then  set  them  before  his 
master.  But  before  the  fattening  process  was  completed 
the  small  sons  of  the  policeman  took  a  great  fancy  to 
the  birds,  and  the  birds  reciprocated  the  fancy.  The 


i;2  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

result  was  that  their  lives  were  spared,  and  they  became 
friends  of  the  family.  They  went  everywhere  with 
the  children,  and  used  even  to  accompany  them  when 
on  tour  with  their  father.  They  were  allowed  to  enter 
the  tents  as  though  they  were  dogs,  and  in  return  used 
to  permit  the  children  to  do  anything  they  pleased  with 
them.  They  even  submitted  to  being  carried  about  like 
dolls.  Most  amusing  was  it  to  see  the  good-natured 
boredom  on  a  duck's  face  as  a  small  boy  staggered  along 
with  it  tightly  clasped  in  his  arms.  Its  expression  would 
say  more  plainly  than  words,  "  I  don't  altogether  relish 
this,  but  I  know  the  child  means  well." 

Nor  was  this  behaviour  in  any  way  exceptional.  A 
better-disposed  creature  than  the  duck  does  not  exist. 
"  I  have  kept  and  closely  watched  hundreds  of  ducks," 
writes  Mr.  S.  M.  Hawkes,  "  but  I  never  saw  them  fight 
with  each  other,  nor  ever  knew  a  duck  the  aggressor  in  a 
dispute  with  some  other  kind  of  fowl."  Yet  the  duck  is 
no  coward.  The  drake  is  a  warrior  every  inch  of  him, 
constant  in  affection,  and  violent  in  love  and  wrath.  If 
the  adult  duck  is  so  lovable,  how  much  more  so  is  the 
duckling  !  What  a  source  of  delight  are  those  golden 
fluff  balls  to  a  child.  On  seeing  them  for  the  first  time 
nine  out  of  ten  children  will  cry — 

But  I  want  one  to  play  with — Oh  I  want 
A  little  yellow  duck  to  take  to  bed  with  me  ! 


A    DETHRONED    MONARCH 


i 


eagle  is  a  bird  that  deserves  much  sym- 
pathy, for  he  has  seen  better  times.  Until 
a  few  years  ago  the  pride  of  place  among 
the  fowls  of  the  air  was  always  given  to 
the  eagle.  "  Which  eagle  ? "  you  ask.  I  reply,  "  The 
eagle."  The  poets,  who  have  ever  been  the  bird's 
trumpeters,  know  but  one  eagle  upon  which  they  lavish 
such  epithets  as  "  the  imperial  bird,"  "  the  royal  eagle," 
"the  monarch  bird,"  "lord  of  land  and  sea,"  "the  wide- 
ruling  eagle,"  "  the  prince  of  all  the  feathered  kind," 
"  the  king  of  birds,"  "  the  bird  of  heaven,"  "  the  Olympic 
eagle,"  "  the  bold  imperial  bird  of  Jove,"  and  so  on,  ad 
nauseam. 

The  eagle  of  the  poets  was  truly  regal.  But  some- 
body discovered,  one  day,  that  this  bird  is,  like  the 
phcenix,  a  mythical  creature.  Eagles  do  exist — many 
species  of  them — but  they  are  very  ordinary  creatures, 
in  no  way  answering  to  the  description  of  the  poet's 
pet  fowl.  This,  of  course,  is  not  the  fault  of  the  eagles. 
They  are  not  to  blame  because  the  bards  have,  with 
one  accord,  combined  to  idealise  them.  Nevertheless, 
men,  now  that  they  have  found  out  the  truth,  seem  to 
bear  a  grudge  against  the  eagle.  They  are  not  content 
with  dethroning  him,  they  must  needs  throw  mud  at 

i73 


174  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

him.  It  is  the  present  custom  to  vilify  the  eagle,  to 
speak  of  him  as  though  he  were  an  opponent  at  an 
election,  to  dub  him  a  cowardly  carrion  feeder,  little  if 
anything  better  than  a  common  vulture.  Let  us,  there- 
fore, give  the  poor  out-at-elbows  bird  an  innings  to-day 
and  see  what  we  can  do  for  him. 

But  how  are  we  to  recognise  him  when  we  see  him  ? 
This  is  indeed  a  problem.  There  is  a  feature  by  which 
the  true  eagles  may  be  distinguished  from  all  other 
birds  of  prey,  namely,  the  feathered  tarsus.  The  true 
eagles  alone  among  the  raptores  decline  to  go  about 
with  bare  legs ;  their  "  understandings "  are  feathered 
right  down  to  the  toe.  Thus  may  they  be  recognised. 

This  method  of  identification  is  on  a  par  with  that  of 
catching  a  bird  by  placing  a  small  quantity  of  salt 
upon  its  tail.  Eagles  show  no  readiness  to  come  and 
have  their  legs  inspected.  There  is,  I  fear,  no  feature 
whereby  the  tyro  can  distinguish  an  eagle  as  it  soars 
overhead  high  in  the  heavens.  Nothing  save  years  of 
patient  observation  can  enable  the  naturalist  to  identify 
any  particular  bird  of  prey  at  sight.  Colour  is,  alas ! 
no  guide.  The  raptores  are  continually  changing  their 
plumage.  It  were  as  easy  to  identify  a  woman  by  the 
colour  of  her  frock  as  a  bird  of  prey  by  the  hues  of 
its  plumage.  We  read  of  one  eagle  that  it  is  tawny 
rufous,  of  another  that  it  is  rufous  tawny,  of  a  third 
that  it  is  tawny  buff.  The  surest  method  of  dis- 
tinguishing the  various  birds  of  prey  is  by  their  flight ; 
but  is  it  possible  to  describe  the  peculiar  flap  of  the 
wings  of  one  eagle,  and  the  particular  angle  at  which 
another  carries  its  pinions  as  it  sails  along  ?  The  length 


A   DETHRONED   MONARCH  175 

of  the  tail  is  a  guide,  but  by  no  means  an  infallible  one. 
The  shikra,  the  sparrow-hawk,  the  kestrel,  and  the  kite 
are  long-tailed  birds,  the  caudal  appendage  accounting 
for  half  their  total  length.  In  the  eagles  the  tail  is 
considerably  shorter  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the 
bird.  Thus  the  female  of  the  golden  eagle  (Aquila 
chryscetus) — which,  en  passant ',  is  not  gold  in  colour,  but 
dirty  whitish  brown — is  40  inches  long,  while  the  tail  is 
but  14  inches.  The  vultures  have  yet  shorter  tails  in 
proportion  to  their  size.  If,  therefore,  you  see  soaring 
overhead  a  big  bird  of  prey,  looking  like  a  large  kite, 
with  a  moderate  tail  and  curved  rather  than  straight 
wings,  that  bird  is  probably  an  eagle.  So  much,  then, 
for  the  appearance  of  our  dethroned  monarch  ;  it  now 
behoves  us  to  consider  his  character  and  habits.  There 
are  many  species  of  eagle,  each  of  which  has  its  own 
peculiar  ways,  hence  it  is  impossible  for  the  naturalist 
to  generalise  concerning  them.  In  this  respect  he  is 
not  so  fortunate  as  the  poet.  Let  us  briefly  consider 
two  species,  one  belonging  to  the  finer  type  of  eagle 
and  the  other  to  the  baser  sort. 

Bonelli's  eagle  (Hieraetus  fasciatus\  or  the  crestless 
hawk  eagle  as  Jerdon  calls  him,  is  perhaps  the  nearest 
approach  of  any  to  the  poet's  eagle.  This  fine  bird  is 
common  on  the  Nilgiris,  but  rare  in  Madras.  It  is  said 
to  disdain  carrion ;  it  preys  on  small  mammals  and 
birds  of  all  sizes.  It  takes  game  birds  by  preference, 
but  when  hungry  does  not  draw  the  line  at  the  crow.  If 
it  has  hunted  all  day  without  obtaining  the  wherewithal 
to  fill  its  belly,  it  repairs  to  the  grove  of  trees  in  which 
all  the  crows  of  the  neighbourhood  roost.  As  the  sun 


176  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

sinks  in  the  heavens  the  crows  arrive  in  straggling 
flocks.  Suddenly  the  eagle  dashes  into  the  midst  of 
them  and,  before  the  crows  have  realised  what  has 
happened,  one  of  them  is  being  carried  away  in  the 
eagle's  talons.  Then  the  corvi  fill  the  welkin  with  their 
cries  of  distress.  It  is  very  naughty  of  the  eagle  to 
prey  upon  crows  in  this  way,  because  by  so  doing  it 
mocks  the  theory  of  protective  colouration.  No  one 
can  maintain  that  our  friend  Corvus  splendens  is  pro- 
tectively coloured,  that  is  to  say,  so  coloured  as  to  be 
inconspicuous.  No  one  but  a  blind  man  can  fail  to  see 
a  crow  as  he  steadily  flaps  his  way  through  the  air.  No 
one  can  deny  that  the  bird  flourishes,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  eagles  eat  him,  and  that  his  plumage  is  as  con- 
spicuous as  the  blazer  of  the  Lady  Margaret  Boat  Club 
at  Cambridge.  If,  as  the  theory  teaches,  it  is  of  para- 
mount importance  to  a  bird  to  be  inconspicuous,  why 
was  not  the  whole  clan  of  corvi  swept  off  the  face  of  the 
earth  long  ago  ? 

We  have,  in  conclusion,  to  consider  an  eagle  of  the 
baser  sort.  The  Indian  tawny  eagle  (Aquila  vindhiana\ 
which  is  the  commonest  eagle  in  India,  will  serve  as  an 
example.  This  bird  eats  anything  in  the  way  of  flesh 
that  it  can  obtain.  If  the  opportunity  offers,  it  will 
pounce  upon  a  squirrel,  a  small  bird,  a  lizard,  or  a  frog ; 
but  it  is  a  comparatively  sluggish  creature,  and  so  robs 
other  raptores  in  preference  to  catching  its  own  quarry. 
Most  birds  of  prey  are  robbers.  This  the  falconer 
knows,  and  profits  by  his  knowledge.  He  first  captures 
some  small  bird  of  prey,  such  as  a  white-eyed  buzzard. 
Having  tied  up  two  or  three  of  its  wing  feathers  so  that 


A   DETHRONED   MONARCH  177 

it  cannot  fly  far,  he  attaches  to  its  feet  a  bundle  of 
feathers,  from  which  hang  a  number  of  fine  hair  nooses. 
He  then  flies  this  lure  bird.  Every  bird  of  prey  in  the 
neighbourhood  espies  it  and,  seeing  the  bundle  of 
feathers  and  remarking  the  laboured  flight,  jumps  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  carrying  booty,  and  promptly 
gives  chase  with  the  object  of  relieving  it  of  its  burden. 
The  first  robber  to  arrive  is  caught  in  one  of  the  nooses. 
The  tawny  eagle  is  not  above  feeding  upon  carrion. 
It  has  not  the  pluck  of  Bonelli's  eagle,  but  is  apparently 
not  the  contemptible  coward  it  is  made  out  to  be  by 
some  writers.  A  few  weeks  ago  I  noticed,  high  up  in  a 
farash  tree,  the  platform  of  sticks  and  branches  that 
does  duty  for  the  nest  of  this  species.  I  sent  my 
climber  to  find  out  what  was  in  the  nest.  While  he 
was  handling  the  two  eggs  it  contained,  the  mother 
eagle  swooped  down  upon  him,  scratched  his  head 
severely,  and  flew  off  with  his  turban.  As  she  sped 
away,  her  prize  attracted  the  notice  of  some  kites,  who 
at  once  attacked  her.  In  the  metie  which  ensued,  the 
puggaree  dropped  to  the  ground,  to  the  joy  of  its  lawful 
owner  and  the  disgust  of  the  combatants.  I  must  add 
that  I  was  not  an  eye-witness  of  the  encounter ;  I  how- 
ever saw  the  marks  of  the  bird's  claws  on  my  climber's 
scalp. 


BIRDS    IN   THE    RAIN 


f*~       ~"^HERE  are  occasions  when  one  is  tempted 

to  wish  that  one  were  a  bird,  for  the  fowls 

of  the  air  are  spared  many  of  the  troubles 

which   we   poor   terrestrial   creatures  have 

to  endure. 

Most  of  us  in  India  have  received  a  telegram  ordering 
us  off  to  some  far-away  station  ;  then,  when  distracted 
by  the  worry  and  bustle  of  packing  ;  when  the  hideous 
noises  of  the  Indian  railway  station  "get  on  the 
nerves  "  ;  as  we  sit  in  the  dusty,  jolting  train,  we  begin 
to  envy  the  birds  who  are  able  to  annihilate  distance, 
who  have  no  boxes  to  pack  up,  no  baggage  to  go  astray, 
no  bills  to  pay,  no  chits  to  write,  no  cards  to  leave,  no 
time-table  to  worry  through,  no  trains  to  lose,  no 
connections  to  miss,  but  have  simply  to  take  to  their 
wings  and  away. 

Most  of  us,  again,  have  been  caught  in  the  rain. 
As  the  watery  contents  of  the  clouds  slowly  but  surely 
percolated  through  our  clothes,  as  our  boots  grew  heavier 
and  heavier  until  the  water  oozed  out  at  every  step,  we 
must  have  envied  the  birds.  They  know  naught  of 
rheumatism  or  ague.  Their  clothes  do  not  spoil  in  the 
rain.  They  wear  no  boots  to  become  waterlogged. 
Their  wings  rarely  become  heavy  or  sodden.  For  them 

178 


BIRDS    IN   THE    RAIN  179 

the  rain  is  a  huge  joke.  They  enjoy  the  falling  rain- 
drops as  keenly  as  a  man  enjoys  his  morning  shower-bath. 
There  is  no  bath  like  the  rain  bath,  and  if  the  drops  do 
fall  very  heavily  there  is  always  shelter  to  be  taken. 

It  is  of  course  possible  for  birds  to  have  too  much 
rain  ;  but  this  does  not  often  happen  in  India,  except 
occasionally  in  the  monsoon. 

As  I  write  this  it  is  pouring  "  cats  and  dogs,"  and 
sitting  in  a  tree  not  five  yards  away  from  the  window 
are  a  couple  of  crows  thoroughly  enjoying  the  blessings 
which  Jupiter  Pluvius  is  showering  down  upon  them. 
I  am  high  up,  seventy  or  eighty  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  ground,  and  can  therefore  look  down  upon  the 
crows.  They  are  perched  on  the  ends  of  the  highest 
branches,  determined  not  to  miss  a  drop  of  the  rain. 
One  of  them  is  not  quite  satisfied  with  his  position; 
he  espies  another  bough  which  seems  more  exposed, 
so  to  this  branch  he  flies,  although  it  is  so  slender  that 
it  can  scarce  support  him.  Nevertheless  he  hangs  on 
to  his  swaying  perch  and  opens  out  his  wings  and  flaps 
his  tail — does,  in  fact,  everything  in  his  power  to  make 
the  most  of  the  passing  tropical  shower.  The  other 
crow  has  caught  sight  of  me,  and  thinks  he  will 
stare  me  out,  so  sits  motionless  with  his  eye  fixed 
on  mine,  while  the  rain  pours  upon  him  and  falls 
off  his  tail  in  a  little  waterfall.  Occasionally  he  gives 
his  friend  an  answering  "squawk,"  and  then  shakes 
his  feathers,  and  is  altogether  enjoying  himself;  he  is  as 
jolly  as  the  proverbial  sandboy.  In  other  trees  near  by 
sit  more  crows,  and,  so  far  as  one  can  judge,  each  seems 
to  have  taken  up  a  position  in  which  he  is  likely  to 


1 8o  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

secure  the  maximum  of  rain.  All  round  there  is  ample 
shelter ;  there  are  numerous  ledges,  outhouses,  and 
verandahs,  in  any  of  which  the  crows  could  obtain 
shelter  if  they  desired  it.  Shelter?  Not  a  bit  of  it, 
they  revel  in  the  rain. 

Two  pied  wagtails  fly  by,  chasing  one  another  glee- 
fully in  the  pouring  rain  ;  they  too  are  regular  "  wet 
bobs." 

On  the  telegraph  wires  hard  by  the  king-crows  sit 
with  their  tails  projecting  horizontally  so  as  to  catch 
as  much  of  the  downpour  as  possible.  The  dragon-flies 
are  seeking  their  prey  regardless  of  the  rain ;  this  is 
somewhat  surprising,  when  we  consider  that  to  them  a 
drop  of  rain  must  bear  about  the  same  relation  as  a 
glass  of  water  does  to  a  human  being.  As  they  are 
hunting,  it  is  obvious  that  the  minute  creatures  on  which 
they  feed  must  also  be  out  in  the  rain,  although  every 
drop  contains  quite  sufficient  water  in  which  to  drown 
them. 

The  mortality  of  small  insects  in  a  heavy  fall  of 
rain  must  be  enormous.  What  a  strange  sight  a  shower 
must  look  to  an  insect !  Each  drop  must  seem  like  a 
waterspout. 

Are  tiny  insects  aware  that  the  falling  drops  are 
fraught  with  danger  to  them  ?  Do  they  attempt  to 
dodge  them  ?  I  think  not.  They  can  know  nothing 
of  death  or  of  the  danger  of  drowning.  They  probably 
fly  about  as  usual  in  the  rain  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the 
harm  that  threatens  them.  Some  escape  unscathed,  but 
others  less  fortunate  are  overwhelmed  as  in  a  flood,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  their  little  spark  of  life  is  extinguished. 


BIRDS    IN   THE   RAIN  181 

But  to  return  to  the  birds.  They  are  all  making  the 
most  of  the  downpour,  ruffling  their  feathers  so  that 
the  water  shall  penetrate  to  the  skin. 

But  the  rain  is  more  to  the  birds  than  a  very  pleasant 
form  of  bath.  It  is  for  them  a  mi-caremey  a  water 
carnival,  an  hour  of  licence  when  every  bird — even  the 
oldest  and  most  staid — may  throw  appearances  to  the 
wind,  when  it  is  "  quite  the  thing  "  to  look  dishevelled. 

What  a  transformation  does  a  shower  of  rain  effect 
in  the  myna.  As  a  rule  the  bird  looks  as  smart  as  a 
lifeguardsman ;  its  uniform  is  so  spick  and  span  that 
the  veriest  martinet  could  find  no  fault  with  it.  But 
after  the  rain  has  been  falling  for  ten  minutes  the 
myna  looks  as  disreputable  as  a  babbler.  A  shower 
is  the  signal  for  all  the  birds  to  let  themselves  go  and 
have  a  spree.  No  bird  then  minds  how  untidy  it  is, 
for  it  knows  that  there  is  none  to  point  the  finger  of 
scorn  at  it ;  all  are  in  the  same  boat,  or,  at  any  rate, 
in  the  same  shower  of  rain.  So  each  one  makes  the 
most  of  the  period  of  licence.  The  most  staid  birds 
splash  about  in  puddles  and  revel  in  the  experience 
in  much  the  same  way  as  a  child  enjoys  paddling 
on  the  seashore. 

And  when  the  rain  is  over,  what  a  shaking  and 
preening  of  feathers  there  is !  What  a  general  brushing 
up !  The  bird  world  seems  for  a  time  to  have  turned 
itself  into  a  toilet  club.  Presently,  the  last  arcana  of 
the  toilet  being  completed,  the  birds  come  forth 
looking  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  an  English  meadow 
when  the  sun  shines  upon  it  after  a  summer  shower. 

Then  there  are  all  the  good  things  which  the  rain 


182  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

brings  with  it.  How  luscious  and  sweet  the  fruit  must 
taste  when  the  raindrops  have  washed  away  all  the 
dust  and  other  impurities  with  defile  it.  What  a 
multitude  of  edible  creeping  things  does  a  shower 
bring  forth.  In  England  it  causes  to  emerge  all 
manner  of  grubs  and  worms  which  before  had  been 
lurking  in  their  burrows.  In  India  is  it  not  the  rain 
that  ushers  in  the  red-letter  day  for  insectivorous 
birds — the  day  that  witnesses  the  swarming  of  the 
"white  ants"?  What  a  feast  do  these  myriads  of 
termites  provide  for  the  feathered  things.  In  addition 
to  these  there  is  all  the  multitude  of  winged  and 
crawling  insects  which  the  rain  brings  to  life  as  if  by 
magic.  How  badly  would  the  birds  fare  but  for  the 
barsath  which  brings  forth  these  insects,  upon  which 
they  are  able  to  feed  their  young. 

Perhaps  the  hoopoes  most  of  all  appreciate  the  rain, 
for  it  makes  the  ground  so  delightfully  soft ;  they  are 
then  able  with  such  ease  to  plunge  their  long  beaks 
into  the  earth  and  extract  all  manner  of  hidden 
treasures  which  are  usually  most  difficult  of  access. 

Is  there  anything  in  the  world  more  complete  than 
the  happiness  of  birds  in  a  shower  of  rain  ? 


i 


THE   WEAVER   BIRD 

weaver  bird  has,  thanks  to  its  marvel- 
lous nest,  a  world-wide   reputation.     It  is 
related  to  our  ubiquitous  friend  the  house 
sparrow,  and  is  known  to  men  of  science  as 
Ploceus  bay  a. 

Except  at  the  breeding  season,  the  weaver  bird  looks 
rather  like  an  overgrown  sparrow,  and  frequently  passes 
as  such.  But  the  cock  decks  himself  out  in  gay  attire 
when  he  goes  a-courting.  The  feathers  of  his  head 
become  golden,  while  his  breast  turns  bright  yellow  if 
he  be  an  elderly  gentleman,  or  rusty  red  if  he  still 
possess  the  fire  of  youth. 

Weaver  birds  are  found  all  over  India.  In  most 
parts  they  seem  to  shun  the  haunts  of  man,  but  in 
Burma  they  frequent  gardens.  Jerdon  mentions  a 
house  in  Rangoon  which  had  at  one  time  over  one 
hundred  weaver  birds'  nests  suspended  from  the  thatch 
of  the  roof!  In  India  proper  the  favourite  site  for  a 
nest  is  a  tree  that  overhangs  water.  Toddy  palms  are 
most  commonly  chosen,  but  in  Northern  India,  where 
palms  are  but  rarely  seen,  a  babul  tree  is  usually 
utilised. 

Weaver  birds  or  bayas,  as  they  are  invariably  called 
by  Hindustani-speaking  people,  live  almost  exclusively 

183 


1 84  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

on  grain,  hence  they  are  easy  birds  to  keep  in  captivity. 
Given  a  commodious  aviary  and  plenty  of  grass,  cap- 
tive bayas  amuse  themselves  by  weaving  their  wonder- 
ful nests.  They  are,  however,  not  very  desirable  as 
pets  if  they  have  to  share  a  cage  with  other  birds,  for, 
as  Colonel  Cunningham  remarks,  "every  weaver  bird 
appears  to  be  possessed  by  an  innate  desire  to  hammer 
in  the  head  of  his  neighbour."  To  this  the  neighbour 
is  apt  to  take  exception,  so  that  unpleasantness  ensues. 

Natives  frequently  train  bayas  to  do  all  manner  of 
tricks. 

The  man  with  performing  birds  is  quite  an  institution 
in  India.  Parrots,  bayas,  and  pigeons  are  most  fre- 
quently trained. 

A  very  effective  trick,  which  is  performed  alike  by 
parrots  and  weaver  birds,  is  the  loading  and  firing  of  a 
miniature  cannon.  First  the  bird  places  some  grains  of 
powder  in  the  muzzle  of  the  cannon,  then  it  rams  these 
home  with  a  ramrod.  It  next  takes  a  lighted  match 
from  its  master,  which  it  applies  to  the  touch-hole.  The 
result  is  a  report  loud  enough  to  scare  every  crow  in 
the  neighbourhood,  but  the  little  baya  will  remain 
perched  on  the  gun,  having  apparently  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  performance. 

The  nest  of  the  baya  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
things  in  nature.  Description  is  unnecessary.  Every 
one  who  has  been  in  India  has  seen  dozens  of  the 
hanging  flask-shaped  structures,  while  those  who  know 
not  the  Gorgeous  East  must  be  acquainted  with  the 
nest  from  pictures. 

On  account  of  its  champagne-bottle  shaped  nest,  the 


THE  WEAVER   BIRD  185 

weaver  is  sometimes  known  as  the  bottle  bird  ;  I  have 
also  heard  it  called  the  hedge  sparrow. 

It  makes  no  attempt  to  conceal  its  exquisitely  woven 
nest.  It  relies  for  protection  on  inaccessibility,  not 
concealment.  Every  animal  badmash  can  see  the  nest, 
but  cannot  get  at  it.  It  hangs  sufficiently  high  to  be 
out  of  reach  of  all  four-footed  creatures.  The  ends  of 
the  entrance  passage  are  frayed  out  so  as  to  baffle  all 
attempts  on  the  part  of  squirrels  and  lizards  to  reach 
the  treasures  hidden  away  in  it. 

Both  cock  and  hen  work  at  the  nest,  the  cock  being 
the  more  industrious.  The  fibres  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed are  not  found  ready-made.  The  birds  manufac- 
ture them  out  of  the  tall  elephant  grass  which  is  so 
common  in  India.  The  weaver  alights  on  one  of  the 
nearly  upright  blades  and  seizes  with  its  beak  a  neigh- 
bouring blade  near  the  base  and  makes  a  notch  in  it ;  it 
next  seizes  the  edge  of  the  blade  above  the  notch  and 
jerks  its  head  away.  By  this  means  it  strips  off  a  thin 
strand  of  the  leaf;  it  then  proceeds  to  tear  off  in  a 
similar  manner  a  second  strand,  retaining  the  first  one 
in  its  beak  ;  in  precisely  the  same  way  a  third  and  per- 
haps a  fourth  strand  are  stripped  off.  The  tearing 
process  is  not  always  continued  to  the  extreme  end  of 
the  blade  ;  the  various  strands  sometimes  remain  at- 
tached to  the  tip  of  the  blade.  The  force  with  which 
the  bird  flies  away  usually  suffices  to  complete  the 
severance ;  sometimes,  however,  it  is  not  effected  so 
easily,  and  the  bird  is  pulled  back  and  swings  in  the 
air  suspended  by  the  strands  it  holds  in  its  bill. 
Nothing  daunted,  the  weaver  makes  a  second  attempt 


186  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

to  fly  away,  and  if  this  is  not  successful,  continues  until 
its  efforts  are  crowned  with  success. 

The  grass  which  is  used  in  nest  construction  is  im- 
pregnated with  silicon  to  such  an  extent  that  I  ex- 
perienced considerable  difficulty  in  extricating  from  my 
pocket  some  of  the  fibres  which,  on  one  occasion,  I  took 
home  with  me.  The  material  is  thus  eminently  suitable 
for  weaving  purposes. 

The  fibres  first  collected  are  securely  wound  round 
the  branch  or  leaf  from  which  the  nest  will  hang. 
The  fibres  added  subsequently  are  plaited  together 
until  a  stalk  four  or  five  inches  long  is  formed  ;  this  is 
then  expanded  into  a  bell-shaped  structure.  The  bell 
constitutes  the  roof  of  the  nursery.  When  the  roof  is 
completed  a  loop  is  constructed  across  its  base,  so  that 
the  nest  at  this  stage  may  be  likened  to  an  inverted 
basket  with  a  handle. 

Up  to  this  point  the  cock  and  hen  do  the  same  kind 
of  work,  both  fetch  strips  of  grass  or  of  palm  leaves  and 
weave  these  into  the  structure  of  the  nest.  But  when 
once  the  loop  or  cross-bar  is  completed  the  hen  takes 
up  a  position  on  it  and  makes  the  cock  do  all  the 
bringing  of  material.  She  henceforth  works  from  the 
interior  of  the  nest  and  he  from  the  exterior. 

They  push  the  fibres  through  the  walls  to  one  another. 
Thus  the  work  progresses  very  rapidly.  On  one  side  of 
the  loop  the  bell  is  closed  up  so  as  to  form  a  chamber 
in  which  the  eggs  are  laid,  and  the  other  half  is  pro- 
longed into  a  neck,  which  becomes  the  entrance  to  the 
nest.  This  may  be  nearly  a  foot  long ;  six  inches  is, 
however,  a  more  usual  length. 


THE   WEAVER   BIRD  187 

The  entrance  to  the  nursery  is  thus  from  below.  The 
way  the  owners  shoot  vertically  upwards  into  it,  with 
closed  wings,  without  perceptibly  shaking  it  is  really 
marvellous. 

Nest  construction  obviously  gives  the  little  builders 
great  pleasure.  They  frequently  build  supernumerary 
nests,  purely  from  the  joy  of  building.  Each  time  the 
cock  bird  approaches  the  nest  with  a  beakful  of  material 
he  cries  out  with  delight.  Every  now  and  again  in  the 
midst  of  weaving  material  into  the  structure  of  the  nest 
he  bursts  into  song. 

Weaver  birds  usually  build  in  company ;  ten  or  a 
dozen  different  nests  being  found  in  the  same  tree.  As 
each  little  craftsman  is  in  a  very  excited  state,  fights 
between  neighbouring  cocks  frequently  ensue,  but  these 
are  never  of  a  serious  nature.  I  was  once  the  witness 
of  an  amusing  piece  of  wickedness  on  the  part  of  a  cock 
baya.  The  bird  in  question  flew  to  a  branch  near  the 
nest  belonging  to  another  pair  of  weaver  birds  who 
were  absent.  After  contemplating  it  for  a  little  he  flew 
to  the  nest,  and  having  deliberately  wrenched  away  a 
piece  of  it  with  his  beak,  made  off  with  the  stolen 
property  and  worked  it  into  his  own  nest !  Four  times 
did  he  visit  his  neighbour's  nest  and  commit  larceny ; 
two  of  the  stolen  strands  he  utilised  and  the  remaining 
ones  fell  to  the  ground.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  thief  was  actuated  by  motives  of  jealousy  ;  for  he 
deliberately  dropped  some  of  the  stolen  material  on  to 
the  ground  and  extracted  it  from  the  place  at  which 
the  nest  was  attached  to  its  branch,  thus  weakening 
its  attachment.  The  victim  of  the  outrage  on  his 


i88  BIRDS    OF   THE   PLAINS 

return  did  not  appear  to  notice  that  anything  was 
amiss. 

Not  the  least  interesting  feature  of  the  nest  is  the 
clay  which  is  studded  about  it  in  lumps.  In  one  nest 
Jerdon  found  no  fewer  than  six  of  these  lumps,  weigh- 
ing in  all  three  ounces.  The  clay  has,  I  think,  three 
uses :  it  helps  to  balance  the  nest,  it  prevents  it  being 
blown  about  by  every  gust  of  wind,  and  keeps  it  steady 
while  the  bird  is  entering  it. 

A  story  is  abroad,  and  is  repeated  in  nearly  every 
popular  book  on  ornithology,  to  the  effect  that  the 
weaver  bird  sticks  fireflies  on  these  lumps  of  clay,  and 
thus  illuminates  the  nursery,  or  renders  it  terrifying  to 
predacious  creatures.  Jerdon  scoffs  at  this  firefly  story, 
and  I,  too,  am  unable  to  accept  it.  Nevertheless  it  is  so 
universally  believed  by  the  natives  of  India  that  there 
must  be  some  foundation  for  it. 

Some  time  ago  a  correspondent  living  on  the  West 
Coast  of  India  informed  me  that  weaver  birds  are  very 
abundant  in  that  part  of  the  country,  that  their  nests 
are  everywhere  to  be  seen,  and  that  he  had  noticed 
fireflies  stuck  into  many  of  them.  He  asked  if  I  could 
explain  their  presence.  I  suggested  in  reply  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake  and  requested  him  to  look  care- 
fully next  nesting  season,  that  is  to  say  in  August,  and, 
if  he  came  upon  a  single  nest  on  to  which  a  firefly  was 
stuck,  to  take  it  down,  fireflies  and  all,  and  send  it  to 
me  at  my  expense.  Since  then  August  has  come  and 
gone  thrice,  and  I  have  heard  nothing  from  my  corres- 
pondent !  Thus  it  is  that  I  am  still  among  those  that 
disbelieve  the  firefly  story. 


THE   WEAVER   BIRD  189 

My  theory  is  that  the  bird  brings  the  clay  to  the  nest 
in  its  bill  in  a  moist  condition.  Now  wet  clay  retains 
moisture  for  some  time  and  would  shine  quite  brightly 
in  the  moonlight,  so  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  a 
firefly.  Unfortunately  the  weaver  bird  is  not  common 
where  I  am  now  stationed,  so  that  I  have  not  had  an 
opportunity  of  putting  this  theory  to  the  test.  I  have, 
however,  noticed  how  the  nests  built  by  solitary  wasps 
shine  when  the  clay  that  composes  them  is  wet. 

The  natives  of  Northern  India  attribute  great  medi- 
cinal value  to  the  nest  of  the  weaver  bird.  They  assert 
that  a  baby  will  never  suffer  from  boils  if  it  be  once 
washed  in  water  in  which  a  weaver  bird's  nest  has  been 
boiled ! 

A  great  many  half-finished  weaver  birds'  nests  are 
seen  in  India.  Most  of  these  are  the  work  of  the  cock, 
who  thus  amuses  himself  while  his  wife  is  incubating. 
A  few  are  nests  which  have  gone  wrong,  nests  which  do 
not  balance  nicely  and  so  have  not  been  completed. 

Two  eggs  are  usually  laid  ;  they  are  pure  white  and 
without  any  gloss.  On  these  the  hen  sits  very  closely. 
On  one  occasion  Hume  took  home  a  very  fine  specimen 
of  the  nest  and  hung  it  from  one  of  a  pair  of  antlers  on 
his  dining-room  wall.  Three  days  later  the  inmates  of 
the  bungalow  became  aware  of  a  very  unpleasant  odour, 
which  was  traced  to  the  nest.  On  taking  it  down  it 
was  found  to  contain  a  female  baya  dead  upon  two 
dead  half-hatched  chicks. 


GREEN    PARROTS 

GREEN  parrots,  as  the  long-tailed  paroquets 
of  India  are  popularly  called,  although  fairly 
abundant  during  the  cold  weather,  cannot 
be   said   to  be  common    birds  in   Madras. 
This  is  a  small  mercy,  for  which  all  Madrassis  should  be 
duly  thankful.     The  green  parrot  is  one  of  those  good 
things  of  which  it  is  possible  to  have  too  much.    Where 
the  beautiful  birds  are  not  too  plentiful  they  are  always 
greatly  admired  and  considered  most  pleasing  additions 
to  the  landscape  ;  where  they  abound  most  people  find 
it  difficult  to  speak  of  them  in  parliamentary  language. 
The  Punjab  is  the  happy  hunting-ground  of  green 
parrots.     I  am  now  in  a  station  where  these  birds  prob- 
ably outnumber  the  crows,  where  we  are  literally  steeped 
in  green  parrots,  where  we  hear  nothing  else  all  day  long 
save  their  screeches  and  chuckles. 

Green  parrots  owe  their  unpopularity  to  their  mis- 
chievousness  and  their  noisiness.  "  In  their  malignant 
love  of  destruction  and  mischief,"  writes  Colonel  Cunning- 
ham, "  they  run  crows  very  hard,  and  seem  only  to  fall 
short  of  that  standard  through  the  happy  ordinance  that 
their  mental  development  has  halted  a  good  way  behind 
that  of  their  rivals.  They  are,  therefore,  incapable  of 
devising  such  manifold  and  elaborate  schemes  of  mischief 

190 


GREEN   PARROTS  191 

as  the  crows  work  out,  but  in  so  far  as  intent  and  dis- 
interested love  of  evil  goes,  there  is  not  a  pin  to  choose 
between  them.  They  take  the  same  heart-whole  delight 
in  destruction  for  destruction's  sake,  and  find  the  same 
bliss  in  tormenting  and  annoying  other  living  things." 
While  fully  endorsing  the  above,  I  feel  constrained  to 
remark  that  the  parrot  is  no  fool ;  he  may  not  be  quite 
as  'cute  as  an  Indian  crow,  but  he  is  gifted  with  sufficient 
brain-power  for  all  practical  purposes.  If  the  green 
parrot  is  less  harmfully  mischievous  than  the  crow  he  is 
far  more  offensively  noisy.  He  is  able  to  produce  an 
almost  endless  variety  of  sounds,  but  unfortunately  there 
is  not  a  single  one  among  them  all  which  by  any 
stretch  of  the  imagination  can  be  called  musical. 

All  species  of  green  parrots  have  similar  habits.  All 
are  gregarious  and  feed  almost  exclusively  on  fruit  and 
seeds.  They  do  much  damage  to  the  crops,  destroying 
more  than  they  eat,  since  they  have  a  way  of  breaking 
off  a  head  of  corn,  eating  a  few  grains,  and  then  attacking 
another  head.  Where  green  parrots  are  plentiful  the 
long-suffering  ryot  sets  them  down  among  the  ills  to 
which  the  flesh  is  heir.  When  the  crops  are  cut  the 
parrots  feed  among  the  stubble,  picking  up  the  fallen 
grain. 

The  exceedingly  swift,  arrow-like  flight  of  the  green 
parrot  is  too  familiar  to  need  description.  The  flocks 
usually  fly  high  up,  screaming  loudly  ;  at  times,  however, 
they  skim  along  the  ground  ;  occasionally  they  thread 
their  way  among  trees,  avoiding  the  branches  in  the 
most  wonderful  manner,  considering  the  pace  at  which 
they  move. 


192  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Very  amusing  it  is  to  watch  a  little  company  of 
parrots  in  a  tree.  Sometimes  the  birds  perch  on  the 
topmost  branches  and  there  chuckle  to  one  another;  at 
others  they  cling  to  the  trunk,  looking  very  comic, 
pressed  up  against  the  bark  with  tails  outspread. 
Not  infrequently  one  sees  two  of  them  sitting  together 
in  a  tree  indulging  in  a  little  mild  flirtation,  which,  in 
green  parrot  communities,  takes  the  form  of  head  tick- 
ling. These  birds  are  very  skilled  climbers  ;  they  move 
along  the  branches  foot  over  foot,  using  the  beak  when 
they  have  to  negotiate  a  difficult  pass.  Thus  they 
clamber  about,  robbing  the  tree  of  its  fruit  and  keeping 
up  a  running  conversation.  Suddenly  the  flock  will  take 
to  its  wings  and  fly  off,  screeching  boisterously.  The 
members  of  each  little  community  seem  to  live  in  a 
state  of  rowdy  good-fellowship.  No  one  who  watches 
parrots  in  a  state  of  nature  can  doubt  that  existence 
affords  them  plenty  of  pleasure. 

Green  parrots  nest  in  January  or  February  in  Southern 
India,  and  somewhat  later  in  the  North.  The  courtship 
of  the  rose-ringed  species  is  thus  described  by  Captain 
Hutton  :  "  At  the  pairing  season  the  female  becomes 
the  most  affected  creature  possible,  twisting  herself  into 
all  sorts  of  ridiculous  postures,  apparently  to  attract  the 
notice  of  her  sweetheart,  and  uttering  a  low  twittering 
note  the  while,  in  the  most  approved  style  of  flirtation, 
while  her  wings  are  half  spread  and  her  head  kept 
rolling  from  side  to  side  in  demi-gyrations ;  the  male 
sitting  quietly  by  her  side,  looking  on  with  wonder  as  if 
fairly  taken  aback — and  wondering  to  see  her  make 
such  a  guy  of  herself.  I  have  watched  them  during 


GREEN   PARROTS  193 

these  courtships  until  I  have  felt  humiliated  at  seeing 
how  closely  the  follies  of  mankind  resembled  those  of 
the  brute  creation.  The  only  return  the  male  made 
to  these  antics  was  scratching  the  top  of  her  head  with 
the  point  of  his  beak,  and  joining  his  bill  to  hers  in  a 
loving  kiss." 

Note  that  it  is  the  hen  that  makes  the  advances. 
There  can  be  no  mistake  about  this,  for  the  presence  of 
the  rose-coloured  ring  round  the  neck  enables  us  to  dis- 
tinguish at  a  glance  the  cock  from  the  hen. 

The  more  I  see  of  birds  the  more  convinced  do  I 
become  that,  in  the  matter  of  selecting  mates,  the  hens 
do  not  have  things  all  their  own  way.  In  monogamous 
species  the  cock  frequently  chooses  his  spouse ;  selection 
is  mutual. 

The  nest  is  a  cavity  in  a  tree,  and  is  thus  described 
by  Hume :  "  The  mouth  of  the  hole,  which  is  circular 
and  very  neatly  cut  and,  say,  two  inches  on  the  average 
in  diameter,  is  sometimes  in  the  trunk,  sometimes  in 
some  large  bough,  and  not  unfrequently  in  the  lower 
surface  of  the  latter.  It  generally  goes  straight  in  for 
two  to  four  inches,  and  then  turns  downwards  for  from 
six  inches  to  three  feet.  The  lower  or  chamber  portion 
of  the  hole  is  never  less  than  four  or  five  inches  in 
diameter,  and  is  often  a  large  natural  hollow,  three  or 
four  times  these  dimensions,  into  which  the  bird  has  cut 
its  usual  neat  passage." 

My  experience  differs  from  that  of  Hume,  inasmuch 
as  it  tends  to  show  that  green  parrots  do  not  excavate 
their  own  holes,  or  even  the  entrances  to  them.     I  sup- 
pose I  have  seen  over  a  hundred  green  parrots'  nests, 
o 


194  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

and  all  have  been  in  existing  hollows.  Green  parrots 
frequently  evict  the  squirrels  which  tenant  a  cavity  in  a 
tree  and  use  it  for  nesting  purposes. 

They  sometimes  nest  in  holes  in  buildings.  There  is 
in  Lahore  an  old  half-ruined  gateway,  known  as  the 
Chauburgi*  In  this  dozens  of  green  parrots  nest 
simultaneously. 

The  rose-ringed  paroquet  (Palceornis  torquatus]  seems 
usually  to  nest  in  trees,  while  the  larger  Alexandrine 
paroquet  (Palceornis  nepalensis)  nests  by  preference  in 
holes  in  buildings. 

The  nest  hole  is  not  lined. 

Four  white  eggs  are  usually  laid.  Both  parents  take 
turns  at  incubation. 

Parrots  are  birds  which  thrive  remarkably  well  in 
captivity.  This,  I  fear,  is  a  doubtful  blessing,  for  it 
leads  to  a  vast  number  of  the  birds  being  taken  prisoner. 
Many  of  those  which  are  kept  by  natives,  and  even 
some  kept  by  Europeans,  are,  I  am  afraid,  cruelly 
treated.  It  is  true  that  the  cruelty  is  in  many  cases 
unintentional,  but  this  does  not  afford  the  poor  captive 
much  consolation. 

Parrot-catching  is  a  profitable  occupation  in  India ; 
since  nestlings  fetch  from  four  to  eight  annas  each. 
Thousands  of  young  birds  are  dragged  out  of  their 
nurseries  every  year  and  sold  in  the  bazaars. 

Nor  are  the  young  birds  immune  from  capture  after 
they  have  left  the  nest.  They  roost  for  a  few  nights  in 
company  before  dispersing  themselves  over  the  face  of 
the  country.  The  wily  bird-catcher  marks  down  one  of 
these  nesting  spots — he  has  possibly  had  to  pay  rent  for 


GREEN   PARROTS  195 

it,  for  parrot-catching  is  quite  a  profession,  so  large  is 
the  demand  for  captive  birds — and  then  sets  in  likely 
places  split  pieces  of  bamboo  smeared  over  with  bird- 
lime. When  daybreak  comes  the  unlucky  birds  that 
have  chanced  to  roost  on  the  limed  bamboos  find  that 
they  cannot  get  away,  that  they  are  stuck  to  their 
perches ! 

Natives  of  India  are  very  fond  of  taming  parrots. 
They  capture  the  birds  at  an  age  when  they  are  unable 
to  feed  themselves.  These  young  parrots  are  considered 
as  members  of  the  family,  and  are  allowed  to  roam 
about  at  large  in  the  room  in  which  their  master  lives. 
They  make  a  great  noise  and  so  are  not  very  desirable 
pets. 

I  am  sometimes  asked  by  those  who  keep  parrots 
how  to  make  them  talk.  This  is  not  an  easy  question 
to  answer.  Some  birds  are  much  more  ready  to  learn 
than  others.  I  do  not  consider  that  the  various  Indian 
species  make  such  good  talkers  as  some  other  kinds,  as, 
for  example,  the  West  African  parrot — the  grey  one 
with  the  red  tail.  Nevertheless,  what  follows  applies 
indiscriminately  to  all  species  of  parrot.  If  you  want 
to  make  a  bird  learn  quickly  to  talk,  use  plenty  of  bad 
language  before  it.  It  is  really  wonderful  how  rapidly 
a  parrot  will  pick  up  swear  words.  There  appears  to 
be  an  incisiveness  about  them  which  appeals  to  parrot 
nature.  As  a  rule  it  requires  much  patience  to  teach  a 
parrot  anything  except  profanity.  Constant  repetition 
of  the  same  sound  before  the  bird  is  necessary.  The 
gramophone  is  said  to  make  the  best  teacher.  The  in- 
strument should  be  made  to  repeat  slowly  and  steadily 


196  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

the  phrase  it  is  desired  to  teach  the  bird,  and  placed 
quite  close  to  the  parrot's  cage,  which  should  be  covered 
up.  A  word  of  warning  to  those  who  try  this  up-to- 
date  method  of  instruction.  Polly's  lesson  should  not 
last  much  longer  than  ten  minutes,  and  only  one  a  day 
be  given  ;  otherwise  the  poor  bird  may  get  brain  fever. 


THE  ROOSTING  OF  THE  SPARROWS 

MOST  species  of  birds  like  to  roost  in  com- 
panies, partly  because  it  is  safer  to  do  so, 
partly  for  the  sake  of  companionship,  and 
sometimes,  in  England  at  any  rate,  be- 
cause by  crowding  together  they  keep  each  other  warm. 
Birds   have   their   favourite   roosting    places.     Certain 
trees  are  patronised  while  others  are  not.     Perhaps  one 
clump  will  be  utilised  every  night  for  a  month  or  longer, 
then  a  move  will  be  made  to  another  clump.     Later  on 
a  return  may  be  made  to  the  original  site.     I  do  not 
know  what  determines  these  changes  of  locality. 

The  sunset  hour  is,  I  think,  the  most  interesting  at 
which  to  watch  birds.  They  seem  to  be  livelier  then 
than  at  any  other  time  of  the  day ;  they  are  certainly 
more  loquacious.  The  dormitory  of  the  crows,  the 
mynas,  or  the  green  parrots  is  a  perfect  pandemonium. 
Whilst  listening  to  the  uproar  one  can  only  suppose 
each  member  of  the  colony  to  be  bubbling  over  with 
animal  spirits  and  intent  on  recounting  to  his  fellows 
all  the  doings  of  the  day. 

Most  people  may  be  inclined  to  think  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  derive  much  pleasure  from  observing  so 
common  a  bird  as  the  sparrow.  This  is  a  mistake. 
Often  and  often  have  I  watched  with  the  greatest 

197 


198  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

pleasure  the  roosting  operations  of  this  despised  bird. 
I  know  of  a  row  of  bushes  that  forms  the  dormitory  of 
hundreds  of  sparrows.  To  enable  the  reader  to  appre- 
ciate what  follows,  let  me  say  that  the  hedge  in  question 
is  only  some  twenty  yards  long,  its  height  is  not  much 
greater  than  that  of  a  man,  it  is  nowhere  more  than 
eight  feet  in  breadth,  and  is  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
an  inhabited  bungalow.  Less  than  six  yards  away  from 
it  is  a  well,  fitted  with  a  creaking  Persian  wheel,  at 
which  coolies  are  continually  working. 

If  you  happen  to  pass  this  hedge  within  an  hour  of 
sunset,  you  will  hear  issuing  from  it  the  dissonance  of 
many  sparrows'  voices.  You  stop  to  listen,  and,  as  you 
wait,  a  flock  of  sparrows  dives  into  the  thicket.  You 
look  about  to  see  whether  any  more  are  coming  and  ob- 
serve nothing.  Suddenly  some  specks  appear  in  the  air, 
as  if  spontaneously  generated.  In  two  seconds  these  are 
seen  to  be  sparrows.  Within  half  a  minute  of  the  time 
you  first  set  eyes  upon  them  they  are  already  in  the 
bushes.  They  are  followed  by  another  little  flock  of 
six  or  seven,  and  another  and  another.  Flight  after 
flight  arrives  in  quick  succession,  each  of  which  shoots 
into  the  roosting  hedge.  I  use  the  word  "  shoot"  ad- 
visedly, for  no  other  term  describes  the  speed  at  which 
they  enter  the  bushes.  Their  flight,  although  so  rapid, 
is  not  direct ;  it  takes  the  form  of  a  quavering  zigzag. 
Some  of  the  flocks  do  not  immediately  plunge  into  the 
bushes.  They  circle  once,  twice,  thrice,  or  even  oftener, 
before  they  betake  themselves  to  their  leafy  dormitory. 
Sometimes  part  of  a  flight  dive  into  the  hedge  imme- 
diately upon  arrival,  while  the  remainder  circle  round 


THE  ROOSTING  OF  THE  SPARROWS  199 
and  then  fling  themselves  into  the  bushes  as  though 
they  were  soldiers  performing  a  well-practised  man- 
oeuvre ;  the  first  bird  to  reach  the  bush  entering  at  the 
nearest  end,  the  next  a  little  farther  on,  the  third  still 
farther,  and  so  on,  so  that  the  last  sparrow  to  arrive 
enters  the  hedge  at  the  far  end.  Sometimes  a  flock 
perches  for  a  time  on  a  tree  near  by  before  entering  the 
hedge.  Those  who  have  only  noticed  sparrows  potter- 
ing about  will  scarcely  be  able  to  believe  their  eyes 
when  they  see  the  speed  at  which  they  approach  the 
roosting  place.  For  the  moment  they  are  transformed 
into  dignified  birds. 

All  this  time  those  individuals  already  in  the  hedge 
are  making  a  great  noise.  Their  chitter,  chitter,  chitter 
never  for  a  moment  ceases  or  even  diminishes  in  in- 
tensity. Once  in  the  hedge,  the  sparrows  do  not 
readily  leave  it.  There  is  much  motion  of  the  leaves 
and  branches,  and  birds  are  continually  popping  out  of 
one  part  of  the  bushes  into  another.  It  is  thus  evident 
that  there  is  considerable  fighting  for  places.  If,  while 
all  this  is  going  on,  you  walk  up  to  part  of  the  hedge  and 
shake  it,  the  birds  disturbed  will  only  fly  a  yard  or  two 
and  at  once  settle  elsewhere  in  the  thicket. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  has  nearly  set;  the  coolies  near 
by  have  ceased  working  and  are  kindling  a  fire  within  a 
couple  of  yards  of  the  bushes.  But  the  sparrows  appear 
to  ignore  both  them  and  their  fire.  Settling  down  for 
the  night  engrosses  their  whole  attention. 

As  the  sun  touches  the  horizon  the  incoming  flights  of 
sparrows  become  fewer  and  fewer ;  and  after  the  golden 
orb  has  disappeared  only  one  or  two  belated  stragglers 


200  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

arrive.  Sparrows  are  early  roosters.  Something  ap- 
proaching three  thousand  of  them  are  now  perched  in 
that  small  hedge,  yet  none  are  visible  except  those  that 
pop  in  and  out,  when  jockeyed  out  of  positions  they 
have  taken  up.  But  although  only  a  few  sparrows  come 
in  after  the  sun  has  set,  it  is  not  until  fully  fifteen  minutes 
later  that  there  is  any  appreciable  abatement  of  the  din. 
It  then  becomes  more  spasmodic ;  it  ceases  for  half  a 
second,  to  burst  forth  again  with  undiminished  intensity. 

Twenty  minutes  or  so  after  sunset  the  clamour  be- 
comes suddenly  less.  It  is  now  possible  to  discern  in- 
dividual voices.  The  noise  grows  rapidly  feebler.  It 
almost  ceases,  but  again  becomes  louder.  It  then  nearly 
stops  a  second  time.  Perhaps  not  more  than  twenty 
voices  are  heard.  There  is  yet  another  outburst,  but  the 
twitterers  are  by  now  very  sleepy.  Suddenly  there  is 
perfect  silence  for  a  few  seconds,  then  more  feeble  twit- 
tering, then  another  silence  longer  than  the  last. 

It  is  not  yet  dark,  there  is  still  a  bright  glow  in  the 
western  sky.  The  periods  of  silence  grow  more  pro- 
longed and  the  outbursts  of  twittering  become  more 
faint  and  of  shorter  duration. 

It  is  now  thirty-nine  minutes  after  the  sun  has  set  and 
perfect  stillness  reigns.  The  birds  must  have  all  fallen 
asleep.  But  no  !  one  wakeful  fellow  commences  again. 
He  soon  subsides.  It  has  grown  so  dark  that  you  can 
no  longer  see  the  sparrow-hawk  perched  on  a  tree  hard 
by.  He  took  up  his  position  there  early  in  the  evening, 
and  will  probably  breakfast  first  thing  to-morrow  morn- 
ing off  sparrow ! 

You  now  softly  approach  the  bushes  until  your  face 


THE  ROOSTING  OF  THE  SPARROWS      201 

touches  the  branches.  There  are  twenty  or  thirty  spar- 
rows roosting  within  fifteen  inches  of  you.  You  cannot 
see  any  of  them,  but  if  you  were  to  stretch  forth  your 
hand  you  could  as  likely  as  not  catch  hold  of  one.  You 
disturb  a  branch  and  there  is  a  rustling  of  a  dozen  pairs 
of  wings,  so  close  to  you  that  your  face  is  fanned  by  the 
wind  they  cause.  You  have  disturbed  some  birds,  but 
they  are  so  sleepy  that  they  move  without  uttering  a 
twitter.  You  leave  the  bush  and  return  an  hour  later. 
Perfect  silence  reigns.  You  may  now  go  right  up  to  the 
roosting  hedge  and  talk  without  disturbing  any  of  the 
three  thousand  birds.  You  may  even  strike  a  match 
without  arousing  one,  so  soundly  do  they  sleep. 

Those  who  wish  to  rid  a  locality  of  a  superabundance 
of  sparrows  might  well  profit  by  the  fact  that  the  birds 
sleep  so  soundly  in  companies.  Could  anything  be 
easier  than  to  throw  a  large  net  over  such  a  hedge  and 
thus  secure,  at  one  fell  blow,  the  whole  colony  ? 


A   GAY   DECEIVER 

THE  drongo  cuckoo  (Surniculus  lugubris)  is 
a  bird  of  which  I  know  practically  nothing. 
I  doubt  whether  I  have  ever  seen  it  in  the 
flesh.  It  is,  of  course,  quite  unnecessary  to 
apologise  for  discoursing  upon  a  subject  of  which  one's 
knowledge  is  admittedly  nil.  In  this  superficial  age  the 
most  successful  writers  are  those  most  ignorant  of  their 
subject.  When  you  know  only  one  or  two  facts  it  is 
quite  easy  to  parade  them  properly,  to  set  them  forth  to 
best  advantage.  They  are  so  few  and  far  between  that 
there  is  no  danger  of  their  jostling  one  another  or  be- 
wildering the  reader.  Then,  if  you  are  conversant  only 
with  one  side  of  a  question,  you  are  able  to  lay  down 
the  law  so  forcibly,  and  the  public  likes  having  the  law 
laid  down  for  it,  it  does  not  mind  how  crude,  how  absurd, 
how  impossible  one's  sentiments  are  so  long  as  one  is 
cocksure  of  them  and  is  not  afraid  to  say  so. 

My  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  the  drongo 
cuckoo  is,  however,  not  my  chief  reason  for  desiring  to 
write  about  it.  I  wish  to  discuss  the  bird  because 
natural  selectionists  frequently  cite  it  as  bearing  striking 
testimony  to  the  truth  of  their  theory,  whereas  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  does  just  the  opposite.  Surniculus  lugubris 
is,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  an  uncompromising 

202 


A   GAY   DECEIVER  203 

opponent  of  those  zoologists  who  pin  their  faith  to  the 
all-sufficiency  of  natural  selection  to  account  for  evolu- 
tion in  the  organic  world. 

The  drongo  cuckoo  is  as  like  the  king-crow  as  one 
pea  is  to  another.  This  bird,  says  Blanford,  "  is  remark- 
able for  its  extraordinary  resemblance  in  structure  and 
colourisation  to  a  drongo  or  king-crow  (Dicrurus).  The 
plumage  is  almost  entirely  black,  and  the  tail  forked 
owing  to  the  lateral  rectrices  being  turned  outwards." 
Blanford  further  declares  that  the  bird,  owing  to  its 
remarkable  likeness  to  the  king-crow,  is  apt  to  be  over- 
looked. 

This  being  so,  it  is  quite  unnecessary  for  me  to 
describe  the  drongo  cuckoo ;  it  is  the  image  of  a  king- 
crow.  But  stay,  perhaps  there  are  some  who  do 
not  know  this  last  bird  by  sight.  Such  should  make  its 
acquaintance.  They  will  find  it  sitting  on  the  next 
telegraph  wire  they  pass — a  sprightly  black  bird,  much 
smaller  than  the  crow  (with  which  it  has  no  connection), 
possessing  a  long,  forked  tail.  Every  now  and  again  it 
makes  little  sallies  into  the  air  after  the  "  circling  gnat," 
or  anything  else  insectivorous  that  presents  itself. 
When  you  see  such  a  bird  you  may  safely  bet  on  its 
being  a  king-crow;  the  off-chance  of  its  proving  a 
drongo  cuckoo  may  be  neglected  by  all  but  the  ultra- 
cautious. 

Not  much  is  known  of  the  habits  of  this  cuckoo  ;  but 
what  we  do  know  shows  that,  sometimes,  at  any  rate,  it 
makes  the  king-crow  act  as  its  nursemaid.  Mr.  Davison 
saw  two  king-crows  feeding  a  young  Surniculus.  The 
consequence  is  that  every  book  on  natural  history  trots 


204  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

out   our   friend  the  drongo  cuckoo  as  an  example  of 

mimicry.      The    mimicry   is,    of    course,    unconscious : 

it  is  said  to   be   the   result   of  the  action   of  natural 

selection. 

King-crows  are,  as  every  one  knows,  exceedingly  pug- 
nacious birds  ;  at  the  nesting  season  both  cock  and  hen 
are  little  furies,  who  guard  the  nursery  most  carefully 
and  will  not  allow  a  strange  species  to  so  much  as  perch 
in  the  tree  in  which  it  is  placed. 

It  is  thus  obvious  that  the  cuckoo  who  elects  to  victim- 
ise a  king-crow  is  undertaking  a  "big  thing,"  yet  this 
is  what  Surniculus  does.  It  accomplishes  its  aim  by 
trickery  ;  it  becomes  a  gay  deceiver,  disguising  itself  like 
its  dupe.  Now  I  readily  admit  that  the  disguise  may  be 
of  the  utmost  use  to  the  Surniculus ;  I  can  well  under- 
stand that  natural  selection  will  seize  hold  of  the  dis- 
guise when  once  it  has  been  donned  and  possibly  perfect 
it ;  but  I  cannot  see  how  natural  selection  can  have 
originated  the  disguise  as  such. 

The  drongo  cuckoo  may  be  called  an  ass  in  a  lion's 
skin,  or  a  lion  in  an  ass's  skin,  whichever  way  one  looks 
at  things.  When  once  the  skin  has  been  assumed 
natural  selection  may  modify  it  so  as  better  to  fit  the 
wearer  ;  but  more  than  this  it  cannot  do. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  know  the  colour  of  the  last  com- 
mon ancestor  of  all  the  cuckoos,  but  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  colour  was  black.  What,  then,  caused  Surni- 
culus lugubris  to  become  black  and  assume  a  king-crow- 
like  tail  ? 

A  black  feather  or  two,  even  if  coupled  with  some 
lengthening  of  the  tail,  would  in  no  way  assist  the 


A  GAY  DECEIVER  205 

cuckoo  in  placing  its  egg  in  the  drongo's  nest.  Suppose 
an  ass  were  to  borrow  the  caudal  appendage  of  the 
king  of  the  forest,  pin  it  on  behind  him,  and  then 
advance  among  his  fellows  with  loud  brays,  would  any 
donkey  of  average  intelligence  be  misled  by  the  feeble 
attempt  at  disguise  ?  I  think  not.  Much  less  would  a 
king-crow  be  deceived  by  a  few  black  feathers  in  the 
plumage  of  a  cuckoo. 

I  do  not  believe  that  natural  selection  has  any  direct 
connection  with  the  nigritude  of  the  drongo  cuckoo.  It 
is  my  opinion  that,  so  far  as  the  struggle  for  existence  is 
concerned,  it  matters  little  to  an  animal  what  its  colour 
be.  Every  creature  has  to  be  some  colour :  what  that 
actual  colour  is  must  depend  upon  a  great  many  factors  ; 
among  these  we  may  name  the  metabolic  changes  that 
go  on  inside  the  animal,  its  hereditary  tendencies, 
sexual  selection,  and  natural  selection.  Is  it  natural 
selection  that  has  caused  the  king-crow  to  be  black  ?  I 
trow  not. 

The  drongo  is  black  because  it  is  built  that  way ;  its 
tendency  is  to  produce  black  feathers.  Just  as  some 
men  tend  to  put  on  flesh,  so  also  some  species  of  birds 
tend  to  grow  black  plumage.  In  the  case  of  the  king- 
crow  sexual  selection  has  possibly  contributed  to  the 
bird's  nigritude.  It  is  possible  that  black  is  a  colour 
that  appeals  to  king-crow  ladies.  "  So  neat,  you  know  ; 
a  bird  always  looks  well  in  black,  and  a  forked  tail  gives 
him  such  an  air  of  distinction." 

As  the  hen  drongo  is  a  bird  capable  of  looking  after 
herself,  even  when  incubating,  there  is  no  necessity  for 
her  to  be  protectively  coloured.  As  I  have  repeatedly 


206  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

declared,  one  ounce  of  good  solid  pugnacity  is  a  better 
weapon  in  the  struggle  for  existence  than  many  pounds 
of  protective  colouration. 

Again,  in  the  case  of  king-crows  nigritude  may  be  an 
expression  of  vigour,  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of 
strength. 

Let  me  make  myself  clear.  Suppose  that  in  a  race  of 
savages  those  that  had  fair  hair  were  stronger,  bolder, 
more  prolific,  and  more  pushing  than  the  dark-haired 
men.  Fair  hair,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  always 
accompanied  strength  and  the  like.  It  is  obvious  that, 
under  these  conditions,  the  race  would  in  time  become 
fair-haired :  the  milder  dark  men  would  eventually  be 
hustled  out  of  existence.  Fair  hair  would  then  be  the 
outward  expression  of  vigour  :  it  would  not  be  the  cause 
of  vigour,  merely  the  accompaniment  of  it ;  nor  would 
it  be  a  direct  product  of  natural  selection.  In  the 
same  way  it  is  possible  that  among  drongos  nigritude  is 
in  some  manner  correlated  with  vigour.  This  idea  is 
not  altogether  fanciful.  Are  there  not  horses  of  "  bad 
colour  "  ?  Are  not  white  "  socks  "  a  sign  of  weakness  ? 
Is  not  roan  a  colour  indicative  of  strength  and  en- 
durance in  a  horse? 

May  not  the  blackness  and  the  forked  tail  of  the 
drongo  cuckoo  have  arisen  in  the  same  way  as  they 
arose  in  the  king-crow  ?  In  each  case  it  may  be  an 
accompaniment  of  vigour,  or  it  may  be  the  result  of 
sexual  selection.  Mrs.  Surniculus  may  have  had  similar 
tastes  to  Mrs.  Dicrurus,  and,  since  cuckoos  seem 
to  be  very  plastic  birds,  her  tastes  have  been  grati- 
fied. As  another  example  of  this  plasticity  I  may  cite 


A   GAY   DECEIVER  207 

Centropus  phasianus — a  cuckoo  which  is  a  very  fair  imi- 
tation of  a  pheasant. 

On  this  view  the  resemblance  is  a  mere  chance  one. 
The  cuckoo  is  not  an  ass  in  a  lion's  skin,  but  an  ass 
that  looks  very  like  a  lion.  His  lion-like  shape  was 
not  forced  upon  him  by  natural  selection.  A  variety 
of  causes  probably  contributed  to  it.  It  was  not  until 
the  resemblance  had  arisen  and  become  very  striking 
that  it  was  directly  affected  by  natural  selection. 

I  am  far  from  saying  that  the  above  is  a  correct  ex- 
planation of  the  nigritude :  it  is  all  pure  hypothesis. 
Even  if  it  be  correct,  we  are  really  very  little  further 
than  we  were  before  towards  an  explanation  of  the 
colours  and  shape  of  either  the  king-crow  or  the  drongo 
cuckoo. 

Why  did  these  birds  tend  to  grow  black  feathers 
rather  than  red,  green,  or  blue  ones  ? 

This  is  a  question  which  "  stumps  "  us  all. 


THE   EMERALD   MEROPS 

IF  I  have  a  favourite  bird  it  is  the  little  green 
bee-eater  (Merops  viridis).  There  is  no  winged 
thing  more  beautiful  or  more  alluring.  More 
showy  birds  exist,  more  striking,  more  gorgeous, 
more  magnificent  creatures.  With  such  the  bee-eater 
does  not  compete.  Its  beauty  is  of  another  order.  It 
is  that  of  the  moon  rather  than  of  the  sun,  of  the 
violet  rather  than  of  the  rose.  The  exquisite  shades 
of  its  plumage  cannot  be  fully  appreciated  unless 
minutely  inspected.  Every  feather  is  a  triumph  of 
colouring.  No  description  can  do  the  bird  justice. 
To  say  that  its  general  hue  is  the  fresh,  soft  green  of 
grass  in  England  after  an  April  shower,  that  the  head 
is  covered  with  burnished  gold,  that  the  tail  is  tinted 
with  olive,  that  a  black  collarette  adorns  the  breast,  that 
the  bill  is  black,  that  a  streak  of  that  colour  runs  from 
the  base  of  the  beak,  backwards,  through  the  eye,  which 
is  fiery  red,  that  the  feathers  below  this  streak  are  of 
the  purest  turquoise-blue,  as  are  the  feathers  of  the 
throat — to  say  all  this  is  to  convey  no  idea  of  the 
hundred  shades  of  these  colours,  or  the  manner  in 
which  they  harmonise  and  pass  one  into  another.  Nor 
is  it  easy  for  words  to  do  justice  to  the  shape  of  the 
bird  ;  even  a  photograph  fails  to  express  the  elegance 

208 


THE   EMERALD    MEROPS  209 

of  its  carriage  and  the  perfection  of  its  proportions. 
Were  I  to  string  together  all  the  superlatives  that  I 
know,  I  should  scarcely  convey  an  adequate  im- 
pression of  the  grace  of  its  movements.  I  can  but  try 
to  make  the  bird  recognisable,  so  that  the  reader  may 
see  its  beauties  for  himself. 

He  should  look  out  for  a  little  green  bird  with  a 
black  beak,  slender  and  curved,  and  a  tail  of  which 
the  two  middle  feathers  are  very  attenuated  and  project 
a  couple  of  inches  as  two  black  bristles  beyond  the 
other  caudal  feathers.  The  bird  should  be  looked  for 
on  a  telegraph  wire  or  the  bare  branch  of  a  tree,  for 
the  habits  of  bee-eaters  are  those  of  fly-catchers.  The 
larger  species  prey  upon  bees,  hence  the  popular  name, 
but  I  doubt  whether  the  little  Merops  viridis  tackles 
an  insect  so  large  as  a  bee.  It  feeds  upon  smaller 
flying  things,  which  it  captures  on  the  wing.  As  it 
rests  on  its  perch  its  bright  eyes  are  always  on  the 
look  out  for  passing  insects.  When  one  comes  into 
view,  the  bird  sallies  forth.  Very  beautiful  is  it  as  it 
sails  on  outstretched  wings.  The  under  surface  of 
these  is  reddish  bronze,  so  that  their  possessor  seems 
to  become  alternately  green  and  gold  as  the  sun's  rays 
fall  on  the  upper  or  lower  surface  of  its  pinions.  Its 
long  mandibles  close  upon  its  prey  with  a  snap  suffi- 
ciently loud  to  be  audible  from  a  distance  of  five  or 
six  yards.  This  one  may  frequently  hear,  for  bee- 
eaters  are  not  shy  birds.  They  will  permit  a  human 
being  to  approach  quite  near  to  them,  as  though  they 
knew  that  the  fulness  of  their  beauty  was  apparent 
only  on  close  inspection. 


210  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

The  little  green  bee-eater  utters  what  Jerdon  calls 
"a  rather  pleasant  rolling  whistling  note,"  which,  if 
it  cannot  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  song,  adds  con- 
siderably to  the  general  attractiveness  of  the  bird. 
Bee-eaters  are,  alas !  not  very  abundant  in  Madras,  but, 
if  looked  for,  may  be  seen  on  most  days  in  winter.  The 
Adyar  Club  grounds  seem  to  be  their  favourite  resort. 
When  driving  into  the  club  at  sunset  I  have  often 
surprised  a  little  company  of  them  taking  a  dust  bath 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  The  bath  over,  the  little 
creatures  take  to  their  wings  and  enjoy  a  final  flight 
before  retiring  for  the  night. 

Bee-eaters  are,  I  think,  migratory  birds.  It  is  true 
that  they  are  found  all  the  year  round  in  many  parts 
of  India,  but  such  places  appear  to  be  the  winter 
quarters  of  some  individuals  and  the  summer  resi- 
dences of  others.  There  is  an  exodus  of  bee-eaters 
from  Calcutta  about  March.  A  similar  event  occurs 
in  Madras,  although  in  the  latter  place  the  birds  are 
seen  all  the  year  round,  a  few  remaining  to  breed. 
In  Lahore,  on  the  other  hand,  the  birds  arrive  in  March, 
and,  having  reared  their  young,  leave  in  September. 

The  nest  is  a  circular  hole  excavated  by  the  bird, 
usually  in  a  sandbank,  sometimes  in  a  mud  partition 
between  two  fields.  I  saw  a  nest  in  Lahore  in  one 
of  the  artificial  bunkers  on  the  golf  links.  Major 
C.  T.  Bingham  states  that  in  1873,  when  the  musketry 
instruction  of  his  regiment  was  being  carried  on  at 
Allahabad,  he  observed  several  nest  holes  of  this  species 
in  the  face  of  the  butts.  The  birds  seemed  utterly 
regardless  of  the  bullets  that  every  now  and  then 


THE   EMERALD   MEROPS  211 

buried  themselves  with  a  loud  thud  in  the  earth  close 
beside  them.  Colonel  Butler  gives  an  account  of  a 
bee-eater  nesting  in  an  artificial  mudbank,  about  a 
foot  high,  that  marked  the  limits  of  the  badminton 
court  in  the  Artillery  Mess  compound  at  Deesa.  One 
of  the  birds  invariably  sat  upon  the  badminton  net 
when  people  were  not  playing,  and  at  other  times  on 
a  tree  close  by,  while  its  mate  was  sitting  on  the  eggs. 
As  I  have  already  said,  bee-eaters  are  not  afflicted  with 
shyness. 

Very  soon  after  their  arrival  at  Lahore  the  birds 
begin  their  courtship.  At  this  period  they  seem  to 
spend  the  major  portion  of  the  day  in  executing 
circular  flights  in  the  air.  They  shoot  forth  from  their 
perch  and  rapidly  ascend  by  flapping  their  wings,  then 
they  sail  for  a  little  on  outstretched  pinions  and  thus 
return  to  the  perch. 

Courtship  soon  gives  place  to  the  more  serious  busi- 
ness of  nest  construction.  When  a  suitable  spot  has 
been  found,  the  birds  at  once  begin  excavating,  digging 
away  at  the  earth  with  pick-like  bill  and  holding  on 
to  the  wall  of  the  bank  by  their  sharp  claws  until  the 
hole  they  are  making  becomes  sufficiently  deep  to 
afford  a  foothold.  As  the  excavation  grows  deeper 
the  bird  throws  backwards  with  its  feet  the  sand  it 
has  loosened  with  its  beak,  sending  it  in  little  clouds 
out  of  the  mouth  of  the  hole.  While  one  bird  is  at 
work  its  mate  perches  close  by  and  gives  vent  to  its 
twittering  note.  After  working  for  about  two  minutes 
the  bird  has  a  rest  and  its  partner  takes  a  turn  at 
excavation.  Thus  the  work  proceeds  apace.  Bee- 


212  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

eaters  look  spick  and  span,  even  when  in  the  midst 
of  this  hard  labour.  The  dry  sand  that  envelops 
them,  far  from  soiling  their  plumage,  acts  as  a  dust 
bath.  When  the  hole,  which  is  about  two  inches  in 
diameter,  has  reached  a  length  of  some  four  feet,  it  is 
widened  out  into  a  circular  chamber  about  twice  the 
size  of  a  cricket  ball.  In  this  three  or  four  white  eggs 
are  laid.  These  have  been  well  described  as  "  little 
polished  alabaster  balls."  They  are  placed  on  the  bare 
ground.  Young  bee-eaters  lack  the  elongated  bristle- 
like  tail  feathers  of  the  adult  birds.  A  very  pleasing 
sight  is  that  of  a  number  of  the  youngsters  sitting  in 
a  row  on  a  telegraph  wire  receiving  instruction  in 
flying. 

In  conclusion,  mention  must  be  made  of  a  near 
relative  of  the  little  bee-eater.  I  allude  to  the  blue- 
tailed  species  (Merops  philippinus\  which  also  occurs 
in  Madras.  This  is  a  larger  and  less  beautiful  edition 
of  the  green  bee-eater.  It  is  distinguishable  by  its  size, 
the  rusty  colour  of  its  throat,  and  its  blue  tail.  It  is 
usually  found  near  water.  He  who  shoots  snipe  in  the 
paddy  near  Madras  comes  across  numbers  of  these 
birds  sitting  on  the  low  walls  that  divide  up  the  fields. 
The  habits  of  the  blue-tailed  bee-eater  are  those  of  its 
smaller  cousin.  Although  its  song  is  more  powerful, 
it  is  a  less  attractive  bird. 


DO   ANIMALS   THINK? 

MR.   JOHN    BURROUGHS    contributed 
some  time  ago  to  Harpers  Magazine  an 
article  bearing  the  above  title.    The  lead- 
ing American  naturalist  is  so  weighty  an 
authority  that  I   feel  chary  about  controverting  any 
statement  made  by  him  ;  but  I  cannot  believe  that  he 
is   right  when   he   boldly  asserts   that   animals  never 
think  at  all.     I  agree  with  Mr.  Burroughs  when  he  says 
"  we  are  apt  to  speak  of  the  lower  animals  in  terms 
that  we  apply  to  our  own  kind."    There  is  undoubtedly 
a  general  tendency  to  give  animals  credit  for  much 
greater   intelligence,  far   more  considerable  powers  of 
reasoning,  than  they  actually  possess ;  in  short,  to  put 
an  anthropomorphic  interpretation  on  their  actions. 

But  it  seems  to  me  that  Mr.  Burroughs  rushes  to  the 
other  extreme.  To  deny  to  animals  the  power  of 
thought  is  surely  as  opposed  to  facts  as  to  credit  them 
with  almost  human  powers  of  reasoning.  Says  Mr. 
Burroughs :  "  Animals  act  with  a  certain  grade  of 
intelligence  in  the  presence  of  things,  but  they  carry 
away  no  concepts  of  those  things  as  a  man  does, 
because  they  have  no  language.  How  could  a  crow 
tell  his  fellows  of  some  future  event  or  of  some  experi- 
ence of  the  day  ?  How  could  he  tell  them  this  thing  is 

213 


214  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

dangerous  save  by  his  actions  in  the  presence  of  those 
things?  Or  how  tell  of  a  newly  found  food  supply 
save  by  flying  eagerly  to  it  ?  " 

Even  if  we  admit  that  a  crow  is  not  able  to  recount 
the  experiences  of  the  day  to  his  companion,  it  does 
not  follow  that  the  crow  does  not  remember  them,  or 
cannot  picture  them  in  his  mind.  With  regard  to  the 
last  question,  I  have  frequently  seen  a  crow,  at  the 
sight  of  some  food  thrown  out  to  him,  caw  loudly,  and 
his  friends,  on  hearing  his  cry,  at  once  fly  to  the  food. 

Of  course  it  is  open  to  any  one  to  assert  that,  in  this 
case,  the  crow  that  discovers  the  food  does  not  con- 
sciously call  its  companions ;  at  the  sight  of  its  food  it 
instinctively  caws,  and  its  companions  obey  the  caw 
instinctively,  without  knowing  why  they  do  so.  No 
one,  however,  who  watches  crows  for  long  can  help 
believing  that  they  think.  The  fact  that  they  hang 
about  the  kitchen  every  day  at  the  time  the  cook 
pitches  out  the  leavings  seems  inconsistent  with  the 
theory  that  birds  cannot  think.  The  crows  obtained 
food  at  this  place  yesterday  and  the  day  before  at  a 
certain  hour,  and  the  fact  that  they  are  all  on  the  look 
out  for  food  to-day  shows,  not  only  that  they  possess 
a  good  memory,  but  that  they  are  endowed  with  a 
certain  amount  of  reasoning  power. 

Many  animals  have  very  good  memories.  Now,  in 
order  that  an  animal  may  remember  a  thing  it  must 
think.  Its  thoughts  are  of  course  not  clothed  in  lan- 
guage as  human  thoughts  are,  but  they  nevertheless 
exist  as  mental  pictures. 

According  to  Professor  Thorndike,  the  psychic  life  of 


DO   ANIMALS   THINK?  215 

an  animal  is  "most  like  what  we  feel  when  our  con- 
sciousness contains  little  thought  about  anything,  when 
we  feel  the  sense  impressions  in  their  first  intention,  so 
to  speak,  when  we  feel  our  own  body  and  the  impulses 
we  give  to  it  (or  that  outward  objects  give  to  it). 
Sometimes  one  gets  this  animal  consciousness ;  while 
in  swimming,  for  example.  One  feels  the  water,  the 
sky,  the  birds  above,  but  with  no  thoughts  about  them, 
or  memories  of  how  they  looked  at  other  times,  or 
aesthetic  judgments  about  their  beauty.  One  feels  no 
'  ideas '  about  what  movements  he  will  make,  but  feels 
himself  make  them,  feels  his  body  throughout.  Self- 
consciousness  dies  away.  The  meanings  and  values  and 
connections  of  things  die  away.  One  feels  sense-im- 
pressions, has  impulses,  feels  the  movements  he  makes ; 
that  is  all." 

This  is  probably  a  good  description  of  the  state  of 
mind  of  a  dog  when  he  is  basking  in  the  sunlight ;  he 
is  thinking  of  nothing.  But  he  hears  the  shrill  cry  of 
a  squirrel — this  at  once  recalls  to  him  the  image  of  the 
little  rodent  and  past  shikar.  In  a  moment  the  dog  is 
on  the  alert ;  he  is  now  thinking  of  the  squirrel,  and  his 
instinct  and  inclinations  teach  him  to  give  chase  to  it. 
Or  he  hears  a  footstep ;  he  recognises  it  as  that  of  his 
master,  sees  that  the  latter  is  wearing  a  topi,  and  at 
once  pictures  up  a  run  in  the  compound  with  his 
master.  But  his  owner  chains  him  up.  The  dog  looks 
wistfully  at  his  master's  retreating  figure  and  pulls  at 
his  chain  ;  it  is  surely  absurd  to  say  that  the  dog  is  not 
thinking.  The  picture  of  a  scamper  beside  his  master 
rises  up  before  him,  and  he  feels  sad  because  he  knows 


216  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

that  the  scamper  is  not  likely  to  become  a  fait 
accompli. 

Again,  you  have  been  accustomed  to  throw  a  stick 
for  your  dog  to  run  after  and  carry  back  to  you.  You 
are  out  walking  accompanied  by  your  dog  ;  he  espies 
a  stick  lying  on  the  ground ;  at  once  images  of  previous 
enjoyable  runs  after  the  stick  rise  up  in  his  mind ;  he 
picks  up  the  stick  and  brings  it  to  you,  drops  it  at  your 
feet  and  looks  up  at  you.  You  pretend  to  take  no 
notice.  The  dog  then  picks  up  the  stick  and  rubs  it 
against  your  legs.  To  believe  that  the  dog  while  acting 
thus  does  not  think,  that  he  is  merely  obeying  an  inborn 
instinct,  is  surely  a  misinterpretation  of  facts.  Animals 
have  but  limited  reasoning  powers,  and  their  thoughts 
are  not  our  thoughts,  they  are  not  clothed  in  language, 
they  are  merely  mental  pictures,  called  up  either  sub- 
jectively, as  when  a  dog  barks  while  dreaming,  or 
objectively  by  some  sight  or  scent,  but  nevertheless 
such  sensations  are  thoughts. 

While  maintaining  that  the  higher  animals  can  and 
do  think,  I  am  ready  to  admit  that  a  great  many  of 
their  actions  which  are  apparently  guided  by  reason  are 
in  reality  purely  instinctive.  Thus  the  building  of  a 
nest  by  a  bird  must,  at  any  rate  on  the  first  occasion, 
be  a  purely  instinctive  action.  The  creature  cannot 
know  what  it  is  doing.  Nor  can  it  have  any  thoughts 
on  the  matter ;  it  suddenly  becomes  an  automaton, 
a  machine,  acting  thoughtlessly  and  instinctively. 

Some  internal  force  which  is  irresistible  compels  it  to 
seek  twigs  and  weave  them  into  a  nest.  The  bird  has 
no  time  to  stop  and  think  what  it  is  doing,  nor  does  it 


DO   ANIMALS   THINK?  217 

wish  to,  for  it  enjoys  nest  building.  It  is,  of  course, 
impossible  for  a  human  being  to  understand  the  frame 
of  mind  of  a  bird  when  building  its  first  nest.  The  only 
approach  to  it  that  we  ever  experience  is  when  we  are 
suddenly  seized  with  an  impulse  to  do  something  un- 
usual, and  we  obey  the  impulse  and  are  afterwards 
surprised  at  ourselves. 

There  is  a  story  told  of  a  wealthy  man  who  had  been 
out  hunting  and  was  returning  home  tired  and  thirsty. 
He  dismounted  at  a  farm-house,  went  inside  and  asked 
for  a  drink.  While  this  was  being  obtained  he  noticed 
a  lot  of  valuable  old  china  on  the  dresser :  seized  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  he  knocked  it  all  down,  piece  by  piece, 
with  his  riding  whip.  His  hostess  on  her  return  with 
the  drink  looked  surprised.  The  hunting  man  smiled, 
asked  her  to  name  the  value  she  set  on  the  china,  sat 
down  and,  there  and  then,  wrote  out  a  cheque  for  the 
amount. 

It  always  seems  to  me  that  when  a  bird  begins  for  the 
first  time  to  collect  materials  for  a  nest  she  must  act 
impulsively,  without  thinking  what  she  is  doing.  Just 
as  the  hunting  man  was  seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to 
smash  the  crockery  with  his  whip,  so  is  she  suddenly 
impelled  to  collect  twigs  and  build  a  nest. 

Another  instinctive  act  which  is  apparently  purpose- 
ful is  the  feigning  of  injury  by  a  parent  bird  when  an 
enemy  approaches  its  young.  Superficial  observation 
of  this  action  leads  the  observer  to  imagine  that  the 
mother  bird  behaves  thus  with  deliberate  intent  to 
deceive,  that  in  so  doing  she  consciously  endeavours  to 
distract  attention  while  her  young  ones  are  betaking 


2i8  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

themselves  to  cover.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  bird  will 
behave  in  precisely  the  same  way  if  she  have  eggs 
instead  of  young  ones.  This  has,  of  course,  the  effect  of 
drawing  attention  to  the  eggs,  and  proves  that  the 
action  is  instinctive  and  not  the  result  of  reasoning. 

Most  people  have  remarked  the  cautious  manner  in 
which  many  birds  approach  the  nest  when  they  are 
aware  that  they  are  being  watched.  This  has  the 
appearance  of  a  highly  intelligent  act.  It  is,  however, 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

I  have  taken  young  birds  from  a  nest,  handled  them 
and  replaced  them  in  full  view  of  their  frantic  parents. 
Then  I  have  retired  a  short  distance  and  watched  the 
parents.  These  invariably  display  the  same  caution  in 
approaching  the  nest  as  they  did  before  I  had  discovered 
its  whereabouts. 

Birds  and  beasts  think  much  less  than  they  are 
popularly  supposed  to  do.  It  is  absurd  to  attribute  to 
them  reasoning  powers  similar  to  those  enjoyed  by 
man ;  it  is  equally  absurd  to  assert  that  they  do  not 
think  at  all. 


A   COUPLE   OF    NEGLECTED 
CRAFTSMEN 


f  "^WO  Indian  birds  have  a  world- wide  repu- 
tation. Every  one  has  heard  of  the  weaver 
bird  (Ploceus  baya)  and  the  tailor-bird 
(Orthotomus  sutorius).  Their  wonderful 
nests  are  depicted  in  every  popular  treatise  on  ornith- 
ology. They  are  both  master-craftsmen  and  deserve 
their  reputation.  But  there  are  in  India  birds  who  build 
similar  nests  whose  very  names  are  unknown  to  the 
great  majority  of  Anglo-Indians.  The  Indian  wren- 
warbler  (Prinia  inornata}  weaves  a  nest  quite  as  skil- 
fully as  the  famous  weaver  bird.  This  neglected  crafts- 
man is  common  in  nearly  all  parts  of  India,  and,  if  you 
speak  of  the  weaver  bird  to  domiciled  Europeans,  they 
will  think  you  mean  this  wren -warbler,  for  among  such 
he  is  universally  called  the  weaver  bird ;  the  famous 
weaver,  whose  portrait  appears  in  every  popular  bird 
book,  is  known  to  them  as  the  baya. 

As  its  name  implies,  Prinia  inornata  is  a  plainly 
attired  little  bird.  Its  upper  parts  are  earthy  brown. 
It  has  the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  white  eyebrow,  and 
its  under  plumage  is  yellowish  white,  the  thighs  being 
darker  than  the  abdomen.  Picture  a  slenderly  built 
wren  with  a  tail  three  inches  in  length,  which  looks  as 

219 


220  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

though  it  were  about  to  fall  out  and  which  is  constantly 
being  waggled,  and  you  have  a  fair  idea  of  the  appear- 
ance of  this  little  weaver.  But  this  description  applies 
to  dozens  of  other  birds  found  in  India.  The  various 
warblers  are  so  similar  to  one  another  in  appearance 
as  to  drive  ornithologists  to  despair.  The  inimitable 
"  Eha  "  admits  that  they  baffle  him.  "  There  is  nothing 
about  them,"  he  writes,  "to  catch  the  imagination  of  the 
historian,  and  they  will  never  be  famous.  I  have  been 
perplexed  as  to  how  to  deal  with  them.  . .  .  To  attempt 
to  describe  each  species  is  out  of  the  question,  for  there 
are  many,  and  they  are  mostly  so  like  each  other  that 
even  the  title  ornithologist  does  not  qualify  one  to 
distinguish  them  with  certainty  at  a  distance.  If  you 
can  distinguish  them  with  certainty  when  you  have 
them  in  your  hand  you  will  fully  deserve  the  title." 

It  is,  however,  possible  to  recognise  the  Indian  wren- 
warbler  by  its  note.  When  once  you  have  learned  this 
you  are  able  to  identify  the  bird  directly  it  opens  its 
mouth.  But  how  shall  I  describe  it  ?  It  is  a  peculiar, 
harsh  but  plaintive,  twee,  twee,  twee ;  each  twee  follows 
close  upon  the  preceding  one,  and  gives  you  the  idea 
that  the  bird  is  both  excited  and  worried.  If  you  see  a 
fussy  little  bird  constantly  flitting  about  in  a  cornfield 
and  uttering  this  note,  you  may  be  tolerably  certain 
that  the  bird  is  the  Indian  wren-warbler.  It  never  rises 
high  in  the  air ;  it  is  but  an  indifferent  exponent  of  the 
art  of  flying.  It  moves  by  means  of  laborious  jerks  of 
its  wings.  It  is  a  true  friend  to  the  husbandman,  since 
it  feeds  exclusively  on  insects.  The  most  remarkable 
thing  about  it  is  its  nest.  This  is  a  beautifully  woven 


A  COUPLE  OF  NEGLECTED  CRAFTSMEN  221 
structure,  composed  exclusively  of  grass  or  strips  of 
leaves  of  monocotyledonous  plants  which  the  bird  tears 
off  with  its  bill.  These  strands  are  invariably  very 
narrow,  and  are  sometimes  less  than  one-twentieth  of 
an  inch  in  breadth.  The  nest  may  be  described  as  an 
egg-shaped  purse,  some  five  or  six  inches  in  depth  and 
three  in  width,  with  an  entrance  at  one  side,  near  the 
top.  It  is  devoid  of  any  lining,  and  its  texture  puts 
one  in  mind  of  a  loosely  made  loofah.  The  nest  is 
sometimes  attached  to  two  or  more  stalks  of  corn,  or 
more  commonly  it  is  found  among  the  long  grasses 
which  are  so  abundant  in  India.  When  the  nest  is 
built  in  a  cornfield  the  birds  have  to  bring  up  their 
family  against  time.  They  are  unable  to  begin  nest- 
building  until  the  corn  is  fairly  high,  and  must,  if  the 
young  are  to  be  safely  started  in  life,  have  brought  them 
to  the  stage  when  they  are  able  to  leave  the  nest  by  the 
time  the  crop  is  cut. 

In  India  nearly  every  field  of  ripe  corn  has  its  family 
of  wren-warblers ;  the  two  parents  flit  about,  followed 
by  a  struggling  family  of  four.  These  little  birds  do 
not  by  any  means  always  defeat  time.  Numbers  of 
their  nests  containing  half-fledged  young  are  mown 
down  at  every  harvest  by  the  reaper's  sickle.  The  nest 
is  woven  in  a  manner  similar  to  that  adopted  by  the 
baya ;  the  cock  and  hen  in  each  case  work  in  combina- 
tion. Its  texture  is  looser  than  that  of  the  more  famous 
weaver,  but  it  is  not  less  neatly  put  together.  In  it  are 
deposited  four  or  five  pretty  little  green  eggs,  marked 
with  brown  blotches  and  wavy  lines. 

Our  second  neglected  craftsman  is  a  tailor.     It  sews 


222  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

a  nest  so  like  that  of  the  world-famous  tailor  as  to  be 
almost  indistinguishable  from  it  Some  authorities 
declare  that  the  two  nests  are  distinguishable.  They 
assert  that  the  nest  of  Orthotomus  is  invariably  lined  with 
some  soft  substance,  such  as  cotton-wool,  the  silky  down 
of  the  cotton  tree,  soft  horse-hair,  or  even  human  hair, 
while  that  of  the  species  of  which  we  are  speaking  is 
lined  with  grass  or  roots.  This  distinction  does  not, 
however,  invariably  hold.  I  have  seen  nests  of  this 
species  which  have  been  lined  with  cotton-wool. 

This  bird  is  known  to  ornithologists  as  the  ashy 
wren-warbler  (Prinia  socialis}.  Anglo-Indian  boys  call 
it  the  torn-tit.  It  is  a  dark  ashy-grey  bird,  with  the 
sides  of  the  head  and  neck  and  the  whole  of  the  lower 
plumage  buff.  There  is  a  tinge  of  rufous  in  the  wings 
and  tail.  It  is  most  easily  distinguished  by  the  loud 
snapping  noise  it  makes  during  flight.  How  this  noise 
is  produced  we  do  not  know  for  certain.  Reid  was  of 
opinion  that  the  bird  snapped  its  long  tail.  What  exactly 
this  means  I  do  not  know.  Jesse  believes  that  the 
sound  is  produced  by  the  bird's  mandibles.  I  have 
spent  much  time  in  watching  the  bird,  and  am  inclined 
to  think  that  the  noise  is  caused  by  the  beating  of  the 
wings  against  the  tail.  This  last  is  constantly  being 
wagged  and  jerked,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  wings 
beat  against  it  as  the  bird  flits  about.  When  doves  and 
pigeons  fly,  their  wings  frequently  meet,  causing  a 
flapping  sound.  I  am  of  opinion  that  something  similar 
occurs  when  the  ashy  wren-warbler  takes  to  its  wings. 

Perhaps  the  most  extraordinary  thing  about  this  bird 
is  the  well-authenticated  fact  that  it  builds  two  types  of 


A  COUPLE  OF  NEGLECTED  CRAFTSMEN  223 

nest.  Besides  this  tailor-made  nest,  the  species  makes 
one  of  grass,  beautifully  and  closely  woven,  domed,  and 
with  the  entrance  near  the  top.  I  have  never  seen  this 
latter  type  of  nest,  but  so  many  ornithologists  have 
that  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its  existence. 

The  strange  thing  is  that  both  types  of  nest  have 
been  found  in  the  same  neighbourhood,  so  that  the 
difference  in  the  form  of  nursery  is  not  a  local  pecu- 
liarity. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  existence  of  these 
two  types  of  nest.  I  have  no  idea  how  the  habit  can 
have  arisen,  nor  do  I  know  what,  if  any,  benefit  the 
species  derives  from  this  peculiarity.  So  far  as  I  am 
aware,  no  one  can  say  what  it  is  that  leads  to  the  con- 
struction of  one  type  of  nest  in  preference  to  the  other. 
The  nests  of  this  species  present  a  most  interesting 
ornithological  problem.  I  hope  one  day  to  be  in  a 
position  to  throw  some  light  on  it ;  meanwhile  I  shall 
welcome  the  news  that  some  one  has  forestalled  me. 
The  ashy  wren-warbler  is  a  common  bird,  so  that  most 
Anglo-Indians  have  a  chance  of  investigating  the 
mystery.  The  same  kind  of  eggs  are  found  in  each 
type  of  nest.  They  are  of  exceptional  beauty,  being  a 
deep  mahogany  or  brick-red,  so  highly  polished  as  to 
look  as  though  they  have  been  varnished. 


BIRDS    IN   THEIR    NESTS 

JUST  as  every  Englishman  is  of  opinion  that  his 
house  is  his  castle,  so  does  every  little  bird  resent 
all  attempts  at  prying  into  its  private  affairs  in 
the  nest.  For  this  reason  we  really  know  very 
little  of  the  home-life  of  birds.  It  is  not  that  there  are 
no  seekers  after  such  knowledge.  Practical  ornithology 
is  a  science  that  can  boast  of  a  very  large  number  of 
devotees. 

Many  men  spend  the  greater  part  of  their  life  in 
endeavouring  to  wrest  from  birds  some  of  their  secrets, 
and  such  must  admit  that  the  results  they  obtain  are  as 
a  rule  totally  disproportionate  to  the  magnitude  of  the 
efforts.  At  present  we  know  only  the  vague  generalities 
of  bird  life. 

We  know  that  the  hen  lays  eggs ;  that  she,  with  or 
without  the  help  of  the  cock,  as  the  case  may  be,  in- 
cubates these  eggs ;  that  the  young,  which  are  at  first 
naked,  are  fed  and  brooded  until  they  are  ready  to 
leave  the  nest,  when  they  are  coaxed  forth  by  the 
parents,  who  hold  out  tempting  morsels  of  food  to  them. 
But  these  are  mere  generalities.  Our  ignorance  of  de- 
tails is  very  great. 

The  nestsof  most  passerine  birds  are  scrupulously  clean. 
Young  birds  have  enormous  appetites,  and  much  of  the 

224 


BIRDS    IN   THEIR   NESTS  225 

food  which  they  eat  is  indigestible  and  must  pass  out  as 
droppings,  yet  in  the  case  of  many  species  no  sign  of 
these  droppings  is  visible,  either  in  the  nest,  or  on  the 
leaves,  branches,  or  the  ground  near  the  nest.  What 
becomes  of  these  droppings  ?  Ornithological  treatises 
are  silent  upon  this  subject. 

Again,  young  birds  are  born  naked,  and  in  India  are 
frequently  exposed  to  very  high  temperatures,  so  that 
much  liquid  must  pass  from  their  bodies  by  evaporation. 
How  is  this  liquid  made  good  ?  Do  the  parents  water 
the  birds,  if  so,  how  ?  I  have  never  seen  any  mention 
of  this  in  an  ornithological  treatise. 

Let  us  to-day  consider  these  two  subjects  :  the  sanita- 
tion of  the  nest  and  the  method  of  assuaging  the  thirst 
of  young  nestlings. 

As  regards  the  first  we  have  some  knowledge,  thanks 
to  the  patient  labours  of  Mr.  F.  H.  Herrick,  an  Ameri- 
can naturalist,  whose  book,  The  Home  Life  of  Birds,  I 
commend  to  every  lover  of  the  feathered  folk.  Un- 
fortunately, Mr.  Herrick's  book  is  to  some  extent 
spoiled  for  Englishmen,  because  it  deals  with  birds  with 
which  they  are  unfamiliar ;  nevertheless,  its  general  re- 
sults apply  to  all  passerine  birds. 

Mr.  Herrick  is  a  very  keen  bird  photographer.  As 
every  one  knows,  he  who  wishes  to  obtain  good  photo- 
graphs of  birds  has  two  great  difficulties  to  overcome. 
The  first  is  to  get  near  to  his  subjects,  and  the  second 
is  to  find  them  and  their  nests  in  situations  suitable  for 
photography. 

The  former  is  usually  overcome  by  the  photographer 
concealing  himself  and  his  camera  in  a  tent  or  other 
Q 


226  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

structure.  At  first  the  birds  are  afraid  of  the  conceal- 
ing object,  but  soon  maternal  affection  overcomes  their 
fear. 

Mr.  Herrick's  method  of  overcoming  the  second  of 
these  two  difficulties  is  to  remove  the  nest  to  be  photo- 
graphed from  the  concealed  situation  in  which  it  is 
usually  built,  and  place  it  in  a  more  open  place.  If  the 
nest  be  thus  moved  when  the  young  are  some  seven  or 
eight  days  old,  the  parents  will  almost  invariably  con- 
tinue to  feed  their  young  in  the  new  situation,  for  at  that 
particular  period  the  parental  instinct  is  at  its  zenith. 
In  addition  to  obtaining  a  splendid  series  of  photo- 
graphs, Mr.  Herrick  has  observed,  from  a  distance  of  a 
few  inches,  the  nesting  habits  of  several  American 
birds.  As  the  result  of  these  observations  he  is  able 
to  declare  that  nest-cleaning  follows  each  feeding  with 
clock-like  regularity.  "  The  excreta  of  the  young,"  he 
writes,  "leave  the  cloaca  in  the  form  of  white  opaque 
or  transparent  mucous  sacs.  The  sac  is  probably 
secreted  at  the  lower  end  of  the  alimentary  canal,  and 
is  sufficiently  consistent  to  admit  of  being  picked  up 
without  soiling  bill  or  fingers.  The  parent  birds  often 
leave  the  nest  hurriedly  bearing  one  of  these  small  white 
packages  in  bill,  an  action  full  of  significance  to  every 
member  of  the  family.  .  .  .  Removing  the  excreta 
piecemeal  and  dropping  it  at  a  safe  distance  is  the 
common  instinctive  method,  not  only  of  insuring  the 
sanitary  condition  of  the  nest  itself,  but,  what  is  even 
more  important,  of  keeping  the  grass  and  leaves  below 
free  from  any  sign  which  might  betray  them  to  an 
enemy."  These  packets  of  excrement  are  quite  odour- 


BIRDS    IN   THEIR   NESTS  227 

less,  and  they  are  often  devoured  by  the  parent  bird 
instead  of  being  carried  away.  The  digestion  of  very 
young  birds  must  be  feeble,  and  doubtless  much  of  the 
food  given  them  passes  undigested  through  the  aliment- 
ary canal,  so  that  it  is  capable  of  affording  nourishment 
to  the  parents.  Birds  are  nothing  if  not  economical. 

Of  course,  all  birds  are  not  so  careful  of  the  sanitation 
of  the  nest.  Every  one  knows  what  a  filthy  spectacle  a 
heronry  is.  According  to  Mr.  Herrick,  the  instinct  of 
inspecting  and  cleaning  the  nest  is  mainly  confined  to 
the  great  passerine  and  picarian  orders.  It  is  obviously 
not  necessary  in  the  case  of  those  birds,  such  as  fowls, 
of  which  the  young  are  able  to  run  about  when  born ; 
nor  is  it  needful  in  the  case  of  birds  of  prey,  who  take 
no  pains  to  conceal  the  whereabouts  of  the  nest.  Young 
raptores  eject  their  semi-fluid  excreta  over  the  edge  of 
the  nursery ;  thus  the  nest  is  kept  clean,  but  the  drop- 
pings on  the  ground  betray  its  presence  to  all  the  world. 

Coming  now  to  our  other  question  :  How  do  young 
birds  obtain  the  water  which  they  require  ?  we  have  no 
help  from  Mr.  Herrick.  He  makes  no  mention  of  this 
in  his  most  interesting  book.  It  is  possible  that  nest- 
lings are  not  given  anything  to  drink,  that  the  juicy, 
succulent  insects  or  fruits  with  which  they  are  supplied 
contain  sufficient  moisture  for  their  requirements.  We 
must  remember  that  the  skin  of  birds  is  very  different 
from  that  of  man.  It  contains  no  sweat  glands,  so  that 
a  bird,  like  a  dog,  can  only  perspire  through  its  mouth. 

The  breath  of  mammals  is  so  surcharged  with  mois- 
ture that  when  it  is  suddenly  cooled  the  water  vapour 
in  it  condenses ;  the  result  is  we  can  "  see  the  breath  " 


228  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

of  a  mammal  on  a  cold  day.  I  have  never  succeeded 
in  seeing  a  bird's  breath,  so  am  of  opinion  that  the  fowls 
of  the  air  do  not  exhale  so  much  moisture  as  mammals 
do.  But  even  allowing  for  this,  a  considerable  amount 
of  moisture  must  be  given  out  in  expiration,  so  that 
it  seems  probable  that  young  birds  require  more  mois- 
ture than  they  obtain  in  their  food.  Drops  of  water  have 
to  be  administered  to  hand-reared  birds.  Many  birds 
fill  up  the  crop  with  food  and  then  discharge  the  contents 
into  the  gaping  mouths  of  their  young.  In  this  con- 
dition the  food  must  be  mixed  with  a  considerable 
quantity  of  saliva  and  possibly  with  water.  The  crop 
of  a  bird  is  a  receptacle  into  which  the  food  passes 
and  remains  until  actually  utilised.  There  seems  no 
reason  why  water  should  not  be  stored  for  a  short 
time  in  this  receptacle  just  as  food  is.  Perhaps  birds 
"  bring  up  "  water  as  they  do  solid  food,  and  thus  assuage 
the  thirst  of  their  young.  Such  a  process  would  be  very 
difficult  to  detect ;  it  would  be  indistinguishable  from 
ordinary  feeding  to  the  casual  observer.  I  hope  that 
some  physiologist  will  take  up  the  matter.  A  quantita- 
tive analysis  of  the  air  exhaled  by  a  bird  should  not  be 
very  difficult  to  make. 


BULBULS 

MORE    than   fifty    species    of  bulbul    are 
found  in  India — bulbuls  of  all  sorts  and 
conditions,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  from 
the  brilliant  green  bulbuls  (which,  by  the 
way,  strictly  speaking,  are  not  bulbuls  at  all)  to  the  dull- 
plumaged  but  blithe  white-browed  member  of  the  com- 
munity, so  common  in  Madras ;  from  the  rowdy  black 
bulbuls  of  the  Himalayas  to  the  highly  respectable  and 
well-behaved  red-vented  bulbuls.     He  who  would  write 
of  them  is  thus  confronted  with  an  embarras  de  richesses. 
The  problem  that  he  has  to  solve  is,  which  of  the  many 
species  to  take  as  his  theme. 

The  polity  of  birds  is  said  to  be  a  republic.  The 
problem  may,  therefore,  well  be  elucidated  on  demo- 
cratic principles.  The  first  and  foremost  of  these — the 
main  plank  of  every  demagogue's  platform — is,  of 
course,  "  one  bulbul,  one  vote."  The  second  is  like 
unto  the  first,  "  every  bulbul  for  itself."  Therefore,  on 
being  asked  to  elect  a  representative  to  be  the  subject- 
matter  of  this  paper,  each  will  vote  for  his  own  species, 
and  the  result  of  the  poll  will  be  :  Bulbuls  of  the  genus 
Molpastes  first,  those  of  the  genus  Otocompsa  a  good 
second,  and  the  rest  a  long  way  behind.  Let  us  then 
conform  to  the  will  of  the  majority  and  consider  for 

229 


230  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

a  little  these  two  species  of  bulbul,  which  resemble  one 
another  very  closely  in  their  habits. 

Molpastes  is  a  bird  about  half  as  big  again  as  the 
sparrow,  but  with  a  longer  tail.  The  whole  head  is 
black  and  marked  by  a  short  crest.  There  is  a  con- 
spicuous crimson  patch  of  feathers  under  the  tail.  The 
remainder  of  the  plumage  is  brown,  but  each  feather  on 
the  body  is  margined  with  creamy  white,  so  that  the 
bird  is  marked  by  a  pattern  that  is,  as  "Eha"  points 
out,  not  unlike  the  scales  on  a  fish.  Both  ends  of  the 
tail  feathers  are  whitish. 

Otocompsa  is  a  more  showy  bird.  The  crest  is  long 
and  projects  forward  over  the  forehead.  The  crimson 
patch,  so  characteristic  of  bulbuls,  also  exists  in  this 
species.  There  is  a  similar  patch  on  each  side  of 
the  head — whence  the  bird's  name,  the  red-whiskered 
bulbul.  There  is  also  a  white  patch  on  each  cheek. 
The  white  throat  is  separated  from  the  whitish  abdo- 
men by  a  conspicuous  dark  brown  necklace.  This 
bird  must  be  familiar  to  every  one  who  has  visited 
Coonoor  or  any  other  southern  hill  station.  The  less 
showy  variety — the  red-vented  bulbul,  as  it  is  called — 
is  common  in  and  about  Madras. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  I  have  refrained  from  giving 
any  specific  name  to  either  of  these  two  genera.  This 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  these  bulbuls  are  widely  dis- 
tributed and  fall  into  a  number  of  local  races,  each 
of  which  has  some  little  peculiarity  in  colouring.  For 
this  reason,  bulbuls  are  birds  after  the  heart  of  the 
museum  ornithologist.  They  afford  him  ample  scope 
for  species-making. 


THE   BENGAL    RED-WHISKERED    BULBUL.       (OTOCOMPSA    EMERIA) 


BULBULS  231 

If  you  go  from  Madras  to  the  Punjab  you  will  there 
meet  with  a  bulbul  which  you  will  take  for  the  same 
species  as  the  bulbul  you  left  behind  in  Madras.  But 
if  you  look  up  the  birds  in  an  ornithological  text-book 
you  will  find  that  they  belong  to  different  species. 
The  Punjab  bulbul  is  known  as  Molpastes  intermedius, 
while  the  Madras  bird  is  called  M.  hamorrhous.  The 
only  difference  in  appearance  between  the  two  species 
is  that  in  the  Madras  bird  the  black  of  the  head  does 
not  extend  to  the  neck,  whereas  in  the  Punjab  bird 
it  does.  Similarly,  there  is  a  Burmese,  a  Tenasserim, 
a  Chinese,  and  a  Bengal  red-vented  bulbul. 

Now,  I  regard  all  these  different  bulbuls  as  local 
races  of  one  species,  which  might  perhaps  be  called 
Molpastes  indicus ;  and  I  think  that  I  am  justified  in 
holding  this  view  by  the  fact  that  the  bulbuls  you  come 
across  at  Lucknow  do  not  fit  in  with  the  description  of 
any  of  these  so-called  species.  The  reason  is  that  the 
Bengal  and  the  Madras  races  meet  at  Lucknow,  and  of 
course  interbreed.  The  result  is  a  cross  between  the 
two  races. 

In  addition  to  the  above  there  are  some  Molpastes 
which  have  white  cheeks  and  a  yellow  patch  under  the 
tail.  In  all,  nine  or  ten  Indian  "  species  "  of  Molpastes 
have  been  described. 

The  same  applies  in  a  lesser  degree  to  Otocompsa. 
This  is  a  widely  distributed  species,  but  is  not  so  plastic 
as  Molpastes.  There  is  the  Bengal  red-whiskered  bulbul 
(Otocompsa  emeria\  which  is  distinguishable  from  the 
southern  variety  (O .  fuscicaudatd)  by  having  white  tips 
to  the  tail  feathers,  and  the  dark  necklace  interrupted 


232  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

in   the   middle.     There  is   also   an    Otocompsa  with  a 

yellow  patch  under  the  tail. 

This  division  of  a  species  or  genus  into  a  number 
of  races  or  nearly  allied  species  is  interesting  as 
showing  one  of  the  ways  in  which  new  species  arise 
in  Nature  quite  independently  of  natural  selection. 
It  is  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  the  extension 
into  the  neck  of  the  black  of  the  head  in  the  Punjab 
bulbul  and  its  non-extension  in  the  Madras  bulbul 
are  due  to  the  action  of  natural  selection  in  each 
locality,  that  a  bulbul  with  black  in  its  neck  is  unfitted 
for  existence  in  Madras. 

Whenever  a  group  of  animals  becomes  isolated  from 
its  fellows,  it  almost  invariably  develops  peculiarities 
which  are  of  no  help  to  it  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Thus  isolation  is  the  cause  of  the  origin  of  dialects 
and  languages.  A  dialect  is  an  incipient  language, 
even  as  a  race  is  a  potential  species. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  bulbuls.  The  habits  of  both 
Otocompsa  and  Molpastes  are  so  similar  that  we  can 
speak  of  them  together.  They  are  what  Mr.  Finn 
calls  thoroughly  nice  birds.  They  are,  none  of  them, 
great  songsters,  but  all  continually  give  forth  exceed- 
ingly cheery  notes.  The  twittering  of  the  red-whiskered 
bulbuls  is  not  the  least  of  the  charms  of  our  southern 
hill  stations. 

Bulbuls  feed  on  insects  and  berries,  so  are  apt  to  be 
destructive  in  gardens.  They  built  nests  of  the  ortho- 
dox type — cups  of  the  description  always  depicted  on 
Christmas  cards.  These  are  built  anywhere,  without 
much  attempt  at  concealment.  Rose  bushes  are  a 


BULBULS  233 

favourite  site,  so  are  crotons,  especially  if  they  be  in 
a  verandah.  A  pair  of  bulbuls  once  built  a  nest  in  my 
greenhouse  at  Gonda.  Among  the  fronds  of  a  fern 
growing  in  a  hanging  basket  did  those  unsophisticated 
birds  construct  that  nest.  Every  time  the  fern  was 
watered  the  sitting  bird,  nest,  and  eggs  received  a 
shower-bath ! 

Sometimes  bulbuls  do  by  chance  construct  their  nest 
in  a  well-concealed  spot,  but  then  they  invariably  "  give 
the  show  away"  by  setting  up  a  tremendous  cackling 
whenever  a  human  being  happens  to  pass  by. 

I  have  had  the  opportunity  of  watching  closely  the 
nesting  operations  of  seven  pairs  of  bulbuls ;  of  these 
only  one  couple  succeeded  in  raising  their  brood.  The 
first  of  these  nests  was  built  in  a  croton  plant  in  a 
verandah  at  Fyzabad.  One  day  a  lizard  passed  by  and 
sucked  the  eggs.  The  next  was  the  nest  at  Gonda 
already  mentioned.  In  spite  of  the  numerous  water- 
ings they  received,  the  eggs  actually  yielded  young 
bulbuls;  but  these  disappeared  when  about  four  days 
old.  The  malt  probably  caused  them  to  be  gathered 
unto  their  fathers.  The  third  nest  was  situated  in  a 
bush  outside  the  drawing-room  window  of  the  house 
in  which  I  spent  a  month's  leave  at  Coonoor.  This 
little  nursery  was  so  well  concealed  that  I  expected  the 
parents  would  succeed  in  rearing  their  young.  But  one 
morning  I  saw  on  the  gravel  path  near  the  nest  a 
number  of  tell-tale  feathers.  Puss  had  eaten  mamma 
bulbul  for  breakfast !  The  fourth  nest — but  why  should 
I  detail  these  tragedies?  Notwithstanding  all  their 
nesting  disasters,  bulbuls  flourish  so  greatly  as  to 


234  BIRDS   OF  THE   PLAINS 

severely  shake  one's  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  natural 

selection. 

In  conclusion,  a  word  or  two  must  be  said  concerning 
bulbuls  in  captivity.  These  birds  make  charming  pets, 
but  as  their  diet  is  largely  insectivorous,  they  cannot 
be  fed  on  seed.  They  become  delightfully  tame.  One 
I  kept  used  to  fly  on  to  my  shoulder  whenever  it  saw 
me,  and  open  its  mouth,  flutter  its  wings,  and  twitter, 
which  was  its  way  of  asking  to  be  fed.  It  would  insist 
on  using  my  pen  as  a  perch,  and  as  one's  handwriting 
is  not  improved  by  an  excitable  bulbul  hopping  up  and 
down  the  penholder,  I  was  obliged  to  shut  the  bird  up 
in  a  cage  when  I  wanted  to  write.  The  bulbul  used  to 
resent  this,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  me  so.  In 
young  birds  the  tail  is  very  short,  and  the  patch  of 
feathers  under  it  is  pale  red  instead  of  being  bright 
crimson. 

Natives  of  India  keep  bulbuls  for  fighting  purposes. 
These  birds  are  not  caged,  but  are  tied  to  a  cloth- 
covered  perch  by  a  long  piece  of  fine  twine  attached 
to  the  leg.  Bulbuls,  although  full  of  pluck,  are  not  by 
nature  quarrelsome.  In  order  to  make  them  fight 
they  are  kept  without  food  for  some  time.  Then  two 
ravenous  birds  are  shown  the  same  piece  of  food.  This, 
of  course,  leads  to  a  fight,  for  a  hungry  bulbul  is  an 
angry  bulbul. 


THE    INDIAN   CORBY 

1HAVE   never  been   able  to  discover  why  the 
great    black    crow   (Corvus   macrorhynchus],    so 
common  in  India,  is  called  the  jungle-crow.     It 
is,  indeed,  true  that  the  corby  is  found  in  the 
jungle,  but  it  is  found  everywhere  else  in  most  parts  of 
India,  and  is  certainly  abundant  in  villages  and  towns, 
being  in  some  places  quite  as  much  a  house  bird  as  its 
smaller  cousin,  the  grey-necked  crow. 

Considering  the  character  of  the  larger  species  and 
its  extensive  distribution,  one  hears  remarkably  little 
about  it.  The  explanation  is,  of  course,  that  the  house- 
crow  absorbs  all  the  attention  that  man  has  to  bestow 
upon  the  sable-plumaged  tribe.  The  prevailing  opinion 
seems  to  be  that  the  black  crow  is  merely  a  mild  edition, 
a  feeble  imitation  of,  a  scoundrel  of  lesser  calibre  than, 
its  smaller  cousin,  Corvus  splendens,  and,  therefore,  every- 
thing that  applies  to  the  house-crow  applies  in  a  lesser 
degree  to  the  big-billed  bird.  This  is,  I  submit,  a  mis- 
taken view,  the  result  of  imperfect  observation.  Corvus 
macrorhynchus  has  an  individuality  of  his  own,  and  we 
do  him  scant  justice  in  dismissing  him  with  a  short 
paragraph  at  the  foot  of  a  lengthy  description  of  Corvus 
splendens. 

In  saying  this,  I  feel  that  I  am  speaking  as  one  having 

235 


236  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

authority,  and  not  as  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  whose 
zoological  horizon  coincides  with  the  limits  of  the 
museum.  For  a  period  of  eighteen  months  I  lived  in 
a  station  which  should  be  renamed  and  called  Crow- 
borough.  To  assert  that  the  place  in  question  swarms 
with  crows  is,  of  course,  to  assert  nothing,  for  it  shares 
this  feature  with  every  other  place  in  India.  The  point 
I  desire  to  bring  out  clearly  is  that  in  this  particular 
place  the  black  crows  are  nearly  as  numerous  as  the 
grey-necked  birds.  The  former  are  certainly  in  a 
minority,  but  their  minority  is,  like  Sir  Henry  Campbell- 
Bannerman's  in  the  previous  House  of  Commons,  a 
large  one,  and  what  they  lack  in  numbers  they  make  up 
in  weight  and  beak-force.  It  was  truly  delightful  to 
watch  them  lord  it  over  the  grey-necked  birds.  Gram- 
marians will  observe  that  I  here  use  the  past  tense. 
This  is  a  point  of  some  importance.  Just  as  it  is 
impossible  to  properly  estimate  the  character  of  an 
eminent  man  during  his  lifetime,  so  is  it  to  form  a 
proper  opinion  of  the  personality  and  behaviour  of 
a  species  of  crow  while  one  is  in  the  midst  of  that 
species,  while  one  is  subjected  to  the  persecutions,  the 
annoyances,  and  the  insults  to  which  it  thinks  fit  to 
treat  one. 

But  I  am  now  far  away  from  Crowborough,  and  I  may 
never  again  return  thither.  As  I  sit  upon  the  Irish 
shore  and  see  the  blue  waters  of  the  North  Atlantic  roll 
softly  up  against  the  black  rocks  of  Antrim,  I  feel  that 
I  am  in  a  position  to  form  a  true  estimate  of  the 
character  of  Corvus  macrorhynchus. 

Until  I  went  to  Crowborough  I  laboured  under  the 


THE    INDIAN   CORBY  237 

delusion  that  the  grey-necked  crow  knew  not  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  "  respect."  The  deference  with  which 
the  big-beaked  species  is  treated  by  his  smaller  cousin 
came  as  a  complete  surprise  to  me. 

Most  Anglo-Indians  are  so  embittered  against  the 
whole  tribe  of  the  corvi  that  they  will  on  no  account 
feed  them.  I  do  not  share  this  prejudice.  I  am  able  to 
see  things  from  the  corvine  point  of  view.  Were  I  a 
crow  I  should  most  certainly  consider  man  fair  game. 

While  in  Crowborough  I  invariably  gave  the  surplus 
of  my  tiffin  to  the  crows.  Those  in  the  locality  of  my 
office  window  did  not  take  long  to  find  this  out.  The 
grey-necked  crows  were  the  first  to  make  the  discovery. 
It  takes  these  less  time  to  put  two  and  two  together 
than  it  does  the  more  sluggish-brained  black  crows.  At 
the  end  of  a  few  days  quite  half-a-dozen  grey-necked 
fellows  had  learned  to  hang  about  my  windows  at  the 
luncheon  hour.  They  used  to  sit  in  a  row  along  each 
window-ledge.  One  day  a  corby  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  His  arrival  was  the  signal  for  the  departure  of 
his  grey-necked  brethren.  From  that  day  onwards  he 
regarded  that  ledge  as  his  special  preserve,  and  whenever 
a  house-crow  ventured  on  to  the  ledge  he  "went  for"  it 
savagely  with  his  great  beak.  The  intruder  never  waited 
long  enough  to  enable  him  to  get  a  blow  home.  Thus 
the  hunting-ground  of  the  grey-necked  crows  became 
restricted  to  one  of  the  window-ledges. 

In  order  to  tease  the  black  fellow  I  used  sometimes 
to  throw  all  the  food  to  the  window  in  which  the  grey 
crows  were  perched.  He  would  fly  round  and  drive 
them  off  that  ledge  and  then  give  me  a  bit  of  his  mind  ! 


238  BIRDS   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Later  on  he  introduced  his  wife.  She  took  possession 
of  one  window  and  he  of  the  other;  so  that  the  poor 
house-crows  no  longer  had  "  a  look  in."  Some  of  the 
bolder  spirits  among  them  used  certainly  to  settle  on 
the  shutters  in  hopes  of  catching  a  stray  crumb,  but 
none  durst  venture  on  to  the  ledge  while  a  black  crow 
was  there. 

Upon  one  occasion  I  put  a  whole  milk  pudding  upon 
the  ledge ;  the  corbies  would  not  allow  the  house-crows 
so  much  as  a  peck  at  the  dainty  dish  until  they  them- 
selves had  had  their  fill. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  grey-necked  crows,  when 
harassing  a  creature  more  powerful  than  themselves, 
work  in  concert.  It  is  my  belief  that  two  of  these 
birds  acting  together  are  more  than  a  match  for  any 
other  creature.  The  way  in  which  a  pair  of  them  will, 
by  alternate  feint  and  attack,  take  food  away  from  a 
great  kite  or  a  dog  is  truly  admirable.  But  so  great  is 
the  respect  of  the  grey-necked  crows  for  the  corby  that 
I  have  never  seen  them  attack  him  in  this  way.  This 
says  volumes  for  the  force  of  character  of  Corvus 
macrorhynchus.  He  is  quite  an  Oliver  Cromwell  among 
birds.  He  is  a  dour,  austere,  masterful,  selfish  bird — 
a  bird  which  it  is  impossible  to  like  or  to  despise. 

When  he  has  once  made  up  his  mind  to  do  anything 
there  is  no  deterring  him  from  the  accomplishment 
thereof.  Early  in  the  year  one  of  these  birds  spent  at 
least  the  greater  part  of  a  day  in  trying  to  secure  for 
its  nest  one  of  the  twigs  in  a  little  circular  fence  erected 
for  the  protection  of  a  young  tree.  The  fence  in  ques- 
tion was  composed  of  leafless  branches,  interlaced  and 


THE   INDIAN   CORBY  239 

tied  together.  One  of  these  twigs,  being  loose  at  one 
end,  was  pounced  upon  by  a  black  crow  who  intended 
to  carry  it  to  his  or  her  nest.  But  the  other  end  was 
securely  fastened.  I  watched  that  crow  at  intervals  for 
several  hours.  Whenever  I  looked  it  was  grappling  in 
vain  with  the  refractory  twig.  The  work  was,  it  is  true, 
frequently  interrupted,  for  natives  kept  passing  by.  But 
immediately  the  human  being  had  gone,  the  crow  re- 
sumed the  attack.  Every  now  and  again  it  would  fly 
to  a  dust-bin  hard  by  and  alight  on  the  rim  in  order  to 
take  a  breather.  Occasionally  it  would  dive  into  that 
bin  in  order  to  secure  the  wherewithal  to  feed  the  inner 
crow.  It  would  then  return  to  work  like  a  giant 
refreshed. 

I  am  of  opinion  that  that  dust-bin  was  to  the  crow 
what  the  public-house  is  to  the  British  working  man. 


APPENDIX 

A  LIST  OF  THE  BIRDS  WHICH  HAVE  BEEN   RECORDED 
BOTH  IN  THE  BRITISH  ISLES  AND  IN  INDIA 

1.  Coruus  corax.     The  Raven. 

2.  Coruus  corone.     The  Carrion  Crow. 

3.  Corvus  frugilegus.     The  Rook. 

4.  Corvus  comix.     The  Hooded  Crow. 

5.  Coruus  monedula.     The  Jackdaw. 

6.  Graculus  eremita.     The  Red-billed  Chough. 

7.  Pyrrhocorax  alpinus.     The  Yellow-billed  Chough. 

8.  Pica  rustica.     The  Magpie. 

9.  Regulus  cristatus.     The  Goldcrest. 

10.  Lanius  collurio.     The  Red-backed  Shrike. 

11.  Ampelis  garru/us.     The  Waxwing. 

12.  Oriolus  galbula.     The  Golden  Oriole. 

13.  Pastor  roseus.     The  Rose-coloured  Starling. 

14.  Siphia  parua.     The  European  Red-breasted  Flycatcher. 

15.  Muscicapa  grisola.     The  Spotted  Flycatcher. 

1 6.  Gfodchla  sibirica.     The  Siberian  Ground  Thrush. 

17.  Monticola  saxatilis.     The  Rock  Thrush. 

1 8.  Saxicola  aenanthe.     The  Wheatear. 

19.  Cyanecula  wolft.     The  White-spotted  Bluethroat. 

20.  Turdus  viscivorus.     The  Missel  Thrush. 

21.  Turdus  pilaris.     The  Fieldfare. 

22.  Turdus  iliacus.     The  Redwing. 

23.  Linota  cannabina.     The  Linnet. 

R  241 


242  APPENDIX 

24.  Passer  montanus.     The  Tree  Sparrow. 

25.  Passer  domesticus.     The  House  Sparrow. 

26.  Emberiza  schoeniclus.     The  Reed  Bunting. 

27.  Emberiza  pusilla.     The  Dwarf  Bunting. 

28.  Emberiza  hortulana.     The  Ortolan  Bunting. 

29.  Emberiza  melanocephala.     The  Black-headed  Bunting 

30.  Fringilla  montifringilla.     The  Brambling. 

31.  Alauda  arvensis.     The  Skylark. 

32.  Calandrella  brachydactyla.     The  Short-toed  Lark. 

33.  Galerita  cristata.     The  Crested  Lark. 

34.  Anthus  trivialis.     The  Tree  Pipit. 

35.  Anthus  richardi.     Richard's  Pipit. 

36.  Anthus  campestris.     The  Tawny  Pipit. 

37.  Anthus  spinoletta.     The  Water  Pipit. 

38.  Anthus  pratensis.     The  Meadow  Pipit. 

39.  Hirundo  rustica.     The  Swallow. 

40.  Cotile  riparia.     The  Sand  Martin. 

41.  Chelidon  urbica.     The  Martin. 

42.  Motadlla  alba.     The  White  Wagtail. 

43.  Motadlla  melanope.     The  Grey  Wagtail. 

44.  Motadlla  borealis.     The  Grey-headed  Wagtail. 

45.  Motadlla  flava.     The  Blue-headed  Wagtail. 

46.  lynx  torquilla.     The  Wryneck. 

47.  Merops  phillippinus .     The  Blue-tailed  Bee-eater. 

48.  Merops  apiaster.     The  European  Bee-eater. 

49.  Upupa  epops.     The  Hoopoe. 

50.  Coradas  garrula.     The  European  Roller. 

51.  Cypselus  alpinus.     The  Alpine  Swift. 

52.  Cypselus  apus.     The  European  Swift. 

53.  Caprimulgus  europaeus.     The  European  Nightjar. 

54.  Strix  flammea.     The  Barn  Owl. 

55.  Scops  giu.     The  Scops  Owl. 

56.  Asia  otus.     The  Long-eared  Owl. 


APPENDIX  243 

57.  Asio  accipitrinus.     The  Short-eared  Owl. 

58.  Bubo  ignavus.     The  Eagle  Owl. 

59.  Nyctea  scandiaca.     The  Snowy  Owl. 

60.  Alcedo  ispida.     The  Common  Kingfisher. 

6 1.  Cuculus  canorus.     The  Cuckoo. 

62.  Gypsfulvus.     The  Griffon  Vulture. 

63.  Neophron  percnopterus .     The  Egyptian  Vulture. 

64.  Milvus  migrans.     The  Black  Kite. 

65.  Haliaetus  albicilla.     The  White-tailed  Sea  Eagle. 

66.  Pandion  haliaetus.     The  Osprey. 

67.  Accipiter  nisus.     The  Sparrow  Hawk. 

68.  Astur  palumbarius.     The  Goshawk. 

69.  Aquila  chrysactus.     The  Golden  Eagle. 

70.  Aquila  maculata.     The  Large  Spotted  Eagle. 

71.  Buteo  desertorum.     The  Common  Buziard. 

72.  Circus  cineraceus.     Montagu's  Harrier. 

73.  Circus  cyaneus.     The  Hen  Harrier. 

74.  Circus  aeruginosus.     The  Marsh  Harrier. 

75.  Elanus  caeruleus.     The  Black-winged  Kite. 

76.  Falco  peregrinus.     The  Peregrine  Falcon. 

77.  Falco  subbuteo.     The  Hobby. 

78.  Aesalon  regulus.     The  Merlin. 

79.  Tinnunculus  alaudaris.     The  Kestrel. 

80.  Tinnunculus  cenchris.     The  Lesser  Kestrel. 

8 1.  Columbia  livia.     The  Blue  Rock  Pigeon. 

82.  Turtur  communis.     The  Turtle  Dove. 

83.  Coturnix  communis.     The  Quail. 

84.  Rallus  aquaticus.     The  Water-Rail. 

85.  Crex  pratensis.     The  Corn  Crake. 

86.  Porzana  parva.     The  Little  Crake. 

87.  Porzana  maruetta.     The  Spotted  Crake. 

88.  Fulica  atra.     The  Coot. 

89.  Gallinula  chloropus.     The  Moorhen. 


244  APPENDIX 

90.  Grus  communis.     The  Crane. 

91.  Anthropoides  virgo.     The  Demoiselle  Crane. 

92.  Otis  tarda.     The  Great  Bustard. 

93.  Otis  tetrax.     The  Little  Bustard. 

94.  Oedicnemus  scolopa.     The  Stone  Curlew. 

95.  Glareola  pratincola.     The  Pratincole. 

96.  Cursorius  gallicus.     The  Cream-coloured  Courser. 

97.  Strepsilas  interpres.     The  Turnstone. 

98.  Charadrius  fulvus.     The  Eastern  Golden  Plover. 

99.  Charadrius  pluvialis.     The  Golden  Plover. 

100.  Vanellus  vulgaris.     The  Lapwing. 

1 01.  Squatarola  helvitica.     The  Grey  Plover. 

102.  Aegialitis  alexandrina.     The  Kentish  Plover. 

103.  Aegialitis  dubia.     The  Little  Ringed  Plover. 

104.  Aegialitis  hiaticula.     The  Ringed  Plover. 

105.  Haematopus  ostralegus.     The  Oystercatcher. 

1 06.  Himantopus  candidus.     The  Black-winged  Stilt. 

107.  Limosa  belgica.     The  Black-tailed  Godwit. 

1 08.  Limosa  lapponica.     The  Bar-tailed  Godwit. 

109.  Numenius  arquata.     The  Curlew. 
no.  Numenius  phaeopus.     The  Whimbrel. 
in.  Recurvirostra  avocetta.     The  Avocet. 

112.  Totanus  hypoleucus.     The  Common  Sandpiper. 

113  Totanus  glareola.     The  Wood  Sandpiper. 

114.  Totanus  ochropus.     The  Green  Sandpiper. 

115.  Totanus  callidus.     The  Redshank. 

1 1 6.  Totanus  fuscus.     The  Spotted  Redshank. 

117.  Totanus  glottis.     The  Greenshank. 

1 1 8.  Tringa  minuta.     The  Little  Stint. 

119.  Tringa  temmincki.     Temminck's  Stint. 

1 20.  Tringa  subarquata.     The  Curlew  Stint. 

121.  Tringa  alpina.     The  Dunlin. 

122.  Tringa  platyrhyncha.     The  Broad-billed  Stint. 


APPENDIX  245 

123.  Calidris  arenaria.     The  Sanderling. 

124.  Pavoncella  pugnax.     The  Ruff. 

125.  Phalaropus  hyperboreus.     The  Red-necked  Phalarope. 

126.  Phalaropus  fulicarius.     The  Grey  Phalarope. 

127.  Scolopax  rusticula.     The  Woodcock. 

128.  Gallinago  coelestis.     The  Common  Snipe. 

129.  Gallinago  gallinula.     The  Jack  Snipe. 

130.  Larus  ichthyaetus.     The  Great  Black-billed  Gull. 

131.  Larus  ridibundus.     The  Laughing  Gull. 

132.  Larus  affinis.     The  Dark-backed  Herring  Gull. 

133.  Hydrochelidon  hybrida.     The  Whiskered  Tern. 

134.  Hydrochelidon    Icucoptera.     The    White-winged    Black 

Tern. 

135.  Sterna  angelica.     The  Gull-billed  Tern. 

136.  Sterna  cantiaca.     The  Sandwich  Tern. 

137.  Sterna  fluviatilis.     The  Common  Tern. 

138.  Sterna  dougalli.     The  Roseate  Tern. 

139.  Sterna  minuta.     The  Little  Tern. 

140.  Sterna  fuliginosa.     The  Sooty  Tern. 

141.  Hydroprogne  caspia.     The  Caspian  Tern. 

142.  Stercorarius  crepidatus.     Richardson's  Skua. 

143.  Stercorarius  pomatorhinus.     The  Pomatorhine  Skua. 

144.  Oceanites  oceanicus.     Wilson's  Petrel. 

145.  Anous  stolidus.     The  Noddy. 

146.  Phalacrocorax  carbo.     The  Cormorant. 

147.  Platalea  leucorodia.     The  Spoonbill. 

148.  Nycticorax  griseus.     The  Night  Heron. 

149.  Ardea  manillensis.     The  Purple  Heron. 

150.  Ardea  cinerea.     The  Common  Heron. 

151.  Herodias  alba.     The  Large  Egret. 

152.  Herodias  garzetta.     The  Little  Egret. 

153.  Bulbulcus  coromandus.     The  Cattle  Egret. 

154.  Ardetta  minuta.     The  Little  Bittern. 


246  APPENDIX 

155.  Ciconia  alba.     The  White  Stork. 

156.  Ciconia  nigra.     The  Black  Stork. 

157.  Plegadis  falcinellus.     The  Glossy  Ibis. 

158.  Phoenicopterus  roseus.     The  Flamingo. 
J59-  Cygnus  olor.     The  Mute  Swan. 

1 60.  Cygnus  musicus.     The  Whooper. 

161.  Anser  ferus.     The  Grey-lag  Goose. 

162.  Anser  albifrons.     The  White-fronted  Goose. 

163.  Anser  erythropus.     The  Lesser  White-fronted  Goose. 

164.  Anser  brachyrhynchus.     The  Pink-footed  Goose. 

165.  Tadorna  cornuta.     The  Sheld-Duck. 

1 66.  Casarca  rutila.     The  Brahminy  Duck. 

167.  Mareca  penelope.     The  Widgeon. 

1 68.  Anas  boscas.     The  Mallard. 

169.  Chaulelasmus  streperus.     The  Gadwall. 

1 70.  Nyroca  ferruginea.     The  White-eyed  Duck. 

171.  Nyroca  ferina.     The  Pochard. 

172.  Nyroca  marila.     The  Scaup. 

173.  Nyroca  fuligula.     The  Tufted  Duck. 

174.  Netta  rufina.     The  Red-crested  Pochard. 

175.  Dafila  acuta.     The  Pintail. 

176.  Clangula  glaucion.     The  Golden-Eye. 

177.  Spatula  clypeata.     The  Shoveller. 

178.  Querquedula  urda.     The  Garganey  Teal. 

179.  Nettium  crecca.     The  Common  Teal. 

1 80.  Podiceps  cristatus.     The  Great  Crested  Grebe. 

181.  Podiceps  nigricollis.     The  Eared  Grebe. 

182.  Mergus  albellus.     The  Smew. 

183.  Merganser  castor.     The  Goosander. 

184.  Merganser  serrator.     The  Red-breasted  Merganser. 


GLOSSARY 

Babul,     Acacia  arabica.     A  thorny  tree. 

Badmash.     A  bad  character,  a  ruffian. 

Barsath.     Rain. 

Bhabar.  The  waterless  tract  of  forest-clad  land  between  the 
Himalayas  and  the  Terai.  It  is  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles 
in  breadth  and  higher  than  the  general  level  of  the 
plains. 

Chaprassi.  Lit.  a  badgeman.  A  servant  who  runs  messages, 
an  orderly. 

Chik.  A  number  of  thin  pieces  of  bamboo  strung  together 
to  form  a  curtain.  Thin  chiks  are  usually  hung  in  front 
of  doors  in  India  with  the  object  of  keeping  out  flies  but 
not  air.  Chiks  of  stouter  make  are  hung  from  the  ver- 
andah in  order  to  keep  out  the  sun. 

Chit.     Short  for  Chitti^  a  letter  or  testimonial. 

Coolie.     An  unskilled  labourer. 

Dhak.     Butea  frondosa.     A  common  tree  in  low  jungle. 

Dhobi.     Washerman. 

Dirzie.     Tailor. 

Farash.     Tamarix  indica. 

Gait  galoj.     Abuse. 

Jhil.  A  lake,  broad  tank,  or  any  natural  depression  which  is 
filled  with  rain  water  at  certain  seasons  or  permanently. 

Kankar,  or  Kunkar.  Lumps  of  limestone  with  which  roads 
are  metalled  in  Northern  India. 

Kannaut.     The  sides  of  a  tent. 

247 


248  GLOSSARY 

Khansamah.     Cook. 

Khud.     A  deep  valley. 

Mali.     Gardener. 

Murghi.     Barndoor  Fowl. 

Neem.     Azadirachta  melia>  a  common  tree  in  India. 

Paddy.     Growing  rice. 

Puggarree.     A  turban. 

Pyot.     A  cultivator,  small  farmer. 

Sal.     The  iron-wood  tree  (Shorea  robusta). 

Sahib.      Master,  sir,  gentleman;    a  term  used  to  denote  a 

European. 

Shikar.     Hunting  or  shooting. 
Shikari,     (i)  The  man  who  goes  hunting  or  shooting. 

(2)  The  native  who  accompanies  him  and  directs 

the  beat. 
Terai.     Lit.  "  Moist  land."     A  marshy  tract  of  land  about 

twelve  miles  broad,  between  the  Bhabar  and  the  plains 

proper.     It  is  low- lying. 
Tiffin.     Lunch. 
Topi.     A  sun-helmet. 


With  the  exception  of  British  Birds  in  the  Plains 
of  India,  which  appeared  in  The  Civil  and  Military 
Gazette,  and  The  Indian  Corby,  Birds  in  the  Rain,  and 
Do  Animals  Think?  which  came  out  in  The  Times  of 
India,  the  articles  which  compose  this  book  made  their 
deb&t  in  one  or  other  of  the  following  papers :  The 
Madras  Mail,  The  Indian  Field,  The  Englishman. 

The  author  takes  this  opportunity  of  thanking  the 
editors  of  the  above-named  newspapers  for  permission 
to  reproduce  these  essays. 


R  2 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Acridotheres  tristis,  94 
Adjutant,  29-35 
Aitken,  Mr.  Benjamin,  165 
Aitken,  Mr.  E.  H.,  100,  164 
Alauda  arvensis,  5 
A  laud  a  gulgula,  5 
Alcedo  ispida,  5 

Amadavat,  17,  20,  46-51,  52,  165 
Anderson,  Mr.  A.,  126 
Aquila  chrysaetus,  175 
Aquila  vindhiana,  175 
Arachnechthra  asiatica,  79,  So 
Arachnechthra  lotenia,  79 
Arachnechthra  zeylonica^  80 
Ardea  cinerea,  6 
Ardeola  grayii,  115 
Argya  caudata,  127 
Athene  brama,  24,  142 
Automata,  birds  as,  104-110 
Avicultural     Society's     Magazine, 
74 

Babbler,  181 
Babbler,  common,  127 
Babbler,  striated  bush-,  127 
Barnes,  74 

Baya,  183-189,  219,  221 
Bee-eater,  blue-tailed,  212 
Bee-eater,  little  green,  208-212 
Bingham,  Major  C.T. ,  210 
Biology,  dogmatism  of,  129 
Blackbird,  I,  107 
Blackwell,  Mr.,  no 
Blanford,  203 


"Blue  Jay,"  10-15,  84 
Blyth,  30 

Bonelli's  eagle,  175 
Bottle  bird,  185 
Brachypternus  aurantius,  86 
Brain-fever  bird,  117 
Bulbul,  I,  166,  229-234 
Bulbul,  black,  229 
Bulbul,  green,  229 
Bulbul,  red-vented,  229-234 
Bulbul,  red-whiskered,  228-234 
Bulbul,  white-browed,  229 
Burroughs,  Mr.  John,  213 
Butcher  bird,  163-167 
Butler,  Colonel,  21 1 
Buzzard,  6 
Buzzard,  white-eyed,  176 

Caccabis  chucar^  89 

Centropus  phasianuS)  207 

Cercomelafusca,  130 

Chaffinch,  I 

Chamber s*s  Journal,  30 

Character,  bird  of,  94-98 

Chick,  113 

Chicken,  113,  n6 

Chukor,  89,  90 

Cobbler,  62 

Colouration,  protective,  59,  128 

Columba  intermedia,  6 

Columba  livia,  6 

Coot,  14 

Coracias  indica%  12,  54 

Corby,  Indian,  235-239 


253 


254 


INDEX 


Corvus,    112,    142,   145,   147,   176, 

237 

Corvus  corax,  4 

Corvus  lawrenciit  4 

Corvus  macrorhynchus,   235,   236, 

238 

Corvus  splendent,  5,  in,  176,  235 
Coturnix  communis,  7 
Cowper,  92 
Craftsmen,  a  couple  of  neglected, 

219-223 
Cranes,  35-37 
Crow,   5,  24-26,  30,   40,   68,   95, 

106,     111-115,     118-123,     142, 

144,    I4S-I49,    175,    176,    179, 

180,    184,   190,    191,  197,    213, 

214,  235-239 
Cuckoo,  9,  24,  107,  108,  117,  118, 

1 20 

Cuckoo,  drongo-,  202-207 
Cuckoo,  playing,  111-116,  133 
Cullen,  Rev.  C.  D.,  165 
Cunningham,  Colonel,  31,  32,  118, 

164,  184,  190 
Cypselus  affinis,  101 
Cypselus  batassiensis,  101 

Darwin,  Charles,  158,  160 

Darwinian  theory,  23,  129 

Davison,  74,  203 

Deceiver,  gay,  202-207 

Dendrocita  rufat  68 

DicruruS)  203 

Did-he-do-it,  56-61 

Difficulties    of   bird   photography, 

225 
Dimorphism,  sexual,  80,  81,  128, 

156 

Dog,  215,  216 
Dogmatism  of  biology,  129 
Don  Quixote,  31 
Dove,  12,  124-129 
Dove,  little  brown,  124-134 
Dove,  red  turtle,  128,  129 


Dove,  ring-,  124-129 
Dove,  spotted,  124-129 
Dragon-fly,  181 
Drongo,  139 

Drongo-cuckoo,  202-207 
Duck,  8,  168,  169 

Eagle,  54,  I73-I77 

Eagle,  Bonelli's,  175,  177 

Eagle,  golden,  175 

Eagle,  tawny,  176,  177 

Edible  birds'  nests,  102 

"  Eha,"  29,  48,  57,  131,  220,  230 

Endynamis  honor ata,  in,  117 

Falcon,  6,  54 

Fauna  of  British  India,  158 

Feminine  selection,  160 

Finn,  Mr.  Frank,  75,  232 

Firefly,  1 88,  189 

Flycatcher,  paradise,  13,  81,  150- 

162 
Flycatcher,  white-browed  fantailed, 

146,  158 

Fowl's  egg,  113,  114 
Fox,  54 

Francolinus  pondicerianus ,  90 
Fulica  atrat  5 

Gadwall,  8,  171 

Galerita  cristata,  7 

Gallinago  coelestis,  8 

Gallinago  galUnula,  8 

Godwin,  Earl,  169 

Goose,  grey-lag,  8 

Crackle,  98 

Grahame,  92 

Green  parrot,  88,  190-196,  197 

Grey  partridge,  90-93 

Grouse,  93 

Grouse,  red,  I 

Guinea-fowl,  93 

Halcyon  smyrnensis,  4 


INDEX 


•255 


Harper's  Magazine ,  213 

Harrier,  hen,  6 

Harrier,  marsh,  6 

Hawk-cuckoo,  117 

Hawkes,  Mr.  S.  M.,  172 

Hawk,  sparrow-,  6 

Headley,  Mr.  F.  W.,  54 

Heron,  6 

Herrick,  Mr.  F.  H.,  225,  226,  227 

Hewer  of  wood,  84 

Hieraetus  fasciatus,  175 

Hierococcyx  varius,  117 

Hill-myna,  98 

Home  Life  of  Birds,  225 

Homer,  57 

Homo  sapiens,  140 

Honeysucker,  78-83,  166 

Hoopoe,  14,  84,  182 

Hornbill,  166 

House  martin,  no 

Hudson,  Mr.  W.  H.,  107,  108 

Hume,  18,  74,  129,  137,  189,  193 

Humming-bird,  78 

Hutton,  Captain,  192 

Instinct,  27,  107,  109,  121 

—  maternal,  1 10 

—  parasitic,  120,  121 

—  parental,  27,  104 
Isolation,  232 

Jackdaw,  4,  5 

Jay,  blue,  10-15,  84 

Jerdon,  38,  69,  70,  74,   137,   140, 

164,  I7S»  l83,  188,  210 
Jesse,  222 
Jungle  crow,  235-239 

Kearton,  Mr.  R.,  105,  106 

Kestrel,  6,  175 

King-crow,  12,40, 138, 139,203-207 

Kingfisher,  3,  144 

Kingfisher,  white-breasted,  4,  86 

Kipling,  Lockwood,  31,  91 


Kite,  12,  106,  144-149,  i66.  17S> 

177 
Koel,  111-115 

Lai  munia,   46 
Lanius  lahtoray  165 
Lanius  vittatus^  163,  165 
Lapwing,  166 

Lapwing,  red-wattled,  56-61 
Lapwing,  yellow-wattled,  57 
Larder,  shrike's,  163-165 
Lark,  crested,  7 
Legge,  74 

Leptoptilus  dubiuS)  29 
LeptoptilusjavanicuSy  34 
Lilford,  Lord,  143 
Lobivanellus  goensis,  56 
Lockwood  Kipling,  31,  91 

Magpie,  68-72 
Magpie-robin,  84 
Mallard,  8 
Malvolio,  31 
Martin,  100,  no 
Merlin,  6 

Merops,  emerald,  208-212 
Merops  philippinus,  2 1 2 
Merops  viridis,  208-212 
Milk,  pigeon's,  131 
Minah,  brahminy,  166 
Minivet,  161 
Molpastes,  229-234 
Molpastes  hamorrhoust  231 
Molpastes  indicus,  231 
Molpastes  intermedius^  231 
Monarch,  dethroned,  173-177 
Motacilla  maderaspatensist  26 
Munia,  red,  45-51 
Munia,  spotted,  52-55 
Myna,  I,  40,  84,  86,  94-98,    181, 
197 

Natural  Selection,  23,  24,  42,  105, 
109,  129,  202-207,  232,  234 


256 


INDEX 


Neo- Darwinian  School,  124,  128 
Nest,  sanitation  of,  224 
Nests,  birds  in  their,  224-228 
Nests,  edible  birds',  102 
Newman,  Mr.  T.  H.,  75 
Nutmeg  bird,  52-55 

Gates,  158 

QLnopopelia  tranquebarica,  128 

Oriole,  black-headed,  135 

Oriole,  Indian,  13,  134-139 

Oriolus  kundoo,  135 

Oriolus  melanocephalus ',  135 

OrthotomuS)  222 

Orthotomus  sutorius,  62-67,  219 

Otocompsa^  229-34 

Otocompsa  emerta,  23 1 

Otocompsafuscicaudatct)  23 1 

Owl,  barn,  3,  140-144 

Owl,  screech,  144 

Owl,  white,  141,  142 

Owlet,  spotted,  94,  142 

Paddy  bird,  115,  116 

Palaornis  nepalensis,  194 

Palaornis  torquatus,  194 

Palm  swift,  101 

Paradise  flycatcher,    13,   81,    150- 

162 

Parakeet,  I 

Parental  instinct,  27,  104 
Paroquet,  Alexandrine,  194 
Paroquet,  rose-ringed,  194 
Parrot,  95,  184 
Parrot  catching,  194 
Parrot,  green,  88,166,  190-196,  197 
Parrot,  West  African,  195 
Partridge,  grey,  90-93,  166 
Passer  domesticus^  2,  75,  76 
Peacock,  42-44 
Peafowl,  93 

Pearson,  Professor,  42,  44 
Peregrine  falcon,  6 
Pericrocotus  peregrinus,  1 6 1 


Pheasant,  92,  144 

Photography,    difficulties   of   bird, 

225 

Pica  rustica,  68 
Pie,  tree,  68-72 
Pigeon,  6,  133,  134,  184 
Pintail,  8 

Pinto,  Mr.  G.  A.,  63,  64,  66,  158 
Pipit,  7 

Playing  cuckoo,  m-ii6 
Ploceus  bay  a,  183,  219 
Plover,  Kentish,  9 
Plover,  ringed,  9 
Pochard,  white-eyed,  171 
Prinia  inornaia,  219 
Prinia  socialis,  2.2.2. 
Protective  colouration,  59,  93,  128 

Quail,  7,  93 

Rain,  birds  in  the,  178-182 

Raven,  3,  4 

Red  munia,  46-51,  52-54 

Redshank,  9 

Reid,  74,  222 

Rhipidura  albifrontata,  146,  158 

Robin,  Indian,  128 

Robin  redbreast,  I,  107 

Rock  chat,  brown,  130 

Roller,  12 

Rook,  4,  5 

Salvadori,  74 
Sandpiper,  9 
Sanyal,  Babu,  38,  39 
Sarciophorus  malabaricus,  57 
Sarcogrammus  indicus,  56 
Sarus,  35-39 

Selection,  feminine,  160,  161 
Selection,  natural,  23,  24,  42,  105, 

109,  129,  202-207,  232,  234 
Selection,  sexual,  42,  160,  161,  205- 

207 
"Seven  sisters,"  i 


INDEX 


257 


Sexual  dimorphism,  80,   81,    128, 

I56 
Sexual  selection,  42,  160,  161,  205- 

207 

Shikra,  175 
Shrike,  164-167 
Shrike,  bay-backed,  165 
Shrike,  Indian  grey-backed,  165 
Shrike,  rufous-backed,  165 
Shoveller,  8 
Sisters,  seven,  I 
Skylark,  5 
Skylark,  Indian,  5 
Smell,  sense  of,  in  birds,  123 
Smith,  Mr.  Bosworth,  141 
Snipe,  full,  8 
Snipe,  Jack,  8 
Sparrow,  2,  3,  16-22,  75,  76,  143, 

197-201 

Sparrow,  hedge,  185 
Sparrow-hawk,  6,  166,  175,  200 
Spectator,  168,  169 
Spice  bird,  52-55 
Sporaginthus  amandava,  46 
Spotted-bill  duck,  171 
Spotted  owlet,  94 
Sprinter,  feathered,  89-94 
Stability  of  species,  40-45 
Starling,  88,  106 
Stint,  9 
Stork,  35,  36 
Sir ix flammed,  3,  141 
Strix  javanica,  141 
Sunbird,  78-83 
Surniciilus  lugubris,  202-207 
Swallow,  84,  99,  100 
Swift,  84,  99-103 

Tailor-bird,  62-67,  137,  219 


Teal,  8 

Terminology,  ornithological,  73 

Terpsiphone  parodist,  81,  156 

Tetrao  scoticust  I 

Thamnobia  cambayensis,  128,  130 

Think,  Do  animals?  213-218 

Thirst  of  young  birds,  assuaging  of, 

225-228 

Thorndike,  Professor,  214 
Thrush,  I,  105,  106 
Tit,  blue,  I 

Tragedy,  tree-top,  145-149 
Tree  creeper,  84 
Turkey,  93 
Turtle  dove,  red,  128 
Turtur  cambayensis,  125 
Turtur  decaocta,  74,  75 
Turtur  risoriust  74,  75,  124 
Turtur  suratensis,  124 

Uroloncha  punctulata,  52 

Vidal,  74 
Vulture,  175 

Wagtail,  7 

Wagtail,  pied,  26,  27,  180 

Wallace,  161 

Warbler,  219,  220 

Weaver-bird,  137,  183-189,  219 

"  White  ant,"  182 

White-breasted  kingfisher,  4,  86 

Widgeon,  8 

Woodpecker,  golden-backed,  84-88 

Wren,  I,  219 

Wren-warbler,  ashy,  222,  223 

Wren-warbler,  Indian,  219-222 

Wryneck,  84 


BOMBAY    DUCKS 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  SOME  OF  THE  EVERYDAY  BIRDS 
6"  BEASTS  FOUND  IN  A  NATURALIST'S  EL  DORADO 

BY  DOUGLAS  DEWAR,  F.Z.S.,  I.C.S. 

With  Numerous  Illustrations  from   Photographs  of 
Living  Birds  by  Captain  F.  D.  S.  FAYRER,  I. M.S. 


PRESS  OPINIONS. 

Spectator.—"  Mr.  Douglas  Dewar's  book  is  excellent.  ...  A  feature  of  the 
book  is  the  photographs  of  birds  by  Captain  Fayrer.  They  are  most  remark- 
able, and  quite  unlike  the  usual  wretched  snapshot  and  blurred  reproductions 
with  which  too  many  naturalists'  books  are  nowadays  illustrated. " 

Standard.—"  The  East  has  ever  been  a  place  of  wonderment,  but  the  writer 
of  '  Bombay  Ducks '  brings  before  Western  eyes  a  new  set  of  pictures.  .  .  . 
The  book  is  entertaining,  even  to  the  reader  who  is  not  a  naturalist  first  and  a 
reader  afterwards.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  cannot  be  too  highly  praised." 

Daily  News.—1'  This  new  and  sumptuous  book.  .  .  .  Mr.  Dewar  gives  us  a 
charming  introduction  to  a  great  many  interesting  birds." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette.— "Most  entertaining  dissertations  on  the  tricks  and 
manners  of  many  birds  and  beasts  in  India." 

Graphic.—"  The  book  is  written  in  a  most  readable  style,  light  and  easy,  yet 
full  of  information,  and  not  overburdened  with  scientific  words  and  phrases. 
.  .  .  The  habits  of  the  different  birds  are  fully  described,  often  in  a  very  amus- 
ing and  interesting  manner." 

Outlook,—"  Pleasant  reading,  with  pretty  touches  of  the  author's  own  fancy ; 
a  good  deal  of  information  agreeably  conveyed.  .  .  .The  illustrations  are  of 
an  extremely  high  order,  constituting  not  only  a  beautiful,  but  a  really  valuable 
series  of  portraits." 

County  Gentleman.—"  Thoroughly  entertaining  to  all  who  can  appreciate 
either  animal  life  as  seen  through  practised  eyes,  or  witty  and  humorous  writing 
in  any  form.  .  . ...  The  book  is  handsomely  produced,  and  is  altogether  an 

attractive  acquisition." 

Illustrated  London  News.— "Mr.  Dewar  .  .  .  has  collected  a  series  of  essays 
on  bird  life  which  for  sprightliness  and  charm  are  equal  to  anything  written 
since  that  classic,  '  The  Tribes  on  my  Frontier,'  was  published." 

Indian  Daily  News.— "  Mr.  Dewar's  excellent  book.  .  .  .  We  sincerely 
hope  that  our  readers  will  derive  the  same  lively  pleasure  from  the  reading  of 
this  book  as  we  have  done." 

Yorkshire  Daily  Observer.— "  This  handsome  and  charming  book  ...  the 
author  has  many  interesting  observations  to  record,  and  he  does  so  in  a  very 
racy  manner." 

Dublin  Express. — "  Mr.  Dewar's  account  of  the  c  Naturalist's  El  Dorado '  is 
particularly  captivating,  and  is  rendered  not  the  less  so  by  the  splendidly 
produced  photographs  of  living  birds." 

Manchester  Guardian.— •"  ...  A  series  of  clever  and  accurate  essays  on  Indian 
natural  history  written  by  a  man  who  really  knows  the  birds  and  beasts.  ..." 

Shooting  Times.—11  ...  a  more  delightful  work  than  '  Bombay  Ducks '  has 
not  passed  through  our  hands  for  many  a  long  day,  and  the  way  the  themes  are 
written  are  so  much  to  the  point.  There  is  not  a  dull  line  in  the  book,  which  is 
beautifully  illustrated.  ..." 

Truth, — "  ...  A  naturalist  with  a  happy  gift  for  writing  in  a  bright  and 
entertaining  way,  yet  without  any  sacrifice  of  scientific  accuracy.  .  .  ." 

Western  Daily  Press.—1'  .  .  .  The  descriptions  of  the  habits  and  character- 
istics of  these  '  Bombay  Ducks '  is  a  solid  and  welcome  contribution  to  science, 
quite  as  valuable  as  the  dry-as-dust  descriptions  of  new  species.  .  .  ." 


INDIAN    BOOKS 


KASHMIR  :  The  Land  of  Streams  and  Solitudes.  By 
P.  PIRIE.  With  Twenty-five  Full-page  Plates  in  Colour, 
and  upwards  of  100  other  Illustrations  by  H.  R.  PIRIE. 
Crown  4to  (iox6£  in.).  2is.  net. 


***  This  book  is  the  result  of  three  years'  ivandering  on  the  outposts  of 
civilization,  where  author  and  artist  proceeded  by  special  permission  of 
the  Governor  of  India,  thus  being  enabled  to  penetrate  far  into  the  wilds, 
especially  along  the  Gilgit  road,  where,  as  a  rule,  none  but  a  sportsman 
or  an  officer  on  duty  penetrates.  The  volume  has  numerous  illustrations 
reproduced  in  colour,  line,  and  half-tone,  and  forms  a  w^rk  in  which 
Kashmir  is  described  by  pen,  pencil,  and  brush.  In  the  colour  illustra- 
tions the  artist  has  caught  the  atmosphere  as  well  as  the  natural  fea- 
tures of  the  country  she  so  ably  portrays. 

RIFLE  <5r-  ROMANCE  IN  THE  INDIAN  JUNGLE: 
Being  the  Record  of  Thirteen  Years  of  Indian  Jungle  Life. 
By  Captain  A.  I.  R.  GLASFURD  (Indian  Army).  With 
numerous  Illustrations  by  the  Author  and  Reproductions 
from  Photographs.  New  and  Cheaper  Edition.  Crown  8vo. 
7s.  6d.  net. 

ORNITHOLOGICAL  AND   OTHER   ODDITIES. 

By  FRANK  FINN,  B.A.  (Oxon.),  F.Z.S.,  late  Deputy-Super- 
intendent of  the  Indian  Museum,  Calcutta.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  from  Photographs.  Demy  8vo.  IDS.  6d.  net. 

CEYLON  :  The  Paradise  of  Adam.  The  Record  of 
Seven  Years'  Residence  in  the  Island.  By  CAROLINE 
CORNER.  With  Sixteen  Full-page  Illustrations.  Reproduced 
from  Photographs.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  in.).  IDS.  6d.  net. 

***  A  comprehensive  account  of  Life  in  Ceylon,  written  in  a  breezy 
and  bracing  style.  A  Imost  every  variety  of  subject  interesting  to  human 
nature  one  finds  within  its  pages.  The  domestic  life  of  the  A  nglo- 
Cingalese,  with  its  attendant  "worries  in  connection  ivith  the  native  ser- 
vants, is  graphically  and  humorously  portrayed.  Many  a  hint  from 
this  alone  may  be  taken  by  the  unsophisticated  European  contemplating 
residence  or  even  a  visit  to  the  Paradise  of  Adam,  a  Jiint  that  might  be  of 
value  in  the  expenditure  of  both  time  and  rupees.  The  narrative  of  the 
authoress1  s  gipsying  in  the  jungle  is  intensely  interesting,  instructive,  and 
funny.  In  the  many  adventures  narrated  one  gets  a  keen  insight  into  the 
lives  and  characteristics  of  peoples  beyond  the  pale  and  ken  of  the  ordinary 
Ruropean  in  Ceylon.  The  authoress  makes  it  her  business  to  see  and 
become  intimate  with  all:  hence  this  original  and  unique  volume.  With 
the  hand  of  a  born  artist  she  depicts  scenes  never  yet  brought  before 
the  notice,  much  less  the  actual  vision,  of  Europeans,  for  in  this 
lovely  Island  there  are  wheels  within  wheels,  forming  a  complexity 
which,  though  a  crazy  patchwork,  is  fascinating  as  it  is  picturesque. 
Caroline  Corner  secured  the  golden  key  to  this  unexplored  labyrinth, 
and  by  its  magic  turn  opened  for  others  the  portals  of  this  wonderful 
Paradise  of  A  dam. 

JOHN  LANE  :  LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE    WORKS    OF 
ANATOLE    FRANCE 


T  has  long  been  a  reproach  to 
England  that  only  one  volume 
by  ANATOLE  FRANCE 
has  been  adequately  rendered 
into  English  ;  yet  outside  this 
country  he  shares  with 
TOLSTOI  the  distinction 
greatest  and  most  daring 


of     being     the 

student  of  humanity  living. 

U  There  have  been  many  difficulties  to 
encounter  in  completing  arrangements  for  a 
uniform  edition,  though  perhaps  the  chief  bar- 
rier ta  publication  here  has  been  the  fact  that 
his  writings  are  not  for  babes — but  for  men 
and  the  mothers  of  men.  Indeed,  some  of  his 
Eastern  romances  are  written  with  biblical  can- 
dour. u  I  have  sought  truth  strenuously,"  he 
tells  us,  "  I  have  met  her  boldly.  I  have  never 
turned  from  her  even  when  she  wore  an 


THE   WORKS   OF  ANATOLE   FRANCE 

unexpected  aspect."  Still,  it  is  believed  that  the  day  has 
come  for  giving  English  versions  of  all  his  imaginative 
works,  as  well  as  of  his  monumental  study  JOAN  OF 
ARC,  which  is  undoubtedly  the  most  discussed  book  in  the 
world  of  letters  to-day. 

1T  MR.  JOHN  LANE  has  pleasure  in  announcing  that 
the  following  volumes  are  either  already  published  or  are 
passing  through  the  press. 

THE  RED  LILY 
MOTHER  OF  PEARL 

THE  GARDEN  OF  EPICURUS 

THE  CRIME  OF  SYLVESTRE  BONNARD 

BALTHASAR 

THE  WELL  OF  ST.  CLARE 

THAI'S 

THE  WHITE  STONE 

PENGUIN  ISLAND 

THE  MERRIE  TALES  OF  JACQUES  TOURNE 

BROCHE 

JOCASTA  AND  THE  FAMISHED  CAT 
THE  ELM  TREE  ON  THE  MALL 
THE  WICKER-WORK  WOMAN 
AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 
THE  OPINIONS  OF  JEROME  COIGNARD 
MY  FRIENDS  BOOK 
THE  ASPIRATIONS  OF  JEAN  SERVIEN 
LIFE   AND    LETTERS   (4  vols.) 
JOAN  OF  ARC  (2  vols.) 

f  All  the  books  will  be  published  at  6/-  each  with  the 
exception  of  JOAN  OF  ARC,  which  will  be  25/-  net 
the  two  volumes,  with  eight  Illustrations. 

If  The  format  of  the  volumes  leaves  little  to  be  desired. 
The  size  is  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5|),  and  they  art  printed  from 
Caslon  type  upon  a  paper  light  in  weight  and  strong  of 
texture,  with  a  cover  design  in  crimson  and  gold,  a  gilt  top, 
end-papers  from  designs  by  Aubrey  Beardsley  and  initials  by 
Henry  Ospovat.  In  short,  these  are  volumes  for  the  biblio- 
phile as  well  as  the  lover  of  fiction,  and  form  perhaps  the 
cheapest  library  edition  of  copyright  novels  ever  published, 
for  the  price  is  only  that  of  an  ordinary  novel. 

f  The  translation  of  these  books  has  been  entrusted  to 
such  competent  French  scholars  as  MR.  ALFRED  ALLINSON, 


THE   WORKS   OF   ANATOLE   FRANCE 

MR.  FREDERIC  CHAPMAN,  MR.  ROBERT  B.  DOUGLAS, 
MR.  A.  W.  EVANS,  MKS.  FARLEY,  MR.  LAFCADIO  HEARN, 
MRS.  W.  S.  JACKSON,  MRS.  JOHN  LANE,  MRS.  NEWMARCH, 
MR.  C.  E.  ROCHE,  MISS  WINIFRED  STEPHENS,  and  MISS 
M.  P.  WILLCOCKS. 

U  As  Anatole  Thibault,  dit  Anatole  France,  is  to  most 
English  readers  merely  a  name,  it  will  be  well  to  state  that 
he  was  born  in  1844  in  the  picturesque  and  inspiring 
surroundings  of  an  old  bookshop  on  the  Quai  Voltaire, 
Paris,  kept  by  his  father,  Monsieur  Thibault,  an  authority  on 
eighteenth-century  history,  from  whom  the  boy  caught  the 
passion  for  the  principles  of  the  Revolution,  while  from  his 
mother  he  was  learning  to  love  the  ascetic  ideals  chronicled 
in  the  Lives  of  the  Saints.  He  was  schooled  with  the  lovers 
of  old  books,  missals  and  manuscript ;  he  matriculated  on  the 
Quais  with  the  old  Jewish  dealers  of  curios  and  objeis  d'art; 
he  graduated  in  the  great  university  of  life  and  experience. 
It  will  be  recognised  that  all  his  work  is  permeated  by  his 
youthful  impressions  ;  he  is,  in  fact,  a  virtuoso  at  large. 

U  He  has  written  about  thirty  volumes  of  fiction.  His 
first  novel  was  JOCASTA  &  THE  FAMISHED  CAT 
(1879).  THE  CRIME  OF  SYLVESTRE  BONNARD 
appeared  in  1881,  and  had  the  distinction  of  being  crowned 
by  the  French  Academy,  into  which  he  was  received  in  1896. 

IF  His  work  is  illuminated  with  style,  scholarship,  and 
psychology ;  but  its  outstanding  features  are  the  lambent  wit, 
the  gay  mockery,  the  genial  irony  with  which  he  touches  every 
subject  he  treats.  But  the  wit  is  never  malicious,  the  mockery 
never  derisive,  the  irony  never  barbed.  To  quote  from  his  own 
GARDEN  OF  EPICURUS  :  "Irony  and  Pity  are  both  of 
good  counsel ;  the  first  with  her  smiles  makes  life  agreeable, 
the  other  sanctifies  it  to  us  with  her  tears.  The  Irony  I 
invoke  is  no  cruel  deity.  She  mocks  neither  love  nor 
beauty.  She  is  gentle  and  kindly  disposed.  Her  mirth 
disarms  anger  and  it  is  she  teaches  us  to  laugh  at  rogues  and 
fools  whom  but  for  her  we  might  be  so  weak  as  to  hate." 

11  Often  he  shows  how  divine  humanity  triumphs  over 
mere  asceticism,  and  with  entire  reverence ;  indeed,  he 
might  be  described  as  an  ascetic  overflowing  with  humanity, 
just  as  he  has  been  terrried  a  "  pagan,  but  a  pagan 
constantly  haunted  by  the  p re-occupation  of  Christ." 
He  is  in  turn — like  his  own  Choulette  in  THE  RED 
LILY — saintly  and  Rabelaisian,  yet  without  incongruity. 


THE   WORKS   OF  ANATOLE   FRANCE 

At  all  times  he  is  the  unrelenting  foe  of  superstition  and 
hypocrisy.  Of  himself  he  once  modestly  said  :  "You  will 
find  in  my  writings  perfect  sincerity  (lying  demands  a  talent 
I  do  not  possess),  much  indulgence,  and  some  natural 
affection  for  the  beautiful  and  good." 

1F  The  mere  extent  of  an  author's  popularity  is  perhaps  a 
poor  argument,  yet  it  is  significant  that  two  books  by  this 
author  are  in  their  HUNDRED  AND  TENTH  THOU- 
SAND, and  numbers  of  them  well  into  their  SEVENTIETH 
THOUSAND,  whilst  the  one  which  a  Frenchman  recently 
described  as  "  Monsieur  France's  most  arid  book  "  is  in  its 
FIFTY-EIGHT-THOUSAND. 

fl  Inasmuch  as  M.  FRANCE'S  ONLY  contribution  to 
an  English  periodical  appeared  in  THE  YELLOW  BOOK, 
vol.  v.,  April  1895,  together  with  the  first  important  English 
appreciation  of  his  work  from  the  pen  of  the  Hon.  Maurice 
Baring,  it  is  peculiarly  appropriate  that  the  English  edition 
of  his  works  should  be  issued  from  the  Bodley  Head. 

ORDER    FORM. 

, ; . I  Q 

To  Mr.... : ..... 

Bookseller. 

Please  send  me  the  following  works  of  Anatole  France: 

THAIS  PENGUIN  ISLAND 

BALTHASAR  THE  WHITE  STONE 

THE  RED  LILY  MOTHER  OF  PEARL 

THE  GARDEN  OF  EPICURUS 

THE    CRIME  OF  SYLVESTRE  BONNARD 

THE  WELL  OF  ST.  CLARE 

THE  MERR1E  TALES  OF  JACQUES  TOURNE- 

BROCHE 

THE  ELM  TREE  ON  THE  MALL 
THE  WICKER-WORK  WOMAN 
JOCASTA  AND  THE  FAMISHED  CAT 
JOAN  OF  ARC  (a  VOLS.) 
LIFE  AND  LETTERS  (4  VOLS.) 

for  which  I  enclose , 

Name _ 

Address _ 

JOHN  LANE,  PUBLISHER  THE  BODLEV  HEAD.  VicoSr..  LONDON.W. 


WO  TICE 

Those  who  possess  old  letters,  documents,  corre- 
spondence, <£MSS.,  scraps  of  autobiography,  and  also 
miniatures  and  portraits,  relating  to  persons  and 
matters  historical,  literary,  political  and  social,  should 
communicate  with  £Mr.  *John  Lane,  'The  Bodley 
Head,  Vigo  Street,  London,  W.,  'who  'will  at  all 
times  be  pleased  to  give  bis  advice  and  assistance, 
either  as  to  their  preservation  or  publication. 


A   CATALOGUE    OF 

MEMOIRS,  "BIOGPHIES,  ETC. 


UPON  ^APOLEON 

NAPOLEON  dfTHE  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND  : 

The  Story  of  the  Great  Terror,  1797-1805.  By  H,  F.  B. 
WHEELER  and  A.  M.  BROADLEY.  With  upwards  of  100  Full- 
page  Illustrations  reproduced  from  Contemporary  Portraits,  Prints, 
etc.;  eight  in  Colour.  Two  Volumes.  32*.  net. 

Outlook.  —  "The  book  is  not  merely  one  to  be  ordered  from  the  library;  it  should  be 
purchased,  kept  on  an  accessible  shelf,  and  constantly  studied  by  all  Englishmen  who 
love  England." 

DUMOURIEZ     AND     THE     DEFENCE     OF 

ENGLAND  AGAINST  NAPOLEON.  BY  J.  HOLLAND 
ROSE,  Litt.D.  (Cantab.),  Author  of  "The  Life  of  Napoleon," 
and  A.  M.  BROADLEY,  joint-author  of  "  Napoleon  and  the  Invasion 
of  England."  Illustrated  with  numerous  Portraits,  Maps,  and 
Facsimiles.  Demy  8vo.  2  is.  net. 

NAPOLEON  IN  CARICATURE  :  1795-1821.    By 

A.  M.  BROADLEY,  joint-author  of  "  Napoleon  and  the  Invasion  of 
England,"  etc.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  on  Pictorial  Satire 
as  a  Factor  in  Napoleonic  History,  by  J.  HOLLAND  ROSE,  Litt.D. 
(Cantab.).  With  24  full-page  Illustrations  in  colour  and  upwards 
of  200  in  black  and  white  from  rare  and  often  unique  originals. 
In  2  vols.  Demy  8vo  (9x5!  inches.)  42  s.  net. 

THE     FALL     OF     NAPOLEON.        By    OSCAR 

BROWNING,  M.  A.,  Author  of  "The  Boyhood  and  Youth  of  Napoleon." 
With  numerous  Full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches). 
12s.  6d.  net. 

Spectator.  —  "  Without  doubt  Mr.  Oscar  Browning  has  produced  a  book  which  should  have 

its  place  in  any  library  of  Napoleonic  literature." 
Truth.  —  "  Mr.  Oscar  Browning  has  made  not  the  least,  but  the  most  of  the  romantic 

material  at  his  command  for  the  story  of  the  fall  of  the  greatest  figure  in  history." 

THE  BOYHOOD  &  YOUTH  OF  NAPOLEON, 

1769-1793.  Some  Chapters  on  the  early  life  of  Bonaparte. 
By  OSCAR  BROWNING,  M.A.  With  numerous  Illustrations,  Por- 
traits, etc.  Crown  8vo.  $s.  net. 

Daily  News.  —  "  Mr.  Browning  has  with  patience,  labour,  careful  study,  and  excellent  taste 
given  us  a  very  valuable  work,  which  will  add  materially  to  the  literature  on  this  most 
fascinating  of  human  personalities." 


MEMOIRS,    BIOGRAPHIES,    ETC.      3 
THE   LOVE   AFFAIRS    OF    NAPOLEON.     By 

JOSEPH  TURQUAN.  Translated  from  the  French  by  JAMES  L.  MAY. 
With  32  Full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5^  inches). 
I2s.  6(1.  net. 

THE  DUKE  OF  REICHSTADT (NAPOLEON  II.) 

By  EDWARD  DE  WERTHEIMER.  Translated  from  the  German. 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  Cheap  Edition.  5*.  net. 

Times. — "A  most  careful  and   interesting  work  which  presents  the  first  complete  and 

authoritative  account  of  the  life  of  this  unfortunate  Prince." 
Westminster  Gazette. — "This  book,  admirably  produced,  reinforced  by  many  additional 

portraits,  is  a  solid  contribution  to  history  and  a  monument  of  patient,  well-applied 

research." 

NAPOLEON'S  CONQUEST  OF  PRUSSIA,  1806. 

By  F.  LORAINE  PETRE.  With  an  Introduction  by  FIELD- 
MARSHAL  EARL  ROBERTS,  V.C.,  K.G.,  etc.  With  Maps,  Battle 
Plans,  Portraits,  and  16  Full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5i  inches),  \zs.  6<t.  net. 

Scotsman. — "  Neither  too  concise,  nor  too  diffuse,  the  book  is  eminently  readable.     It  is  the 

best  work  in  English  on  a  somewhat  circumscribed  subject." 
Outlook. — "  Mr.  Petre  has  visited  the  battlefields  and  read  everything,  and  his  monograph  is 

a  model  of  what  military  history,  handled  with  enthusiasm  and  literary  ability,  can  be." 

NAPOLEON'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  POLAND,  1806- 

1807.  A  Military  History  of  Napoleon's  First  War  with  Russia, 
verified  from  unpublished  official  documents.  By  F.  LORAINE 
PETRE.  With  16  Full-page  Illustrations,  Maps,  and  Plans.  New 
Edition.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  f- inches),  izs.  64.  net. 

Army  and  Navy  Chronicle. — "We  welcome  a  second  edition  of  this  valuable  work.    .   . 
Mr.  Loraine  Petre  is  an  authority  on  the  wars  of  the  great  Napoleon,  and  has  brought 
the  greatest  care  and  energy  into  his  studies  of  the  subject." 

NAPOLEON      AND      THE      ARCHDUKE 

CHARLES.  A  History  of  the  Franco- Austrian  Campaign  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Danube  in  1809.  By  F.  LORAINE  PETRE. 
With  8  Illustrations  and  6  sheets  of  Maps  and  Plans.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  St  inches).  12s.  6d.  net. 

RALPH  HEATHCOTE.    Letters  of  a  Diplomatist 

During  the  Time  of  Napoleon,  Giving  an  Account  of  the  Dispute 
between  the  Emperor  and  the  Elector  of  Hesse.  By  COUNTESS 
GUNTHER  GROBEN.  With  Numerous  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5f  inches),  \2s.6d.  net. 

*„.*  Ralph  Heathcote,  the  son  of  an  English  father  and  an  Alsatian  mother,  was  for 
some  time  in  the  English  diplomatic  service  as  first  secretary  to  Mr.  Brook  Taylor,  minister 
at  the  Court  of  Hesse,  and  on  one  occasion  found  himself  very  near  to  making  history. 
Napoleon  became  persuaded  that  Taylor  -was  implicated  in  a  plot  to  procure  his  assassina- 
tion, and  insisted  on  his  dismissal  from  the  Hessian  Court.  As  Taylor  refused  to  be 
dismissed,  the  incident  at  one  time  seemed  likely  to  result  to  the  Elector  in  the  loss  of  his 
throne.  Heathcote  came  into  contact  -with  a  number  of  notable  People,  including  the  Miss 
Berrys,  with  whom  he  assures  his  mother  he  is  not  in  love.  On  the  whole,  there  is  much 
interesting  material  for  lovers  of  old  letters  and  journals. 


A    CATALOGUE    OF 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  COUNT  DE  CARTRIE. 

A  record  of  the  extraordinary  events  in  the  life  of  a  French 
Royalist  during  the  war  in  La  Vendee,  and  of  his  flight  to  South- 
ampton, where  he  followed  the  humble  occupation  of  gardener. 
With  an  introduction  by  FREDERIC  MASSON,  Appendices  and  Notes 
by  PIERRE  AMEDEE  PICHOT,  and  other  hands,  and  numerous  Illustra- 
tions, including  a  Photogravure  Portrait  of  the  Author.  Demy  8vo. 
I2s.  6d.  net. 

Daily  News. — "We  have  seldom  met  with  a  human  document  which  has  interested  us  so 
much." 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  JOHN  MAYNE  DURING 

A  TOUR  ON  THE  CONTINENT  UPON  ITS  RE- 
OPENING AFTER  THE  FALL  OF  NAPOLEON,  1814. 
Edited  by  his  Grandson,  JOHN  MAYNE  COLLES.  With  16 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5|  inches).  121.  6d.  net. 

WOMEN     OF    THE    SECOND    EMPIRE. 

Chronicles  of  the  Court  of  Napoleon  III.  By  FREDERIC  LOLIEE. 
With  an  introduction  by  RICHARD  WHITEING  and  53  full-page 
Illustrations,  3  in  Photogravure.  Demy  8vo.  2 is.  net. 

Standard^ — "M.  Frederic  Loliee  has  written  a  remarkable  book,  vivid  and  pitiless  in  its 
description  of  the  intrigue  and  dare-devil  spirit  which  flourished  unchecked  at  the  French 
Court.  .  .  .  Mr.  Richard  Whiteing's  introduction  is  written  with  restraint  and  dignity." 

LOUIS  NAPOLEON  AND  THE  GENESIS  OF 

THE  SECOND  EMPIRE.  By  F.  H.  CHEETHAM.  With 
Numerous  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches).  i6s.  net. 

MEMOIRS     OF     MADEMOISELLE     DES 

ECHEROLLES.  Translated  from  the  French  by  MARIE 
CLOTHILDE  BALFOUR.  With  an  Introduction  by  G.  K.  FORTESCUE, 
Portraits,  etc.  $s.  net. 

Liverpool  Mercury. — ".  .  .  this  absorbing  book.  .  .  .  The  work  has  a  very  decided 
historical  value.  The  translation  is  excellent,  and  quite  notable  in  the  preservation  of 
idiom." 

JANE  AUSTEN'S  SAILOR  BROTHERS.    Being 

the  Life  and  Adventures  of  Sir  Francis  Austen,  G.C.B.,  Admiral  of 
the  Fleet,  and  Rear-Admiral  Charles  Austen.  By  J.  H.  and  E.  C. 
HUBBACK.  With  numerous  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  1 2s.  6d.  net. 

Morning  Post. — ".  .  .  May  be  welcomed  as  an  important  addition  to  Austeniana  .  .  .; 
it  is  besides  valuable  for  its  glimpses  of  life  in  the  Navy,  its  illustrations  of  the  feelings 
and  sentiments  of  naval  officers  during  the  period  that  preceded  and  that  which 
followed  the  great  battle  of  just  one  century  ago,  the  battle  which  won  so  much  butt 
which  cost  us — Nelson." 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC. 


SOME    WOMEN    LOVING    OR    LUCKLESS. 

By  TEODOR  DE  WYZEWA.  Translated  from  the  French  by  C.  H. 
JEAFFRESON,  M.A.  With  Numerous  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5  J  inches).  Js.  6d.  net. 

THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  MY  LIFE:  an  Auto- 

biography by  ALICE  M.  DIEHL,  Novelist,  Writer,  and  Musician. 
Demy  8vo.  IQJ.  6d.  net. 

GIOVANNI  BOCCACCIO  :  A  BIOGRAPHICAL 

STUDY.  By  EDWARD  HUTTON.  With  a  Photogravure  Frontis- 
piece and  numerous  other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  J 
inches).  i6s.  net. 

MINIATURES  :    A    Series    of    Reproductions    in 

Photogravure  of  Eighty-Five  Miniatures  of  Distinguished  Person- 
ages, including  the  Queen  Mother  and  the  three  Princesses  of  the 
House.  Painted  by  CHARLES  TURRELL.  The  Edition  is  limited 
to  One  Hundred  Copies  (many  of  which  are  already  subscribed  for) 
for  sale  in  England  and  America,  and  Twenty-five  Copies  for  Pre- 
sentation, Review,  and  the  Museums.  Each  will  be  Numbered 
and  Signed  by  the  Artist.  Large  Quarto.  ^15  15^.  net. 


COKE   OF   NORFOLK   AND    HIS   FRIENDS: 

The  Life  of  Thomas  William  Coke,  First  Earl  of  Leicester  of 
the  second  creation,  containing  an  account  of  his  Ancestry, 
Surroundings,  Public  Services,  and  Private  Friendships,  and 
including  many  Unpublished  Letters  from  Noted  Men  of  his  day, 
English  and  American.  By  A.  M.  W.  STIRLING.  With  20 
Photogravure  and  upwards  of  40  other  Illustrations  reproduced 
from  Contemporary  Portraits,  Prints,  etc.  Demy  8vo.  2  vols. 
32.T.  net. 

The  Times.—11  We  thank  Mrs.  Stirling  for  one  of  the  most  interesting  memoirs  of  recent 
years." 

Daily  Telegraph.—"  A  very  remarkable  literary  performance.  Mrs.  Stirling  has  achieved 
a  resurrection.  She  has  fashioned  a  picture  of  a  dead  and  forgotten  past  and  brought 
before  our  eyes  with  the  vividness  of  breathing  existence  the  life  of  our  English  ancestors 
of  the  eighteenth  century." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette.  —  "  A  work  of  no  common  interest  ;  in  fact,  a  work  which  may  almost  be 
called  unique." 

Evening  Standard.  —  "One  of  the  most  interesting  biographies  we  have  read  for  years." 


A  CATALOGUE  OF 


THE   LIFE    OF   SIR    HALLIDAY   MACART- 

NEY,  K.C.M.G.,  Commander  of  Li  Hung  Chang's  trained 
force  in  the  Taeping  Rebellion.  Secretary  and  Councillor  to 
the  Chinese  Legation  in  London  for  thirty  years.  By  DEMETRIUS 
C.  BOULGER,  Author  of  the  "  History  of  China,"  the  "  Life  of 
Gordon,"  etc.  With  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  Price  2  is.  net. 

Daily  Graphic. — "  It  is  safe  to  say  that  few  readers  will  be  able  to  put  down  the  book  with- 
out feeling  the  better  for  having  read  it  ...  not  only  full  of  personal  interest,  but 
tells  us  much  that  we  never  knew  before  on  some  not  unimportant  details." 

DEVONSHIRE  CHARACTERS  AND  STRANGE 

EVENTS.  By  S.  BARING-GOULD,  M.A.,  Author  of  "  Yorkshire 
Oddities,"  etc.  With  58  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  2U.net. 

Daily  News. — "  A  fascinating  series  .  .  .  the  whole  book  is  rich  in  human  interest.  It  is 
by  personal  touches,  drawn  from  traditions  and  memories,  that  the  dead  men  surrounded 
by  the  curious  panoply  of  their  time,  are  made  to  live  again  in  Mr.  Baring-Gould's  pages. " 

CORNISH     CHARACTERS    AND     STRANGE 

EVENTS.  By  S.  BARING-GOULD,  M.A.,  Author  of  "  Devonshire 
Characters  and  Strange  Events,"  etc.  With  62  full-page  Illus- 
trations reproduced  from  old  prints,  etc.  Demy  8vo.  2U.net. 

ROBERT  HERRICK  :  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND 

CRITICAL  STUDY.  By  F.  W.  MOORMAN,  B.A.,  Ph.  D., 
Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  University  of 
Leeds.  With  9  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches). 
i2s.  6d.  net. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  ANN,  LADY  FANSHAWE. 

Written  by  Lady  Fanshawe.  With  Extracts  from  the  Correspon- 
dence of  Sir  Richard  Fanshawe.  Edited  by  H.  C.  FANSHAWE. 
With  38  Full-page  Illustrations,  including  four  in  Photogravure 
and  one  in  Colour.  Demy  8vo.  i6s.  net. 

•%*  This  Edition  has  been  printed  direct  from  the  original  manuscript  in  the  possession 
of  the  Fanshawe  Family ,  and  Mr.  H.  C.  Fanshawe  contributes  numerous  notes  which 
form  a  running  commentary  on  the  text.  Many  famous  pictures  are  reproduced,  includ- 
ing paintings  by  Velazquez  and  Van  Dyck. 

THE  LIFE   OF   JOAN   OF  ARC.      By  ANATOLE 

FRANCE.  A  Translation  by  WINIFRED  STEPHENS.  With  8  Illus- 
trations. Demy  8vo  (9  x  $f  inches).  2  vols.  Price  2$s.  net. 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC.      7 
THE    DAUGHTER   OF   LOUIS   XVI.     Marie- 

Therese-Charlottc  of  France,  Duchesse  D'Angouleme.  By.  G. 
LENOTRE.  With  13  Full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  Price 
los.  6d.  net. 

WITS,    BEAUX,    AND    BEAUTIES    OF    THE 

GEORGIAN  ERA.  By  JOHN  FYVIE,  author  of"  Some  Famous 
Women  of  Wit  and  Beauty,"  "  Comedy  Queens  of  the  Georgian 
Era,"  etc.  With  a  Photogravure  Portrait  and  numerous  other 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches),  12*.  6d.  net. 

LADIES    FAIR   AND    FRAIL.     Sketches   of  the 

Demi-monde  during  the  Eighteenth  Century.  By  HORACE 
BLEACKLEY,  author  of  "The  Story  of  a  Beautiful  Duchess." 
With  i  Photogravure  and  15  other  Portraits  reproduced  from 
contemporary  sources.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5j  inches).  12*.  64.  net. 


MADAME    DE    MAINTENON  :    Her   Life  and 

Times,  1635-1719.  By  C.  C.  DYSON.  With  I  Photogravure 
Plate  and  16  other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  j  inches). 
12S.  6d.  net. 


DR.    JOHNSON    AND    MRS.    THRALE.     By 

A.  M.  BROADLEY.  With  an  Introductory  Chapter  by  THOMAS 
SECCOMBE.  With  24  Illustrations  from  rare  originals,  including 
a  reproduction  in  colours  of  the  Fellowes  Miniature  of  Mrs. 
Piozzi  by  Roche,  and  a  Photogravure  of  Harding' s  sepia  drawing 
of  Dr.  Johnson.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5j  inches).  I2/.  6d.  net. 

THE     DAYS    OF     THE     DIRECTOIRE.      By 

ALFRED  ALLINSON,  M.A.  With  48  Full-page  Illustrations, 
including  many  illustrating  the  dress  of  the  time.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5t  inches).  i6s.  net. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  INTRIGUE  :  A  Biography  of 

Anne  Louise  Benedicte,  Duchesse  du  Maine.  Translated  from  the 
French  of  GENERAL  DE  PIEPAPE  by  J.  LEWIS  MAY.  With  a 
Photogravure  Portrait  and  16  other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo 
(9x5!  inches),  izs.  6d.  net. 


8 A    CATALOGUE    OF 

PETER  THE  CRUEL  :  The  Life  of  the  Notorious 

Don  Pedro  of  Spain,  together  with  an  Account  of  his  Relations 
with  the  famous  Maria  de  Padilla.  By  EDWARD  STORER.  With 
a  Photogravure  Frontispiece  and  16  other  Illustrations.  Demy 
8vo  (9  x  5 1  inches),  izs.  6d.  net. 

CHARLES   DE   BOURBON,  CONSTABLE   OF 

FRANCE:  "THE  GREAT  CONDOTTIERE."  By 

CHRISTOPHER  HARE.  With  a  Photogravure  Frontispiece  and  16 
other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5 J  inches),  izs.  6d.  net. 

HUBERT  AND  JOHN  VAN  EYCK  :  Their  Life 

and  Work.  By  W.  H.  JAMES  WEALE.  With  41  Photogravure 
and  95  Black  and  White  Reproductions.  Royal  410.  ^5  $s.  net. 

SIR  MARTIN  CONWAY'S  NOTE. 

Nearly  half  a.  century  has  passed  since  Mr*  W.  H .  James  Weale,  then  resident  at 
Bruges,  began  that  long  series  of  patient  investigations  into  the  history  of  Netherlandish 
art  which  was  destined  to  earn  so  rich  a  harvest.  When  he  began  work  Memlinc  was 
•still  called  Hemling,  and  was  fabled  to  have  arrived  at  Bruges  as  a  wounded  soldier. 
The  van  Eycks  were  little  more  than  legendary  heroes.  Roger  Van  der  Weyden  was  little 
more  than  a  name.  Most  of  the  other  great  Netherlandish  artists  were  either  wholly 
"'brgotten  or  named  only  in  connection  with  paintings  with  'which  they  had  nothing  to  do. 
Mr.  Weale  discovered  Gerard  David,  and  disentangled  his  principal  works  from  Mem- 
line's,  with  which  they  were  then  confused. 

VINCENZO  FOPPA  OF  BRESCIA,  FOUNDER  OF 

THE  LOMBARD  SCHOOL,  His  LIFE  AND  WORK.  By  CONSTANCE 
JOCELYN  FFOULKES  and  MONSIGNOR  RODOLFO  MAJOCCHI,  D.D., 
Rector  of  the  Collegio  Borromeo,  Pavia.  Based  on  research  in  the 
Archives  of  Milan,  Pavia,  Brescia,  and  Genoa,  and  on  the  study 
of  all  his  known  works.  With  over  100  Illustrations,  many  in 
Photogravure,  and  100  Documents.  Royal  410.  ^£3  iu.  6d.  net. 

***  No  complete  Life  of  Vincenzo  Foppa  has  ever  been  written:  an  omission  "which 
seems  almost  inexplicable  in  these  days  of  over-production  in  tJie  matter  of  bio- 
graphies of  painters,  and  of  subjects  relating  to  the  art  of  Italy.  The  object  of  the 
authors  of  this  book  has  been  to  present  a  true  picture  of  the  masters  life  based 
upon  the  testimony  of  records  in  Italian  archives.  The  authors  have  unearthed  a  large 
amount  of  new  material  relating  to  Foppa,  one  of  the  most  interesting  facts  brought  to 
light  being  that  he  lived  for  twenty-three  years  longer  than  was  formerly  supposed.  The 
illustrations  will  include  several  pictures  by  Foppa  hitherto  unknown  in  the  history  of  art. 

MEMOIRS    OF   THE    DUKES    OF    URBINO. 

Illustrating  the  Arms,  Art  and  Literature  of  Italy  from  1440  to 
1630.  By  JAMES  DENNISTOUN  of  Dennistoun.  A  New  Edition 
edited  by  EDWARD  HUTTON,  with  upwards  of  100  Illustrations. 
Demy  8vo.  3  vols.  42.;.  net. 

%*  For  many  years  this  great  book  has  been  out  ej  print,  although  it  still  remains  the 
chief  authority  upon  the  Duchy  of  Urbino  from  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
14r.  Hutton  has  carefully  edited  the  whole  work,  leaving  the  text  substantially  the  same, 
but  adding  a  large  number  of  new  notes,  comments  and  references.  Wherever  possible 
the  reader  is  directed  to  original  sources.  Every  sort  of  'work  has  been  laid  under 
contribution  to  illustrate  the  text,  and  bibliographies  have  been  supplied  on  many  subjects. 
Besides  these  notes  the  book  acquires  a  new  value  on  account  of  the  mass  of  illustrations 
which  it  now  contains,  thus  adding  a  pictorial  comment  to  an  historical  and  critical  one. 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC.       9 
SIMON    BOLIVAR,    "EL   LIBERTADOR."     A 

Life  of  the  Chief  Leader  in  the  Revolt  against  Spain  in  Venezuela, 
New  Granada  and  Peru.  By  F.  LORAINE  PETRE.  Author  of 
"  Napoleon  and  the  Conquest  of  Prussia,"  "  Napoleon's  Campaign 
in  Poland,"  and  "  Napoleon  and  the  Archduke  Charles."  With 
2  Portraits,  one  in  Photogravure,  and  Maps.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f 
inches).  12s.  6d.  net. 

THE  DIARY  OF  A  LADY-IN-WAITING.     By 

LADY  CHARLOTTE  BURY.  Being  the  Diary  Illustrative  of  the 
Times  of  George  the  Fourth.  Interspersed  with  original  Letters 
from  the  late  Queen  Caroline  and  from  various  other  distinguished 
persons.  New  edition.  Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  A. 
FRANCIS  STEUART.  With  numerous  portraits.  Two  Vols. 
Demy  8vo.  2  is.  net 

THE  LAST  JOURNALS  OF  HORACE  WAL- 

POLE.  During  the  Reign  of  George  III  from  1771  to  1783. 
With  Notes  by  DR.  DORAN.  Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by 
A.  FRANCIS  STEUART,  and  containing  numerous  Portraits  (2  in 
Photogravure)  reproduced  from  contemporary  Pictures,  Engravings, 
etc.  2  vols.  Uniform  with  "  The  Diary  of  a  Lady-in- Waiting." 
Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  j  inches).  251.  net. 

JUNIPER  HALL:  Rendezvous  of  certain  illus- 
trious Personages  during  the  French  Revolution,  including  Alex- 
ander D'Arblay  and  Fanny  Burney.  Compiled  by  CONSTANCE  HILL. 
With  numerous  Illustrations  by  ELLEN  G.  HILL,  and  reproductions 
from  various  Contemporary  Portraits.  Crown  8vo.  5*.  net. 

JANE   AUSTEN  :   Her  Homes  and  Her  Friends. 

By  CONSTANCE  HILL.  Numerous  Illustrations  by  ELLEN  G.  HILL, 
together  with  Reproductions  from  Old  Portraits,  etc.  Cr.Svo.  5j.net. 

THE    HOUSE    IN    ST.   MARTIN'S    STREET. 

Being  Chronicles  of  the  Burney  Family.  By  CONSTANCE  HILL, 
Author  of  "  Jane  Austen,  Her  Homes  and  Her  Friends,"  "  Juniper 
Hall,"  etc.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  ELLEN  G.  HILL,  and 
reproductions  of  Contemporary  Portraits,  etc.  Demy  8vo.  2  is.  net. 

STORY  OF  THE  PRINCESS  DES  URSINS  IN 

SPAIN  (Camarera-Mayor).  By  CONSTANCE  HILL.  With  12 
Illustrations  and  a  Photogravure  Frontispiece.  New  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.  5/.  net. 


£0 A    CATALOGUE    OF 

MARIA   EDGEWORTH    AND    HER    CIRCLE 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  BONAPARTE  AND  BOURBON. 
By  CONSTANCE  HILL.  Author  of  "Jane  Austen  :  Her  Homes 
and  Her  Friends,"  "Juniper  Hall,"  "The  House  in  St.  Martin's 
Street,"  etc.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  ELLEN  G.  HILL 
and  Reproductions  of  Contemporary  Portraits,  etc.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5j  inches),  zis.  net. 

NEW    LETTERS    OF    THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

Edited  and  Annotated  by  ALEXANDER  CARLYLE,  with  Notes  and 
an  Introduction  and  numerous  Illustrations.  In  Two  Volumes. 
Demy  8vo.  25*.  net. 

Pall  Mall  Gazette.—"  To  the  portrait  of  the  man,  Thomas,  these  letters  do  really  add 

value ;  we  can  learn  to  respect  and  to  like  him  the  more  for  the  genuine  goodness  of  his 

personality." 
Literary  World. — "  It  is  then  Carlyle,  the  nobly  filial  son,  we  see  in  these  letters  ;  Carlyle, 

the  generous  and  affectionate  brother,   the  loyal  and  warm-hearted  friend,  .  .  .  and 

above  all,  Carlyle  as  the  tender  and  faithful  lover  of  his  wife." 
Daily  Telegraph. — "  The  letters  are  characteristic  enough  of  the  Carlyle  we  know  :  very 

picturesque  and  entertaining,  full  of  extravagant  emphasis,  written,  as  a  rule,  at  fever 

heat,  eloquently  rabid  and  emotional.' 

NEW  LETTERS  AND  MEMORIALS  OF  JANE 

WELSH  CARLYLE.  A  Collection  of  hitherto  Unpublished 
Letters.  Annotated  by  THOMAS  CARLYLE,  and  Edited  by 
ALEXANDER  CARLYLE,  with  an  Introduction  by  Sir  JAMES  CRICHTON 
BROWNE,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  numerous  Illustrations  drawn  in  Litho- 
graphy by  T.  R.  WAY,  and  Photogravure  Portraits  from  hitherto 
unreproduced  Originals.  In  Two  Volumes.  Demy  8vo.  25^.  net. 

Westminster  Gazette.—11'  Few  letters  in  the  language  have  in  such  perfection  the  qualities 
which  good  letters  should  possess.  Frank,  gay,  brilliant,  indiscreet,  immensely  clever, 
whimsical,  and  audacious,  they  reveal  a  character  which,  with  whatever  alloy  of  human 
infirmity,  must  endear  itself  to  any  reader  of  understanding." 

World. — "  Throws  a  deal  of  new  light  on  the  domestic  relations  of  the  Sage  of  Chelsea. 
They  also  contain  the  full  text  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  fascinating  journal,  and  her  own 
'  humorous  and  quaintly  candid '  narrative  of  her  first  love-affair." 

THE  LOVE  LETTERS  OF  THOMAS  CAR- 
LYLE AND  JANE  WELSH.  Edited  by  ALEXANDER  CARLYLE, 
Nephew  of  THOMAS  CARLYLE,  editor  of  "New  Letters  and 
Memorials  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,"  "  New  Letters  of  Thomas 
Carlyle,"  etc.  With  2  Portraits  in  colour  and  numerous  other 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5 \  inches).  2  vols.  251.  net. 

CARLYLE'S  FIRST  LOVE.     Margaret  Gordon- 

Lady  Bannerman.  An  account  of  her  Life,  Ancestry  and 
Homes  ;  her  Family  and  Friends.  By  R.  C.  ARCHIBALD.  With 
20  Portraits  and  Illustrations,  including  a  Frontispiece  in  Colour. 
Demy  8vo  (9  x  5^  inches).  ioj.  6d.  net 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC,     n 

THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  THE  NINE- 
TEENTH CENTURY.  By  HOUSTON  STEWART  CHAMBER- 
LAIN. A  Translation  from  the  German  by  JOHN  LEES,  M.A., 
D.Litt.  (Edin.).  With  an  Introduction  by  LORD  REDESDALE, 
G.C.V.O.,  K.C.B.  zvols.  Demy  8vo  (9x5!  inches).  32j.net. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE  MARTYR  KING :  being  a 

detailed  record  of  the  last  two  years  of  the  Reign  of  His  Most 
Sacred  Majesty  King  Charles  the  First,  1646-1648-9.  Com- 
piled by  ALLAN  FEA.  With  upwards  of  100  Photogravure 
Portraits  and  other  Illustrations,  including  relics.  Royal  410. 
IO5/.  net. 

Mr.  M.  H.  SPIELMANN  in  The  Academy. — "  The  volume  is  a  triumph  for  the  printer  and 

publisher,  and  a  solid  contribution  to  Carolinian  literature." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "The  present  sumptuous  volume,  a  storehouse  of  eloquent  associations 
.  .  comes  as  near  to  outward  perfection  as  anything  we  could  desire." 

MEMOIRS  OF  A  VANISHED  GENERATION 

1813-1855.  Edited  by  MRS.  WARRENNE  BLAKE.  With  numerous 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  i6/.  net. 

***  This  work  is  compiled  from  diaries  and  letters  dating  from  the  time  of  tJte  Regency 
to  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  value  of  the  work  lies  in  its  natural  un* 
embellished  picture  of  the  life  of  a  cultured  and  well-born  family  in  a  foreign  environment 
at  a  period  so  close  to  our  own  that  it  is  far  less  familiar  than  periods  much  more  remote. 
There  is  an  atmosphere  of  Jane  Austen's  novels  about  the  lives  of  Admiral  Knox  and  his 
family,  and  a  large  number  of  well-known  contemporaries  are  introduced  into  Mrs.  Blake  s 
pages. 

THE  LIFE  OF  PETER  ILICH  TCHAIKOVSKY 

(1840-1893).  By  his  Brother,  MODESTE  TCHAIKOVSKY.  Edited 
and  abridged  from  the  Russian  and  German  Editions  by  ROSA 
NEWMARCH.  With  Numerous  Illustrations  and  Facsimiles  and  an 
Introduction  by  the  Editor.  Demy  8vo.  yj.  6d.  net.  Second 
edition. 

The  Times. — "A  most  illuminating  commentary  on  Tchaikovsky's  music." 
World. — "  One  of  the  most  fascinating  self-revelations  by  an  artist  which  has  been  given  to 
the  world.     The  translation  is  excellent,  and  worth  reading  for  its  own  sake." 

Contemporary  Review.—"  The  book's  appeal  is,  of  course,  primarily  to  the  music-lover ;  but 
there  is  so  much  of  tuman  and  literary  interest  in  it,  such  intimate  revelation  of  a 
singularly  interesting  personality,  that  many  who  have  never  come  under  the  spell  of 
the  Pathetic  Symphony  will  be  strongly  attracted  by  what  is  virtually  the  spiritual 
autobiography  of  its  composer.  High  praise  is  due  to  the  translator  and  editor  for  the 
literary  skill  with  which  she  has  prepared  the  English  version  of  this  fascinating  work .  .  . 
There  have  been  few  collections  of  letters  published  within  recent  years  that  give  so 
vivid  a  portrait  of  the  writer  as  that  presented  to  us  in  these  pages." 


12 A    CATALOGUE    OF 

CESAR  FRANCK  :  A  Study.     Translated  from  the 

French  of  Vincent  d'Indy,  with  an  Introduction  by  ROSA  NEW- 
MARCH.  Demy  8vo.  js.  6d.  net. 

*#*  There  is  no  purer  influence  in  modern  music  than  that  of  Ctsar  Franck,  for  many 
years  ignored  in  every  capacity  save  that  of  organist  ofSainte-Clotilde,  in  Paris,  but  now 
recognised  as  the  legitimate  successor  of  Bach  and  Beethoven.  His  inspiration  ' '  rooted  in 
love  and  faith  "  has  contributed  in  a  remarkable  degree  to  the  regeneration  of  the  musical 
art  in  France  and  elsewhere.  The  no^u  famous  "  Schola  Cantorum"  founded  in  Paris  in 
1896,  by  A.  Guilmant,  Charles  Bordes  and  Vincent  d'Indy,  is  the  direct  outcome  of  his 
influence.  Among  the  artists  who  were  in  some  sort  his  disciples  were  Paul  Dukas, 
Chabrier,  Gabriel  Faure  and  the  great  violinist  Ysaye.  His  pupils  include  such  gifted 
composers  as  Benott,  A  ugusta  Holmes,  Chausson,  Ropartz,  and  d*  Indy.  This  book, 
"written  with  the  devotion  of  a  disciple  and  the  authority  of  a  master,  leaves  us  with 
a  vivid  and  touching  impression  of  the  saint-like  composer  of  "  The  Beatitudes.'" 

GRIEG   AND    HIS    MUSIC.     By  H.   T.    FINCK, 

Author  of  Wagner  and  his  Works,"  etc.  With  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo.  7/.  6</.  net. 

THE  OLDEST  MUSIC  ROOM   IN  EUROPE  : 

A  Record  of  an  Eighteenth-Century  Enterprise  at  Oxford.  By 
JOHN  H.  MEE,  M.A.,  D.Mus.,  Precentor  of  Chichester  Cathedral, 
(sometime  Fellow  of  Merton  College,  Oxford).  With  25  full-page 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches).  IQJ.  6d.  net. 

EDWARD    A.    MACDOWELL:     A    Biography. 

By  LAWRENCE  GILMAN,  Author  of  "  Phases  of  Modern  Music," 
"Straus's  <  Salome',"  "The  Music  of  To-morrow  and  Other 
Studies,"  etc.  Profusely  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo.  5^.  net. 

THE    KING'S    GENERAL    IN     THE     WEST, 

being  the  Life  of  Sir  Richard  Granville,  Baronet  (1600-1659). 
By  ROGER  GRANVILLE,  M.A.,  Sub-Dean  of  Exeter  Cathedral. 
With  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  los.  6d.  net. 

Westminster  Gazette. — "A  distinctly  interesting  work;  it  will  be  highly  appreciated  by 
historical  students  as  well  as  by  ordinary  readers." 

THE  SOUL  OF  A  TURK.     By  MRS.  DE  BUNSEN. 

With  8  Full-page  Illustrations.     Demy  8vo.      IQJ.  6^.  net. 

*»*  We  hear  of  Moslem  "fanaticism  "  and  Christian  "superstition"  but  it  is  not  easy 
to  Jind  a  book  "which  goes  to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  "  The  Soul  of  a  Turk"  is  the 
outcome  of  several  journeys  in  Asiatic  and  European  Turkey,  notably  one  through  the 
Armenian  provinces,  down  the  Tigris  on  a  raft  to  Baghdad  and  across  the  Syrian  Desert 
to  Damascus.  Mrs.  de  Bunsen  made  a  special  study  of  the  various  forms  of  religion 
existing  in  those  countries.  Here,  side  by  side  with  the  formal  ceremonial  of  the  village 
jnosgue  and  the  Christian  Church,  is  the  resort  to  Magic  and  Mystery. 

THE    LIFE    AND    LETTERS    OF    ROBERT 

STEPHEN  HAWKER,  sometime  Vicar  of  Morwenstow  in  Cornwall. 
By  C.  E.  BYLES.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  J.  LEY 
PETHYBRIDGE  and  others.  Demy  8vo.  js.  6d.  net. 

Daily  Telegraph. — "  ...  As  soon  as  the  volume  is  opened  one  finds  oneself  in  the  presence 
of  a  real  original,  a  man  of  ability,  genius  and  eccentricity,  of  whom  one  cannot  know 
too  much.  .  .  .  No  one  will  read  this  fascinating  and  charmingly  produced  book  without 
thanks  to  Mr.  Byles  and  a  desire  to  visit — or  revisit — Morwenstow." 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC.     13 
THE  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  BLAKE.  By  ALEXANDER 

GILCHRIST.  Edited  with  an  Introduction  by  W.GRAHAM  ROBERTSON. 
Numerous  Reproductions  from  Blake's  most  characteristic  and 
remarkable  designs.  Demy  8vo.  los.  6d.  net.  New  Edition. 

Birmingham  Post. — "Nothing  seems  at  all  likely  ever  to  supplant  the  Gilchrist  biography* 
Mr.  Swinburne  praised  it  magnificently  in  his  own  eloquent  essay  on  Blake,  and  there 
should  be  no  need  now  to  point  out  its  entire  sanity,  understanding  keenness  of  critical 
insight,  and  masterly  literary  style.  Dealing  with  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  subjects, 
it  ranks  among  the  finest  things  of  its  kind  that  we  possess." 

GEORGE    MEREDITH  :     Some    Characteristics. 

By  RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE.  With  a  Bibliography  (much  en- 
larged) by  JOHN  LANE.  Portrait,  etc.  Crown  8vo.  5^.  net.  Fifth 
Edition.  Revised. 

Punch. — "All  Meredithians  must  possess  'George  Meredith;  Some  Characteristics,'  by 
Richard  Le  Gallienne.  This  book  is  a  complete  and  excellent  guide  to  the  novelist  and 
the  novels,  a  sort  of  Meredithian  Bradshaw,  with  pictures  of  the  traffic  superintendent 
and  the  head  office  at  Boxhill.  Even  Philistines  may  be  won  over  by  the  blandishments 
of  Mr.  Le  Gallienne." 

LIFE  OF  LORD  CHESTERFIELD.    An  Account 

of  the  Ancestry,  Personal  Character,  and  Public  Services  of  the 
Fourth  Earl  of  Chesterfield.  By  W.  H.  CRAIG,  M.A.  Numerous 
Illustrations.  Demy  8vo.  1 2J.  6</.  net. 

Times. — "  It  is  the  chief  point  of  Mr.  Craig's  book  to  show  the  sterling  qualities  which 
Chesterfield  was  at  too  much  pains  in  concealing,  to  reject  the  perishable  trivialities  of 
his  character,  and  to  exhibit  him  as  a  philosophic  statesman,  not  inferior  to  any  of  his 
contemporaries,  except  Walpole  at  one  end  of  his  life,  and  Chatham  at  the  other." 

A  QUEEN  OF  INDISCRETIONS.     The  Tragedy 

of  Caroline  of  Brunswick,  Queen  of  England.  From  the  Italian 
of  G.  P.  CLERICI.  Translated  by  FREDERIC  CHAPMAN.  With 
numerous  Illustrations  reproduced  from  contemporary  Portraits  and 
Prints.  Demy  8vo.  2 is.  net. 

The  Daily  Telegraph. — "  It  could  scarcely  be  done  more  thoroughly  or,  on  the  whole,  in 
better  taste  than  is  here  displayed  by  Professor  Clerici.  Mr  Frederic  Chapman  himself 
contributes  an  uncommonly  interesting  and  well-informed  introduction." 

LETTERS    AND    JOURNALS    OF    SAMUEL 

GRIDLEY  HOWE.  Edited  by  his  Daughter  LAURA  E. 
RICHARDS.  With  Notes  and  a  Preface  by  F.  B.  SANBORN,  an 
Introduction  by  Mrs.  JOHN  LANE,  and  a  Portrait.  Demy  8vo 
(9  x  5j  inches).  \6s.  net. 

Outlook. — "This  deeply  interesting  record  of  experience.  The  volume  is  worthily  produced 
and  contains  a  striking  portrait  of  Howe." 

THE  WAR  IN  WEXFORD.     An  Account  of  the 

Rebellion  in  the  South  of  Ireland  in  1798,  told  from  Original 
Documents.  By  H.  F.  B.  WHEELER  and  A.  M.  BROADLEY, 
Authors  of  "  Napoleon  and  the  Invasion  of  England,"  etc.  With 
numerous  Reproductions  of  contemporary  portraits  and  engravings. 
Demy  8vo  (9  x  5^  inches).  MS.  6<t.  net. 


14 A    CATALOGUE    OF 

THE   LIFE   OF    ST.  MARY    MAGDALEN. 

Translated  from  the  Italian  of  an  Unknown  Fourteenth-Century 
Writer  by  VALENTINA  HAWTREY.  With  an  Introductory  Note  by 
VERNON  LEE,  and  14  Full-page  Reproductions  from  the  Old  Masters. 
Crown  8vo.  5*.  net. 

Daily  News. — "Miss  Valentin*  Hawtrey  has  given  a  most  excellent  English  version  of  this 
pleasant  work." 

LADY    CHARLOTTE    SCHREIBER'S 

JOURNALS  :  Confidences  of  a  Collector  of  Ceramics  and 
Antiques  throughout  Britain,  France,  Germany,  Italy,  Spain, 
Holland,  Belgium,  Switzerland,  and  Turkey.  From  the  Year 
1869  to  1885.  Edited  by  MONTAGUE  GUEST,  with  Annotations 
by  EGAN  MEW.  With  upwards  of  100  Illustrations,  including 
8  in  colour  and  2  in  photogravure.  Royal  8vo.  2  Volumes. 
42 s.  net. 

WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.     A 

Biography  by  LEWIS  MELVILLE.  With  2  Photogravures  and 
numerous  other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches).  25*.  net. 

***  In  compiling  this  biography  of  Thackeray  Mr.  Lewis  Melville,  -who  is  admittedly 
the  authority  on  the  subject,  has  been  assisted  by  numerous  Thackeray  experts.  Mr. 
Melville's  name  has  long  been  associated  with  Thackeray,  not  only  as  founder  of  the 
Titmarsh  Club,  but  also  as  the  author  of"  The  Thackeray  County"  and  the  editor  of  the 
standard  edition  of  Thackeray's  -works  and  "  Thackeray  s  Stray  Papers."  For  many 
•vears  Mr.  Melville  has  devoted  himself  to  the  collection  of  material  relating  to  the  life  and 
•work  of  his  subject.  He  has  had  access  to  many  new  letters,  and  much  information  has 
come  to  hand  since  the  publication  of"  The  Life  of  Thackeray."  Now  that  everything 
about  the  novelist  is  known,  it  seems  that  an  appropriate  moment  has  arrived  for  a  new 
biography.  Mr.  Melville  has  also  compiled  a  bibliography  of  Thackeray  that  runs  to 
upwards  1,300  items,  by  many  hundreds  more  than  contained  in  any  hitherto  issued. 
This  section  will  be  invaluable  to  the  collector.  Thackeray's  speeches,  including  several 
never  before  republished,  have  also  been  collected.  There  is  a  list  of  portraits  of  the 
novelist,  and  a  separate  index  te  the  Bibliography. 

A   LATER    PEPYS.     The   Correspondence  of  Sir 

William  Weller  Pepys,  Bart.,  Master  in  Chancery,  1758-1825, 
with  Mrs.  Chapone,  Mrs.  Hartley,  Mrs.  Montague,  Hannah  More, 
William  Franks,  Sir  James  Macdonald,  Major  Rennell,  Sir 
Nathaniel  Wraxall,  and  others.  Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  ALICE  C.  C.  GAUSSEN.  With  numerous  Illustrations. 
Demy  8vo.  In  Two  Volumes.  32*.  net. 

DOUGLAS  SLADEN  in  the  Queen. — "This  is  indisputably  a  most  valuable  contribution  to  the 
literature  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  is  a  veritable  storehouse  of  society  gossip,  the 
art  criticism,  and  the  mots  of  famous  people." 

MEMORIES    OF    SIXTY   YEARS    AT    ETON, 

CAMBRIDGE  AND  ELSEWHERE.  By  OSCAR  BROWNING, 
M.  A.,  University  Lecturer  in  History,  Senior  Fellow  and  sometime 
History  Tutor  at  King's  College,  Cambridge,  and  formerly  Assistant 
Master  at  Eton  College.  Illustrated.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches). 
1^.  net. 


MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,   ETC.     15 


RUDYARD  KIPLING  :  a  Criticism.     By  RICHARD 

LE  GALLIENNE.  With  a  Bibliography  by  JOHN  LANE.  Crown 
8vo.  3/.  6d.  net. 

Scotsman — "  It  shows  a  keen  insight  into  the  essential  qualities  of  literature,  and  analyses 
Mr.  Kipling's  product  with  the  skill  of  a  craftsman  .  .  .  the  positive  and  outstanding 
merits  of  Mr.  Kipling's  contribution  to  the  literature  of  his  time  are  marshalled  by  his 
critic  with  quite  uncommon  skill." 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON,  AN  ELEGY  ; 
AND  OTHER  POEMS,  MAINLY  PERSONAL.  By 

RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE.     Crown  8vo.     4/.  6d.  net. 

Globe. — "The  opening  Elegy  on  R.  L.  Stevenson  includes  some  tender  and  touching 
passages,  and  has  throughout  the  merits  of  sincerity  and  clearness." 

JOHN      LOTHROP      MOTLEY      AND      HIS 

FAMILY  :  Further  Letters  and  Records.  Edited  by  his  daughter 
and  Herbert  St  John  Mildmay,  with  numerous  Illustrations. 
Demy  8vo  (9  x  5^  inches).  i6s.  net. 

THE  LIFE  OF  W.   J.  FOX,  Public  Teacher  and 

Social  Reformer,  1786-1864.  By  the  late  RICHARD  GARNETT, 
C.B.,  LL.D.,  concluded  by  EDWARD  GARNETT.  Demy  8vo. 
(9x5!  inches.)  i6/.  net. 

***  W.  J.  Fox  was  a  prominent  figure  in  public  life  from  1820  to  1860.  From  a 
weaver  s  boy  he  became  M.P.  for  Oldham  (1847-1862),  and  he  -will  always  be  remembered 
for  his  association  with  South  Place  Chapel,  "where  his  Radical  opinions  and  fame  as  a 
preacher  and  popular  orator  brought  him  in  contact  with  an  advanced  circle  of  thoughtful 
people.  Pie  was  the  discoverer  of  the  youthful  Robert  Browning  and  Harriet  Martineau, 
and  the  friend  of  J.  S.  Mill,  Home,  John  Forster,  Macready,  etc.  As  an  Anti-Corn 
Law  orator,  he  swayed,  by  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  enthusiastic  audiences.  As  a 
politician,  he  was  the  unswerving  champion  of  social  reform  and  the  cause  of  oppressed 
nationalities,  his  most  celebrated  speech  being  in  support  of  his  Bill  for  National  Educa- 
tion, 1850,  a  Bill  which  anticipated  many  of  the  features  of  the  Education  Bill  of  our 
own  time.  He  died  in  1863.  The  present  Life  has  been  compiled  from  manuscript 
material  entrusted  to  Dr.  Garnett  by  Mrs.  Bride II  Fox. 

ROBERT  DODSLEY:  POET,  PUBLISHER, 

AND  PLAYWRIGHT.  By  RALPH  STRAUS.  With  a  Photo- 
gravure and  1 6  other  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  \  inches). 
2  is.  net. 

THE     LIFE     AND     TIMES     OF     MARTIN 

BLAKE,  B.D.  (1593-1673),  Vicar  of  Barnstaple  and  Preben- 
dary of  Exeter  Cathedral,  with  some  account  of  his  conflicts  with 
the  Puritan  Lecturers  and  of  his  Persecutions.  By  JOHN 
FREDERICK  CHANTER,  M.A.,  Rector  of  Parracombe,  Devon.  With 
5  full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9x5^  inches).  ioj.  6d.  net. 

WILLIAM    HARRISON    AINSWORTH    AND 

HIS  FRIENDS.  By  S.  M.  ELLIS.  With  upwards  of  50 
Illustrations,  4  in  Photogravure.  2  vols.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  J 
inches).  321.  net. 


16    MEMOIRS,   BIOGRAPHIES,  ETC. 


THE  SPENCER  STANHOPES  OF  YORK- 
SHIRE; FROM  THE  PAPERS  OF  A  MACARONI 
AND  HIS  KINDRED.  By  A.  M.  W.  STIRLING,  Author  of 
"  Coke  of  Norfolk,"  etc.  With  numerous  Illustrations  reproduced 
from  contemporary  prints,  etc.  2  vols.  Demy  8vo.  321.  net. 

THE     SPEAKERS     OF     THE     HOUSE     OF 

COMMONS  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the  Present  Day, 
with  a  Topographical  Account  of  Westminster  at  various  Epochs, 
Brief  Notes  on  the  Sittings  of  Parliament,  and  a  Retrospect  of 
the  principal  Constitutional  Changes  during  Seven  Centuries.  By 
ARTHUR  IRWIN  DASENT,  Author  of  "The  Life  and  Letters  of 
JOHN  DELANE,"  "  The  History  of  St.  James's  Square,'5  etc.  With 
numerous  Portraits.  Demy  8ro.  2is. 

JUNGLE    BY-WAYS    IN    INDIA  :    Leaves  from 

the  Note-book  of  a  Sportsman  and  a  Naturalist.  By  E.  P. 
STEBBING,  I.F.S.,  F.Z.S.,  F.R.G.S.  With  upwards  of  TOO  Illustrations 
by  the  Author  and  others.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5  J  inches).  I2s.  6d. 
net. 

A  TRAMP  IN  THE  CAUCASUS.     By  STEPHEN 

GRAHAM.  With  16  full-page  Illustrations.  Demy  8vo  (9x5! 
inches).  1 2s.  6d.  net. 

SERVICE  AND  SPORT  IN  THE   SUDAN:  A 

Record  of  Administration  in  the  Anglo-Egyptian  Sudan.  With 
some  Intervals  of  Sport  and  Travel.  By  D.  C.  E.  FF.COMYN, 
F.R.G.S.  (late  of  the  Black  Watch).  With  16  full-page  Illustrations 
and  3  Maps.  Demy  8vo  (9  x  5f  inches),  izs.  6V.  net. 

FRENCH   NOVELISTS  OF  TO-DAY:    Maurice 

Barres,  Rene  Bazin,  Paul  Bourget,  Pierre  de  Coulevain,  Anatole 
France,  Pierre  Loti,  Marcel  Prevost,  and  Edouard  Rod.  Bio- 
graphical, Descriptive,  and  Critical.  By  WINIFRED  STEPHENS. 
With  Portraits  and  Bibliographies.  Crown  Svo.  51.  net. 

%*  The  writer,  ivho  has  lived  much  in  France,  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  French 
life  and  with  the  principal  currents  of  French  thought,  rhe  book  is  intended  to  be  a 
guide  to  English  readers  desirous  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  best  present-day  French 
fiction.  Special  attention  is  given  to  the  ecclesiastical,  social,  and  intellectual  problems 
of  contemporary  France  and  their  influence  upon  the  works  of  French  novelists  of  to-day. 

MEN  AND  LETTERS.     By  HERBERT  PAUL,  M.P. 

Fourth  Edition.      Crown  Svo.      5;.  net. 

Daily  News.  -  "  Mr.  Herbert  Paul  has  done  scholars  and  the  reading  world  in  general  a 
high  service  in  publishing  this  collection  of  his  essays." 

JOHN   LANE,   THE    BODLEY    HEAD,   VIGO    STREET,    LONDON,   W. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV27  1951 
NOV  1  3   1951 


LD  21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476 


ERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY