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WALTON HALL, THE SEAT OF CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ.

ESSAYS ;
i ON ;

NATURAL HISTORY,

CHIEFLY

ORNITHOLOGY.

» LONDON:
~ 3
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
iS | PATERNOSTER-ROW.
ie , 3. .

PREFACE.

Some few years ago Mr. Loudon wrote to me,
in order to draw my attention to his Magazine
of Natural History ; and he added in his letter,
that he would feel obliged to me for any com-
munication that I might send to him from time
to time at my convenience.

I was preparing to set out for the Continent
at the time that I received Mr. Loudon’s letter.
On my return home from Franconia, I did
not forget his application relative to the Maga-
zine of Natural History. 1 owe a debt of gra-
titude to Mr. Loudon, for the very kind manner
in which he has always spoken of the Wan-
derings, and recommended that work to the

public.

I had learned, by mere chance, that a pro-
fessor in King’s College had been applying to
A 2

1V PREFACE.

the Wanderings for information concerning the
Humming-Bird; and that, having got what he
wanted, he had coupled my name with an epi-
thet* any thing but congenial to my feelings.
Upon this, with no other sensation than that
which a man experiences when he receives a
pinch which he knows that he does not deserve,
I took up the new edition of the Ornithological
Dictionary, and having given it a few hearty
shakes, by way of retaliation, I laid it down
again upon the table, and bade it rest in peace.
This will account to the reader for the appear-
ance of an extract from the Ornithological
Dictionary in the first page of the following
Essays.

Having had every possible opportunity of
paying attention to the habits of the Vulture,
during a long residence in the hottest parts of
South America, where this bird is found in vast
abundance, I was convinced, and am still con-
vinced beyond all doubt whatever, that the
Vulture possesses the faculty of scent in a most
superior degree; and I made mention in the

* The eccentric Waterton.

PREFACE. Vv

Wanderings of this well-known faculty in the
Vulture. A foreigner having imported into
this country a theory quite at variance with
what I had stated in my publication, 1 deemed
it necessary, for the reputation of the Wander-
ings, to enter more minutely into the subject ;
wherefore I sent up to Mr. Loudon’s Magazine
of Natural History a paper on the habits of the
Vulture. This gave rise to much contention, I
trying to upset the new theory, and my adver-
saries striving to keep it on its legs. In the
meantime, certain philosophers in the United
States signed their names to a paper, which
contained an account of experiments made upon
the living Vulture, in order to prove its defi-
ciency in the power of scent. One of these ex-
periments was so horribly cruel, that the mere
reading of it alone makes humanity shudder.
These western sages promised that they would
dissect the Vulture’s nose; but I cannot learn
that they have as yet commenced operations.
They are fearful, no doubt, that they would
discover in the beautifully developed parts of
that bird’s organ of scent, proof quite sufficient
to show to them the inutility of their former
experiments.
A 3

vi PREFACE.

Should it be remarked, that I have commented
somewhat severely on certain parts of the Bzo-
graphy of Birds, 1 answer, that I should only
have taken as much notice of that work as
would have been necessary to prove that the
“new theory could not be depended upon, had
not the partisans of the author given me ample
cause of provocation. Had they continued
under arms, it was my intention to have reviewed.
the whole of the Biography of Birds, together
with the author’s “ Introductory Address.”

The controversial papers which have appeared
on different subjects in Mr. Loudon’s Magazine
are not included in these Essays. Had mine
been introduced, those of my opponents must
equally have been admitted, for the sake of
perspicuity. |

These Essays chiefly treat on the habits of
birds. I cannot help observing, that too many
of our histories of birds are both defective and
erroneous. We can never expect to have a
complete history of birds, until he, who under-
takes the task of writing it, shall have. studied
his subject with unceasing attention in the field

PREFACE. vi

of Nature. When this shall have been done,
then there will be no more mention made of
owls erecting the feathery tufts on their heads
in the moment of surprise ; nor of young birds
(no matter of what species) being able to fly at
six days old. Numberless glaring faults will
then be corrected, and the naturalist will expe-
rience real pleasure when he opens books which
treat of ornithology.

I have carefully omitted the harsh names
which have been given to our British birds: let
those make use of them who attach importance
to them; I can make nothing of them.

Some of our birds, quadrupeds, and insects,
have hitherto been described as particularly in-
jurious to the interests of agriculture ; others, as
insatiate destroyers of fowls destined for our fes-
tive board; whilst others, again, are considered
by the lower orders as agents, somehow or other,
connected with witches, or with wisemen, as
they are called in Yorkshire, who know of
things lost, and of deeds done in the dark, and
of places where pretty milkmaids may find de-
serving swains, ready and willing to become

A 4

Vili - PREFACE.

their lawful husbands, as soon as the bans
shall have been duly published in the parish
church. Thus they tell you, that rooks destroy
young turnips ; that carrion crows are always
stealing egos; and that hedgehogs suck the
cows. ‘The landlady “ of a little inn in the
village” knew that poor Lefévre would not get
better, for she had “ heard the death-watch all
night long.” In fine, every body knows that
there is to be an immediate wedding in the
neighbourhood when he sees three magpies al!
together.

One of my objects in writing for Mr. Lou-
don’s Magazine has been to try to do away
the many accusations which ignorance and pre-
judice have brought forward to injure the cha-
racter of our feathered tribes; and I would fain
hope to obtain mercy for my favourites at the
hands of those who have hitherto ordered them
to be destroyed. The task has by no means
been difficult, for I possess the very best oppor-
tunities of observing the birds whose habits I
have described.

I have only now to add, that Mr. Loudon, at

’ PREFACE. ix

his own expense, has ventured to collect and
publish these Essays in their present form. I
wish I had it in my power to present to his
notice some production that would be more
worthy of his indefatigable zeal in the cause of
science. That he may receive ample patronage
from a liberal public, and a remunerating com-
pensation for the trouble which he has been put
to, is the ardent. wish of his sincere friend,

CHARLES WATERTON.

Walton Hall, Dec. 2. 1837.

oT

wi i ~% %
PhP oe he ALS

-

CONTENTS.

Some Account of the Writer of the following Essays, ae

by himself . . ; . : xili
Remarks on Professor Rennie’s Edition of here

Ornithological Dictionary . 1
The Habits of the Barn Owl, and the Benefits it ont

on Man : : 7
On the Faculty of Scent i in the ‘Vulture : 17
The Means by which the Turkey Buzzard traces its F nal 29
The Vulture’s Nose . 44
Remarks on the Nudity on the Forehead and at the Base

of the Bill of the Rook - 48
On the supposed Pouch under the Bill of the Rook 54
On Birds using Oil from Glands “ for the Purpose of

lubricating the Surface of their Plumage” . «60
On the Preservation of Egg-Shells for Cabinets of Na-

tural History . ; , 65
Mode of blowing Eggs . : ° oh: 1,68
The Green Humming-Bird . : - 69
The Vampire . : ‘ 70
On preserving Insects delected for Cabinets. 72
The Starling . 79
Preserving the Colour of the base aa Bills of stuffed

Birds ° : ° : ay, OS
The Habits of the Carrion Grote 86
Habits of the Pheasant . : . «9/97
Habits of the Jackdaw . - 108
Defence against Animals of the Feline and Cintas Tribes 112
Aerial Encounter of the Eagle and the’ Vulture 122
The Humming-Bird . , ° : + #125
The Virginian Partridge ; : : rey

xii CONTENTS.

On the Habits of the Rook

The Passenger Pigeon ‘ : °

A ishorigtion of the Habits of the Ringdove .

Notes of a Visit to the Haunts of the Guillemot, oat
Facts on its Habits : “

Notes of a Visit to the Haunts of the Cohihiorkat, gait
Facts on its Habits

Notes on the Habits of the Kingisher .
Notes on the Habits of the Tawny Owl

Notes.on the Habits of the Wigeon . :
Notes on the Habits of the Heron » A

The Dipper .

On the Habits of the Water Ouzel, with a few Remeské
on the Oil Glands in Birds 5 ° é

Notes on the Habits of the Mallard .

On Snakes, their Fangs, and their mode of Si edincricae

Food : : ‘ ;
Notes. on the History and Habits of the Brown, or
Grey, Rat F . ° :
Remarks on Trees, with reference to their bebe per-
forated by the Titmouse and the Woodpecker .
Notes on the Habits of the Jay > é .
Notes on the Habits of the Magpie .. :

Notes on the Habits of the Chegoe of Guiana, bicttie
known by the Name of Jigger; and Instances of its
Effects on Man and Dogs. ° . :

Notes on the Habits of the Dovecot Pigeon

Notes on the Habits of the Stormcock, or Mistletoe

Thrush s ? :
Notes on the Habits of the Windhover Hawk °
The Rumpless Fowl . é . . .
The Raven, A 3 d
Apple Trees : ° é .

The Chaffinch . ‘ ®
A short Remark or two on what is doihidonts called

Dry Rot . . . : . :

Hints to Ornithologists ; ‘ ; :

On Museums : . 4 “

Page
130
141
145

153

160
166
172
178
183
190

193
196

203

210

219
226
232

239
244

251
257
262
267
275
277

284
287
297

SOME ACCOUNT

OF

THE WRITER OF THE FOLLOWING ESSAYS,

BY HIMSELF.

I rui1nxK I have seen in a book, but I forget which
just now, that, when we read a work, we generally
have a wish to see the author’s portrait, or, at least,
to know something of him.

Under this impression, I conceive that a short
account of myself will not be wholly uninteresting
to the reader; who, it is to be hoped, will acquit
me of egotism, as I declare, in all truth, that I write
these Memoirs with no other object in view, than
that of amusing him.

I was born at Walton Hall, near Wakefield, in
the county of York, some five and fifty years ago:
this tells me that I am no chicken; but, were I
asked how I feel with regard to the approaches of
old age, I should quote Dryden’s translation of the
description which the Roman poet has given us of
Charon :— .

‘¢ He seem’d in years, yet in his years were seen
A vernal vigour and autumnal green.”

In fact, I feel as though I were not more than
thirty years old. I am quite free from all rheu-

matic pains; and am so supple in the joints, that I
can climb a tree with the utmost facility. I stand

Filan AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

six feet high, all but half an inch. On looking at
myself in the glass, I can see at once that my face
is any thing but comely: continual exposure to the
sun, and to the rains of the tropics, has furrowed it
in places, and given it a tint, which neither Row-
land’s Kalydor, nor all the cosmetics on Belinda’s
toilette, would ever be able to remove. My hair,
which I wear very short, was once of a shade
betwixt brown and black: it has now the appear-
ance as though it had passed the night exposed to a
November hoarfrost. I cannot boast of any great
strength of arm; but my legs, probably by much
walking, and by frequently ascending trees, have
acquired vast muscular power: so that, on taking a
view of me from top to toe, you would say that the
upper part of Tithonus has been placed upon the
lower part of Ajax. Or, to speak zoologically, were
I exhibited for show at a horse fair, some learned
jockey would exclaim, ‘he is half Rosinante, half
Bucephalus.

I have preferred to give this short description of
myself by the pen, rather than to have a drawing
taken by the pencil, as I have a great repugnance
to sit to an artist; although I once did sit to the
late Mr. Peale of Philadelphia, and he kept my
portrait for his museum. Moreover, by giving
this description of myself, it will prevent all chance,
in future, of the nondescript’s * portrait in the
Wanderings being taken for my own.

* A Jate worthy baronet in the North Riding of Yorkshire, having
taken up the Wanderings, and examined the representation of the nonde-
script with minute attention, “‘ Dear me!” said he, as he showed the

engraving to his surrounding company, “* what a very extraordinary look-
ing man Mr. Waterton must be!”

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XV

The poet tell us, that the good qualities of man
and of cattle descend to their offspring. “ Fortes
creantur fortibus et bonis.” If this holds good, I
ought to be pretty well off, as far as breeding goes;
for, on the father’s side, I come in a direct line from
Sir Thomas More, through my grandmother; whilst
by the mother’s side I am akin to the Bedingfelds
of Oxburgh, to the Charltons of Hazleside, and to
the Swinburnes of Capheaton.

My family has been at Walton Hall for some
centuries. It emigrated into Yorkshire, from Wa-
terton in the island of Axeholme in Lincolnshire,
where it had been for a very long time. Indeed, I
dare say I could trace it up to Father Adam, if my
progenitors had only been as careful in preserving
family records, as the Arabs are in recording the
pedigree of their horses; for I do most firmly
believe that we are all descended from Adam and
his wife Eve, notwithstanding what certain self-
sufficient philosophers may have advanced to the
contrary. Old Matt Prior had probably an oppor-
tunity of laying his hands on family papers of the
same purport as those which I have not been able
to find; for he positively informs us that Adam and
Eve were his ancestors :—

‘«¢ Gentlemen, here, by your leave,
Lie the bones of Mathew Prior,
A son of Adam and of Eve:
Can Bourbon or Nassau go higher?”
Depend upon it, the man under Afric’s burning
zone, and he from the frozen regions of the north,
have both come from the same stem. Their differ-

Xvi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

ence in colour and in feature may be traced to this;
viz., that the first has had too much, and the
second too little, sun.

In remote times, some of my ancestors were suf-
ficiently notorious to have had their names handed
down to posterity. They fought at Cressy, and
at Agincourt, and at Marston Moor. Sir Robert
Waterton was Governor of Pontefract Castle, and
had charge of King Richard II. Sir Hugh Water-
ton was executor to his Sovereign’s will, and guar-
dian to his daughters. Another ancestor was sent
into France by the king, with orders to contract a
royal marriage. He was allowed thirteen shillings a
day for his trouble and travelling expenses. Another
was Lord Chancellor of England, and preferred to
lose his head rather than sacrifice his conscience.
Another was master of the horse, and was deprived
both of his commission and his estate, on the same
account as the former. His descendants seemed
determined to perpetuate their claim to the soil ;
for they sent a bailiff once in every seven years to
dig up a sod on the territory. I was the first to
discontinue this septennial act, seeing law and length
of time against us.

Up to the reign of Henry VIII., things had gone
on swimmingly for the Watertons; and it does not
appear that any of them had ever been in disgrace.

** Neque in his quisquam damnatus et exsul.”’

But, during the sway of that ferocious brute, there
was a sad reverse of fortune :—

«¢ Ex illo fuere, ac retro sublapsa referri,
Spes Danaum.”’

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XVii

‘¢ From thence the tide of fortune left their shore,
And ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before.”

The cause of our disasters was briefly this:—The
king fell scandalously in love with a buxom lass,
and he wished to make her his lawful wife, notwith-
standing that his most virtuous queen was still
alive. Having applied to the head of the Church
for a divorce, his request was not complied with;
although Martin Luther, the apostate friar and
creed-reformer, had allowed the Margrave of Hesse
to have two wives at one and the same time. Upon
this refusal, our royal goat became exceedingly
mischievous: “ Audax omnia perpeti ruit per vetitum
nefas.” Having caused himself to be made head of
the church, he suppressed all the monasteries, and
squandered their revenues amongst gamesters, har-
lots, mountebanks, and apostates. The poor, by his
villanies, were reduced to great misery, and they
took to evil ways in order to keep body and soul
together. During this merciless reign, seventy-two
thousand of them were hanged for thieving.

In good * Queen Mary’s days there was a short
tide of flood in our favour; and Thomas Water-
ton of Walton Hall was High Sheriff of York.
This was the last public commission held by our
family.

The succeeding reigns brought every species of
reproach and indignity upon us. We were declared
totally incapable of serving our country ; we were
held up to the scorn of a deluded multitude, as

* Camden, the Protestant historian, says that Queen Mary was a prin-

cess never sufficiently to be commended of all men for pious and religious
nour, her commiseration towards the poor, &c,

bed
XViil AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

damnable idolaters ; and we were unceremoniously
ousted out of our tenements: our only crime being
a conscientious adherence to the creed of our an-
cestors, professed by England for nine long centuries
before the Reformation. So determined were the
new religionists that we should grope our way to
heaven along the crooked and gloomy path which
they had laid out for us, that they made us pay
twenty pounds a month, by way of penalty, for
refusing to hear a married parson read prayers in
the church. of Sandal Magna; which venerable
edifice had been stripped of its altar, its crucifix, its
chalice, its tabernacle, and all its holy ornaments,
not for the love of God, but for the private use and
benefit of those who had laid their sacrilegious hands
upon them. My ancestors acted wisely. I myself
(as I have already told the public in a printed let-
ter,) would rather run the risk of going to hell with
St. Edward the Confessor, Venerable Bede, and
St. Thomas of Canterbury, than make a dash at
heaven in company with Harry VIII., Queen Bess,
and Dutch William.

Oliver Cromwell broke down our drawbridge ;
some of his musket balls remaining in one of the old
oaken gates, which are in good repair to this day.
Not being able to get in, he carried off every thing
in the shape of horses and cattle that his men could
lay their hands on.

Dutch William enacted doubly severe penal laws
against us: during the reign of that sordid foreigner,
some little relaxation was at last made in favour of
dissenters ; but it was particularly specified, that

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. xix

nothing contained in the act should be construed
** to give ease to any papist or popish recusant.”

My grandfather had the honour of being sent
prisoner to York, a short time before the battle of
Culloden, on account of his well-known attachment
to the hereditary rights of kings, in the person of
poor Charley Stuart, who was declared a pretender!
On my grandfather’s release, he found that his
horses had been sent to Wakefield, there to be kept
at his own expense. But the magistrates very gra-
ciously allowed him to purchase a horse for his own °
riding, provided the price of it was under five pounds.

My own father paid double taxes for some years
after he came to the estate.

Times are better for us now: but I, individually,
am not much better for the change; for I will
never take Sir Robert Peel’s oath. In framing
that abominable oath, I don’t believe that Sir
Robert cared one fig’s end whether the soul of
a Catholic went up, after death, to the King of
Brightness, or descended to the king of brim-
stone: his only aim seems to have been to secure
to the church by law established, the full possession
of the loaves and fishes. But, as I havea vehement
inclination to make a grab at those loaves and fishes,
in order to distribute a large proportion of them to
the poor of Great Britain, who have an undoubted
claim to it, I do not intend to have my hands tied
behind me: hence my positive refusal to swallow
Sir Robert Peel’s * oath. Still, take it or refuse it,

* “7 do hereby disclaim, disavow, and solemnly abjure any intention

to subvert the present Church Establishment within this realm.” &c, (See
Sir Robert Peel’s Oath.)
a 2

XX. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

the new dynasty may always make sure of my
loyalty, even if any of our old line of kings were
still in existence; for

“ The illustrious house of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I have allegiance sworn,
While they can keep possession.”

But to my life and adventures. ‘

When I was not quite eight years old, I had
managed to climb upon the roof of an out-house,
and had got to a starling’s nest under one of the
slates. Had my foot slipped, I should have been
in as bad a plight as was poor Ophelia in the willow
tree, when the “ envious sliver broke.” The ancient
housekeeper, mentioned in the account of the barn-
owl, had east her rambling eye upon me. Seeing
the danger I was in, she went and fetched a piece
of gingerbread, with which she lured me down, and
then she seized me, as though I had been a male-
factor.

At nine years old, I was sent to a school in the
north of England, where literature had scarcely
any effect upon me, although it was duly adminis-
tered in large doses by a very scientific hand. But
I made vast proficiency in the art of finding birds’
nests. It was judged necessary by the master of
the school to repress this inordinate relish for orni-
thological architecture, which, in his estimation,
could be productive of no good. Accordingly, the
birch rod was brought to bear upon me when occa-
sion offered; but the warm application of it, in

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Xxi

lieu of effacing my ruling passion, did but tend to
render it more distinct and clear. Thus are bright
colours in crockery-ware made permanent by the
action of fire; thus is dough turned into crust by
submitting it to the oven’s heat.

My first adventure on the water made a lasting
impression, on account of the catastrophe which
attended it. There was a large horsepond, sepa-
rated by a hedge from the field which was allotted
to the scholars for recreation-ground. An oblong
tub, used for holding dough before it is baked, had
just been placed by the side of the pond. I thought
that I could like to have an excursion on the deep ;
so taking a couple of stakes out of the hedge, to
serve as oars, I got into the tub, and pushed off ;—

** Ripe ulterioris amore.”

I had got above half way over, when, behold, the
master and the late Sir John Lawson of Brough
Hall, suddenly rounded a corner and hove in sight.
Terrified at their appearance, I first lost a stake,
and then my balance: this caused the tub to roll
like a man-of-war in a calm. Down I went to the
bottom, and rose again covered with mud and dirt.
“ Terribili squalore Charon.” My good old master
looked grave, and I read my destiny in his coun-
tenance; but Sir John said that it was a brave
adventure, and he saved me from being brought
to a court-martial for disobedience of orders, and
for having lost my vessel.

On my return home from this school, I was once
within an ace of closing all accounts here below for

a 3

xxii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

ever. About one o’clock in the morning, Monsieur
Raquedel, the family chaplain, thought that he
heard an unusual noise in the apartment next to his
bed-room. He arose, and, on opening the door of
the chamber whence the noise had proceeded, he
saw me in the act of lifting up the sash; and he
was just in time to save me from going out at a
window three stories high. I was fast asleep ; and,
as soon as he caught hold of me, I gave a loud
shriek. I thought I was on my way to a neigh-
bouring wood, in which I knew of a crow’s nest.

I was now shortly to be conducted to a place
where at intervals I could attend to birds, without
much risk of neglecting books.

The armies of the French republic having revo-
lutionised some of the finest parts of Europe, and
scourged the inhabitants ; it was no longer safe for
the Fathers of the Society of Jesus to remain in the
town of Liége, where they had a celebrated college.

As the American war had caused a relaxation of
the penal laws which had been put in execution
against us with the most unrelenting severity, these
good fathers ventured to revisit their native land,
from which they had retired in early youth. The
generous Mr. Weld of Lulworth Castle in Dorset-
shire, immediately afforded them a resting place.
He well knew their worth, and he gladly stepped
forward to offer them his hand, in their utmost need.
Having succeeded by inheritance to the stately
mansion of Stonyhurst, near Clitheroe, in Lanca-
shire, to it he directed their wandering steps, and
bade them settle there. My father, who had been

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Xxill

educated at the Jesuits’ college in St. Omers, hav-
ing learned that these inestimable disciples of St.
Ignatius had put things in a proper train for the in-
struction of youth, took me to Stonyhurst, and placed
me under their care.

Voltaire had said repeatedly that he could not sub-
vert Christianity until he had destroyed the Jesuits.
Their suppression was at last effected ; partly by his
own impious writings, and partly by the intrigues of
kept mistresses at the different courts, who joined
their influence to the already enormous power in the
hands of the infidel ministers of the day. The woes
unutterable which these poor followers of Jesus
Christ had to endure at the hands of the wretches
who had caused the breaking up of their order,
seemed to have made no alteration in their disposi-
tion ; for, on my arrival at Stonyhurst, I found them
mild and cheerful, and generous to all around them.
During the whole of my stay with them (and I
remained at their college till I was nearly twenty ©
years old), I never heard one single expression come
from their lips that was not suited to the ear of a
gentleman and a Christian. Their watchfulness
over the morals of their pupils was so intense, that
Iam ready to declare, were I on my death-bed, I
never once had it in my power to open a book in
which there was to be found a single paragraph of
an immoral tendency.

My master was Father Clifford, a first cousin of
the noble lord of that name. He had left the world,
and all its alluring follies, that he might serve Al-
mighty God more perfectly, and work his way with

a 4

XXIV AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

more security up to the regions of eternal bliss.
After educating those entrusted to his charge with
a care and affection truly paternal, he burst a blood-
vessel, and retired to Palermo, for the benefit of a
warmer climate. There he died the death of the
just, in the habit of St. Ignatius.

One day, when I was in the class of poetry, and
which was about two years before I left the college
for good and all, he called me up to his room.
*‘ Charles,” said he to me, in a tone of voice perfectly
irresistible, “ I have long been studying your dispo-
sition, and I clearly foresee that nothing will keep
you at home. You will journey into far distant
countries, where you will be exposed to many dan-
gers. There is only one way for you to escape them.
Promise me that, from this day forward, you will
never put your lips to wine, or to spirituous liquors.
The sacrifice is nothing,” added he, “ but, in the end,
it will prove of incalculable advantage to you.” I
agreed to his enlightened proposal, and from that
hour to this, which is now about nine and thirty
years, I have never swallowed one glass of any kind
of wine, or of ardent spirits.

At Stonyhurst there are boundaries marked out
to the students, which they are not allowed to pass ;
and there are prefects always pacing to and fro
within the lines, to prevent any unlucky boy from
straying on the other side of them. Notwithstanding
the vigilance of these lynx-eyed guardians, I would
now and then manage to escape, and would bolt into
a very extensive labyrinth of yew and holly trees,
close at hand. It was the chosen place for animated

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Xxv

nature. Birds, in particular, used to frequent the
spacious enclosure, both to obtain food and to enjoy
security. Many a time have I hunted there, the
foumart and the squirrel. I once took a cut through
it to a neighbouring wood, where I knew of a carrion
crow’s nest. The prefect missed me; and, judging
that I had gone into the labyrinth, he gave chase
without loss of time. After eluding him in cover for
nearly half an hour, being hard pressed, I took away
down a hedgerow. Here (as I learned afterwards),
he got a distant sight of me; but it was not suffi-
ciently distinct for him to know to a certainty that
I was the fugitive. I luckily succeeded in reaching
the out-buildings which abutted on the college, and
lay at a considerable distance from the place where I
had first started. I had just time to enter the postern
gate of a pigsty, where most opportunely I found
old Joe Bowren, the brewer, bringing straw into the
sty. He was more attached to me than to any other
boy, for I had known him when I was at school in
the north, and had made him a present of a very fine
terrier. “I’ve just saved myself, Joe,” said I;
* cover me up with litter.” He had barely complied
with my request, when in bounced the prefect, by
the same gate through which I had entered. “‘ Have
you seen Charles Waterton?” said he, quite out of
breath. My trusty guardian answered, in a tone of
voice which would have deceived any body, * Sir,
I have not spoken a word to Charles Waterton these
three days, to the best of my knowledge.” Upon
this, the prefect, having lost all scent of me, gave up
the pursuit, and-went his way. When he had dis-

XXVi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

appeared, I stole out of cover, as strongly perfumed
as was old Falstaff when they had turned him out
of the buck-basket.

Once I had gone into the labyrinth to look. into a
magpie’s nest, which was in a high holly tree; and,
hearing the sound of voices near, I managed to get
a resting place in the tree just over the nest, and
there I squatted, waiting the event. Immediately,
the President, two other Jesuits, and the present
Mr. Salvin of Croxdale Hall, passed close under the
tree, without perceiving me.

The good fathers were aware of my predomi-
nant propensity. Though it was innocent in itself,
nevertheless it was productive of harm in its con-
Sequences; by causing me to break the college
rules, and thus to give bad example to the com-
munity at large. Wherefore, with a magnani-
mity and excellent exercise of judgment, which are
only the province of those who have acquired a
consummate knowledge of human nature; and who
know how to turn to advantage the extraordinary
dispositions of those entrusted to their care, they
Sagaciously managed matters in such a way as to
enable me to ride my hobby to a certain extent,
and still, at the same time, to prevent me from
giving bad example.

As the establishment was very large, and as it
contained an abundance of prog; the Hanoverian
rat, which fattens so well on English food, and
which always contrives to thrust its nose into every
man’s house, where there is anything to be got,
swarmed throughout the vast extent of this anti-

CHARLES WATERTON, £sQ. XXVii

quated mansion. The abilities which I showed in
curtailing the career of this voracious intruder did
not fail to bring me into considerable notice. The
cook, the baker, the gardener, and my friend old
Bowren, could all bear testimony to my progress in
this line. By a mutual understanding, I was consi-
dered rat-catcher to the establishment, and also fox-
taker, foumart-killer, and crossbow-charger, at the
time when the young rooks were fledged. More-
over, I fulfilled the duties of organ-blower, and foot-
ball-maker, with entire satisfaction to the public.
I was now at the height of my ambition.

‘* Poteras jam, Cadme, videri
felix.”

I followed up my calling with great success. The
vermin disappeared by the dozen; the books were
moderately well thumbed; and, according to my
notion of things, all went on perfectly right.

When I had finished my rhetoric, it was my
father’s wish that I should return home. The day.
I left the Jesuits’ college was one of heartfelt sor-
row tome. Under Almighty God and my parents,
I owe every thing to the fathers of the order of St.
Ignatius. Their attention to my welfare was un-
ceasing ; whilst their solicitude for my advancement
in virtue and in literature seemed to know no
bounds. The permission which they granted me to
work in my favourite vocation, when it did not
interfere with the important duties of education,
enabled me to commence a career, which, in after
times, afforded me a world of pleasure in the far
distant regions of Brazil and Guiana. To the latest

XXVili AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

hour of my life I shall acknowledge, with feelings of
sincerest gratitude, the many acts of paternal kind-
ness which I so often received at the hands of the
learned and generous fathers of Stonyhurst College,
“Presidium et dulce decus meum.”

After leaving this “safe retreat of health and
peace,” I journeyed homewards to join my father ;
and I spent a year with him, “ Gaudens equis cani-
busque et aprici gramine campi.” He was well de-
scribed by the Roman poet: —

“ Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,
Paterna rura, bobus exercet suis
Solutus omni feenore.” .
He had been a noted hunter in his early days; and,
as he still loved in his heart to hear the mellow tones
of the fox hound, he introduced me particularly to
Lord Darlington, whose elegant seat on horseback,
and cool intrepidity in charging fences, made him
the admiration of his surrounding company.
__ Still my father would every now and then say to
me, with a gracious though significant smile on his
countenance, “ Studium quid inutile tentas ?” and,
as my mother was very anxious that I should see
the world, they took advantage of the short peace of
Amiens, and sent me to Spain.

Two of my maternal uncles, who had received
brilliant educations, and were endowed with great
parts, but who were not considered worthy to serve
their country in any genteel or confidential capa-
city, unless they would apostatize from the faith of
their ancestors, had deemed it prudent to leave their

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Xxix

native land, and retire to foreign climes. A Portu-
guese gentleman,named Martinez, who, in his travels
through England, had received great hospitality
from Sir Henry Bedingfeld of Oxburgh, in Norfolk,
invited the wanderers to Malaga, where they finally
settled, and became naturalised Spaniards.

I sailed from Hull in the month of November,
with my younger brother (poor fellow! he died
afterwards in Paumaron of the yellow fever), in the
brig Industry, bound for Cadiz. ‘The wind becom-
ing adverse, we put into Margate Roads, and lay
there for nine days. <A breeze having sprung up
from the northward, we went to sea again; in com-
pany with a Scotch brig, which was going to Vigo,
and we were within gun-shot of each other the next
morning at daybreak. On the preceding night, I
had heard one of our own crew tell his comrade
that, when he was ashore at Margate, a sailor from
the Scotch brig had told him that their mate was
in a conspiracy to murder the captain, and to run
away with the vessel. I questioned our tar very
particularly the following day, as the brig was not
far off; and, finding his account quite consistent, I
went down into the cabin, and committed it to paper.
Having enclosed it in a bottle, we ran along side of
the brig for Vigo, and hailed the captain. I then
threw the bottle on the quarter-deck. The captain
immediately took it up, and carried it below. He
returned to the deck in a short time, and made us a
very low bow; which, no doubt, was the safest way
to express his gratitude for the favour which we
had done to him. We parted company in a gale of

XXX AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

wind at night-fall, and I could never learn any
thing afterwards of the brig, or of the fate of her
commander.

On our arrival at Cadiz, we found the town illu-
minated; and there were bull fights in honour of
royal nuptials, We accompanied Consul Duff to the
amphitheatre. He was dressed in a brilliant scarlet
uniform ; and, though he had cautioned us not to
lose sight of him as soon as the entertainment should
be finished, still my eyes wandered upon a thousand
objects, and I most unfortunately missed him, just
as we were departing from the amphitheatre. As
there were hundreds of Spaniards in scarlet cloaks,
it was probably on this account that the consul
had been particular in requesting us to keep him
always in view. I walked up and down Cadiz till
nearly midnight, without being able to speak one
word of Spanish, and trying in vain to find the Bri-
tish consul’s house. At last, in utter despair, I re-
solyed to stand still, and to endeavour to make out
some passing Frenchman, or some American, by the
light of the moon, which shone brilliantly upon the
white houses on each side of the street. The first
person whom I accosted luckily turned out to be a
French gentleman. I told him that I was a stranger,
and that I was benighted, andhad lost my way. He
most kindly took me to the consul’s house, which
was a long way off.

After staying a fortnight in Cadiz, we sailed
through the Straits of Gibraltar, for Malaga in An-
dalusia; a province famous for its wine, its pome-
granates, its oranges, and its melons,

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XXXi

My uncles had a pleasant country-house at the foot
of the adjacent mountains, and many were the days
of rural amusement which I passed at it. ‘The red-
legged partridges abounded in the environs, and the
vultures were remarkably large; whilst goldfinches
appeared to be much more common than sparrows
in this country. During the spring, the quails and
bee-eaters arrived in vast numbers, from the opposite
coast of Africa. Once when I was rambling on the
sea shore, a flock of a dozen red flamingoes passed
nearly within gun-shot of me.

At my uncles’ house, I made the acquaintance of
an English gentleman who had been staying with
them for some time. He was travelling in Spain to
obtain commercial orders, in favour of his Firm in
England ; which was most respectable. He was a
pleasant, laughing, well-made, dapper, little man ;
and, as he was full of information, which he had col-
lected in the different places through which he
had passed, I found his conversation very agreeable ;
and we made arrangements to go to Cadiz by land,
taking Gibraltar in our way.

It is a well-known fact, that apes are found
in no part of Europe except in Gibraltar. They
inhabit the steepest parts of the mountain, and
always prefer to be sheltered from the wind, when
it blows hard. I had letters of introduction to the
Danish consul, Mr. Glynn. As good luck would
have it, the wind changed to the eastward on the
very morning on which the consul had arranged
to show us over the rock of Gibraltar. He said that
the apes were sure to be on the move, as the change

XXXli AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

of wind would force them from their quarters ; and

actually, on our way up the mountain, we had a fair

view of the apes on their passage. I counted from

fifty to sixty of them; and an ape or two might be

seen in the flock, with a young one on its back,

fEneas in his day reversed the thing, and carried an
old animal; not a young one.

“‘ Cessi, et sublato montem genitore petivi.”

We visited Algesiras, and there I saw the Han-
nibal seventy-four aground. Colonel Lyon of St.
Roque gave us a full account of her misfortune.
This brave old Irish gentleman, aware that there
would be no promotion for him in his own country,
on account of his adherence to the ancient creed,
had left it with many others in early life, and entered
the Spanish brigade.

“ Interque meerentes amicos,
Egregius, properarat exul.””

He told us he was standing in the fort of St. Roque
just at the time that the Hannibal ran aground, and
was forced to strike her colours to the guns of Al-
gesiras. At that moment, unconquerable love of
his deserted country took possession of his soul. He
threw down a telescope which he held in his hand,
and burst into a flood of tears. After he had told
us this, he added that, whilst Sir James Saumarez
was hotly engaged with the forts, his son, a boy of
only eleven years old, stole away from St. Roque,
and ran round. the bay to Algesiras. There he
mounted the battery, ugainst which Sir James was

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XXxXili

directing his heaviest shot ; and he helped to serve
the guns till all was over.

«“ On the boy’s safe return home,” said the
colonel, “though I admired his bravery, I was
obliged to whip him for his rashness in having ex-
posed himself to almost inevitable death.”

I thought I could perceive a mark in the colonel’s
face, as he said this, which led me to understand
that there was something more than paternal anx-
iety for the boy’s welfare which had caused him to
apply the rod; and, when I called to mind the affair
of the telescope, I concluded that, had a French
squadron, in lieu of an English one, been bombarding
Algesiras, young Lyon would have escaped even
without a reprimand.

I left my travelling friend in Cadiz, and returned
to Malaga on board a Spaniard, who kept close under
Ceuta, as we passed up the Straits of Gibraltar. It
grieves me to add that, many years after this, on my
return to England from the West Indies, in passing
through my former companion’s native town, Imade
inquiries after him, and I was informed by a gentle-
man who had sat upon the inquest, that my compa-
nion had fallen in love, had wooed in vain, and
hanged himself in despair.

More than a year of my life had now passed
away in Malaga and its vicinity, without misfor-
tune, without care, and without annoyance of any
kind. The climate was delicious; and I felt regret
in making preparations to leave this old Moorish
town on a trip to Malta. But the Spanish proverb
infor msus, that man proposes, and God disposes :

XXXIV ‘’ AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

«El hombre pone, y Dios dispone.” Many a bright
and glorious morning ends in a gloomy setting
sun.

There began to be reports spread up and down
the city that the black vomit had made its appear-
ance; and every succeeding day brought testimony
‘that things were not as they ought to be. I my-
self, in an alley near my uncle’s house, saw a mattress
of most suspicious appearance hung out to dry.. A
Maltese captain, who had dined with us in good
‘health at one o'clock, lay dead in his cabin before
sunrise the next morning. A few days after this,
I was seized with vomiting and fever during the night.
I had the most dreadful spasms, and it was supposed
that I could not last out till noon the next day.
However, strength of constitution got me through it.
In three weeks more, multitudes were seen to leave
the city, which shortly after was declared to be in a
state of pestilence. Some affirmed that the disorder
had come from the Levant; others said that it had
been imported from the Havanna; but I think it
probable that nobody could tellin what quarter it
had originated. .

We had: now all retired to the country house ;
my eldest uncle returning to Malaga from time to
time, according as the pressure of business demanded
his presence in the city. He left us one Sunday
evening, and said he would be back again some time
on Monday; but that was my poor uncle’s last
day’s ride. On arriving at his house in Malaga,
there was a messenger waiting to inform him that
Father Bustamante had fallen sick, and wished to

CHARLES WATERTOWN, ESQ. ‘XXXV

see him. Father Bustamante was an aged priest,
who had been particularly kind to my uncle on his
first arrival in Malaga. My uncle went immedi-
ately to Father Bustamante, gave him every conso-
lation in bis power, and then returned to his own
house, very unwell, there to die a martyr to his
charity. Father Bustamante breathed his last before
daylight; my uncle took to his bed, and never rose
more. As soon as we had received information of
his sickness, I immediately set out on foot for the
city. His friend Mr. Power, now of Gibraltar, was
already in his room, doing every thing that friend-
ship could suggest, or prudence dictate. My uncle’s
athletic constitution bore up against the disease
much longer than we thought it possible. He
struggled with it for five days, and sank at last about
the hour of sunset. He stood six feet four inches
high ; and was of so kind and generous a disposition,
that he was beloved by all who knew him. Many a
Spanish tear flowed when it was known that he
had ceased to-be. We got him a kind of coffin made,
in which he was conveyed at midnight to the out-
skirts of the town, there to be put into one of the
pits which the galley-slaves had dug, during the day,
for the reception of the dead. But they could not
spare room for the coffin; so the body was taken out
of it, and thrown upon the heap which already occu-
pied the pit. A Spanish marquis lay just below him.

‘‘ Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho,
Nil interest, an pauper, et infima
De gente.”

- Thousands died as though they had been seized
b 2

XXXVI AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

with cholera; others with black vomit, and others of
decided yellow fever. There were a few instances of
some who departed this life with very little pain, or
bad symptoms. They felt unwell; they went to bed ;
they had an idea that they would not get better,
and they expired in a kind of slumber. It was sad
in the extreme to see the bodies placed in the streets
at the close of day, to be ready for the dead-carts
as they passed along.
* Plurima perque vias, sternuntur inertia passim

Corpora.”
The dogs howled fearfully during the night. All
was gloom and horror in every street; and you
might see the vultures on the strand, tugging at the
bodies which were washed ashore by the eastern
wind. It was always said that 50,000 people left the
city at the commencement of the pestilence; and
that 14,000 of those who remained in it fell victims
to the disease.

There was an intrigue going on at court, or the
interest of certain powerful people, to keep the port
of Malaga closed, long after the city had been de-
clared free from the disorder; so that none of the
vessels in the mole could obtain permission to de-
part for their destination.

In the mean time, the city was shaken with earth-
quakes; shock succeeding shock, till we all imagined
that a catastrophe awaited us similar to that which
had taken place at Lisbon. The pestilence killed
you by degrees ; and its approaches were sufficiently
slow, in general, to enable you to submit to it with
firmness and resignation. But the idea of being

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XXXVIi

swallowed up alive by the yawning earth, at a mo-
ment’s notice, made you sick at heart, and rendered
you almost fearful of your own shadow.

The first shock took place at six in the evening,
with a noise as though a thousand carriages had
dashed against each other. This terrified many
people to such a degree, that they paced all night
long up and down the Alameda, or public walk,
rather than retire to their homes. I went to bed a
little after midnight ; but was roused by another
shock, about five o’clock in the morning, It gave
the bed a motion, which made me fancy that it
moved under me from side to side. I sprang up, and,
having put on my unmentionables (we wore no
trousers in those days), I ran out, in all haste, to
the Alameda. There the scene was most distress-
ing: multitudes of both sexes, some nearly in a
state of nudity, and others sick at stomach, were
huddled together, not knowing which way to turn,
or what to do.

«‘ Omnes eodem cogimur.”

However, it pleased Heaven, in its mercy, to spare
us. The succeeding shocks became weaker and
weaker, till at last we felt no more of them.

I now began to think it high time to fly. I was
acquainted with a Swedish captain, by name Bolin; a
most excellent man, and of surprising intrepidity and
coolness. His brig having been long laden with fruit
for London, he was anxious to depart ; and he formed
a plan to escape from the harbour, There was no
getting a regular clearance at the custom-house;

b 3

XXXVill AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

neither would the Swedish consul afford any assist-
ance ; so I went to our own consul, Mr. Laird, with
whom I was very intimate, requesting him to give
me a certificate to signify that there had not been
any sickness in the city for a long time: indeed, it
was now in a remarkably healthy state. The consul
complied with my request : as he put the certificate
into my hand, “ My young friend,” said he, ina
very feeling tone, “I shall either have to see you
sunk by the cannon of the fort, or hear of your
being sent prisoner for life to the fortress of Ceuta,
on the coast of Africa.”

I now endeavoured to persuade my remaining
uncle to try his fortune with me; but my entreaties
were of no avail. He fellan early victim to the fever,
which returned with increased virulence the follow-
ing spring. A letter which I received from my
worthy friend, Mr. Dillon of Alhaurin, some twenty
miles from Malaga, informed me that it swept away
36,000 souls.

Our captain had taken the precaution to make
out false papers, in case of need, on account of the
war betwixt Great Britain and France. My brother
was entered as a passenger, myself as a Swedish
carpenter. We slept on board for many successive
nights, in hopes of'a fair wind to carry us through
the Straits. At last a real east wind did come, and
it blew with great violence. The captain, whose
foresight and precautions were truly admirable, had
given the strictest orders to the crew that not a
word sheuld be spoken whilst we were preparing to
escape. We lay in elose tier amongst forty sail of

CHARLES WATERTON; > ESQ. XXXix

merchantmen. The harbour-master, having come
his usual rounds, and found all right, passed on —
without making any observations... At one o'clock,
post meridiem, just as the governor had gone to the
eastward to take an airing in his carriage, as was
his custom every day; and the boats of two Spanish
brigs of war at anchor in the harbour had landed
their officers for. the afternoon’s amusements, our
vessel worked out clear of the rest, and instantly
became a cloud of canvass. The captain’s counte-
nance, which was very manly, exhibited a portrait
of cool intrepidity rarely seen: had I possessed the
power, I would have made him an admiral on the
spot. The vessel drove through the surge with
such a press of sail, that I expected every moment
to see her topmasts carriedaway. Long before the
brigs of war had got their officers on board, and had
weighed in chase of us, we were far at sea; and
when night had set in, we lost sight of them for
ever; our vessel passing Gibraltar at. the rate’ of
nearly eleven knots an hour.

The wind headed us the following night. After
thirty days of cold and stormy weather, we ran the
risk of following a fishing boat, for want of a pilot,
and anchored off Brownsea Castle, near Poole ‘in
Dorsetshire ; an adverse wind not permitting us to
proceed up Channel. Here we sent our papers, and
Consul Laird’s certificate up to London. Contrary
to my expectations, we received permission in due
time to proceed up the Thames. : I had often told
Captain Bolin, during the voyage, that we should
be sent back -to the Mediterranean for a regular,

b 4

xl AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

bill of health; but he thought otherwise, and he
was right.

I brought over with me from Spain a superbly’
mounted Spanish gun, and a beautiful ivory cruci-
fix: they had been a present from the Duchess of
Alva to my deceased uncle. The gun is the iden-
tical one which the famous Duke of Alva had with
him in the Low Countries: my uncle always in-
tended it for his relative, the late Sir Richard
Bedingfeld, Bart., of Oxburgh in Norfolk, to which
place I sent it. The crucifix had been taken away
from Rome, by a French general, in 1796: it was a
present to my mother, and is now at Walton Hall.

Up to the time of my leaving England for the
Mediterranean, I had been accustomed to drink a
little beer at dinner; but, finding the taste of it
bitter on my return, I put the glass down upon the
table without swallowing its contents, and have
never since drunk one drop of fermented liquors.

The pestilence at Malaga had shaken me con-
siderably. Being but thinly clad, in coming up the
Channel I caught a cold, which attacked the lungs,
and reduced me to the brink of the grave. I must
have sunk, had it not been for the skill of the late
celebrated surgeon, Mr. Hey of Leeds: he set me
on my legs again; and I again hunted with Lord
Darlington. But the bleak and wintry wind of
England ill suited a frame naturally chilly, and in-
jured by what had already happened. I longed to
bask in a warmer sun.

My paternal uncle having estates in Demerara,
and my father having lately made a purchase there,

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ, xli

for the benefit of his younger children, I petitioned
to be allowed to go out and superintend them ;
seeing that there was no chance of travelling with
comfort in Europe on account of the war, which
had all the appearance of becoming general. .

Our family found its way to the New World in
the following manner :— My father’s sister was re-
markably handsome. As she was one day walking
in the streets of Wakefield, a gentleman, by name
Daly, from Demerara, met her accidentally, and fell
desperately in love with her: they were married in
due course of time, although the family was very
much averse to the match. Soon after this, my
father’s younger brother, who had no hopes at home
on account of the penal laws, followed his sister to
Demerara, and settled there.

All having been arranged for my departure, I
proceeded to London, where my maternal uncle,
the late intrepid Sir John Bedingfeld, who had
saved the king’s life in the year 1796, introduced
me to Sir Joseph Banks, who ever after took a
warm interest in my adventures. He particularly
impressed upon my mind his conviction that all
low and swampy countries within the tropics are in
general very insalubrious, and fatal to European
constitutions. “You may stay in them,” said he
tome, “for three years or so, and not suffer much.
After that period, fever and ague, and probably a
_ liver disease, will attack you, and you will die at last,
worn out, unless you remove in time to a more
favoured climate. Wherefore,” continued he, “as
you have not your bread to seek, you must come

xlii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

home once in three years, at farthest, and then all
will go right.” I followed this admirable advice
with great success: still, I used to think that I ran
less risk of perishing in those unwholesome swamps
than most other Europeans, as I never found the
weather too hot, and I could go bareheaded under
a nearly equatorial sun, without experiencing any
inconvenience. Too often, however, might others
have exclaimed with Admiral Hosier’s ghost : —
** Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fall in vain ;
Wasted with disease and anguish,

Not in glorious battle slain.”

I sailed from Portsmouth in the ship Fame,
Captain Brand, on November 29. 1804, and landed
at the town of Stabroek, in ci-devant Dutch Guiana,
after a passage of about six weeks. I liked ‘the
country uncommonly, and administered to the es-
tates till 1812 ; coming home at intervals, agreeably
to the excellent and necessary advice which I had
received from Sir Joseph Banks. In the month of
April, 1812, my father and uncle being dead, I
delivered over the estates to those concerned in
them, and never more put foot upon them.

In my subsequent visits to Guiana, having no
other object in view than that of natural history,
I merely staid a day or two in the town of Stabroek
(now called George Town), to procure what neces-
saries I wanted; and then I hastened up into the
forests of the ‘interior, as the Wanderings will
show,

Whilst I was on the estates, I had the: finest

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. xliii

opportunity in the world of examining the water-
fowl of Guiana: they were in vast abundance all
along the sea shore, and in the fresh-water swamps
behind the plantations. No country in the world can
offer a more extensive and fertile field to the orni-
thologist, than our celebrated colony of Demerara.

I had several adventures during the time that the
estates were under my charge. Perhaps it will be
well to recount them here: they will tend to en-
liven a little this dull attempt on my part at auto-
biography ; or, more properly speaking, an attempt
to amuse the reader of these Essays at my own
cost, should my memoirs fall into the hands of a
surly critic. However, be this as it may, let me
here inform the reader that there shall not be a
single exaggeration in any part of them.

During the war betwixt Spain and England, the
privateers from the Orinoco were perpetually
scouring the coast of Essequibo, and committing
ruinous devastations on the property of the British
planters. One morning, five or six English gentle-
men, amongst whom was my friend Mr. Robert
Gordon, afterwards Governor of Berbice, went out
in a schooner, with Mr. Hubbard, an Ameriean, to
attack a privateer which had appeared in the offing.
A person by the name of Lynch (I knew him
well) was one of the party. He hada foreboding
that all would not go right ; for, just as he was en-
tering the vessel which was to take him out to
battle, he gave his watch to a friend, and he begged
it might be sent to his father in Ireland, should he
not return. He was a light little man, apparently

xliv AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

not cut out for rough or hazardous undertakings.
Our adventurers had better staid at home. The
Spaniard bore down upon their schooner, and im-
mediately took possession of her.

As these gentlemen had gone out to battle on the
high seas without a commission from government,
their friends in Demerara had serious apprehensions,
and not without reason, that they ran a risk of being
tucked up for pirates on their reaching the Spanish
settlements in the Orinoco.

Being the only person in Demerara acquainted
with the Spanish language, I volunteered my ser-
vices to go in quest of the unfortunates. Their
friends accepted the offer with abundant thanks ;
and, having engaged a vessel for me, I sailed with a
Mr. Charles Gordon (a relative of one of the prison-
ers), for Barbadoes, to receive letters and instruc-
tions from Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane. My
instructions from Colonel Nicholson, the Governor
of Demerara, bear date October 24. 1807.

A little before this (that is, on the 11th of Sep-
tember in the same year), I had received from
Colonel Nicholson my commission of lieutenant in
the 2d regiment of militia. As no declaration
had been previously required from me against tran-
substantiation, nor any promise that I would support
the nine and thirty articles of faith by law esta-
blished, nor any inuendoes thrown out touching the
“devil, the Pope, and the Pretender,” I was free
in conscience to accept of this commission. It was
the first commission that any one of the name of
Waterton had received from Queen Mary’s days.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. xlv

During that long interval, not a Waterton could be
found vicious enough to regain his lost birthright at
the incalculable sacrifice of conscience. It had been
the object of those in power to tempt us to deviate
into their new road, which they said would lead to
heaven, but we were quite satisfied with the old
beaten path ; so that the threats, and the allure-
ments, and the cruel enactments of our would-be
seducers were of no avail; saving that we were
brought down from our once high estate, and ren-
dered very small (and are yet very small) in the
eyes of our fellow-subjects. But every dog has his
day : To-day for thee, to-morrow for me, as Sancho
Panza says. And now to Barbadoes.

During our passage, I observed that the sailors
were far too often at the pump, which forced up
clear sea-water from the vessel’s hold ; so, without
making any remarks on what I had witnessed, I
took care to put Daniel's life-preserver under my
pillow, in case of need: I had bought it at Ports-
mouth, on the recommendation of a Captain Baker.
The schooner went down at anchor, on the night of
the day that we reached Barbadoes.

The Admiral had unfortunately sailed for the
Saintes ; but, as he was expected to return imme-
diately, it was judged best to await his arrival in
Carlisle Bay.

Some time before this, Captain Rogers, of the -
Windsor Castle packet, had had his celebrated en-
gagement with the Jeune Adele French privateer,
from Martinique. Her captain had fallen in the
contest ; and her lieutenant ,Monsieur Flagelle, was

xvi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

a prisoner of war in Bridgetown... I was introduced
to him; and, finding him an officer of most amiable
manners and superior education, I helped him a
little in money matters, and did him other trivial
acts ‘of kindness. He told me that he had been
brought up for the marine marchande ; and that he
never thought he should be reduced to the necessity
of going on board a privateer; but the English
cruisers having nearly put an end to French com-
merce by sea, there was no other way left open for
him to get on in the world.. He was sorry he could
make me no return, as he was a prisoner in a
foreign land; but he would write a letter for me,
which possibly might be of service to me on some
future day. Next morning, Lieutenant Flagelle pre-
sented me with a letter, in which he requested that
all captains of French men-of-war and of privateers
in the Caribbean Sea would treat me with kindness
and attention, should misfortune throw me into
their power.

It was at Barbadoes that I made the acquaintance
of Captain Beaver, who commanded the Acasta
frigate of 44 guns. I was told, some years ago, that
this scientific officer died an admiral, whilst at
anchor at the Cape of Good Hope. Mr. Maxwell,
the navy agent in Barbadoes, had given a large
dinner party at his country house near Bridgetown.
I sat next Captain Beaver at dinner. During the
dessert, he amused the company with a facetious
story of an interview which formerly had taken
place betwixt Lord Melville and John Bedingfeld

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. xhvii

of the Navy Pay-Office. _When he had finished his
story, I told him that Mr. Bedingfeld was my uncle.

I was breakfasting. one morning on board the
Acasta, when I perceived that Captain Beaver
seemed to be very particular in having his crest on
different articles of furniture in the cabin: his crest
was a beaver, and mine is an otter. My uncle
Bedingfeld had invented a dagger of curious con-
struction, adapted to the boarding of vessels. I had
got one made in London, under his directions. It
was silver-mounted, and had my crest upon it; so
i begged Captain Beaver to accept it as a keep-
sake from me. I mention this little anecdote merely
in order that. his relatives may know whence the
dagger came, should it be now in their possession.

Whilst I was waiting in Bridgetown for Admiral
Cochrane’s return from the Saintes, a letter arrived
to inform me that there was.no necessity for my
proceeding, to the Orinoco, as all the English
gentlemen were safe. They had risen on the
Spanish crew, at the mouth of the Orinoco, and
had retaken their vessel. During the scuffle, poor
little Lynch got jostled overboard and was drowned,
being the only white man who lost his life in the
fray. After the retaking of the vessel, our English-
men steered for Tobago, whither they arrived just
in time to save their lives, for they were nearly ina
dying state for want of water.

I left Barbadoes with regret. It was head-quar-
ters, during the war, for the navy and the army.
Our troops and tars kept it in one perpetual round
of gaiety.

eee

xlvi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

* Nune est bibendum, nunc pede libero
Pulsanda tellus,”
was all the go in Bridgetown.

Notwithstanding the most guarded sobriety and
abstinence on my part, the fever and ague would at
times assault me with great obstinacy. The attacks
could always be traced to my getting wet, and re-
maining in my wet clothes until the sun had dried
them ; a custom never to be sufficiently condemned
in any country. But, as Fénélon remarks, “La
jeunesse est présomptueuse: elle se promet tout
» delle-méme ; quoique fragile, elle croit pouvoir
tout, et n’avoir jamais rien & craindre: elle se
confie légérement, et sans précaution.”

When the ague came on to any serious extent, I
would go up to Mr. Edmonstone’s house, in Mibiri
Creek, for change of air. He was the most valued
friend I ever had in the world; and I seldom failed
to recover my health during the time that I remained
with him. His nephew, Mr. Archibald Edmon-
stone, was all hospitality and kindness. He was
very knowing in the woods, and would find out the
fruit-bearing trees, where the finest birds in Guiana
were to be seen. Nobody was better acquainted
with the forest trees than he was.. I have by me a
catalogue of his, in which he enumerates nearly
seventy trees found in that neighbourhood; and he
gives the size at which they generally arrive, their
Indian names, their qualities, and their uses.

In the year 1808, Admiral Collingwood having
sent despatches to Demerara for the Spanish go-
vernment in the Orinoco, I was requested by
Governor Ross to be the bearer of them.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ, xlix!

As my friend Mr. Edmonstone was but in a.
poor state of health, 1 thought a change of air
would be of service tohim. At my earnest entreaty,
his name was included in the commission. .The.
governor, at first, intimated a wish for him to go as
a private friend; but, on my remarking that the
Spanish forts in the lower part of the Oronoquo
might refuse assent to his proceeding to Angustura,
the capital, unless his name appeared in the com-
mission, there was no farther objection on the part
of the governor, and. his name was put in the com-
mission. |

Irashly procured the same favour for a person
who had better have staid at home. He never let
me rest one moment until I had got the governor
to allow him to accompany us. He was in years,
and could not speak one word of Spanish. I only
saw my error when it was too late. He ill-requited
the favour which I had procured for him.

I now waited on the governor for the last time ;
and, after he had imparted to me liis private instruc-
tions on certain points which he wished me to ascer-
tain during my stay in Angustura, he gave me my
commission, together with the dispatches of Ad-
miral Collingwood, for the captain general of the
Oronoquo. The commission is dated Aug. 2. 1808.

I sailed from Demerara in the Levina flag of truce.
‘After we had doubled Point Barima, we found the
current rushing down with astonishing rapidity, and
carrying with it enormous fragments of trees into
the Atlantic Ocean. We soon found it necessary to
get the vessel into the eddy water, close to the bank;

c

| ee AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF .

and at all the points where the stream met us, we
carried out a hawser in the small boat,.and lashed it
to the branches ef the trees which overhung the
river. By means) of this perpetual warping, we
worked our slow and tedious way. up to Sacopan,
and thence to the: fort at Barrancas, where. the
Spanish officers provided us with a craft of their own.
It was a long’ boat, schooner rigged, and admirably
adapted ‘to the service for which it was intended:
During the whole of the passage up: the river, there
was a grand feast for the eyes and ears of an or-
nithologist. In the swampy parts of the wooded
islands, which abound ‘in this mighty river, we saw
water fowl innumerable; and when we had reached
the higher grounds, it was quite charming to observe
the immense quantities of parrots and scarlet aras
which passed over our heads. The loud, harsh
screams of the bird called the horned-screamer,
were heard far and near ; and I could frequentiy get
a sight of this extraordinary bird, as we passed
along ; but Inever managed to bring one down with
the gun, on account of the difficulty of approaching
it. John Edmonstone, who is now in Edinburgh,
will remember well this expedition.

Whilst we were wending our way up the river, an
accident happened of a somewhat singular nature.
There was a large labarri snake coiled up in a bush,
which was close to us. I fired at it, and wounded
it so severely that it could not escape. Being wish-
fal to dissect it, I reached over into the bush, with
the intention to seize it by the throat, and convey it
aboard. The Spaniard at the tiller, on seeing this,

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. li

took the alarm, and immediately put his helm aport;
This forced the vessel’s head to the stream, and I
was left hanging to the bush with the snake close to
me, not having been able to-recover my balance as
the vessel veered from the land. I kept firm hold
of the branch to which I was clinging, and was three
times over-head in the water below, presenting an
easy prey to any alligator that might have been on
the look-out for a meal. Luckily, a man who. was
standing near the pilot, on seeing what had hap-
pened, rushed to the helm, seized hold of it, and put
it hard a-starboard, in time to bring the head of the
vessel back again. As they were pulling me up, I
saw that the donk was evidently too far gone to do
mischief; and so I laid hold of it, and brought it
aboard with me, to the horror and surprise of the
crew. It measured eight feet in length. “As soon |
as I had got a change of clothes, I killed it, and
made a dissection of the head. |
I would sometimes go ashore in the swamps to
shoot maroudies, which are somewhat related to the
pheasant; but they were very shy, and it required
considerable address to get’ within shot of them. In
these little excursions, Inow and then smarted for my
pains. More than once, I got amongst some hungry
leeches, which made pretty free with my legs. The
morning after I had had the adventure with the la-
barri snake; a cayman’ slowly passed our vessel. All
on board agreed that’ this tyrant of the fresh waters,
could not be less than thirty feet long.
' On arriving at Angustura, the capital of the Oro-
noquo, we were réceived with great politeness by the
c2

lii ' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

governor. Nothing could surpass the hospitality of
the principal inhabitants. They never seemed satis-
fied unless we were partaking of the dainties which
their houses afforded. Indeed, we had feasting,
dancing, and music, in superabundance. The go-
vernor, Don Felipe de Ynciarte, was tall and corpu-
lent. On our first introduction, he told me, that he
expected the pleasure of our company to dinner
every day during our stay in Angustura. We had
certainly every. reason to entertain very high notions
-of..the plentiful supply of good things which the
Oronoquo afforded; for, at the first day’s dinner, we
counted no less than forty dishes of fish and flesh.
The governor was superbly attired in full uniform
of gold and blue; the weight of which alone, in that
hot climate, and at such a repast, was enough to
have melted him down. He had not got half through
his soup, before he began visibly to liquefy. I looked
at him, and bethought me of the old saying, “ How
I sweat! said the mutton chop to the gridiron.” He
now became exceedingly uneasy ; and I myself had
cause for alarm; but our sensations arose from very
different causes. He, no doubt, already felt that the
. tightness of his uniform, and the weight of the orna-
ments upon it, would never allow him to get through
that day’s dinner with any degree of comfort to him-
self. 1, on the other hand (who would have been
umply satisfied with one dish well done), was horri-
fied at the appalling sight of so many meats before
me. Good breeding whispered to me, and said, “ Try
alittle of most of them.” Temperance replied, “ Do
so at your peril; and, for your over-strained courtesy,

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. liié

you shall have yellow fever before midnight.” At
last, the governor said to me in Spanish, “Don
Carlos, this is more than man can bear. No puedo
sufrir tanto. Pray pull off your coat, and tell your
companions to do the same ; and I[’ll show them the
example.” On saying this, he stripped to the waist-
coat; and I and my friends, and every officer at table,
did the same. The next day, at dinner-time, we
found his Excellency clad in a uniform of blue Salem-
‘pore, slightly edged with gold lace.

Don Felipe de Ynciarte had been a great explorer
of Spanish Guiana in his day. He told me that he,
‘in person, dressed as a common sailor, had surveyed

the whole of the sea coast from the Oronoquo to
‘the river Essequibo. He let me look at a-superb
map of his own drawing. It was beautifully finished,
and my lips certainly watered to have a copy taken
of it. After my return to Demerara, I sent this
‘courteous governor a fine telescope, which had just
arrived from London. I corresponded with him until
I sailed to Europe for my health. During his go-
vernment, beef was so plentiful, that the heads and
tongues of the slaughtered oxen were thrown to the
vultures. Indeed, beef was only one penny a pound,
and the finest fish could be had almost for nothing.

Canning’s new republics, which have arisen out
of the former Spanish transatlantic empire, may
have tended to enrich afew needy adventurers from
Europe; but, to the natives in general, they have
proved a mighty curse.

Demerara was now shortly to be deprived of the

valuable services of Governor Ross. His health had
c 3

liv . AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF .

already begun to give way; and, after he had battled
with |his disease for. some time, he was obliged to
consign his government over to other hands, and to
try a voyage to Europe. He got well in his native
country. But, alas, we are here to-day, and gone
to-morrow. This brave officer, and truly-just man,
was ordered to Alicante in Spain, where he fell a
victim to the prevailing fever.

Governor Ross was beloved to enthusiasm by the
inhabitants of Demerara. On the 31st of March,
1809, we sent an address to him, expressive of our
warmest gratitude for the many services he had
rendered to us during the time that the colony was
under his charge; and we made a subscription of
1500 guineas, which token of public gratitude was
presented to him with due form.

I wrote the following tribute, and it appeared in
the newspaper the day after the governor had sailed
from the river Demerara, on his way to Europe
for the recovery of his health.

CARMEN SAPPHICUM.
Tristis heu nobis, nimiumque durus
Ordo Parcarum est! Demerara damnum
Flet repentinum, lacrymasque fundet,
Tempus in omne.

Ille, qui justis manibus regebat

Lora, jam currum, medio reliquit

Cursu, et invitis pedibus remota
Gramina queerit.

Tempore zstivo, rutilans ut agri.

Ros fovet gramen sitientis — Ile,

Sic opem nobis, tulit, et levamen,
Auxiliumque.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lv

Hac die pectus, rigidum dolorem

Sentit, et luctum lacrymz sequuntur,

Dum Ducem nostrum, Demerarz ab oris
Cedere cerno.

Te, procellosos pelagi tridenti
Qui regis fluctus, precor o secundo
Numine adsis, dum liquido carina
Equore fertur.

General Carmichael was governor of Demerara
in 1812, the year in.which I took a final leave of the
Estates, and went far into the interior of Guiana, in
quest of the wourali poison. (See The Wanderings.)

The general had one of the, most difficult tempers
in the world to manage. His disposition was gene-
rous, but at the same time it was exceedingly fiery ;
although his ire soon subsided, unless it had received
extraordinary and repeated provocation. He had
such a profound veneration for royalty, that I do
believe he would have sent his own brother out of '
the house, had he heard him speak with levity of
the Prince Regent of England.

In person he was shrivelled and weatherbeaten,
and of diminutive stature ; but he was wonderfully
active, and vigorous in mind, notwithstanding his
great age; for he must have been bordering on
seventy at the time that he succeeded to the go-
vernment of Demerara. My intimacy with him had
a singular origin.

Knowing that I should spend very little time in
the civilised parts of the colony, I had not paid my
fespects at head quarters after the general had

1." c 4

‘|vi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

succeeded to the government. Prior, however, to
my going into the interior, I paid some visits to
different friends residing up the river Demerara.
About this period, an English gentleman of my ac-
quaintance had been outlawed, on account of a cer-
tain bill transaction. It was said that the party who
had caused his disgrace had acted fully as much
through private pique, as through a love of justice.
Indeed, the character of his principal accuser was

‘none so good; and one might have said to him with

truth,

“ Stamina de nigro vellere facta tibi.”

But this man held a high official situation, and it

was as the seven-fold shield of Ajax to him. The
unfortunate gentleman (for a gentleman he was in
manners and appearance) was skulking up the river
Demerara, in order to escape from the colony by
the first favourable opportunity. The governor had
offered 500/. for his apprehension. To add to his
misfortunes, he was sorely afflicted with a liver com-
plaint; and, when he at last fell in with me, he told
me that he had gone from place to place for three
weeks in quest of me, that I might bleed him, as he

dared not entrust himself to a surgeon, on account

of the proclamation which was out against him. We
were at breakfast, about twenty miles up the river
Demerara, at the house of a gentleman who knew
how to pity those in distress, when a negro came
into the room, and informed us that a tent-boat
with four oars was approaching. I looked out of

the window, and saw the officers of justice in it.

Not a moment was to be lost. I directed our out-

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lvii

law to go through the back door into a field of
standing canes. But so great was his perturbation,
that he jumped out of the window; and, in lieu of
taking over a bridge close at hand, he ran through
a filthy trench, nearly up to the arm-pits in water.

It was not more than half flood tide in the river;
and, on this account, the officers could not land at
the house without walking up a square log of wood
which had been placed on the mud, and formed part
of the stelling, or wharf, for the accommodation of
those who land when the water is low. On this
log I took my stand, and disputed the passage with
the officers of justice. They could not pass without
forcing me up to the middle in mud, or making me
retrace my steps up the log. When I thought
there had been time enough allowed for the fugitive
to make his escape, I returned to the house, they
following close on my steps, and entering into it
immediately after me. Not having succeeded in
the object of their search, they returned to the
boat, muttering curses in Dutch as they re-crossed
the threshold.

. The next day a warrant arrived, ordering me to
appear immediately at Government House.

Although I did not know the governor person-
ally, | was pretty well acquainted with his character;
and I was aware that there was only one way for
me to act. So I resolved at once to take him on his
weak side, if so it might be called. »

On my name being announced he came into the
hall. Whilst looking at me full in the face, he ex-
claimed in a voice too severe to last long: “ And
so, Sir, you have dared to thwart the law, and to

lviii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF:

put my late proclamation at défiance ?” ‘ General,”
said I, “ you have judged rightly ; and I throw my-
self on your well-known generosity. I had eaten
the fugitive’s bread of hospitality, when fortune
smiled upon him; and I-could not find in my: heart
to refuse him help in his hour of need. Pity to the
unfortunate prevailed over obedience to your edict 5
and had General Carmichael himself stood in the
shoes of the deserted outlaw, I would have stepped
forward in his defence, and have dealt many a
sturdy blow around me, before foreign bloodhounds
should have fixed their crooked fangs in the British
uniform.” That’s brave,” said he; and then he
advanced to me, and shook me by the hand.

I staid with him about a couple of hours, and
told him of my intended expedition, through the
forests, to the Portuguese settlements on the Rio
Branco; adding that I had already observed the
necessary formalities required by. law from those
who are about to leave the colony. He gave me
permission to range through the whole of ci-devant
Dutch Guiana for any length of time, and ordered
my passport to be made out immediately. It bears
his signature, and date of April 16. 1812.

General Carmichael had not been long in his
government, before he saw the necessity of striking
at the root of numberless corruptions which existed
in the different departments, and which his prede-
cessor had not been able to remove, both from want
of time and health. Wherefore he set to work in
good earnest; and he got the nick-name of Old
Hercules, in allusion to that -hero’s labours in the
filthy stable of King Augeus.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lix

He was very peremptory in his orders. I was
one day conversing with him concerning the interior
of the country, when an English gentleman came to
lodge a complaint against a Dutch lawyer, for de-
taining in his possession certain monies which he
ought to have delivered up. “ Are you quite right,
Sir, in your story?” said the governor to the
English gentleman. “Iam, an’t please your Ex-
cellency,’ answered he. “Then go and bring him
hither,” rejoined the governor. He returned with
the lawyer: in about half an hour. “ Did you re-
cover the money for this gentleman?” asked the
governor. ‘I did,” answered the lawyer. ‘“ Then
why do you not give it to him?” Because —
because”—and here he stammered in great agita-
tion; when the governor sternly asked him, “ Do
you see that lamp-post in front of the window?”
“I do.” “Then,” remarked the governor, “I ‘ll
have you hanged on it, by Saturday night, if you
do not refund the money.” The lawyer paid the
money on the following day.

But death cut the governor short ere he had
half finished his labours.’ On my return from
Europe (whither I had gone for the recovery of my
health), I found him buried under the flag-staff at
the Fort, in accordance with his own directions.

Whilst I was in the forests, I wrote the following
tribute to his memory, and sent it to the editor of

the Guiana Chroniele :—

«« And what did they call him Old Hercules for ?
‘Is not Agamemnon generally the name for a com-
-mander-in-chief ? I don’t know much about these

things ; but the reason he was surnamed Hercules

lx AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

is briefly this: —The public offices emitted a very
strong smell: the impositions there had been accu-
mulating for a long time. He had not been a week
in the town before the fumes turned him sick at
stomach. He vowed he would clear the town of
the nuisance, and have all the litter wheeled out,
although he should work day and night. This was
a second Augean job; and from this he got the
name of Hercules.

“Well, and did he set to work in good earnest ?
He did indeed. He cleared many of the offices
to their original pavement; he handled numbers
of the tenants in the different departments very
roughly ; some he hurled neck and crop out of the
fattening pen, and others he frightened nearly out
of their senses.

“ He could not bear the sight of the Dutch law-
yers. He told them that their stomachs were as
craving as that of the vulture on the liver of Tityus;
that they were the scourge of the country; that
they were worse to manage than the brazen-footed
bulls of old; that they belonged to Celeno; and
that, if he only kept his health, he would, ere long,
‘drive them all into Stymphalus.

‘«¢ Poor, well-intending, much lamented Old Her-
cules! In the openness of his heart, oftentimes, at
table after dinner (which is the very worst place
and time for a man to open his mouth on things of
consequence), he would talk of his intended plans
and operations to those around him. He was too
sincere himself to suspect the want of sincerity in
some of those who ate his bread and drank his wine.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. ]xi.

They played a double part; and they caused the
war which he was carrying on against extortion and
corruption to give him more trouble than the be-
sieging of half of the fortified cities in the West
Indies would have done.

“‘ However, he still continued to carry on his work
for the public good ; but his friends could see with
concern that his health was declining apace. At
length, sickness and anxiety pressed too heavily on
his much-enfeebled shoulders. He sunk into the
grave, pitied and lamented by every honest man in
Demerara.”

To General Carmichael, indirectly, I owe one of
the best watches that man ever wore. Many of
those colonists who held public offices in Demerara
had not been over and above scrupulous in their
money transactions with the government; and the
general had given it out that they should all be
summoned, and be made to swear to their accounts.
Amongst them was a Dutch gentleman (since dead),
in the colonial service, who had still a large slice
of conscience left. He told his friends that he was
quite aware he could never make out a just balance
sheet, but that he would die before he would take a
false oath. The affair haunted him day and night,
antil he could bear it no longer; and he actually
proceeded up the river Demerara, to the house of
his friend Mr. Edmonstone in Mibiri creek, with
the full intention of proceeding through the interior
to the far-distant Portuguese or Spanish settle-
ments, as occasion might offer. I was staying with
Mr. Edmonstone at the time. As the fugitive

dxii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

officer was walking with me in the woods on the
following morning, he entered more largely on the
plan of his intended escape ; and he said he had
arranged his little affairs pretty well before he left
the town ; but that he had not been able to dispose
of his watch, which was nearly new; and which
had’ been made to order by Keating of London,
who: had charged forty pounds for it. My com-
panion had been very attentive to me formerly,
when he wasat Government House in the time of
Governor Bentinck. Knowing that afriend in need
is a friend indeed, I put his watch into my waistcoat
pocket, after having returned him his seals, and two
rings attached to it, and told him I was his debtor
for the sum of sixty guineas.

During’ the day Mr. Edmonstone received a
letter, informing him that the general and his staff
would pay him a visit in the course of the week.
This information put the already shattered nerves
of our friend in a still worse state; for he made no
doubt but that the general had got information of
his flight. However, I was of a different way of
thinking ; and I told him to compose himself; that
I would look into the affair; and that, worst come to
the worst, we could always get him out of the way
during the general's visit.

The next afternoon we took a small canoe, and
went to Mr. Beaumond’s in Waratilla creek, where
we passed the night. I had luckily ordered a few
troely leaves to be put into the bottom of the
canoe in case of rain ; and, as things turned out, they
proved of the utmost use ; for, actually, as we were

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. bxil

on our return to Mibiri, just at the mouth of Wara-
tilla creek, we saw the general, and Captains Eyre
and Dawson, and Commissary Pittman (three of
the best fellows alive), coming up in a tent-boat.
Limmediately directed my friend to lie flat down
in the’canoe ; and then, like robin redbreast of old,
I covered this great babe of the wood with leaves.
Having saluted the' governor and his company, I
ordered the negroes to keep abreast of his boat, m
order that we might converse as we. went along.
Here I hada fine opportunity of pumping him with
regard to my friend in the bottom of the canoe. I
asked him if he had seen Captain lately.
He said; not very lately; and he feared that the
captain. was sick. I then added, that he was ex-
pected: at Mr. Edmonstone’s ; and the general
immediately rejoined, that it would give them all
exceeding great pleasure to see him, as he was such
an excellent fellow. By this I knew: that all was
tight. _We accompanied the general’s boat up to
Mr Edmonstone’s ; my friend lying quite still under
the troelies, and hearing every word of our con-
versation. About.a couple of hours after our arrival,
I left the house for a while, and then returned with
my friend, who in the meantime had gone into an
out-building: The general shook him cordially by the
hand, and asked him when he had left town. He
answered that he had been to see an acquaintance
in the creek, and had come thus far to pass a day
or two with Mr. Edmonstone. ‘Having now proof
positive that his plan of self-expatriation was quite
unknown to the general, he determined to return

Ixiv AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF |

to Stabroek, where his fears gradually subsided ;
and after the general’s death there was no more
talk of bringing the accounts to a public examination.

This was in the spring of 1812, from which time.
to the beginning of the year 1825 the Wanderings.
form a continuation of these memoirs. But as a
few interesting occurrences took place in the interval
betwixt these dates, I will pen them down in the
following pages.

During my expedition for the wourali poison, in
the summer of 1812, General Carmichael had writ-
ten to Lord Bathurst, to say that I was in the
forests ; and that, if he wanted a person to conduct
an exploring enterprise, he thought that I might be
safely recommended to his lordship’s notice.

I had returned from the interior broken down
with sickness, brought on by being reduced to eat
unwholesome food, and by being exposed day and
night to the inclemency of the rainy season. The
doctors having ordered me to England without
loss of time, I took my passage on board the Fame
of Liverpool, Captain Williams.

During my stay in Stabroek, previous to the
vessel’s leaving port, the general gave me the
colonial dispatches to be delivered to Lord Bathurst,
and at the same time he presented me with a warm
letter of introduction to his lordship. We hada
splendid ball on the eve of our departure. In the
ball-room General Carmichael took the opportunity
of introducing me to Captain Peake of the Peacock
sloop of war, appointed to be our convoy to Bar-

badoes.

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixv

On the following morning, when we had got up
our anchor, Captain Peake came. alongside of the
Fame, and invited me to stay with him on board the
Peacock, until we should reach Barbadoes; adding
that, when he had got all the fleet fairly under weigh,
he would not fail to.send his boat for me.

This, unfortunately, was our last interview. By
eleven o'clock it blew a gale of wind ; and, as the Fame
made a poor hand of it when.close hauled, we drifted
bodily to leeward, lost sight of the fleet in the even-
ing, and at last barely managed to fetch Grenada,
in lieu of making Barbadoes. In the mean time,
Captain Peake, having brought his fleet to an anchor
in Carlisle Bay, returned to the coast of Guiana,
where he fell.in with an American man-of-war. She
was his superior in men and guns, but not in valour,
for our brave captain fought: her to the last ; and he
was cut in two by a cannon ball, j just at the time
that his own: vessel went down. > “He was held in
great esteem by the colonists ; and I have heard
that. they raised a monument to his memory in the
church at Stabroek.) |
_ The voyage to Europe did thot recruit my health.
When I had landed in, Liverpool, Iwas unable to
proceed to London with’ the despatches ; so I sent
them by the mail, and wrote a letter of apology to
Lord Bathurst. His lordshipreturned a very kind
answer, and requested that I would repair to London
when I had got better of the tertian ague, as he
wished me to explore Madagascar.

When I had rallied a little, I proceeded to Lon-

don, and waited on him. He told me that I should
d E

Ixvi ' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

have to explore the interior of Madagascar; with
permission to visit Monomotapa, and the Sechelles
Islands, &c. ; and that a man-of-war would take me
out early in October following. This was in the
month of May, 1813. The ague still annoying me
cruelly, I wrote to Lord Bathurst, and begged to
resign the commission.

Horace once condemned himself for running
away, —“relicta non bene parmula.” It was for
me to have condemned myself too on this occasion ;
for I never acted so much against my own in-
terest as when I declined to go to Madagascar.
I ought to have proceeded thither by all means,
and to have let the tertian ague take its chance.
My commission was a star of the first magnitude.
It appeared after a long night of political darkness,
which had prevented the family from journeying
onwards for the space of nearly three centuries. I can
fancy that it beckoned to me, and that a voice from
it said, * Come and serve your country; come and
restore your family name to the national calendar,
from which it has been so long and so unjustly
withdrawn; come, and show to the world that
conscience, and not crime, has hitherto been the
cause of your being kept in the background; come
into the national dockyard, and refit your shattered
bark, which has been cast on a lee-shore, where
merciless wreck-seekers have plundered its stores,
and where the patriots of yesterday have looked
down upon it with scorn and ‘contempt, and have
pronounced it unworthy to bear its country’s flag.”
I ought to have listened to this supposed adviser at

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixyii

the time: but I did not; and the star went down
below the horizon, to appear no more.

Few people, except those who have been to seek
adventures in far distant countries, are aware of the
immense advantages of a government commission,
especially when the traveller is in our own colonies.
With it his way is clear, and his story is already
told: every body acknowledges his consequence,
and is eager to show him attention. Without it,
he is obliged to unfold his object in view at every
step: he must fight his own cause through sur-
rounding difficulties, and lose many a day for want
of somebody to take him by the hand, In 1824,
I was at St. John’s, in the Island of Antigua,
and had to attend at a public office prior to my
going on board the mail-boat for Dominica. I had
lately arrived from the United States, very much
out of health ; and I wore one of those straw hats,
with a green riband round it, so common in the
republic. The harbour-master, who presided, and
outwardly appeared much of a gentleman, eyed me,
as I thought, contemptuously on my entering the
room. I was right in my conjecture, for he seemed
determined to wear out my patience ; and he kept
me standing above half an hour, without once asking
me to take a seat, although there were plenty of
chairs in the room. In returning to the hotel with
the captain of the mail-boat, I observed to him how
very deficient the harbour-master had been in
common courtesy. He replied that, as soon as I
had gone out of the door of the office, the harbour-
master stopped him to inquire who I was; and,

_

xviii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

when he had told him that I was an English gentle-
man, travelling in quest of natural history, he're-
marked that he had been mistaken in his surmise,
for that he‘had taken me for a damned Yankee.

In the autumn of: 1814, as I was shooting
with my excellent brother-in-law, Mr. Carr; I had
a proof that, although a man may escape with
impunity in distant regions, he may stumble on
misfortune at home, when he least expects it.
My gun went off accidentally. I had just ram-
med the paper down upon the powder, when the
ramrod, which was armed with brass at both ends,
passed quite through my fore finger, betwixt
the knuckle and the first: joint, without breaking
the bone ; the paper and ignited powder following
through the hole, and rendering its appearance as
black as soot. I repaired to a tenant’s house, and
poured warm water plentifully through the wound,
until I had washed away the marks of the gunpow-
der; then collecting the ruptured tendons, which
were hanging down, I replaced them carefully, and
bound up the wound, not forgetting to give to the
finger its original shape as nearly as possible. -After
this, I opened a vein with the other hand, and took
away to the extent of two and twenty ounces of
blood. Whilst I am on phlebotomy, I may remark,
that I consider inflammation to be the root and
origin of almost all diseases. To subdue this at its
earliest stage has been my constant care. Since my
four and twentieth year, I have been blooded above
one hundred and ten times, in eighty of which I
have performed the operation on myself with my own

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lxix

hand.. This, with calomel and jalap mixed together,
as a purgative, with the use of rhubarb in occasional
cases of dysentery, and with vast and often _re-
peated potations of powdered Peruvian bark, as a
restorative, has enabled me to grapple successfully
with sickness when I was far away from medical
aid. In cases where laudanum was absolutely ne-
cessary, I was always extremely cautious, having
seen far too many instances in other people of the
distressing effects produced by the frequent use of
this insidious drug. - My severest trials of sickness
were those. when I had to contend with internal
inflammation at the very time that I. was labouring
under tertian ague. In those cases, the ague had to
bear all the burden, for I knew that it was not a
mortal complaint; whereas internal inflammation
was not to be trifled with for one moment. Under
this impression, I would fearlessly open a vein, and
would trust to the Peruvian bark, at a later period,
to counteract the additional encouragement which I
had been forced to give to the ague, through the
medium of the lancet. I am now, I think, in as
perfect health as man can be. . But let me finish the
account of my accident. On reaching home, I
applied a very large poultice, which was renewed
twice every day. The inflammation never extended
beyond the knuckles; and I recovered the full use
of the finger in due course of time.

Early in the year 1817, an expedition was formed
to explore the river Congo, in Africa. I went to
London, and requested Sir Joseph Banks to allow
me to accompany it as a volunteer. He acceded to

d 3

Ixx AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

my wishes. One day, whilst I was in his room,
there came a letter to inform him that the steam-
vessel appointed for the expedition did not answer
expectations ; for its powers were not considered
adequate to make way against the downward stream
of the Congo. “Then,” exclaimed Sir Joseph, with
great emphasis, “the intended expedition will be a
total failure ;” and, putting his hand upon my shoul-
der, “ My friend,” said he, “you shall not go to
Africa. There will be nothing but disappointment
and misfortune, now that the plan of proceeding by
steam cannot be put in execution to the extent which
I deem absolutely necessary for the success of the
enterprise.” He then requested me to prolong my
stay in London, and to meet the scientific gentlemen
who formed the expedition for a day or two at his
house, in order to impart certain instructions to
them. I did so; and showed them many things
which, I think, could not fail to prove useful* to
them in their preparation of specimens for the
benefit of natural history. Above all things, I
tried to impress upon their minds the absolute neé
cessity of temperance; and I warned them par-
ticularly never to sleep in their wet clothes.

I left London for Yorkshire, and from thence went
to Liverpool, where I embarked on board the Indian,
Captain Balberney, for Pernambuco, in Brazil.

* “Soho Square, Saturday Evening.
‘¢ My dear Sir,

**T return your manuscript, with abundant thanks for the very instructive
lesson you favoured us with this morning, which far excelled in real
utility every thing I have hitherto seen.
. ** Your obliged and faithful :

** JosEPH BANKs,’*

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. xxi

Whilst I was on the other side of the Atlantic, I
read an account in one of the English papers, which
stated that the Congo expedition had entirely failed,
and that several of the gentlemen whom I had met
at the house of Sir Joseph Banks had perished in it.

In the winter of 1817-18, I was in Italy with
my friend Captain Alexander of the Navy. During
our stay in the eternal city, I fell in with my old
friend and schoolfellow, Captain Jones. Many a
tree we had climbed together in the last century ;
and, as our nerves were in excellent trim, we mounted
to the top of St. Peter’s, ascended the cross, and
then climbed thirteen feet higher, where we reached
the point of the conductor, and left our gloves on it.
After this, we visited the castle of St. Angelo, and
contrived to get on to the head of the guardian
angel, where we stood on one leg.

As Captain Alexander and myself were returning
over Mount Cenis, I fancied that the baggage had
broken loose on the top of the carriage ; so I imme-
diately mounted on the wheel to see what was the
matter. As bad luck would have it, I came in con-
tact with the window, and smashed the glass: two
pieces of the pane, an inch long, penetrated a little
above the cap of the left knee, on the inner side, and
broke short off. This was at ten o'clock of the
night. I put my thumb firmly on the wound, until
the captain had brought one of the lamps to bear
‘on it. On seeing the blood flow in a continued
stream, and not by jerks, I knew that the artery
was safe. Having succeeded in getting out the
two pieces of glass with my finger and thumb, I

d 4

[xxii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

bound the wound up with my cravat. ‘Then, cutting
off my coat pocket, I gave it to the captain, and
directed him to get it filled with poultice, in a house
where we saw a light at a distance. The next day
a strong fever came on; so we stopped until it had
abated, and then we went on again; and stopped
again on account of the fever ; and again proceeded,
until at last we reached Paris ; the wound being in
a deplorable state. Here Doctor Marshall, a friend
from Demerara, took me under his care until I wa
in a state to proceed to England. He showed
exquisite skill in his treatment of the wound, and
would have done wonders for it had I staid a suffi-
cient length of time with him.

~ On my arrival in London, Father Scott, of the
Society of Jesus, came immediately to my assist-
ance. Having inspected the wound, he took his
departure without loss of time, and he brought back
with him the celebrated Mr. Carpue; to whose con-
summate knowledge and incessant attention I owe
the preservation of the limb, and probably of life
too. The knee continued stiff for nearly two years;
but, by constant exercise, and by refusing the aid of
a walkingstick, it lost at last all rigidity, and is now
as sound as though it had never been injured. I
have often thought since, that I should have laid
my bones in France, but for the unwearied exertions
of my friend Captain Alexander.

In 1824, I caught so severe a cold, by having in-
cautiously taken a hot bath in the city of New
York, that all the skill of Doctor Hossack. could not
have saved me from constmption, had I not, at his

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lxxili

urgent entreaty, taken myself off to a warmer cli-
mate. Iwas bled eight times, and I lived for six
weeks on little more than white bread and tea. It
was during my stay in the United States that I was
fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Mr.
Ord of Philadelphia, that excellent naturalist, and
elegant biographer of poor Wilson the ornithologist.

In 1825, the dismally bleak and cold weather
which we experienced in the Channel was much
against me;.and my old foe, an affection of the
lungs, made its appearance, and seemed determined
to have its own way. The late much lamented
Doctor Gilby of Wakefield grappled with it for six
months, and at last succeeded in restoring me. to
perfect health, which I have enjoyed ever since.

In 1829, I became the happiest man in the world ;
but it pleased Heaven to convince me that all feli-
city here below is no more than a mere illusive
transitory dream; and I bow submissive to its
adorable decrees. I am left with one fine little boy,
-who “looks up to me for light ;’ and I trust that I
-shall succeed in imparting it to him; for my sister,
Mrs. Carr, and her invaluable husband, together
with his aunts, Miss Edmonstone, and Miss Helen
Edmonstone, know no bounds in their affection for
him, and in their good offices to myself, who stand
so much in need of them.

Since the year 1825, I have not been in the trans-
atlantic forests, but have merely sauntered from
time to time in Belgium, in Holland, and in Ger-
many, with my above-mentioned sisters-in-law. I
was in Belgium during the revolution for real liberty

Ixxiv AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

in religious matters; and I wrote a paper for the
Examiner, in which I predicted that the game
would shortly be up for ever with the Dutch flag. I
went into the large square at Bruges to see the
Belgians engage their enemies. As the balls whistled
on all sides, I thought I might as well live to see
the row another day ; so, observing a door half open,
I felt much inclined to get under cover; but, just
as I arrived at the threshold, a fat old dame shut
‘the door full in my face. Thank you, old lady, said I:
‘Felix quam faciunt aliena pericula cautam.” The
reader, I fear, is now pretty well tired with these
Memoirs. They will soon be concluded. He can-
not fail to have discovered what has been my ruling
propensity through life. I crave a little more in-
dulgence, as 1am anxious to say a few words re-
lative to the Wanderings.

Wouralia, the ass mentioned in that work, is still
alive, and in good health. Supposing that she was
in her third year at the time that she was sent to
me from London, by the present Duke of Northum-
berland, then Lord Percy, she must now be seven
and twenty years old. She was inoculated with the
wourali poison, and restored to health by artificial
respiration. .Mr. Sewell is satisfied that this Indian
poison is capable of curing the dreadful malady
caused by the bite of a mad dog. Would it not be
well to make the experiment on some person who
is just about to sink under the virulence of that
disease, and when the case has been declared utterly
hopeless by the faculty who surround the bed of the
dying man? I have a good supply of the real ori-

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixxv

ginal. Not long ago, a gentleman was here, and
begged a small portion of it, as he said that the
savans of Paris had lately tried some Indian poison,
but without effect. I complied with his request;
and, on opening the wax in which the poison is
enclosed, I found it quite soft, and ready for use ;
although it had not been looked at for above twenty
years. If any farmer should have one of his herd
bitten by a mad dog, I would willingly repair to the
spot, and try the effect of the poison on the animal.

Iam fully aware that certain statements in the
Wanderings have procured me the honour of being
thought nearly connected with the Munchausen
family. Unenviable is the lot of him whose narra-
tives are disbelieved merely for want of sufficient
faith in him who reads them. If those who have
called my veracity in question would only have the
manliness to meet me, and point out any passage
in the book which they consider contradictory or
false, 1 would no longer complain of unfair treatment.
If they can show that I have deviated from the line
of truth in one single solitary instance, I will con-
sent to be called an impostor; and then may the
Wanderings be trodden under foot, and be forgotten
for ever.

Some people imagine that I have been guilty
of a deception in placing the nondescript as a
frontispiece to the book. Let me assure these
worthies that they labour under a gross mistake.
I never had the slightest intention to act so dis-
honourable a part. I purposely involved the frontis-
piece in mystery, on account of the _ illiberality

Ixxvi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

which I experienced from the Treasury * on my
return from Guiana.

I had spent many years in trying to improve the
very defective process universally followed in pre-
paring| specimens for museums. The reader will
see by the letter signed Lushington that I was sen-
tenced to pay pretty handsomely for my exertions.

Stung with vexation at the unexpected contents
of that peremptory letter, and annoyed at the de-
tention of my collection, I determined not to com-
municate to the public the discovery which I had
made of preparing specimens upon scientific prin-
ciples; but, in order to show what I had done, I
placed the nondescript in the Wanderings; hoping
that its appearance would stimulate to investigation
those who are interested in museums. Should there
be any expression in the Wanderings, by which the -
reader may be led to imagine that I wish to pass
off. this extraordinary thing either for the head and
shoulders of a man, “ os homini sublime ;” or for

* © Treasury Chambers, May 18th.
** Gentlemen,

**The Lords Commissioners of His Majesty’s Treasury, having had
under their consideration your report of the 10th, on the application of Mr.
Charles Waterton, for the delivery, duty free, of some birds, quadrupeds,
reptiles, and insects, collected by him in Guiana, and recently imported
from Demerara, I have it in command to acquaint you that my Lords
have informed Mr. Waterton that, if he will specify the articles which he
intends to’ give to public institutions, my Lords will not object to their
being delivered duty free ; but that, with regard to the specimens intended
for his own er any private collection, they can only be delivered on pay-
ment of the ad valorem duty of 20 per cent. ; and Iam to desire you will
give the necessary directions to your officers at Liverpool, in conformity
thereto,

“Tam, &c

« (Signed) J. R. Lusaincron.
* Commissioners of Customs.”

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixxvii

those of an ape, “ Simia,— quam similis, turpissima
bestia nobis’;” it is my earnest desire that the said
expression may be considered null and void. [have
no wish whatever. that the nondescript should pass
for any other thing than that which the reader
himself should wish it to pass for.. Not considering
myself pledged to tell its story, I leave it to the
reader to say what it is, or what it is not.

Some of my encounters with wild beasts may
appear hair-breadth escapes, and very alarming
things, to readers at their own fireside ; but to me}
in the forest, they appeared not so.

We are told that death itself is not heeded
when the battle rages. This I believe; for, when
honour, fame, or duty, urge a determined. man
forwards, I apprehend that he knows not what it is
to fear. Thus, the soldier marches boldly on, even
to the cannon’s mouth ; the fox-hunter, in conscious
pride, flies over the five-barred gate; and half way
down Dover’s cliff “hangs one that gathers sam-
phire.” But, I ask, would a “pampered menial”
storm the deadly breach? would a gouty alderman
descend the rock of Ailsa, based by the roaring
ocean, in quest of sea-fowls’ eggs? No. Their
habits, and their ailments, would disable or prevent
them ; and, probably, nothing could induce them to
face the apparent danger. Now, as for myself, I
was well fitted out for adventures. I went expressly
to look for wild beasts ; and, having found them, it
would have been impossible for me to have refrained
from coming in actual contact with them.

I have only to repeat, that I particularly request

Ixxvili _ AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

those readers of the Wanderings who may still
doubt my word to meet me in person, and then
show me any passage in the book which they may
suspect to deviate from the truth. It will give me
pleasure to enter fully into the point in question ;
and I shall not have the slightest doubt of being
able to convince them that they are wrong in their
surmises. If they should refuse to comply with this
my reasonable and just request, and still determine
to consider me a disciple of the celebrated baron,
then to them I say, ‘“‘ Gentlemen, fare ye well. In
my conscience, I have laboured hard to please you,
and to consult your taste; but I find that I have
lost my time, and, I may add, my patience too. I
humbly crave your forgiveness for having offered
you food, which has proved so very unpalatable to
your stomachs. Iwill learn wisdom for the time to
come; and I promise you that I will not throw my
jewels to the sty a second time.”

So far for the Wanderings. Most part of the
work was written in the depth of the forest, with-
out the help of books, or the aid of any naturalist.
I could not refrain from making a few observations
on it ere I concluded these Memoirs, —Memoirs,
by the way, from the pen of a private rover. Had
our religion not interfered with our politics, my
early days would probably have been spent in the
service of my country. Then, no doubt, there would
have been matter in these Memoirs much more
interesting to the reader than that which is now
submitted to his perusal.

I could never comprehend how a government,

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixxix

which professes to be the most tolerant of all go-
vernments in things appertaining to religion, should
have visited millions of its subjects with the severest
penalties, for two long centuries and a half, merely
because they refused to abandon the creed of their
ancestors. Neither can I comprehend how a go-
vernment can have the consummate assurance to
enforce payment to the church by law established,
when it is a well-known fact in history (see the act
of parliament Ist & 2d of Mary, chap. 8.) that the
very founders of this law-church did confess, in full
and open parliament, that they had declined from the
unity of Christ’s church, and had a long while wan-
dered and strayed abroad; and that they acknow-
ledged their own errors, and declared themselves
very sorry and repentant of the schism and disobe-
dience committed by them in this realm against
the See Apostolic. Again, can anything be more
unjust and despicable than the custom of preaching
an annual sermon against us on the 5th of No-
vember? This year, it fell on a Sunday; and, upon
that sacred day, many were the persons who put
charity behind the pulpit, and then, in front of it,
held up the bugbear popery, in so terrific a point of
view, that numbers of old women were nearly fright-
ened into hysterics. However, I think I may ven-
ture to assure their reverences that I, for one, will
never use gunpowder in an unlawful way. I had
much rather see them walk soberly along, and keep
possession of their usurped pulpits for a Uittle while
longer, than hear of them being blown up sky-high
by the unjustifiable application of prepared charcoal
and saltpetre.

Ixxx AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

I beg to draw the attention of their reverences
to the following ode, which I composed some few
years ago, expressly for the 5th of November;
most appropriately termed Cecil’s Holiday. In it
their reverences cannot fail to observe that my
mode of dealing with our adversaries. differs very
widely from that adopted by their old friend Guy

the detonator.
ODE.

Pro his oro, qui elegerunt
Falsam fidem, et fregerunt
Quam Majores docuerunt. ,

Et qui, fracto Dei altare.
Ausi loco ejus dare
* Mensam que non potest stare.

Qui, et oves occidebant,
Atque collo suspendebant
Duces gregis qui manebant.

Caput fidei qui fecerunt
Regem ; opes et dederunt
Illis, qui nil meruerunt.

Animabus, qui suorum
Preces negant defunctorum ;
Neque cetus Angelorum

Colunt. Pro his oro quoque,
Qui Calvino, Lutheroque
Credunt, Joan-Southcotoque.

Habeant hi claram lucem,
Ut amissam cernant crucem,
Et agnoscant Papam ducem.
’ *The creed-reformers had hot disputes amongst themselves, for many

years, concerning the altar. At last they determined that it should be
called a ¢able, and not an altar.

’

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. Ixxxi

Tum pax undique florebit,
Neque erit qui lugebit,
Aut Guy-fauxi vim timebit.

TRANSLATION.

I pray for those who now have got
A creed infected with the rot,

And wickedly have set at nought
That which our ancestors had taught.

I pray for those who, having thrust
Our holy altars in the dust,

Defiled the places where they stood
With crazy tables formed of wood.

I pray for those who, having slain

Our flocks that grazed the peaceful plain,
Did force their pastoral defenders

Into Jack Ketch’s hemp suspenders.

I also pray for those who made

A tyrant king the Church’s head ;

And let him waste our sacred treasures,
*Mid rogues and knaves, in filthy pleasures.

I pray for those who have a dread

Of supplications for the dead,

And never offer up a prayer

For their good Angel-guardian’s care.

Again, for those I often pray,

Who tread in Luther’s crooked way ;
Or Calvin trust, or seek salvation
In Mrs. Southcote’s proclamation.

May these a steady light obtain,
To find the long-lost cross again ;
And place their faith, and future hope,
Under the guidance of the Pope.

e

Ixxxii AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF

Then peace will flourish all around,
And none in sorrow shall be found ;
Nor need we fear a repetition

Of Guy’s unlucky expedition.

When I reflect that the faith of my ancestors has
been most cruelly assailed for centuries, by every
man in power, from the Prime Minister of England
down to the county magistrate; when I see it
rising again triumphant in every part of the empire;
and when I observe multitudes, in every rank of
life, returning to its consoling communion, I call to
mind, with infinite delight, those beautiful verses
of Dryden : —

‘A milk-white hind, immortal and unchanged,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forests ranged.
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear’d no danger, for she knew no sin.
Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds,
And Scythian shafts, and many-winged wounds
Aim’d at her heart; was often forced to fly,
And doom’d to death, though fated not to die.”

I have made no mention of my political feel-
ings in these Memoirs. My politics, indeed, claim
little notice. Being disabled by Sir Robert Peel’s
Bill from holding even a commission of the peace, I
am like a stricken deer, walking apart from the rest
of the herd. Still I cannot help casting a compas-
sionate eye on poor Britannia, as she lies on her
bed of sickness. A debt of eight hundred millions
of pounds sterling (commenced by Dutch William
of glorious memory) is evidently the real cause of
her distressing malady. It is a fever of the worst

CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lxxxiii

kind: it is a disorder of terrible aspect. It is a
cancer, so virulent, so fetid, and so deeply rooted
withal, that neither Dector Whig, nor Doctor Tory,
nor even the scientific hand of Mr. Surgeon Radi-
cal, can give any permanent relief to the suffering
patient. Alas, poor Britannia! it grieves my heart
to see so fine a personage reduced to such a state.
Thank Heaven! we Catholics have had no hand in
thy misfortunes. They have come from another
quarter, where thy real enemies have had all their
own way, and have played the game so sadly to thy
cost.
Here I terminate these Memoirs; and I put
away the pen, not to be used again, except in
self-defence. Thus a musician of old (tired, no
doubt, with scraping) hung his fiddle on the wall,
and said, —

‘¢ Barbiton, hic paries habebit.”’

CHARLES WATERTON.

Walton Hail, December 30. 1837.

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ESSAYS, &c.

ON

NATURAL HISTORY.

REMARKS ON PROFESSOR RENNIE’S EDI-
TION OF MONTAGU’S ORNITHOLOGICAL
DICTIONARY.

“Ir is admitted by all the naturalists already quoted, that
the nest in question (grebe’s) is built on moist ground, if not
actually touching the water, and that part at least of the mate-
rials consist of moist water plants. Now, it is indispensable to
hatching, that the eggs be kept at a high temperature, and not
be suffered to cool for a moment. The natural heat of the
bird itself is sufficient for this purpose, without the heat of fer-
mentation, erroneously supposed by Pennant; but if she quits
them for a moment, to go in pursuit of food, or to withdraw
the attention of an intruding water-spaniel, or a prying natural-
ist, their near vicinity to moist plants, or to water, would cer-
tainly prove fatal to the embryo chicks. In order, then, to
prevent the brood from being destroyed by cold, the careful
bird covers the eggs with a.quantity of dry hay, to keep them
warm till her return.”

When the worthy professor wrote the above-
quoted passage, I am sure that he had not the least
doubt but that it was correct. Nine tenths of his
readers would be of the same opinion with him,

B

2 RENNIE’S MONTAGU,

The errors it contains can only be accounted for on
the score that our professor, like many other natu-
ralists of high note and consideration, has spent
more of his time in books than in bogs. His de-
ficiency in bog-education is to be lamented; for
such an education would have been a great help to
him in his ornithological writings. For my own
part, I must own, that I have been more in bogs
than amongst books; and have for years wandered
“ per loca senta situ,” where, it is easy for the
reader to imagine, that I must have had many cor-
poral misadventures, and at the same time acquired
some mental improvement.

After this statement, I trust that the professor
will not take it amiss if I do not agree with him
in all his notions on waterfowl incubation. Many
writers on natural history, on account of their situ-
ation in life, can only attempt to clear up doubts by
means of theory. Others, again, who have had
practice, have it in their power to adduce facts.
Truth is the great object which all strive to reach,
“ Omnes eodem cogimur.”

Let us now go to the marsh, and find a water-
fowl’s nest, with the old bird sitting on eggs con-
taining embryo chicks. We will drive the bird
gently off the nest, and we will stay full two hours
near the place, to prevent the return of the bird.
At the end of the two hours we will go away, and
I will engage that the old bird will come back to
her nest, and hatch the eggs which have been left
uncovered all this time. This being the case, how
stands the professor's speculation, that the vicinity

RENNIE S MONTAGU. 3

of the nest to moist plants, or to water, would cer-
tainly prove fatal to the embryo chicks, were the
bird to quit the eggs for a moment unless she cov-
ered them with dry hay ?

In 1826, I was helping a man to stub some large
willows near the water’s edge. There was a water-
hen’s nest at the root of one of them. It had
seven eggs in it. I broke two of them, and saw that
they contained embryo chicks. The labourer took
up part of the nest, with the remaining five eggs
in it, and placed it on the ground, about three yards
from the spot where we had found it. We con-
tinued in the same place for some hours afterwards,
working at the willows. In the evening, when we
went away, the old waterhen came back to the nest.
Having no more occasion for the labourer in that
place, I took the boat myself the next morning,
and saw the waterhen sitting on the nest. On
approaching the place, I observed that she had col-
lected a considerable quantity of grass and weeds;
and that she had put them all around the nest. A
week after this I went to watch her, and saw she
had hatched; and, as I drew nearer to her, she went
into the water, with the five little ones along with
her.

Birds which, on voluntarily leaving their nest,
cover all their eggs containing embryo chicks,
equally cover those eggs before they contain an
embryo chick, that is, before they begin to sit.
Now, during the period of laying, the old bird sel-
dom returns to the nest above once in twenty-four
hours; and then only to lay an egg, and go away

B 2

4 RENNIE'S MONTAGU.

again. Are the eggs, then, covered these four and
twenty hours to keep them warm? Put your hand
upon them, and you will find them “cold as any stone.”
Nay, more, you shall take one of these eggs, which
you find covered before the bird begins to sit, and
you shall immerse it for four and twenty hours in
water; and if you put it back into the nest before
the bird begins to sit, you will find that she will
hatch it at the same time with the rest of the eggs.

If, then, this egg will produce a bird after being
four and twenty hours in the water; and if the
other eggs (in the case of the waterhen) containing
embryo chicks will produce birds after being left
uncovered some hours by the mother, may we not
venture to hazard a conjecture that the professor,
somehow or other, has not exactly entered into the
real notions of waterfowl for covering their eggs
with dry hay when they leave the nest, both before
and after they begin to sit ?

I will here add an observation. “The Dab-
chick,” says our professor, “ covers its eggs to keep
them warm ; for the vicinity of the nest to moist
plants, or to water, would certainly prove fatal to
the embryo chicks, were she to leave the eggs for a
moment without covering them.” But the wagtail
will build her nest within a foot of the water, and
yet she never covers the eggs when she leaves her
nest. Now, the shell of the wagtail’s egg being
much thinner than that of the dabchick, might one
not be apt to infer that the egg of the wagtail
would suffer sooner from cold than the egg of the
dabchick ?

RENNIE'S MONTAGU. 5

One is rather at a loss to know how the professor
discovered that the eggs of the dabchick are affected
by their near vicinity to moist plants or to water,
unless they are covered either by the old bird, or
with dry hay. The dabchicks raise their nests upon
a superstructure far above watermark. Now, the
height of the nest from the water, and the thickness
of the materials with which it is lined, will effectu-
ally secure it from damp. Put your hand into the
nest of the next dabchick which you discover, and
you will find that it is quite dry.

The waterhen is another bird which generally
builds its nest upon the sedges and rushes ; and it
carefully covers its eggs, both before and after it
begins to sit: but sometimes this bird makes its
nest in a place warm and comfortable.

In 1828, I formed a little structure, about a foot
square, on a dry island. It was intended for a
duck ; and it was built of brick and mortar. The
top was well secured with a flag; and there was a
hole left in the side, just large enough to let ina
duck. Some dry hay was put into the place, to
serve as a nest for the duck. But it so happened
that the duck had to go somewhere else to lay her
eggs ; for a waterhen took possession of this little
structure ; and I found her eggs covered with hay,
both before and after she began to sit. Did she do
this to keep the eggs warm, lest their vicinity to
the water should prove fatal to the embryo chicks ?

In 1826, a wild duck made its nest within two
yards of the water’s edge, and upon ground not more

B 3

6 RENNIE’S MONTAGU.

than three inches above watermark. She covered
her eggs, both before and after she began to sit.

Another wild duck, in this same year, made her
nest in the thick ivy, upon the top of an old ruin,
full 18 ft. from the water ; and she regularly did the
same thing with regard to her eggs. Did the last
duck do this to preserve the eggs from the fatal
influence of the vicinity to water, full 18 ft. below
her, with a thick wall intervening ?

While this duck on the ruin carefully covered
her eggs every time she voluntarily left the nest, a
chaffinch, a wagtail, and a ringdove, building in the
ivy of the same ruin, never covered their eggs at all
on leaving the nest; while in deep holes of the same
ruin, a barn owl, a jackdaw, a starling, a house
sparrow, and a redstart, had their eggs safely shel-
tered from wind, and cold, and rain.

I offer these facts and observations to young na-
turalists as a kind of Ariadne clew, to help them
through the labyrinth of waterfowl incubation.
Should they not suffice, all I can do is, to recom-
mend the bewildered ornithologist to go to that far
eastern country where the vizier of Sultan Mahmoud
understands the language of birds. Though, pos-
sibly, the vizier may now be dead, still his surprising
knowledge has, no doubt, descended to his offspring ;
just in the same way as a hereditary knack at legis-
lation goes down from father to son in our English
peerage. We are told that —

‘¢ Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis ;
Est in juvencis, est in equis patrum
Virtus.”

THE BARN OWL. 7

THE HABITS OF THE BARN OWL, AND THE
BENEFITS IT CONFERS ON MAN.

Tus pretty aerial wanderer of the night often
comes into my room; and after flitting to and fro,
on wing so soft and silent that he is scarcely heard,
he takes his departure from the same window at
which he had entered.

I own [ have a great liking for this bird; and I
have offered it hospitality and protection on account
of its persecutions, and for its many services to me,
— I say services, as you will see in the sequel. I
wish that any little thing I could write or say might
cause it to stand better with the world at large than
it has hitherto done: but I have slender hopes on
this score; because old and deep-rooted prejudices
are seldom overcome; and when I look back into
the annals of remote antiquity, I see too clearly that
defamation has done its worst to ruin the whole
family, in all its branches, of this poor, harmless,
useful friend of mine.

Ovid, nearly two thousand years ago, was ex-
tremely severe against the owl. In his Metamor-
phoses, he says : —

*¢ Foedaque fit volucris, venturi nuncia luctus,
Ignavus bubo, dirum mortalibus omen.”
In his Fasti he openly accuses it of felony : —
‘* Nocte volant, puerosque petunt nutricis egentes.”

B 4

8 THE BARN OWL.

Lucan, too, has hit it hard : —
“ Et let jurantur aves, bubone sinistro :”
and the Englishman who continued the Pharsalia
says — .
“ 'Tristia mille locis Stygius dedit omina bubo.”

Horace tells us, that the old witch Canidia used
part of the plumage of the owl in her dealings with
the devil : — 7

“ Plumamque nocturne strigis.”

Virgil, in fine, joined in the hue and ery against

this injured family : —
‘¢ Solaque culminibus ferali carmine bubo
Szepe queri, et longas in fletum ducere voces.”

In our own times we find that the village maid
cannot return home from seeing her dying swain,
without a doleful salutation from the owl : —

«« Thus homeward as she hopeless went, :
The churchyard path along,

The blast grew cold, the dark owl scream’d
Her lover’s funeral song.”

Amongst the numberless verses which might be
quoted against the family of the owl, I think I only
know of one little ode which expresses any pity for it.
Our nursery maid used to sing it to the tune of the
Storm, “ Cease rude Boreas, blust’ring railer.” I
remember the first two stanzas of it : —

« Once I was a monarch’s daughter,
And sat on a lady’s knee ;
But am now a nightly rover,
Banish’d to the ivy tree.

THE BARN OWL. 9

*¢ Crying, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo,
Hoo, hoo, hoo, my feet are cold!
Pity me, for here you see me,
Persecuted, poor, and old.””

I beg the reader’s pardon for this exordium. [
have introduced it, in order to show how little
chance there has been, from days long passed and
gone to the present time, of studying the haunts
and economy of the owl, because its unmerited bad
name has created it a host of foes, and doomed
it to destruction from all quarters. Some few,
certainly, from time to time, have been kept in
cages and in aviaries. But nature rarely thrives
in captivity, and very seldom appears in her true
character when she is encumbered with chains, or
is to be looked at by the passing crowd through
bars of iron. However, the scene is now going to
change ; and I trust that the reader will contem-
plate the owl with more friendly feelings, and quite
under different circumstances. Here, no rude
schoolboy ever approaches its retreat; and those
who once dreaded its diabolical doings are now
fully satisfied that it no longer meddles with their
destinies, or has any thing to do with the repose
of their departed friends. Indeed, human wretches,
in the shape of body-snatchers, seem here in Eng-
land to have usurped the office of the owl in our
churchyards ; “et vendunt tumulis corpora rapta
suis.”

Up to the year 1813, the barn owl had a sad
time of it at Walton Hall. Its supposed mourn-

10 THE BARN OWL.

ful notes alarmed the aged housekeeper. She knew
full well what sorrow it had brought into other
houses when she was a young woman; and there
was enough of mischief in the midnight wintry
blast, without having it increased by the dismal
screams of something which people knew very
little about, and which every body said was far
too busy in the churchyard at night-time. Nay,
it was a well-known fact, that if any person were
sick in the neighbourhood, it would be for ever
looking in at the window, and holding a conversa-
tion outside with somebody, they did not know
whom. The gamekeeper agreed with her in every-
thing she said on this important subject; and he
always stood better in her books when he had
managed to shoot a bird of this bad and mischievous
family. However, in 1813, on my return from
the wilds of Guiana, having suffered myself, and
learned mercy, I broke in pieces the code of penal
laws which the knavery of the gamekeeper and the
lamentable ignorance of the other servants had
hitherto put in force, far too successfully, to thin
the numbers of this poor, harmless, unsuspecting
tribe. On the ruin of the old gateway, against
which, tradition says, the waves of the lake have
dashed for the better part of a thousand years,
I made a place with stone and mortar, about 4 ft.
square, and fixed a thick oaken stick firmly into
it. Huge masses of ivy now quite cover it. In
about a month or so after it was finished, a pair of
barn owls came and took up their abode in it.
I threatened to strangle the keeper if ever, after

THE BARN OWL. 11

this, he molested either the old birds or their young
ones; and I assured the housekeeper that I would
take upon myself the whole responsibility of all
the sickness, woe, and sorrow that the new tenants
might bring into the Hall. She made a low cour-
tesy ; as much as to say, “ Sir, I fall into your will
and pleasure: ” but I saw in her eye that she had
made up her mind to have to do with things of
fearful and portentous shape, and to hear many
a midnight wailing in the surrounding woods. Ido
not think that, up to the day of this old lady’s
death, which took place in her eighty-fourth year,
she ever looked with pleasure or contentment on
the barn owl, as it flew round the large sycamore
trees which grow near the old ruined gateway.
When I found that this first settlement on the
gateway had succeeded so well, I set about forming
other establishments. This year I have had four
broods, and I trust that next season I can calcu-
late on having nine. This will be a pretty increase,
and it will help to supply the place of those
which in this neighbourhood are still unfortunately
doomed to death, by the hand of cruelty or su-
perstition. We can now always have a peep at
the owls, in their habitation on the old ruined
gateway, whenever we choose. Confident of pro-
tection, these pretty birds betray no fear when
the stranger mounts up to their place of abode.
would here venture a surmise, that the barn
owl sleeps standing. Whenever we go to look at
it, we invariably see it upon the perch, bolt up-
right ; and often with its eyes closed, apparently

12 THE BARN OWL.

fast asleep. Buffon and Bewick err (no doubt;
unintentionally) when they say, that the barn owl
snores during its repose. What they took for
snoring was the ery of the young birds for food.
I had fully satisfied myself on this score some
years ago. However, in December 1823, I was
much astonished to hear this same snoring kind
of noise, which had been so common in the month
of July. On ascending the ruin, I found a brood
of young owls in the apartment.

Upon this ruin is placed a perch, about a foot
from the hole at which the owls enter. Some-
times, at mid-day, when the weather is gloomy,
you may see an owl upon it, apparently enjoying
the refreshing diurnal breeze. This year (1831)
a pair of barn owls hatched their young, on the
7th of September, in a sycamore tree, near the
old ruined gateway.

If this useful bird caught its food by day*, in-
stead of hunting for it by night, mankind would
- have ocular demonstration of its utility in thinning
the country of mice; and it would be protected,
and encouraged, everywhere. It would be with us
what the ibis was with the Egyptians. When it
has young, it will bring a mouse to the nest about
every twelve or fifteen minutes. But, in order to
have a proper idea of the enormous quantity of
mice which this bird destroys, we must examine
the pellets which it ejects from its stomach in

* Though the barn owl usually hunts during the night, still I have

repeatedly seen it catching mice in the daytime, even when the sun
shone bright.—C. W.

THE BARN OWL. 13

the place of its retreat. Every pellet contains
from four to seven skeletons of mice. In sixteen
months from the time that the apartment of the
owl on the old gateway was cleaned out, there
has been a deposit of above a bushel of pellets.

The barn owl sometimes carries off rats. One
evening I was sitting under a shed, and killed a
very large rat, as it was coming out of a hole,
about ten yards from where I was watching it.
I did not go to take it up, hoping to get another
shot. As it lay there, a barn owl pounced upon
it, and flew away with it.

This bird has been known to catch fish. Some
years ago, on a fine evening, in the month of July,
long before it was dark, as I was standing on the
middle of the bridge, and minuting the owl by my
watch, as she brought mice into her nest, all ona
sudden she dropped perpendicularly into the water.
Thinking that she had fallen down in epilepsy, my
first thoughts were to go and fetch the boat; but
before I had well got to the end of the bridge, I
saw the owl rise out of the water with a fish in
her claws, and take it to the nest. This fact is
mentioned by the late much revered and lamented
Mr. Atkinson of Leeds, in his Compendium, in a
note, under the signature of W., a friend of his,
to whom I had communicated it a few days after
I had witnessed it.

I cannot make up my mind to pay any attention
to the description of the amours of the owl by a
modern writer; at least the barn owl plays off no
buffooneries here, such as those which he describes.

14 THE BARN OWL.

An owl is an owl all the world over, whether under
the influence of Momus, Venus, or Diana.

When farmers complain, that the barn owl de-
stroys the eggs of their pigeons, they lay the sad-
dle on the wrong horse. They ought to put it
on the rat. Formerly I could get very few young
pigeons till the rats were excluded effectually from
the dovecot, Since that took place, it has produced
a great abundance every year, though the barn
owls frequent it, and are encouraged all around
it. The barn owl merely resorts to it for repose
and concealment. If it were really an enemy to
the dovecot, we should see the pigeons in com-
motion as soon as it begins its evening flight ; but
the pigeons heed it not: whereas, if the sparrow-
hawk or hobby should make its appearance, the
whole community would be up at once; proof
sufficient that the barn owl is not looked upon as
a bad, or even a suspicious, character by the in-
habitants of the dovecot.

Till lately, a great and well-known distinction
has always been made betwixt the screeching and
the hooting of owls. The tawny owl is the only
owl which hoots; and when I am in the woods
after poachers, about an hour before daybreak, I
hear with extreme delight its loud, clear, and sono-
rous notes, resounding far and near through hill
and dale. Very different from these notes is the
screech of the barn owl. But Sir William Jardine
informs us, that this owl hoots; and that he has
shot it in the act of hooting. This is stiff autho-
rity; and I believe it because it comes from the

THE BARN OWL. 15

pen of Sir William Jardine. Still, however, me-
thinks that it ought to be taken in a somewhat
diluted state; we know full well that most extra-
ordinary examples of splendid talent do, from time
to time, make their appearance on the world’s
wide stage. Thus, Franklin brought down fire from
the skies: —Eripuit fulmen ccelo, sceptrumque
tyrannis.” Paganini has led all London captive,
by a single piece of twisted catgut: — “Tu potes
reges comitesque stultos ducere.” Leibnitz tells
us of a dog in Germany that could pronounce
distinctly thirty words. Goldsmith informs us that
he once heard a raven whistle the tune of the
“Shamrock,” with great distinctness, truth, and
humour. With these splendid examples before our
eyes, may we not be inclined to suppose that the
barn owl which Sir William shot, in the absolute
act of hooting, may have been a gifted bird, of
superior parts and knowledge (una de multis, as
Horace said of Miss Danaus), endowed, perhaps,
from its early days with the faculty of hooting,
or else skilled in the art by having been taught
it by its neighbour, the tawny owl? I beg to
remark, that though I unhesitatingly grant the
faculty of hooting to this one particular individual
owl, still I flatly refuse to believe that hooting is
common to barn owls in general. Ovid, in his
sixth book Fastorum, pointedly says that it screeched
in his day : —
« Est illis strigibus nomen ; sed nominis hujus
Causa, quod horrenda stridere nocte solent,”

16 THE BARN OWL.

The barn owl may be heard shrieking here perpe-
tually on the portico, and in the large sycamore
trees near the house. It shrieks equally when the
moon shines and when the night is rough and cloudy;
and he who takes an interest in it may here see the
barn owl the night through when there is a moon;
and he may hear it shriek when perching on the
trees, or when it is on wing. He may see it and
hear it shriek, within a few yards of him, long be-
fore dark; and again, often after daybreak, before
it takes its final departure to its wonted resting-
place.

I am amply repaid for the pains I have taken to
protect and encourage the barn owl; it pays me a
hundred-fold by the enormous quantity of mice
which it destroys throughout the year. The ser-
vants now no longer wish to persecute it. Often,
on a fine summer’s evening, with delight I see the
villagers loitering under the sycamore trees longer
than they would otherwise do, to have a peep at the
barn owl, as it leaves the ivy-mantled tower: for-
tunate for it, if, in lieu of exposing itself to danger,
by mixing with the world at large, it only knew the
advantage of passing its nights at home; for here

‘‘ No birds that haunt my valley free
To slaughter I condemn ;
Taught by the Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.” |

THE VULTURE. 17

ON THE FACULTY OF SCENT IN THE
VULTURE.

*¢ Et truncas inhonesto vulnere nares.” Zineid. lib. vi.

I never thought that I should have lived to see
this bird deprived of its nose. But in the third num-
ber of Jameson's Journal, a modern writer has actu-
ally given “ An account of the habits of the Turkey
Buzzard (Vultur Aura), with a view of exploding the
opinion generally entertained of its extraordinary
power of smelling ;” and I see that a gentleman in
the Magazine of Natural History, vol. iii. p. 449.
gives to this writer the honour of being the first man
who, by his “ interesting treatise,” caused the ex-
plosion to take place.

I grieve from my heart that the vulture’s nose has
received such a tremendous blow ; because the world
at large will sustain a great loss by this sudden and
unexpected attack upon it. Moreover, Ihave a kind
of fellow-feeling, if I may say so, for this noble bird.
We have been for years together in the same coun-
try; we have passed many nights amongst the same
trees; and though we did not frequent the same
mess, (for “de gustibus non est disputandum,”
—and I could not eat rotten venison, as our English
epicures do,) still we saw a great deal of each other’s
company. ;

Sancho Panza remarks, that there is a remedy for
every thing but death. Now, as the vulture has not
been killed by the artillery of this modern writer in
Jameson's Journal, but has only had its nose carried

c

18 THE VULTURE.

away by an explosion, I will carefully gather up the
shattered olfactory parts, and do my best to restore
them to their original shape and beautiful propor-
tions. In repairing the vulture’s nose, I shall not
imitate old Taliacotius, who, in times long past and
gone, did

“ from
The brawny part of porter’s bum
Cut supplemental noses, which
Would last as long as parent breech ! ”

but I will set to work upon my own resources, and
then the reader shall decide whether the vulture is
to have a nose or to remain without one.

We all know what innumerable instances there
are, in every country, of the astonishing powers of
scent in quadrupeds. Thus, the bloodhound will
follow the line of the deer-stealer hours after he has
left the park; and a common dog will ferret out his
master in a room, be it ever so crowded. He is
enabled to do this by means of the well-known ef-
fluvium which, proceeding from his master’s person,
comes in contact with his olfactory nerves. A man
even, whose powers of scent are by no means re-
markable, will sometimes smell you a putrid carcass
at a great distance. Now, as the air produced by
putrefaction is lighter than common air, it will as-
cend in the atmosphere, and be carried to and fro
through the expanse of heaven by every gust of
wind. The vulture, soaring above, and coming in
contact with this tainted current, will instinctively
follow it down to its source, and there find that which

THE VULTURE. 19

is destined by an all-wise Providence to be its sup-
port and nourishment.

I will here bring forward the common vulture of
the West Indies, the Vultur Aura of Guiana, the
king of the vultures of Terra firma, and the vulture
which is found in European Andalusia. I am inti-
mately acquainted with all these useful scavengers ;
and I have never known any of them to kill the food
upon which they feed; or when they are in a com-
plete state of nature, free from the restraint or al-
lurements of man, ever feed upon that which was
not putrid. Having slain the large serpent men-
tioned in the Wanderings, though I wished to pre-
serve the skeleton, still I preferred to forego the
opportunity, rather than not get the king of the
vultures. I called Daddy Quasshi, and another
negro, and we carried the body into the forest. The
foliage of the trees where we laid it was impervious
to the sun’s rays, and had any vultures passed over
that part of the forest, I think I may say with safety
that they could not have seen the remains of the
serpent through the shade. For the first two days
not a vulture made its appearance at the spot, though
I could see here and there, as usual, a Vultur Aura
gliding, on apparently immovable pinion, at a mode-
rate height, over the tops of the forest trees. But
during the afternoon of the third day, when the
carcass of the serpent had got into a state of putre-
faction, more than twenty of the common vultures
came and perched upon the neighbouring trees, and
the next morning, a little after six o’clock, I saw a
magnificent king of the vultures. ‘There was a stu-

c 2

20 THE VULTURE.

pendous Mora tree* close by, whose topmost branch
had either been dried by time or blasted by the
thunder-storm. Upon this branch I killed the king
of the vultures, before he had descended to partake
of the savoury food which had attracted him to the
place. Soon after this another king of the vultures
came, and after he had stuffed himself almost to suf-
focation, the rest pounced down upon the remains
of the serpent, and stayed there till they had de-
voured the last morsel.

I think I mentioned in the Wanderings, that I do
not consider the Vultur Aura gregarious, properly
so speaking; and that I could never see it feeding
upon that which was not putrid. Often when I had
thrown aside the useless remains of birds and qua-
drupeds after dissection, though the Vultur Aura
would be soaring up and down all day long, still it
would never descend to feed upon them, or to carry
them off, till they were in a state of putrefaction.

Let us here examine the actions of this vulture a
little more minutely. If the Vultur Aura, which,
as I have said above, I have never seen to prey upon
living animals, be directed by its eye alone to the
object of its food, by what means can it distinguish
a dead animal from an animal asleep? or how is it

* “The Mora, in Guiana, is a lofty timber tree, the topmost branch of which,
when naked with age, or dried by accident, is the favourite resort of the
toucan. It also frequently happens that a wild fig tree, as large as a com-
mon English apple tree, rears itself from one of the thick branches of the
top of the Mora, and that numerous climbing epiphytes grow upon the fig
tree. The fig tree, in time, kills the Mora, and the epiphytes the fig tree.
The birds are the agents that convey the seeds to the rotten hollow stump
or decaying bark of the Mora and fig.” (Waterton’s Wanaerings in South
America, &¢.)

THE VULTURE. 21

to know a newly dead lizard or a snake, from a lizard
or a snake basking quite motionless in the sun? If
its eye be the director to its food, what blunders
must it not make in the negro-yards in Demerara,
where broods of ducks and fowls are always to be
found the day through, either sleeping or basking in
the open air. Still the negro, whom habit has
taught to know the Vultur Aura from a hawk, does
not consider him an enemy. But let a hawk ap-
proach the negro-yard, all will be in commotion, and
the yells of the old women will be tremendous.
Were you to kill a fowl and place it in the yard with
the live ones, it would remain there unnoticed by
the vulture as long as it was sweet; but, as soon as
it became offensive, you would see the Vultur Aura
approach it, and begin to feed upon it, or carry it
away, without showing any inclination to molest the
other fowls which might be basking in the neigh-
bourhood. When I carried Lord Collingwood’s
despatches up the Orinoco, to the city of Angus-
tura, I there saw the common vultures of Guiana
nearly as tame as turkeys. The Spaniards protected
them, and considered them in the light of useful
scavengers. Though they were flying about the
city in all directions, and at times perching upon
the tops of the houses, still many of the people,
young and old, took their siesta in the open air,
“their custom always of the afternoon,” and had
no fear of being ripped up and devoured by the
surrounding vultures. If the vulture has no ex-
traordinary powers of smelling, which faculty, I am
c 3

22 THE VULTURE.

told, is now supposed to be exploded since the
appearance of the article in Jameson’s Journal, I
marvel to learn how these birds in Angustura got
their information, that the seemingly lifeless bo-
dies of the Spaniards were merely asleep, —

*< Dulcis et alta quies, placideque simillima morti,”

and were by no means proper food for them.

Some years after this, being alongside of a wood,
I saw a negro on the ground; and, as I looked at
him from a distance, it struck me that all was not
right with him. On going up to him I found him
apparently dead. Life was barely within him, and
that was all. He was a total stranger to me, and I
conjectured that he had probably been seized with
sickness as he was journeying on, and that he had
fallen down there to rise no more. He must have
lain in that forlorn, and I hope insensible state, for
many hours; because, upon a nearer inspection, I saw
swarms of red ants* near him, and they had eaten
deeply into his flesh. I could see no marks that the
vultures had been upon him. Indeed, their not
being here caused me no surprise, as I had long been
satisfied, from the innumerable observations which I
had made, that the vulture is attracted to its food

* * The Red Ant of Guiana marches in millions through the country, in
compact order, like a regiment of soldiers. They eat up every insect in
their march ; and if a house obstruct their rout, they do not turn out of
the way, but go quite through it. Though they sting cruelly when molested,
the planter is not sorry to see them in his house; for it is but a passing
visit, and they destroy every kind of insect vermin that had taken shelter
under his roof.” (Waterion’s Wanderings in South America, &c.)

THE VULTURE. 93

by the putrid exhalations which arise from it, when
it has arrived at that state of decomposition which
renders it fit, and no doubt delicious, food for this
interesting tribe of birds. While I was standing
near the negro, I could see here and there a Vultur
Aura sweeping majestically through the ethereal
expanse, in alternate rises and falls, as these birds
are wont to do when in search of carrion; but they
shewed no inclination to come and perch on the
trees, near the prostrate body of this poor unknown
sable son of Africa. :

The terrible pestilence which visited Malaga at
the beginning of the present century, swept off thou-
sands upon thousands in the short space of four
months. The victims were buried by the convicts.
So great was the daily havoc of death, that no pri-
vate burials could be allowed; and many a corpse
lay exposed in the open air, till the dead carts made
their rounds at nightfall to take them away to their
last resting place, which was a large pit, prepared for
them by the convicts in the daytime. During this
long-continued scene of woe and sorrow, which I
saw and felt, I could never learn that the vultures
preyed upon the dead bodies which had not had time
enough to putrefy. ~But when the wind blew in
from the Mediterranean, and washed ashore the
corrupted bodies of those who had died of the pes-
tilence, and had been thrown overboard from the
shipping, then indeed, “de montibus adsunt Har-
pyiz,” then it was that the vultures came from the
neighbouring hills to satisfy their hunger ; then, one

c 4

3 4

might have said of these unfortunate victims of the
pestilence,—

D4: THE VULTURE.

“ Their Jimbs, unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.”

In Andalusia, one day in particular, I stood to watch
the vultures feeding on the putrid remains of a
mule, some ten miles from the pleasant village of
Alhaurin. Both kids and lambs were reposing and
browsing up and down in the neighbourhood, still
the vultures touched them not; neither did the
goatherds seem to consider their flocks as being in
bad or dangerous company, otherwise they might
have despatched the vultures with very little trouble,
for they were so gorged with carrion that they ap-
peared unwilling to move from the place. Now,
seeing some of the kids and lambs lying on the
ground quite motionless, and observing that the
vultures paid no attention to them, I came to the
following conclusion, viz. that the vulture is directed
to its food by means of its olfactory nerves coming
in contact with tainted effluvium floating in the
atmosphere; and this being the case, we may safely
infer that the vulture cannot possibly mistake a
sleeping animal for one in which life is extinct, and
which has begun to putrefy.

If the vulture were directed to its food solely by
its eye, there would be a necessity for it to soar to
an immense height in the sky; and even then it
would be often at a loss to perceive its food on ac-
count of intervening objects. But I could never see

THE VULTURE. 25

the vulture rise to any very astonishing height in the
heavens, as is the custom with the eagle, the glede,
and some other birds of prey ; and I am even fully
of opinion, that when these last-mentioned birds
soar so high, they are not upon the look-out for food.
When looking at the vultures aloft, I could always
distinguish the king of the vultures from the common
vulture, and the common vulture from the Vultur
Aura. Sometimes an inexperienced observer in
Guiana, may mistake for vultures a flock of birds
soaring to a prodigious height in the sky; but, upon
a steady examination, he will find that they are
Nandapoas.

I conceive that we are in error when we suppose
that birds of prey rise to such an astonishing height
as we see them do, in order to have a better oppor-
tunity of observing their food on the ground below
them. I have watched gledes and hawks intensely,
when they have been so high that they appeared a
mere speck in the azure vault ; still, when at sucha
great height, I have never been able, in one single
instance, to see them descend upon their prey, dur-
ing the many years in which I have observed them.
But, on the other hand, when birds of prey are in quest
of food, I have always seen them fly at a very mo-
derate height over the woods and meads, and strike
their victim with the rapidity of lightning. Thus,
the kestrel hovers at so comparatively short a dis-
tance from the earth, that he is enabled to drop down
upon a mouse, and secure it as quick as thought.
Thus the merlin and sparrowhawk, a little before

if,

dark, shoot past you when you are watching behind
a tree, with inconceivable velocity, and snatch away
the unsuspecting bunting from the hedge. But
when food seems not to be the object, especially
about the breeding season, you may observe the
windhovers rising in majestic evolutions to a vast
altitude ; but, if you watch till your.eyes ache, you
will never see them descend upon their prey from
this immense height: indeed, the great distance to
which they rise would operate much against them in
their descent to seize their food. For example, sup-
pose a mouse to be on the ground, exactly under a
hawk, which hawk is so high up that its appearance to
the observer’s eye is not larger than that of a lark,
how is the hawk to take the mouse? If it descend
slowly, the wary mouse would have time to get into
its hole ; if the hawk came down rapidly, the noise
it causes in darting through the expanse would be a
sufficient warning for the mouse to get out of the way.
In order to have a proper idea of the noise which the
descent of the bird would cause, we have only to
listen to a rook in the act of what the peasants call
shooting, and which, by the by, they always consi-
der as a sign of coming wind ; though, in fact, it can
easily be accounted for without any aid from con-
jecture. It might here be asked, for what object,
then, do many birds of prey rise to such an amazing
height in the sky? I answer, I know not. Why
does the lark mount'so high, and sing all the time?
His female and other listeners on the ground would,”
hear him more distinctly and clearly, were he to

96 THE VULTURE.

THE VULTURE. ae

pour forth his sweet and vernal notes nearer to
them.

But to return to the vulture. After the repeated
observations I have made in the country where it
abounds, I am quite satisfied that it is directed to
its food by means of its olfactory nerves coming in
contact with putrid effluvium, which rises from
corrupted substances through the heavier air.
Those are deceived who imagine that this efflu-
vium would always be driven to one quarter in the
tropics, where the. trade-winds prevail. Often, at
the very time that the clouds are driving from the
north-east up above, there is a lower current of air
coming from the quarter directly opposite. This
takes place most frequently during the night-time,
in or near the woods; and it often occurs early in
the morning, from sunrise till near ten o’clock, when
the regular trade-wind begins to blow. Sometimes
it is noticed in the evening, after sunset ; and, now
and then during the best part of the day, in the
rainy season. In Guiana there is a tree called hay-
awa: it produces a deliciously smelling resin, fit for
incense. When the Indians stop on the banks of a
river for the night, they are much in the habit of
burning this resin for its fine and wholesome scent.
It is found in a hardened lumpy state, all down the
side of the tree out of which it has oozed. It is
also seen on the ground, at the foot of the tree, in-
corporated with the sand. When we had taken up
our nightly quarters on the bank of the Essequibo,
many a time we perceived this delightful fragrance
of the hayawa, which came down the bed of the

28 THE VULTURE.

river to the place where we were, in a direction quite
opposite to the trade-wind. My Indians knew by
this that other Indians were encamped for the night
on the river-side above us.

When the eruption took place in the Island of St.
Vincent, in the Caribbean Sea, in 1812, cinders and
other minor particles of matter were carried nearly,
if not fully, 200 miles to windward, and were said to
have fallen at or near Barbadoes. Had there been
a carcass, in a state of decomposition, at the place
during the time of the eruption, no doubt the efflu-
vium arising from it would have been taken to wind-
ward by a temporary counter-aérial current ; and a
vulture in Barbadoes might probably have had pretty
certain information, through his olfactory nerves,
that there was something good for him in the Island
of St. Vincent.

Vultures, as far as I have been able to observe,
do not keep together in a large flock, when they are
soaring up and down apparently in quest of a tainted
current. Now, suppose a mule has just expired
behind a high wall, under the dense foliage of ever-
green tropical trees ; fifty vultures, we will say, roost
on a tree a mile from this dead mule: when morn-
ing comes, off they go in quest of food. Ten fly by
mere chance to the wood where the mule lies, and
manage to spy it out through the trees; the rest go
quite in a different direction. How are the last-
mentioned birds to find the mule? Every minute
carries them farther from it. Now, reverse the state-
ment; and, instead of a mule newly dead, let us
suppose a mule in an offensive state of decomposi-

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 99

tion. I would stake my life upon it, that not only
the fifty vultures would be at the carcass next morn-
ing, but also that every vulture in the adjacent forest
would manage to get there in time to partake of the
repast.

Here I will stop, fearing that I have already drawn
too largely on the reader’s patience; but really I
could not bear to see the vulture deprived of the
most interesting feature in its physionomy with im-
punity. These are notable times for ornithology :
one author gravely tells us that the water-ousel walks
on the bottom of streams ; another describes an eagle
as lubricating its plumage from an oil-gland ; a third
renews in print the absurdity that the rook loses the
feathers at the base of the bill by seeking in the
earth for its food; while a fourth, lamenting that the
old name, Caprimulgus, serves to propagate an ab-
surd vulgar error, gives to the bird the new name of
night-swallow.

*‘ Tn nova fert animus.”

THE MEANS BY WHICH THE TURKEY BUZ-
ZARD TRACES ITS FOOD.

In answer to the remark of Mr. Percival Hunter,
in the Magazine of Natural History, vol. iv. p. 83.,
that my account of the habits of the Vultur Aura
is at variance with the observations of Wilson, Hum-
boldt, and Azara, I beg to inform him, that I pro-
nounced the Vultur Aura of Guiana to be not gre-

80 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

garious, after the closest attention to its habits, for
a long series of years; and I am still of decided
opinion that this bird ought not to be considered
gregarious.

Wilson was never in-Guiana. As for Humboldt,
I cannot think of submitting to his testimony, in
in matters of ornithology, for one single moment.
The avocations of this traveller were of too multi-
plied a nature to enable him to be a correct practical
ornithologist. Azara is totally unknown to me.

Ihave read Mr. Audubon’s paper very attentively,
‘and upon taking the length, breadth, height, and
depth of it, and trying them at home, upon an exact
scale,” ‘tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimen-
sions.

In the paper in Jameson’s Journal, after some
preliminary observations, the author says, “ When I
visited the Southern States, and had lived, as it were,
amongst these vultures for several years, and dis-
covered, thousands of times, that they did not smell
me when I approached them covered by a tree,
until within a few feet; and that, when, so near,
or at a greater distance, I showed myself to them,
they instantly flew away much frightened, the
idea evaporated, and I assiduously engaged in a
series of experiments to prove, to myself at least,
how far the acuteness of smell existed, if it existed
at all.”

Here the author wishes to prove to us, through
the medium of his own immediate person, that the
vulture is but poorly off for nose; but he has left
the matter short, on two essential points. First, he
has told us nothing of the absolute state of his own

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 31

person, at the actual time he approached the vul-
tures; and, secondly, he is silent as to the precise
position of his own person, with regard to the wind.
This neglect renders his experiment unsatisfactory.
If, on his drawing near to the birds, no particular
effluvium or strong smell proceeded from his person,
it is not to be expected that they could smell him.
De nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti, as the
old saying is. If, again, he had a smell about him,
and he happened to be to /eeward as he approached
the vultures, their. olfactory nerves could not pos-
sibly have been roused to action by it, although he
had been Gorgonius himself (Gorgonius hireum),
for every particle of smell from his person would
have been carried down the gale, in a contrary di-
rection to the birds.

I will now proceed to examine the author’s first
experiment. “ I procured,” says he, “a skin of our
common deer, entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it
carefully with dried grass until filled, rather above
the natural size, — suffered the whole to become
perfectly dry, and hard as leather, — took it to the
middle of a large open field, laid it down on its back,
with its legs up and apart, as if the animal was dead
and putrid. I then. retired about a few hundred
yards ; and in the lapse of some minutes a vulture,
coursing round the field, tolerably high, espied. the
skin, sailed directly towards it, and alighted within
a few yards of it. I ran immediately, covered by a
large tree, until within about forty yards; and from
that place could spy the bird with ease. He ap-
proached the skin, looked at it without apparent
suspicion, jumped on it, &c.— then, approaching

32 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

the eyes, that were here solid globes of hard dried
and painted clay, attacked first one and then the
other, with, however, no further advantage than
that of disarranging them. This part was aban-
doned; the bird walked to the other extremity of
the pretended animal, and there, with much exer-
tion, tore the stitches apart, until much fodder and
dry hay was pulled out, but no flesh could the bird
find or smell; he was intent on discovering some
where none existed; and, after reiterated efforts,
all useless, he took flight, coursed about the field,
when, suddenly rounding and falling, I saw him
” kill a small garter snake, and swallow it in an in-
stant. The vulture rose again, sailed about, and
passed several times quite low over my stuffed
deerskin, as if loth to abandon so good-locking a
prey.” The author continues: — “Judge of my
feelings when I plainly saw that the vulture, which
could not discover, through its extraordinary sense
of smell, that no flesh, either fresh or putrid, existed
about the skin, could, at a glance, see a snake,
scarcely as large as a man’s finger, alive, and des-
titute of odour, hundreds of yards distant.”

In this first experiment, we are left in such
uncertainty, with regard to the actual distance of
the vulture from the author, at the time the vulture
killed the snake, that I cannot, for the life of me,
come to any satisfactory conclusion. It appears,
that there was a tree about forty yards from the
stuffed deerskin. Under covert of the tree, the
author watched the predatory attack of the vulture
on the skin. The disappointed bird took flight,
and coursed about the field, which the author tells

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 33.

us is large and open. While coursing round this
field, the vulture, suddenly rounding and falling,
killed a garter snake, scarcely as large as a man’s
finger. The author tells us, he plainly saw that the
vulture could see this snake hundreds of yards
distant. Iam not surprised that the vulture saw
the snake hundreds of yards distant, as I am fully
aware of the keen sight of all birds ; but what really
astonishes me is, that the author could see the
snake, and know it to be a garter snake ; for, upon
the face of the statement, I am led to conclude that
he himself, as well as the vulture, was hundreds of ,
yards distant from the snake. It were much to be
wished that the author had said something positive
with regard to the actual distance of the snake
from the tree under which he had taken his stand.
Again, the author tells us, in the beginning of this
experiment, that he retired about a few hundred
yards from the spot where he had placed the deer-
skin, in the middle of the large open field; and that
a vulture, in the lapse of some minutes, alighted
within a few yards of the skin. The author ran
immediately, covered by a large tree, till within
about forty yards of the skin. Now, quickness of
sight in the vulture being the very essence of our
author’s paper in Jameson’s Journal, 1 am at a loss
to conceive how our author contrived to run over
the few hundred yards unseen by the vulture. To
be sure, a large tree intervened; but then the
vulture happened to be about forty yards on the
other side of it; and this distance of the vulture
from the tree would be all in its favour for descry-
D

34 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

ing a man coming up, in an opposite direction,
through the open space ef a few hundred yards,
which, to judge by this vague expression, might
be a quarter of a mile, more or less. Had the bird
seen him, there is no doubt but that it would have
flown away; because the author tells us, in the
beginning of his paper, that “when he showed
himself to the vultures, they instantly flew away
frightened.”

“In one part of this experiment, at least, our
author proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that
his vulture was totally deficient in scent; and he
has the very best of all reasons, — no smell existed
in his deerskin. ‘“ No flesh could the bird find, or
smell. He was intent on discovering some, where
none existed.” Still, methinks, the vulture was
right in ripping up the pretended animal ; and there
was method in his prosecuting his excavation
through the regions of dried hay. No lapse of
time could have completely subdued the smell
which would arise from the ears, the hoofs, the
lips, and the very skin itself of the deer. This
smell must have been the thing that instigated the
bird to look narrowly into the skin, and detained
him so long at the place. I have a better opinion
of the vulture’s sagacity, than to suppose that he
would have spent so much of his precious time
upon the rudely stuffed mockery of an animal,
unless his nose had given him information that
some nutriment existed in that which his keen and
piercing eye would soon have told him was an ab-
solute cheat.

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 35.

Second Experiment.—The author says, “I had a
large dead hog hauled some distance from the
house, and put, into a ravine, about twenty feet
deeper than the surface of the earth around it,
narrow and winding, much filled with briars and
high cane. In this I made the negroes conceal the
hog, by binding cane over it, until I thought it
would puzzle either the buzzards, carrion crows, or
any other birds to see it, and left it for two days.
This was early in the month of July, when in this
latitude it becomes ‘putrid and extremely fetid in a
short time. I saw, from time to time, many vul-
tures in search of food sail over the field and ravine
in all directions, but none discovered the carcass,
although during this time several dogs had visited
it, and fed plentifully on it. I tried to go near it,
but the smell was so insufferable, when within
thirty yards, that I abandoned it; and the remains
were entirely destroyed at last, through natural
decay.”

Here the author positively and distinctly tells
us, that he saw many vultures, in search of food,
sail over the field and ravine, in all directions, but
none discovered the carcass; although, during this
time, several dogs had visited it, and fed plentifully
on it. ;

Pray, when the dogs were at dinner on the
carcass, and the vultures at the same time were
flying over the ravine where the hog lay, what
prevented these keen-eyed birds from seeing the
hog? The author positively says that none dis-
covered the carcass. Could, then, several dogs

DZ

36 THE TURKEY BUZZARD,

devour the hams of swine, and riot on pig’s liver,
in such amazing secrecy and silence as not to be
observed in the act by the lynx-eyed vultures
above ? Were there no squabbles amongst the dogs
for possession of the pig’s cheeks? no snarling for
the flitch? no pulling the body this way, or that
way? no displacing the materials with which the
negroes had covered the hog? In a word, was
there no. movement on the part of the dogs, by
which the passing vultures might receive a hint
that there was something in the ravine below “ cal-
culated to glut their voracious appetite?” Fear,
certainly, could not have kept them away; because
the author tells us, in another part of his account,
that he has seen vultures feeding at one extremity
of a carcass, and dogs at another.

This second experiment, like the story of the
“bear and fiddle,” was broken off in the middle.
The author tried to go near the carcass, but the
smell was so insufferable that he abandoned it
when he had got within thirty yards of it. He
tells us, the remains were entirely destroyed, at
last, through natural decay. How did he learn
this? At the time that he abandoned the carcass
to its fate, the insufferable smell clearly proved that
there was plenty of carrion still on the bones; but,
as the author’s own olfactory nerves prevented him
from watching it any longer, I will take upon myself
to make up the hiatus valde deflendus, which his sud-
den retreat occasioned, by a conjecture of my own;
namely, that the dogs and vultures, like the devil
and the king, in “ Sir Balaam,” divided the prize. It

THE TURKEY BUZZARD; 37

would have taken a lapse of weeks to have destroyed
the smell putrescent which came from the remains of
so large an animal; and even granted that the vul-
tures had been too dull of nose to have smelled it,
still it could not have failed to have attracted other
dogs, or the same dogs when their stomachs had
become empty; and they themselves would have
gnawed off all the flesh, and squandered the bones,
without allowing “ natural decay” to consume that
which was so palatable to them. Be this as it
may, the author immediately returned, and com-
menced a new operation about the same place. This
fortifies me in my conjecture that the carcass must
have had some greedy customers after the author’s
departure, otherwise the insufferable smell must
have been still there; and then the author, by his
own account, would have been ill able to stand
the attack on his nasal feelings during the new
operation. 3

He says, “I then took a young pig, put a knife
through its neck, and made it bleed on the earth and
grass about the same place, and, having covered it
closely with leaves, also watched the result. The vul-
tures saw the fresh blood, alighted about it, followed it
down into the ravine, discovered by the blood, the
pig, and devoured it when yet quite fresh, within
my sight.” I must here own I am astonished
that the vultures could see this, and still have seen
nothing of the large hog while several dogs were
feeding on it. However, I request the reader to
ruminate for a while on these two experiments with

D 3

38 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

the large hog and the little pig; and then he will
be able to draw his own conclusion as to the blind-
ness of the vultures during the first experiment, and
their keenness of vision during the second.

I will now take a peep at the vultures marshalled
in aerial columns.

The author tells us, “a flock of twenty may easily
survey an area of two miles, as they go turning in
large circles, often intersecting each other in their
lines, as if forming a vast chain of rounded links;
some are high, whilst others are low; not a spot is
passed over unseen ; and, consequently, the moment
a prey is discovered, the favoured bird rounds to,
and, by the impetuosity of its movements, gives
notice to its nearest companion, who immediately
follows him, and is successively attended by all the
rest. Thus the farthest from the discoverer, being
at a considerable distance, sails in a direct line
towards the spot indicated to him by the flight of
the others, who have all gone in a straight course
before him, with the appearance of being impelled
by this extraordinary power of smelling, so erro-
neously granted them.” Here I break the quotation,
to ask the question, how are the hindermost vul-
tures, which are successively attending to the notice
given by the favoured bird, in order to profit by it,
to know whether the favoured bird has alighted upon
some large carrion, or a diminutive garter snake ?
The leader vulture, according to our author's
former experiment, would be equally liable to fall
down upon the one as upon the other; and though
he might get a mouthful, the res¢ would be sorely

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 39

disappointed. Again, suppose the leader were to
round to and fall upon a stuffed deerskin, and dilly
dally his time away in reconnoitring it, would not
the rest, on coming up, have just reason to be much
out of temper? Our author continues, “ If the ob-
ject discovered is large, lately dead, and covered
with a skin too tough to be ate and torn asunder”
(cart before the horse), “‘ and afford free scope to
their appetite, they remain about it, and in the
neighbourhood. Perched on high dead limbs, in
such conspicuous positions, they are easily seen by
other vultures, who through habit know the meaning
of such stoppages, and join the first flock, going also
directly, and affording further evidence, to those’
who are satisfied with appearances only. In this
manner I have seen several hundreds of vultures
and carrion crows assembled near a dead ox, at the
dusk of evening, that had only two or three in
the morning; when some of the latter comers had
probably travelled hundreds of miles, searching
diligently themselves for food, and probably would .
have had to go much farther had they not espied this
association.” A little after this, having described
the manner in which the ‘‘famished cannibals” sa-
tisfied their hunger, the author says, “ The repast
finished, each bird gradually rises to the highest
branches of the nearest trees, and remains there,
until the digestion of all the food they” (instead of
it) “ have” (has) “swallowed is completed.”

Here we have, perched on high trees, flocks of
vultures waiting till their dinner be sufficiently
tender; and also flocks of vultures waiting on the

D 4

40 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

highest branches of trees till their dinner be suffi-
ciently digested. The author tells us that the first
“are easily seen by other vultures, who, through
habit, know the meaning of such stoppages.” I wish
theauthor had told us how he became informed of this
knowledge, which the “ other vultures” had acquired
of these stoppages. Let us suppose for an instant
that the latter comers, after travelling “ hundreds of
miles,” had unluckily mistaken the group of vultures
perched on high trees; and, in lieu of arriving at
the tree under which dinner was waiting for them,
they had got to the tree under which all the dinner
had been eaten up. Pray, what were the hungry
scavengers todo? Were they to proceed, “ hun-
dreds of miles” farther, upon an empty stomach, in
quest of more stoppages? or were they to wait in
patience, with the vultures perched on high dead
limbs of trees, till those stomach-filled birds should
have digested their food, and were ready to start
afresh? The author assures us that “vultures
perched on high dead limbs, in such conspicuous
positions, are easily seen by other vultures, who
through habit know the meaning of such stoppages :”
but then we have only his bare word for this extra-
ordinary circumstance; and, notwithstanding what
he has said, my opinion is, that the coming-up
vultures would just as often have the bad luck to
find themselves arrived at the tree under which the
dinner had been all eaten up, asthe good luck to get
to the tree under which dinner was to be found too
tough to be eaten immediately.

Towards the end of the account, our author tells

THE TURKEY *BUZZARD. 41

us, that “ the power given to them (the vultures) by
nature of discerning the approaching death of a
wounded animal is truly remarkable.” By way of
exemplification, he continues, “a poor emaciated
horse, or ox, the deer mired in the margin of the
lake, where the timid animal had resorted to escape
flies and musquitoes, so fatiguing in summer, isseen in
distress with exultation by the buzzard. He imme-
diately alights, and, if the animal does not extricate
itself, waits, and gorges in peace on as much of
the flesh as the nature of the spot will allow.”

Here the author at once invalidates his assertion
of the remarkable power given by nature to the
vulture, by the insertion of the unfortunate little
remark, if it does not extricate itself. The vulture
alights, ready to feed on the flesh of the deer, if it
does not extricate itself. Now the expression, if it
does not extricate itself, gives us to suppose that it
may extricate itself; and, if it does extricate itself,
then off it goes, and of course escapes from the
vulture. Wherefore, in this instance, nature would
have given false information to the vulture.

In closing his account, our author says, “what I
have said of their killing and devouring young animals
are” (instead of is) “ sufficient proofs” (proof) “ of
this ; but it frequently happens that these birds are
forced to wait until the hide of their prey will give
way to their bills.”

In order to substantiate this, our author produces
an alligator. ‘I have seen,” says he, “a large dead
alligator, surrounded by vultures and carrion crows,
of which nearly the whole of the flesh was so com-

42 THE TURKEY BUZZARD.

pletely decomposed, before these birds could perforate
the tough skin of the monster, that, when at last it
took place,” (what took place ?) “ their disappoint-
ment was apparent, and the matter, in an almost
fluid state, abandoned by the vultures.”

Here we have the singular phenomenon of vul-
tures surrounding their own dinner, without being
able to touch it, for want, I may say, of suitable
carving knives; and at last they are forced to depart
on an empty stomach, bearing marks on their coun-
tenances of apparent disappointment. I ask, what
became of the enormous mass of flesh in the
alligator’s tail? was ¢, too, in an almost fluid state,
similar to that of the contents of the abdomen?
Had, then, the first stage of putrefaction done
nothing towards the softening of the skin, which, in
the tail of this animal, is by no means so thick as in
the dorsal and abdominal regions? Were his
vultures so green in the art of perforation as not
to have learned that, as soon as putrefaction takes
place, the skin of the tail may be easily perforated
at the different joints? If the vultures, only for a
minute, had but bethought themselves of applying
their “very powerful bills” to the skin at these
joints, it would undoubtedly have yielded to their
efforts; and then they could easily have worked
their way forward to the other parts of the alligator.
Had but our little carrion crow been there, he could
soon have taught them how to carve, and shown the
lubberly birds where lay the soft parts. Again, I ask,
were the vultures, whose daily occupation ought to
give them a pretty correct notion of the general

= »— - ge i pe et

THE TURKEY BUZZARD. 43

‘structure of animals, ignorant that there are certain
parts in those animals admirably adapted for con-
traction and expansion? and, of course, that those
parts are invariably softer than the other parts of
the bodies of scaly quadrupeds. Did his birds not
know, or had they forgot on that occasion, that these
parts are to be found, on each side of the alligator,
betwixt the nearly impenetrable scaly armour on the
back, and the equally impenetrable armour of the
under parts? Ina word, I am positive, if his vul-
tures had but been well versed in the nature of the
parts without, they would soon have introduced
themselves to the delicious banquet within, in lieu
of surrounding the carcass from day to day, in hope
deferred ; till at last solids were almost turned into
fluids, and the disappointed boobies found them-
selves under the heart-rending necessity of aban-
doning the alligator without breaking their fast,
and of going in quest of firmer carrion in some
other quarter.

If our author’s statement be correct, viz. that
the skin of a large alligator is too tough to be perfo-
rated by the bills of vultures, until time shall have ren-
dered the carcass of the dead animal too fluid to be
of any use to them in the way of food; then it follows
that no large dead alligator can ever become the
food of vultures. The birds may certainly see it at
a great distance and wing their way to it, and stop
at it; and other vultures, miles behind them, may
even fancy “that they know the meaning of such
stoppages :” still, I am prone to opine that their
labours would be ill requited. In lieu of dropping

4A: THE VULTURE.

down upon a good dinner, disappointment would be
their lot; and they would be regaled with nothing
of a more solid nature than transient puffs of highly
tainted vapour. But here I will stop: I have been
too long on carrion, —

—— “ Neque enim tolerare vaporem
Ulterius potui.”’ Ovid. Met., ii. 301.

THE VULTURE’S NOSE.

Tae American philosophers have signed a solemn
certificate that they feel assured that the two species
of vultures which inhabit the United States “are
guided to their food altogether through their sense
of sight, and not that of smell;” I, on the contrary,
assert that all vultures can find their food through
the medium of their olfactory nerves, though it
be imperceptible to their eye.

I cannot consent to deprive the vultures of their
noses merely on the strength of experiments which,
from circumstances, may prove fallacious, notwith-
standing every possible precaution; and, in the
cases before us, I find myself constrained to dispute
the legitimacy of the deductions at which these
gentlemen calculate they have arrived. The efflu-
vium from the dead hare and the offal which they
had procured, might have been prevented from as-
cending by the covering of brushwood; or it might
have been depressed to the earth by humidity, or

rc ae — tial na i tt —— ea eS ee

THE VULTURE. 45

by a current of wind. Either of these suggestions
may be adopted in the present instance, because
the dogs, which had no tainted footsteps to guide
them, still found that which incured their discovery
of the carrion.

The sad experiment of putting out the poor vul-
ture’s eyes fills me with distressing emotions. The
supposed fact of the tortured captive not smelling
his favourite food, when placed within an inch of his
nostrils, forces us to conclude, either that nature
had not intended: that his beautifully developed
organs of scent should be of the least service to him,
or that the intensity of pain totally incapacitated
the lone prisoner from touching food. Iam of the
latter opinion. Unquestionably the pain caused by
the dreadful operation rendered the miserable suf-
ferer indifferent to all kind of sustenance. I myself
have been unable to eat when in the gripes; and
I once knew an old owl which died of sheer want,
rather than swallow any thing in captivity. What
would the American philosophers think of me, had
I got this owl’s demise well authenticated by the
signatures of divers scientific men, and then de-
spatched it across the Atlantic, in order to prove
that owls do not secure their prey by means of their
feet, because, forsooth, the incarcerated owl in
question never once struck her talons into the food
which had been placed within an inch of them.

Nothing can show more forcibly the utter fallacy
of the American experiments, than the attack of the
vultures on the coarse painting which represented
a “sheep skinned and cut up.” ‘Till I had read the

46 THE VULTURE.

account of it, I had always imagined that the vulture
had a remarkably keen and penetrating eye. I must
now alter my opinion. If the American gentlemen
do not mind what they are about, they will ulti-
mately prove too much (“ quod nimium probat, nihil
probat”), and at last compel us Englishmen to con-
clude that the vultures of the United States can
neither see nor smell. They assure us that these
birds are not guided to their food by their scent, but
by their sight alone; and then, to give us a clear
idea how defective that sight is, they show us that
their vultures cannot distinguish the coarsely painted
carcass of a sheep on canvass from that of a real
sheep. They. “commenced tugging at the paint-
ing,” and “seemed much disappointed and sur-
prised” that they had mistaken canvass for mutton.
Sad blunder! Pitiable, indeed, is the lot of the
American vulture! His nose is declared useless in
procuring food, at the same time that his eyesight
is proved to be lamentably defective. Unless some-
thing be done for him, ‘t is ten to one but that he'll
come to the parish at last, pellis et ossa, a bag of
bones. ’

The American philosophers having fully esta-
blished the fact, that their vultures are prone to
mistake a piece of coarsely painted canvass for the
carcass of a real sheep “skinned and cut up,” I am
now quite prepared to receive accounts from
Charleston of vultures attacking every shoulder-of-
mutton sign in the streets, or attempting to gobble
down the painted sausages over the shop doors, or

THE VULTURE. 47

tugging with might and main at the dim and faded
eyes in some decaying portrait of the immortal
Doctor Franklin.

The absurdity of all this must be evident to every
body.

I, in my turn, hope to prove satisfactorily, by
inference, that which the American philosophers
have failed to demonstrate by EXPERIMENTS. I state
that effluvium from putrid matter, being lighter
than common air, necessarily ascends in the atmo-
sphere, unless artificially impeded (as probably was
the case in the first experiment of the American
philosophers ), or prevented from mounting by super-
incumbent humidity. Now, the organ of scent,
which is strongly developed in the vulture, coming
in contact with this effuvium, when it is allowed to
float in the atmosphere, enables the bird to trace
the carrion down to its source. Hence I infer that
vultures can find their food through the medium of
their olfactory nerves: and, this being the case, I
am of opinion that there ought to be no great mys-
tery attached to the act of the vulture’s finding
putrid bodies, when those bodies are out of sight,
either on account of distance, or of interfering
objects.

When the eee philosophers shall have
proved to me, that efluvium from putrid substances
does not ascend in the air, and that the organisation
of the vulture’s nose is imperfect, then I will con-
sider myself vanquished ; “efficaci do manus sci-
entiz.’ After those gentlemen shall have accom-

48 THE ROOK.

plished this, should their vultures pine in famine,
by continuing to mistake canvass for carcass, why,
rot ‘em, they may die, for aught I care to the
contrary.

REMARKS ON THE NUDITY ON THE FORE-
HEAD AND AT THE BASE OF THE BILL OF
THE ROOK.

° ‘© Que causa indigna serenos
Foedavit vultus, aut cur hec nuda patescunt ? ”

I HAVE more than once nearly made up my mind to
sit me down, some dismal winter’s evening, and put
together a few remarks on the habits of the rook.
His regular flight, in congregated numbers, over my
house, in the morning to the west, and his return at
eve to the east, without the intermission of one single
day, from the autumnal to the vernal equinox, would
be a novel anecdote in the page of his biography.
To this might be added an explanation of the cause
of his sudden descent from a vast altitude in the
heavens, which takes place with such amazing rapid-
ity that it creates a noise similar to that of a rush-
ing wind. His mischief and his usefulness to man-
kind might be narrowly looked into, and placed in
so clear a light, that nobody could afterwards have
a doubt whether this bird ought to be protected as
a friend to a cultivated country, or banished from it
as a depredating enemy.

I remember, some fifteen years ago, when I was
very anxious to divert a footpath which had become

FOREHEAD OF THE ROOK. 49

an intolerable nuisance, the farmers in the district
said that I should freely have their good-will to do
so, provided I would only destroy a large rookery
in a neighbouring wood. On the other hand, the
villagers deplored this proposed destruction, as it
would deprive them of their annual supply of about
two thousand young rooks. Now the gardener
abominated them. He called them a devouring set ;
said that they spoiled all the tops of the trees ; and
that, for his part, he hoped they would all of them
get their necks broken. I myself, for divers reasons,
was extremely averse to sign their death-warrant.
Were I not fearful of being rebuked by grave and
solemn critics, I would here hazard a small quota-
tion : —
«¢ Mulciber in Trojam, pro Troja stabat Apollo;
Equa Venus Teucris, ‘Pallas iniqua fuit.”

However, at present, it is not my intention to
write the life of the rook, or even to inquire inci-
dentally into its vices or its virtues. I merely take
up the pen to-day, to show that the nudity on the
forehead of the rook, and at the base of both man-
dibles, cannot be caused by the bird’s thrusting its
bill into the ground. _

Bewick is the only one in Professor Rennie’s long
and fanciful list of “‘ rudimental naturalists,” * liter-
ary naturalists,” and “philosophic naturalists, and
original observers,” who gives us any thing satis-
factory concerning this nudity. He, sensible na-
turalist, cuts the knot through at one stroke, by
telling us that it is an “ original peculiarity.” Mon-

E

50 FOREHEAD OF THE ROOK.

tagu says, that it is acquired by the bird’s “habit
of thrusting its bill into the ground after worms and
various insects.” From the study of Professor
Rennie, this error is renewed to the public, in the
second edition of the Ornithological Dictionary.
Let us look into this error.

Every observer of birds must know that when the
young rook leaves its nest for good and all, there is
no part of its head deficient in feathers. Before
winter, this young bird loses the feathers on the
forehead, under the bill, and at the base of both
mandibles. The skin where these feathers grew
puts on a white scurfy appearance. Now, if these
feathers have been worn down to the stumps by
means of the bird thrusting its bill into the ground,
these stumps would fall out at the regular moulting
time, and new feathers would soon make their ap-
pearance. If, again, these feathers have been loos-
ened at their roots by the process of thrusting the
bill into the ground (which I consider next to im-
possible), and in consequence of this have fallen
out from their places, new feathers would be observed
in a few weeks ; for when once a feather is eradi-
cated, nature instantly sets to work to repair the loss
by producing another; nor do we know of any process
that can be applied with success, to counteract this
admirable provision of nature. Again, these new
feathers being full of blood at the roots, any appli-
cation tending to grind them down, or to eradicate
them, would be so painful to the rook, that it would
not be able to thrust its bill deep into the ground.

FOREHEAD OF THE ROOK. 51

I request the reader to bear in mind, that these
arguments are brought forward only under the ac-
cepted supposition of naturalists, that the feathers
are removed by the process of the bird thrusting its
bill into the ground. But he who examines the
subject with attention will at once see that the
process itself could not destroy the feathers on the
head of the rook; because, if they were destroyed
by this process, the carrion crow, the jackdaw, the
jay, the magpie, and the starling would all exhibit a
similar nudity on the forehead, and at the base of
the bill; for they all thrust their bills into the
ground proportionably as deep as the rooks do
theirs, when in quest of worms and grubs. More-
over, if the feathers are eradicated by the act of
thrusting the bill into the ground, they would be
succeeded by new ones, during the time in which
that act could not be put in execution ; for example,
during a very dry summer, or during a very hard
winter ; and at these periods, as no action on the
part of the rook would operate to destroy the coming
feathers, an evident change would soon be observed
about the head of the bird. In 1814, the ground
was so very hard frozen, and covered with snow for
some months, that the rooks could not by any
means have an opportunity of thrusting their bills
into it. Still, during this protracted period of frost,
I could not see a solitary instance of renewal of
the feathers on the forehead, or at the base of the
bill, in the many birds which I examined.

I deny that the rook does, in general, thrust his

EZ

52 FOREHEAD OF THE ROOK.

bill deep into the ground. Look at this bird in the -
pasture, through a good glass (this puts me in
mind of the Professor’s suggestion of a thermometer
and a stop-watch), and you will see that he
merely pulls up the tuft of grass with the point of
his bill. When on arable land, he will be observed
to thrust his bill comparatively deeper into the
‘mould, to get at the corn, which having just put up
its narrow greenish white leaf, the searcher is di-
rected by it to the sprouted grain. But he cannot
be at this work above a fortnight: the progress of
vegetation then interferes to stop the petty plun-
derer.

The quao of South America, a bird of the order
of Pie, has a still greater portion of the forehead
bare; and it must have put on this uncouth and
naked appearance in early youth, for, on inspecting
the head, you will see that feathers have once been
there.

I could never, by any chance, find this bird in
the cultivated parts of the country. It inhabits the
thick and gloomy forests, and feeds chiefly upon the
fruits and seeds which grow upon the stately trees
in those never-ending solitudes. In fine, I consider
the accepted notion, that the rook loses the feathers
of its forehead, and those at the base of each man-
dible, together with the bristles, by the act of
thrusting its bill into the ground, as a pretty little
bit of specious theory, fit for the closet ; but which,
in the field, “ shows much amiss.”

For my own part I cannot account for the nudity

FOREHEAD OF THE ROOK. 53

in question. He who is clever enough to assign
the true cause why the feathers and bristles fall off,
will, no doubt, be able to tell us why there is a bare
warty spot on each leg of the horse ; and why some
cows have horns, and some have none. He will
possibly show us how it came to happen that the
woman mentioned by Dr. Charles Leigh, had horns
on her head; which horns she shed, and new ones
came in their place. Perhaps he will account for
the turkey’s putting out a long tuft of hair, amid the
surrounding feathers of the breast. Peradventure
he may demonstrate to us why the bird camichi, of
Guiana, has a long slender horn on its head, and
two spurs in each wing, in lieu of having them on
its legs. By the way, who knows but that some
scientific closet naturalist may account for these
alar spurs of the camichi, through the medium of
that very useful and important discovery, the qui-
nary system. Thus, for example’s sake, suppose
these said spurs were once normal or typical on the
legs ; but, by some rather obscure process having
become aberrant, they made an approach or passage
to the wings ; while the bird itself was progressing
in the circle, or leading round, in order to inosculate
with the posteriors of its antecedent. He who
clearly comprehends the quinary system will readily
understand this.

If I had time just now, I would call in question
the propriety of the assertion that the rook “ is an.
nished with a small pouch at the root of the tongue ;’
and I would finish by showing the reader that the

E 3

54 POUCH OF THE ROOK.

author of the second edition of Montagu was dozing
when he deprived the rook (Corvus) of the good
old sensible epithet frugilegus, and put that of pree-
datorius in its place.

ON THE SUPPOSED POUCH UNDER THE BILL
OF THE ROOK.

‘Nec aliud quicquaam . . . queritur,
Quam corrigatur error ut mortalium,
Acuatque sese diligens industria.” Phedrus.

We read in Rennie’s Montagu’s Ornithological
Dictionary, that “the rook is furnished with a
small pouch at the root of the tongue.” If the
carrion crow were as useful to man, as the rook
is known to be ; if the jay and the magpie had less
to answer for, on the score of petty plunder; and _
if the jackdaw did not expose itself to persecu-
tion, by its prying and suspicious habits, they would
all be allowed by man to range at large without
molestation; and then the naturalist would have
that opportunity of examining their economy, which
at present is denied him.

Amongst many peculiarities in these birds,
scarcely known, or even noticed, he would ob-
serve that at a certain time of the year, and only
then, they all have, at intervals, an appearance of

POUCH OF THE ROOK. 55

a pouch under the bill, quite as well defined as
that which is seen in the rook. The idea would
then occur to him, that ornithologists have either
said too much, in stating that the rook is furnished
with a small pouch at the root of the tongue; or
too little, in not telling us that the carrion crow,
the jay, the magpie, and the jackdaw are supplied
with a similar convenience.

The real matter of fact is this, that naturalists
err when they ascribe a pouch to the rook. Though
at times there is an actual appearance of a pouch
under the bill of the rook, and also under the bills
of the other birds just enumerated, still, upon a
close inspection, it will be seen that there is no
pouch at all in any of them. The young of all
birds, from the size of the thrush to that of the
wren, are satisfied with a single worm at one
feeding, or with two at the most. Thus, in fields
and gardens, we see an old bird catch an insect,
and fly away immediately with it to the nest. But
food of this scanty measure would not be enough
for the larger kind of insectivorous birds. The
progeny would undoubtedly require more at each
feeding ; and, add to this, supposing the bird only
carried one insect> at each turn, too much time
would be lost in passing to and from the nest. To
obviate this, as birds of the pie tribe have no
power, in health, to eject food which has descended
into the stomach (saving the indigestible remnants
of aliment, which are thrown up in the form of

pellets), they collect a considerable quantity of
E 4

56 POUCH OF THE ROOK.

insects into their mouth, and they confine them
there, without letting them go down the throat.

By this process, a rook is enabled to pick up a
sufficient supply of food, some miles from the nest;
and when its mouth will hold no more insects, the
bird takes flight, and carries them to its expecting
brood. The carrion crow, the jay, the magpie,
and the jackdaw do the same thing precisely.
Now, the gathered insects, being prevented from
descending into the stomach, and at the same time
not being able to escape at the bill, must necessa-
rily form a lump under the lower mandible, where
the skin, in all birds, is admirably formed. for
distension. This lump is what has given rise to the
notion among naturalists, that the rook is furnished
with a pouch at the root of the tongue. If this
pouch be allowed in the rook, then it must be
admitted that all birds are furnished with a pouch ;
and it must also be admitted that our tars are
furnished with a pouch betwixt the mouth and the
ear, because, for convenience sake, they stow away
their quid in that quarter.

It may be easily accounted for, why ornithologists
make no mention of a pouch under the tongue of
the jay, the jackdaw, the magpie, and the carrion
crow, while they describe, with such plausibility, a
pouch at the root of the tongue of the rook. The
reason is this,—the rook, in general, is the friend of
man, and, in the breeding season, he becomes so
tame that he may be approached within a few yards.
This gives you a fine opportunity of observing the

POUCH OF THE ROOK. 57

lump under the bill, when the skin in that part is
distended with a supply of food. Indeed, you can
observe it at a considerable distance, either while
the bird is on the ground, or when it is flying across
you, on account of its white appearance, contrasted
with the sable plumage. On the other hand, the
carrion crow, the magpie, the jay, and even the
jackdaw, are all birds of ruined character. Their
misfortunes make them shy; and thus you are pre-
vented from having much intercourse with them.
The gardener and the henwife can never be brought
to look upon them with the least appearance of kind
feeling ; while the gamekeeper, that cholera morbus
to the feathered race, foolishly imagines that he
proves his attention to his master’s interests, by
producing a disgusting exhibition of impaled birds
on the kennel walls. Nay, show me, if you can, a
young squire, idling from college, who does not try
to persuade the keeper that it is his bounden duty
to exterminate all manner of owls, ravens, carrion
crows, hawks, herons, magpies, jays, daws, wood-
peckers, ringdoves, and such like vermin, from his
father’s estate. With this destroying force to con-
tend with, in the shape of keeper, squire, and hen-
wife, it is not to be wondered at, that naturalists
have so few opportunities of watching individuals of
the pie tribe through the entire course of their in-
cubation ; which individuals, if persecution did not
exist, would be seen in the breeding season, perpe-
tually passing to and fro, with their mouths full of
food for their young.

58 POUCH OF THE ROOK.

In my little peaceful valley, where the report of
the keeper's gun is never heard, and where the
birds are safe from the depredations of man, the
ornithologist has free access to pursue his favourite
study. Towards the middle of May, he can see
here the carrion crow, the jay, the magpie, and the
jackdaw, filling their mouths with grubs and worms,
the weight of which forces the pliant skin under
the bill into the shape of a little round ball, just of
the same appearance as that which is observed in
the rook, with this trifling difference, that the lump
is feathered in the first, and bare of feathers in the
last.

While I am writing this, there may be seen here
a wild duck hatching her eggs in a nest upon a
sloping wooded bank; while a carrion crow is hatch-
ing hers in a fir tree ten yards from the spot, and a
windhover hawk is performing the same function in
a fir tree about six yards on the other side of the
duck. Forty yards from where the carrion crow is
hatching, may be seen a barn owl sitting on her
eggs in the hollow of an oak tree; and, at twenty
yards’ distance from the windhover, another white
or barn owl has formed her nest in the decayed
recesses of a tremendous oak. Though all these
families keep the peace, I do not wish it to be un-
derstood that they are upon visiting terms. In
another part, a long-eared owl is rearing her young
in the last year’s nest of a carrion crow. When the
parent bird is asleep, you can see very distinctly
the erect feathers on the head: but the moment she
gets a sight of you, down go the erect feathers, and

POUCH OF THE ROOK. 59

lie close to the head; so that an inexperienced
observer might take the bird to be a tawny owl.
This year, a wild duck has chosen her place of in-
cubation twelve feet from the ground, in an oak
tree, near the water; while, in the immediate vici-
nity, several magpies are hatching in undisturbed
repose.

I am sometimes questioned by country gentlemen
(who have a keen eye for jugged hare and roasted
partridges) on the propriety of befriending, what
they consider, feathered vermin. I tell them that
Professor Rennie has remarked, in the Magazine
of Natural History (vol. v. p. 102.), “that I have
hitherto published nothing, respecting the economy
or faculties of animals, of the least use to natural
history.” This being the case, I am trying to make
up my deficiency in pen and ink, by establishing a
sylvan enclosure, which any ornithologist is allowed
to enter; and where he will have an opportunity of
correcting, by actual observation, some of those
errors which appear in the second edition of Mon-
tagu, by James Rennie, A.M. A.L.S. Moreover,
sometimes, in a jocose kind of a way, I tell them I
like to have all kinds of birds around me; and that
I cannot find in my heart to kill a poor jay for
sucking an egg, when I know

“ That I myself, carnivorous sinner,
Had pullets yesterday for dinner.”

60 OIL GLANDS OF BIRDS.

ON BIRDS USING OIL FROM GLANDS « FOR
THE PURPOSE OF LUBRICATING THE SUR-
FACE OF THEIR PLUMAGE.”

** Nardo perunctus.” Hor. Epod.

Brrps, in general, are much troubled with vermin.
After applying the solution of corrosive sublimate
in alcohol to the fresh skin of a bird, you will see
an amazing quantity of insects coming out from all
parts of the plumage, but especially from the head.

They linger for a few hours on the extremities of
the feathers, and then fall off and die: they are of
all sizes, from the full-grown insect down to the mi-
nutest little creature which has just entered into
life and motion. No part of the body of the bird
is exempt from their annoyance ; and we may judge
how much the birds suffer from it, by their perpe-
tual attempts to free themselves from the tormenting
attacks of the insects.

People are apt to suppose that a bird is preening,
or rectifying, its feathers, when they see it applying
its bill to the plumage, and running it down a fea-
ther, from the root to the extremity: but a man
well versed in the habits of birds knows, when he
sees the bird do this (except after it has got wet),
that it is trying to dislodge the vermin, which cling
with an astonishing pertinacity to the feathers.
Now, while the bird is thus employed on that part
of its body just above the tail, where there is a
gland, some people imagine that the bird is pro-

OIL GLANDS OF BIRDs. 61

curing a liquor from the gland, by means of its beak,
in order to apply it to the feathers. But, at best,
this can be only mere conjecture on the part of the
observer, because the feathers on the rump com-
pletely preclude the possibility of his having a dis-
tinct view of what the bird is doing.

Will any naturalist declare that he has actually
seen a bird procure liquor, or oil, or whatever else
you choose to call it, from the gland with its bill,
and then apply that liquor or oil to the plumage ?
The gland has somewhat the appearance of a nipple
upon its upper extremity ; an oily liquor may be ob-
tained from this nipple by applying our fingers to it ,
but I marvel how it can be procured by the sharp-
edged bill of a bird. When the nature of the gland
and the form of the bill are duly considered, it is
rational to conclude that the application of the hard
bill to the soft gland would be very painful to the
bird. Let us here suppose that the bird has suc-
ceeded in getting some of the liquor into its bill:
how is the liquor to be applied to the feathers? It
cannot be rubbed upon them, because it is within
the bill; and if the bird should apply its bill to the
feathers, they would merely come in contact with
the edges of the bill, while the liquor would have
sunk into the cavity of the lower mandible. Grant-
ing that the liquor were removed to the feathers by
means of the tongue, then the under part of the
feathers would receive more than the upper part.
Here let us keep in mind what a large body of fea-
thers there is to be lubricated, and how small the
supply of liquor for the purpose of lubrication.

62 OIL GLANDS OF BIRDS.

Moreover, the nipple, in general, is crowned with a
circle of feathers; and in all waterfowl which I have
examined in the duck tribe, from the swan down-
wards, the whole of the gland itself is covered with
avery thick downy plumage, which would totally
prevent the bird from procuring any liquid from that
quarter.

I will now show that this oily liquor would injure
the feathers. The feathers of birds, when in a per-
fectly dry state, have a beautiful and downy appear-
ance; in a wet state, the downy appearance is lost,
but returns when all the moisture is gone: if, how-
ever, any greasy substance or oily liquor has come
in contact with them, I do not know what could be
employed to restore the downy appearance to its
pristine beauty. Let any body apply the oil from
the gland in question to a feather, and he will pS
dade a fixed stain.

Suppose, for sake of argument, that the bird does
actually employ oil from the gland to lubricate the
plumage (which, by the by, I flatly deny), how is
the head and part of the neck to be supplied with
oil? Why, the truth is, they never can be supplied;
and if you examine, with the nicest scrutiny, the
feathers of the body which come within the range
of the bill, and the feathers of the head, which are
out of the range of the bill, and then compare them,
you will not observe the smallest difference in their
downy appearance: proof positive that the plumage
of the body has not been lubricated with oil from
the gland.

In the Magazine of Natural History, vol. i. p.119.,

OIL GLANDS OF BIRDS. 63

there is the following account of the lubricating of
feathers : —

“ The glands containing the oil used for the purpose of
lubricating the surface of the plumage were, in the specimen
here represented (speaking of the eagle), [* sea-eagle of
America, or bird of Washington”), extremely large. The
contents had the appearance of hog’s fat which had been
melted and become rancid. This bird makes more copious
use of that substance than the white-headed eagle, or any of
the Falco genus, except the fish-hawk; the whole plumage
looking, upon close examination, as if it had received a gene-
ral coating of a thin clear solution of gum arabic, and present-

ing less of the downy gloss exhibited on the upper part of the

bald-headed eagle’s pluniage.”

Here we have had an abundant flow of oil. If
the surface got so much, the under parts of the
plumage must have got still more; notwithstanding
which, we are told that the glands were extremely
large: they ought to have been empty after such a
discharge. Again, if the whole plumage looked “as
if it had received a general coating of a thin clear
solution of gum arabic,” by what process was that
general coating applied to the head of the eagle, and
to part of the neck, which, we know, cannot possibly
be touched by the bill? If it had not been applied
to the head and part of the neck, then the bird would
have afforded a singular appearance : just as far as
the beak could reach, there would have been a dis-
tinct coat of what the writer of the article took for
oil from the gland; beyond the reach of the beak
(that is, on the head, and down part of the neck)
there would have been no coating at all.

If that which appeared like a general coating of a
thin solution of gum arabic had really been oil from

64 OIL GLANDS OF BIRDS.

the gland, the feathers would have appeared as if
they were in a sweat, the oil would have penetrated
down their shafts, the fingers of the dissector would
have come in contact with grease or oil at every
touch, and the whole plumage would have been
completely spoiled.

Much safer would it have been for the writer to
have had recourse to conjecture, in this affair of a
general coating on the whole plumage of the eagle.
The bird might have received on its plumage a coat
of slime from a fish, struggling and flouncing at its
capture, or in the pangs of death; the eagle, after
bringing his prey ashore, might have rolled upon it,
as we know dogs do upon carrion. In either of these
cases there would have been a coating on the plum-
age, somewhat resembling a solution of gum arabic,
while wet; and, when dry, it would have fallen into
dust at the touch of the hand; and. the feathers
would have recovered their downy appearance. In
fine, oil or grease on the plumage ought never to
have been mixed up in the strange account of the
eagle; which would come but poorly off if handled
by a severe critic.

PRESERVING EGGSHELLS. 65

ON THE PRESERVATION OF EGG-SHELLS
FOR CABINETS OF NATURAL HISTORY.

** Si sumas ovum, molle sit, atque novum.” Schola Salernitana.

I wave been blundering at this work for some
years ; “seeking for something I could not find,” and
always dissatisfied with myself on account of the fail-
ure. The object of my search was, to try to find out
how I could properly dispose of the thin white mem-
brane next the shell of the egg. When left in, it is
apt to corrupt; in which case, the colour of the
shell will sometimes fade, and an offensive smell is
produced, which a lapse of years will not subdue.
Last spring I thought I had succeeded; but it
turned out to be a very partial success. I, first,
by blowing, discharged the contents of five swans’
eggs, and then immersed the shells ina tub of water
fora month. This enabled me to pull out the thin
membrane, by means of a piece of wire bent at the
end. But I found that the colour of the shell had
faded considerably. Moreover, the process required
too much time ; and I saw that there would be great
difficulty in doing small eggs.

About three weeks-ago, a bright thought (a rara
avis with me) struck me, just as I was in the act of
climbing up to a hawk’s nest. I felt certain that
every difficulty had vanished, and I began to blame
myself on the score of former dulness.

In selecting eggs for your cabinet, always choose
those which are newly laid. Make a moderately

sized hole at the sharp end, with a pointed instru-
F

66 PRESERVING EGG-SHELLS.

ment proportioned to the egg. Thus, for a swan’s
egg, use the point of your penknife; for a robin’s,
take a small pin. Having made the hole at the sharp
end, make one at the blunt end; and let this last
hole be as small as possible. This done, apply your
mouth to the blunt end, and blow the contents of the
ege through the sharpend, where the hole is larger. If
the yolk will not come out freely, run a pin or a wire
up into the egg, and stir the yolk well about. Now get
a cupful of water; and, immersing the sharp end of
the shell into it, apply your mouth to the blunt end,
and suck up some of the water into the empty shell.
Then put your finger and thumb upon the two holes,
shake the water well within, and, after this, blow it
out. The water will clear your egg of any remains
of yolk or of white which might stay in after the
blowing. If one sucking up of water will not suf-
fice, make a second or a third.

An egg, immediately after it is produced, is very
clean and pure ; but by staying in the nest, and by
coming in contact with the feet of the bird, it soon
assumes a soiled appearance. To remedy this, wash
it well in soap and water; and use a nail-brush to

et the dirt off. Your egg-shell is now as it ought
to be; and nothing remains to be done but to pre-
vent the thin white membrane (which is still inside)
from corrupting.

Take a wine-glass, and fill it with the solution of
corrosive sublimate in alcohol. Then immerse the
sharp end of the egg-shell into it, keeping your
finger and thumb, as you hold it, just clear of the
solution. Apply your mouth to the iittie hole at the
blunt end, and suck up some of the solution into the

PRESERVING EGG-SHELLS. 67

shell. You need not be fearful of getting the liquor
into your mouth ; for, as soon as it rises in the shell,
the cold will strike your finger and: thumb, and then
you cease sucking. Shake the shell just as you did
when the water was in it, and then blow the solu-
tion back into the glass. Your egg-shell is now
beyond the reach of corruption; the membrane
retains for ever its pristine whiteness ; ancno insect,
for the time to come, will ever venture to prey upon
it. Ifyou wish your egg to appear extremely bril-
liant, give it a coat of mastic varnish, put on very
sparingly with a camel-hair pencil. Green or blue
eggs must be done with gum arabic, because the
mastic varnish is apt to injure the colour.

This is all. How dull I have been, not to have
found out this simple process long ago! I have
used the solution to preserve skins, furs, and fea-
thers from putrefaction and the moth, for nearly
twenty years; still the idea never struck me, till
three weeks ago, that it could be so serviceable in
preventing all tendency to putrefaction in the mem-
brane of the shell, which had given me so much
trouble, and caused so many useless experiments.
I trust that the kind-hearted naturalist will not turn
this little process of preparing eggs into affliction to
poor birds. One egg out of each nest (with a few
exceptions) will not be missed by the owner; but
to take them all away would be hard indeed. Such
an act would make the parent bird as sad and
sorrowful as Niobe. You know Niobe’s story: Apollo
slew her every child.

My friend, George Walker of Killingbeck Lodge,

F2

68 MODE OF BLOWING EGGS. -

thinks that copal varnish is better than mastic
varnish for eggs.

I have made an improvement in blowing larger
kinds of eggs. I find that one hole is sufficient. When
that hole is made, introduce a straight wire, with a
little piece of dry cotton or thread tied round the
end introduced. Then, holding the egg with the
hole downwards, you use the wire, which acts as a
piston, and forces a sufficient quantity of the con-
tents of the egg out, to enable you to get out the
rest by sudden jerks. This is a much longer process
than blowing ; but you have the advantage of having
only one hole in your egg, instead of two.

MODE OF BLOWING EGGS.

WueEn I was at Bridlington last year, in order to
acquire some certain knowledge of the water-fowl
and their incubation, | made a discovery in the
blowing of eggs which I think will please you, and
which can be applied with great facility to eggs not
smaller than those of the thrush. I made one small
hole in the side of the egg, and then sucked out
a little of the contents to create a vacuum, or dis-
charged that little by means of a small stick ; then,
taking the egg in my hand, I plunged my hand
in the water to the wrist, and, by shaking the egg
while it was immersed in the water, I very soon
emptied it of its yolk and white. I have shown
this process to many people, and they approve of it
highly.

THE GREEN HKUMMING-BIRD. 69

THE GREEN HUMMING-BIRD.
* Rursus in arma feror.”’ Virg. Zineid.

Proressor Rennie says, in his “ Plan of Study,”
that “in tropical climates where the heat is great,
such domed nests are very common; and are pro-
bably intended to protect the mother bird, while
hatching, from the intense heat of a perpendicular
sun.’ How well this theory suits the study! how
ill it accords with facts in the field of nature ! Should
the Professor ever go to Guiana, he will see, in the
vast wet savannas of that far-extending region, that
the little green humming-bird, not much larger than
an humble bee, always makes its nest upon the dried
twig of a small, straggling, ill-thriving bush. There
is not one solitary leaf near the dried twig, to screen
the bird from the rising, the noonday, or the setting
sun. Nevertheless, this little delicate creature sits
on its hemispherical nest, exposed to the downward
rays of the fiery luminary, without the least appa-
rent inconvenience. If, then, the tender little green
humming-bird can sit all day long exposed to such
an intense heat, surely the larger birds, such as the
bunya or cassique, surpassing our magpie in size,
cannot be supposed to make a dome to their nests,
in order to protect their tough and hardy bodies
from the rays of a tropical sun. I think this fact of
the incubation of the green humming-bird tends to
place the Professor’s theory of domed nests amongst
his ‘little errors.”

F 3

70 THE VAMPIRE.

THE VAMPIRE."

** Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris hirudo.” Hor.

This leech will suck the vein, until
From your heart’s blood he gets his fill.

TuHE vampire of India and that of South America I
consider distinct species. I have never yet seen a bat
from India with a membrane rising perpendicularly
from the end of its nose ; nor have I ever been able to
learn that bats in India suck animals, though I have
questioned many people on this subject. I could
only find two species of bats in Guiana with a mem-
brane rising from the nose. Both these kinds suck
animals and eat fruit; while those bats without a
membrane on the nose seem to live entirely upon
fruit and insects, but chiefly insects. A gentleman,
by name Walcott, from Barbadoes, lived high up the
River Demerara. While I was passing a day or two
at his house, the vampires sucked his son (a boy of
about ten or eleven years old), some of his fowls, and
his jackass. The youth showed me his forehead at
daybreak: the wound was still bleeding apace, and
I examined it with minute attention. The poor ass
was doomed to be a prey to these sanguinary imps
of night ; he looked like misery steeped in vinegar.
I saw, by the numerous sores on his body, and by
his apparent debility, that he would soon sink under
his afflictions. Mr. Walcott told me that it was with
the greatest difficulty he could keep a few fowls,

THE VAMPIRE. 71

on account of the smaller vampire; and that the
larger kind were killing his poor ass by inches. It
was the only quadruped he had brought up with him
into the forest.

Although I was so long in Dutch Guiana, and
visited the Orinoco and Cayenne, and ranged through
part of the interior of Portuguese Guiana, still I
could never find out how the vampires actually draw
the blood ; and, at this day, I am as ignorant of the ,
real process as though I had never been in the vam-
pire’s country. I should not feel so mortified at my
total failure in attempting the discovery, had I not
made such diligent search after the vampire, and
examined its haunts. Europeans may consider as
fabulous the stories related of the vampire; but, for
my own part, I must believe in its powers of sucking
blood from living animals, as I have repeatedly seen
both men and beasts which had been sucked, and,
moreover, I have examined very minutely their
bleeding wounds.

Wishful of having it in my power to say that I had
been sucked by the vampire, and not caring for the
loss of ten or twelve ounces of blood, I frequently
and designedly put myself in the way of trial. But
the vampire seemed: to take a personal dislike to
me; and the provoking brute would refuse to give
my claret one solitary trial, though he would tap the
more favoured Indian’s toe, in a hammock within a
few yards of mine. For the space of eleven months,
I slept alone in the loft of a woodcutter’s abandoned
house in the forest; and though the vampire came
in and out every night, and I had the finest oppor-

F 4

72 PRESERVING INSECTS.

tunity of seeing him, as the moon shone through
apertures where windows had once been, I never
could be certain that I saw him make a positive
attempt to quench his thirst from my veins, though
he often hovered over the hammock.

ON PRESERVING INSECTS SELECTED FOR’
CABINETS.

I onty know of two methods to guard prepared
insects from the depredations of living ones. The
first is, by poisoning the atmosphere; the second is,
by poisoning the preserved specimens themselves,
so effectually, that they are no longer food for the
depredator. But there are some objections to both
these modes. A poisoned atmosphere will evaporate
in time, if not attended to, or if neglected to be
renewed ; and there is great difficulty in poisoning
some specimens, on account of their delicacy and.
minuteness. If you keep spirits of turpentine in the
boxes which contain your preserved specimens, I am
of opinion that those specimens will be safe as long
as the odour of turpentine remains in the box; for
it is said to be the most pernicious of all scents to
insects. But it requires attention to keep up an
atmosphere of spirit of turpentine. If it be allowed
to evaporate entirely, then there is a clear and un-
disputed path open to the inroads of the enemy: he
will take advantage of your absence or neglect ; and,
when you return to view your treasure you will find

\

PRESERVING INSECTS., 73

it in ruins. Spirits of turpentine, poured into a
common glass inkstand in which there is a piece of
sponge, and placed in a corner of your box, will
create a poisoned atmosphere, and kill every insect
there. The poisoning of your specimens by means
of corrosive sublimate in alcohol is a most effectual
method. As soon as the operation is properly per-
formed, the depredating insect perceives that the.
prepared specimen is no longer food for it, and will
for ever cease to attack it. But, then, every part
must have received the poison; otherwise those parts
where the poison has not reached will still be ex-
posed to the enemy; and he will pass unhurt over
the poisoned parts, till he arrive at that part of your
specimen which is still wholesome food for him.
Now, the difficulty lies in applying the solution to
very minute specimens, without injuring their ap-
pearance ; and all that can be said is, to recommend
unwearied exertion, which is sure to be attended
with great skill; and great skill will insure surprising
success. I myself have attended to the preservation
of insects with the assiduity which Horace recom-

. .
Ta ads to poets: — “ Nocturna versate manu, versate

diurna.” The result has been astonishing success,
and a perfect conviction that there is no absolute
and lasting safety for prepared specimens, in zoology,
from the depredations of insects, except by poisoning
every part of them with a solution of corrosive sub-
limate in alcohol. I puta good large teaspoonful of
well pounded corrosive sublimate into a wine bottle
full of alcohol. I let it stand over night, and the
next morning draw it off into a clean bottle. When

74 PRESERVING INSECTS.

I apply it to black substances, and perceive that it
leaves little white particles on them, I then make it
weaker by adding alcohol. A black feather, dipped
into the solution, and then dried, will be a very good
test of the state of the solution. If it be too strong,
it will leave a whiteness upon the feather.

A preparation of arsenic is frequently used; but
it is very dangerous, and sometimes attended with
lamentable consequences. I knew a naturalist, by
name Howe, in Cayenne, in French Guiana, who
had lost sixteen of his teeth. He kept them in a
box, and showed them to me. On opening the lid
— “These fine teeth,” said he, “ once belonged to
my jaws: they all dropped out by my making use
of the savon arsenetique for preserving the skins of
animals.” I take this opportunity of remarking that
it is my firm conviction, that the arsenetical soap can
never be used with any success, if you wish to re-
store the true form and figure to a skin.

I fear that your correspondent may make use of
tight boxes and aromatic atmospheres, and still, in
the end, not be completely successful in preserving
his specimens from the depredation of insects. The
tight box and aromatic atmosphere will certainly do
a great deal for him; but they are liable to fail, for
this obvious reason, viz. that they do not render, for
ever, absolutely baneful and abhorrent to the depre-
dator, that which in itself is nutritious and grateful
tohim. In an evil hour, through neglect in keeping
up a poisoned atmosphere, the specimens collected
by your correspondent’s industry, and prepared by
his art, and which ought to live, as it were, for the

PRESERVING INSECTS. 75

admiration of future ages, may fall a prey to an in-
truding and almost invisible enemy ; so that, unless
he apply the solution of corrosive sublimate in alco-
hol, he is never perfectly safe from a surprise. I
have tried a decoction of aloes, wormwood, and wal-
nut leaves, thinking they would be of service, on
account of their bitterness: the trial completely
failed. Wherefore, in. conclusion, I venture to re-
commend the preserver of insects not to put much
trust in simples.

« Contra vim mortis, non est medicamen in hortis.”

Against the deadly moth, can I,
From herbs, no remedy supply.

It having been stated that the solution I have
recommended above, “cannot be applied to the
outside of most insects (especially Libellulz), with-
out, in course of time, injuring their colours,” I
request attention to the few following observ-
ations: — There are two grand distinctions to be
made in the colours of insects. Those colours
which originate from without, as in the moths and
butterflies, remain unimpaired in pristine splendour
after death, until they are destroyed by force or by
accident. On the other hand, those colours which
have their source from within, and proceed from
moist substances, gradually fade after the death of
the insect ; and, in some cases, even totally disap-
pear, when the substances from which they drew
their origin have become dry and hard. By long
experience, I know that the colours of insects which
are produced internally, as in the red dragon fly of

76 PRESERVING INSECTS.

Guiana, cannot be made permanent, by any process,
after the death of the insect; but those colours can
be renewed with great and durable effect. Suppose
your correspondent were to take an English dragon
fly (which, I must inform him, I have never dis-
sected), and sever the head from the thorax, the
thorax from the abdomen, and then subdivide the
abdomen at every third ring: this would enable him
to clear away all the moist internal parts, from
whence the colours draw their source. A nearly
transparent shell would remain; and he would only
have to introduce into it colours similar to those
which the insect exhibited in life, after having
washed it well with the solution. The joining again
of the dissected parts would complete the process.
All this appears difficult: still it may be effected.
I have read somewhere of a Frenchman who could
harness a flea: I, myself, have dissected the Cay-
enne grasshopper, and renewed its colours with great
success. In 1808, after dissecting the bill of the
toucan, I completely succeeded in renewing the
blue, which had been removed by the knife ; and, I
believe, the specimen which I produced was the
first ever exhibited in its renewed colours since the
discovery of America. In the Wanderings, is a full
account of this.

With regard to using the spirit of turpentine in
preserving insects, I can only say, that I have long
and successfully made use of the spirit of turpen-
tine. In 1808, having tried many useless experi-
ments to expel living insects from dead ones, and
from other preparations in natural history, on open-

PRESERVING INSECTS. 77

ing one day an old magazine (I forget now of what
denomination) in a planter’s house in Essequibo, I
read the following remark : — “ Spirit of turpentine
is known to be the most fatal poison to insects.”
Taking it for granted that the spirit was fatal
through an atmosphere, as I was sure no insect
would drink it voluntarily, and I did not see how it
could be forced down their throats, I put some spirit
of turpentine into a trunk of preserved skins of
birds, and into which the moth had found its way.
The next morning, I saw that the spirit of turpen-
tine had killed all the moths. In the course of
time, the use of the corrosive sublimate in alcohol
succeeded to this, and rendered the spirit of turpen-
tine wholly unnecessary, wherever the sublimate
could be applied to every part of the preserved spe-
cimen. But as on some occasions I only washed
the inside of the skins, and, in this case, the feathers
themselves, not having received the poison, were
still liable to injury from insects, especially in tropi-
cal climates, I always took the precaution to have
spirit of turpentine in the box. In order to make
myself clearly understood, I will describe exactly
what I did. I bought common hair trunks which
are sent out with goods from Europe to South
America; I strewed the bottom of the trunks with
cotton, upon which I placed the preserved bird-
skins, and the different insects which I had collected.
Both birds and insects were placed promiscuously
in the same trunk. I then saturated a piece of
sponge with spirit of turpentine, and hung it up in
a corner of the trunk: I renewed this spirit from

78 PRESERVING INSECTS.

time to time. From that period to this, no living
insect has been detected in the trunks. The plum-
age of the birds is as vivid as it was at the time I
shot them; and the moths and butterflies as splendid
as when in life ; but most of the other insects, ex-
cept some of the beetles, have faded. Thus I am
enabled to say, by actual experiment, that the at-
mosphere of spirit of turpentine will allow neither
acarus nor any insect to live in it; and, moreover,
that it does not injure the colour of preserved birds,
and furs, and insects, provided they do not come ‘in
contact with the spirit of turpentine.

I have used corrosive sublimate in paste for years;
I have applied the solution to my hat, and to the long
Indian arrows (which are very subject to be eaten by
the worm), with complete success; and here, in
Europe, with equal success, I have applied it to la-
dies’ ostrich feathers, to camel-hair brushes, and to
the lining of my carriage. The solution has been the
remote cause of my discovering an entirely new me-
thod of preserving specimens in natural history ; and
which method at once shows upon what erroneous
principles the old method has been, and is still
conducted. To conclude, the solution has proved
my best support; without it, I could have done
nothing.

«¢‘ Hoc solamen erat, sylvis hoc victor abibam.”

THE STARLING. 79

THE STARLING.

«TI can’r get out, —I can’t get out, said the star-
ling.” I know not any thing, except Gay’s “ Hare
and many Friends,” that made so much impression
on me, when a boy, as Sterne’s description of the
captive starling in its cage. His attempt to re-
lieve the prisoner bird, — its pressing its breast
against the wires, — its telling every body who
came down the passage that it could not get out, —
its remaining in hopeless captivity, — all tended to
make this pretty bird particularly interesting to me,
and, in days long past, I have spent many an hour
in listening to its morning warblings, and in admir-
ing its aerial evolutions towards the close of day.

I wish I could do it a friendly turn, for the plea-
sure it has so often afforded me; but, in taking up
the pen to clear its character, my heart misgives
me, on account of the strong public prejudice
against it.

There is not a bird in all Great Britain more
harmless than the starling: still it has to suffer per-
secution, and is too often doomed to see its num-
bers thinned by the hand of wantonness or error.
The farmer complains that it sucks his pigeons’ eggs ;
and, when the gunner and his assembled party wish
to try their new percussion locks, the keeper is or-
dered to close the holes of entrance into the dovecot
overnight; and the next morning three or four
dozen of starlings are captured to be shot: while

80 THE STARLING.

the keeper, that slave of Nimrod, receives thanks,
and often a boon, from the surrounding sportsmen,
for having freed the dovecot from such a pest.
Alas! these poor starlings had merely resorted to
it for shelter and protection, and were in no way
responsible for the fragments of egg-shells which
were strewed upon the floor. These fragments were
the work of deep-designing knaves, and not of the
harmless starling.

The rat and the weasel were the real destroyers ;
but they had done the deed of mischief in the dark,
unseen and unsuspected; while the stranger star-
lings were taken, condemned, and executed, for hav-
ing been found in a place built for other tenants of
a more profitable description.

After the closest examination of the form and
economy of the starling, you will be at a loss to pro-
duce any proof of its being an egg-sucker. If it
really sucks the eggs of pigeons, it would equally
suck the eggs of other birds; and, those eggs not
being concealed in the dark recesses of the pigeon-
cot, but exposed in open nests on the ground, and
often in the leafless bushes of the edge, this fact
would afford to the inquisitive naturalist imnume-
rable opportunities of detecting the bird in its de-
predations. Now, who has ever seen the starling
in the absolute act of plundering a nest? It builds
its nest here, in company with the ringdove, the
robin, the greenfinch, the wagtail, the jackdaw, the
chaffinch, and the owl, but it never touches their
eggs. Indeed, if it were in the habit of annoying
its immediate neighbours, upon so tender a point as

THE STARLING. 81

that of sucking their eggs, there would soon be hue
and cry against it; nor would the uproar cease until
the victor had driven away the vanquished. So
certain am I that the starling never sucks the eggs
of other birds, that, when I see him approach the
dovecot, I often say to him, “ Go in, poor bird, and
take thy rest in peace. Not a servant of mine shall
surprise thee, or hurt a feather of thy head. Thou
dost not come for eggs, but for protection ; and this
most freely I will give to thee. I will be thy friend
in spite of all the world has said against thee; and
here, at least, thou shalt find a place of safety for
thyself and little ones. Thy innocence and useful-
ness demand this at my hands.”

The starling is gregarious ; and I am satisfied in
my own mind that the congregated masses of this
‘ bird are only dissolved at the vernal equinox, be-
cause they have not sufficient opportunities afforded
them of places wherein to build their nests. If those
opportunities were offered them, we should see them
breeding here in multitudes as numerous as the rook.
They require a place for their nest, well protected
from the external air. The inside of the roof of
a house, a deep hole in a tower, or in the decayed
trunk or branch of-a tree, are places admirably
adapted for the incubation of the starling; and he
will always resort to them, provided he be unmo-
lested. The same may be said of the jackdaw.

Attentive observation led me to believe that the
great bulk of starlings left our neighbourhood in the
spring, solely for want of proper accommodation for
their nests. For many years, two pairs of starlings

G

82 THE STARLING.

only remained on my island. One of them regularly
built its nest in the roof of the house, having found
entrance through a neglected aperture; the other
reared its young, high up, in the deep hole of an
aged sycamore tree. Two or three pairs frequented
the dovecot; but I observed that they built their
nests in the crannies, and not in the holes made for
the pigeons. These poor birds, together with the
owl, had to suffer persecution from wanton ignorant
servants, until I proclaimed perpetual peace in their
favour, and ordered, I may say, the Temple cf Janus
to be shut, never more to be opened during my
time.

Having been successful in establishing the owl
in the old ivy tower over the gateway, I conjec-
tured, from what I had observed of the habits of
the starling, that I could be equally successful in
persuading a greater number of these pretty lively
birds to pass the summer with me. I made twenty-
four holes in the old ruin; and in the spring of
this year I had twenty-four starlings’ nests. There
seemed to be a good deal of squabbling about the
possession of the holes; till, at last, might over-
came right. The congregated numbers suddenly
disappeared, no doubt with the intention of finding
breeding quarters elsewhere; and the remaining
four and twenty pairs hatched and reared their
young ; causing, I fear, the barn owls, their next-
door neighbours in the tower, many a sleepless day,
by their unwelcome and incessant chatterings.

On the one hand, when we consider how careful
the starling is in selecting a place for its incubation,

THE STARLING. 83

sheltered from the storm; and, on the other, when
we look around us, and see how many old houses
have been pulled down, where these birds found a
refuge ; and when we reflect how modern luxury,
and the still more baneful turf, have forced many a
country squire to fell his aged oaks, his ash trees,
and his sycamores, which afforded the starling a
retreat; it will not require the eyes of Argus to
enable naturalists to discern the true cause why
such numbers of assembled starlings take their leave
of us in early spring,

This year, seven pairs of jackdaws, twenty-four
pairs of starlings, four pairs of ringdoves, the barn
owl, the blackbird, the robin, the redstart, the house
sparrow, and chaffinch, have had their nests in
the old ivy tower. The barn owl has had two
broods ; and, while I am writing this, there are half-
fledged young ones in the nest. As far as I can
learn, there has been no plunderings of the eggs of
this community, on the part of the starlings.

Now that autumn has set in, the movements of
this delightful assemblage of birds already warn us
to prepare for winter’s chilling blasts. The redstart
is gone to Africa: the chaffinch has retired to the
hawthorn hedges: the ringdoves, having lost half
of their notes by the first week in October, became
mute about ten days ago; and have left the ivy
tower, to join their congregated associates, which
now chiefly feed in the turnip fields ; and will re-
turn no more to the ivy tower until the middle of
February. The jackdaws are here, morning and
evening, and often at noon; and at nightfall they

G2

84 THE STARLING.

never fail to join the passing flocks of rooks in their
evening flight to their eastern roosting-place at Nos-
tell Priory, and return with them after daybreak.
The starlings retire to a dense plantation of spruce
fir and beech trees, and in the morning come to the
ivy tower to warble their wild notes, even when the
frosts set in. These birds are now in their winter
garb, which they assumed at the autumnal equinox,
much duller,and ofa more greyish white appearance,
than that which they had in the summer. I cannot
find that naturalists have noticed this change.

The starling seems to be well aware of the peace-
ful and inoffensive manners of the windhover. This
hawk rears its young in a crow’s old nest, within
two hundred yards of the ivy tower. Still, the
starlings betray no fears when the windhover passes
to and fro; but they become terribly agitated on
the approach of the sparrowhawk. I often see this
bold destroyer glide in lowly flight across the lake,
and strike a starling and carry it off, amid the shrieks
and uproar of the inhabitants of the tower and sy-
camore trees. |

The starling shall always have a friend in me. I
admire it for its fine shape and lovely plumage; I
protect it for its wild and varied song; and I defend
it for its innocence.

PRESERVING COLOUR OF LEGS, ETC. 85

PRESERVING THE COLOUR OF THE LEGS
AND BILLS OF STUFFED BIRDS.

I consIDER it impossible to preserve the colours
unimpaired in the legs of stuffed birds. I have
seen the lake-coloured leg of the beautiful yawar-
raciri of Guiana lose every particle of the red;
and I have found that no external application can
preserve the fine colours in the legs of the scarlet
curlew, the trumpeter, the water-hen of Guiana,
and many other birds too numerous to mention.

Under the outward scale of the leg, in the living
bird, are substances from which the leg derives its
colour. They fade in time after the death of the
bird, and then the whole complexion of the leg is
changed. Perhaps you might partially succeed in
renewing the faded colours of the leg, by means of
paint mixed up with water: at best it is a bad busi-
ness. The legs of birds stuffed on the old system
are so shrunk and hideous to the eye, that, in my
opinion, their colour is a mere secondary considera-
tion. In the bills of birds, the colours are either
produced from internal substances, as in the base
of the lower mandible of the toucan; or inherent
in the horn or bone itself, as in the cassique. In
either case, dissection is absolutely necessary, if
you wish to have the beauty of the bill retained or
renewed,

86 THE CARRION CROW.

THE HABITS OF THE CARRION CROW.

* Inter aves albas, vetuit consistere corvum.’’ Ovid. Met.

The crow was order’d not to hold a place
*Mid whiter favourites of the feather’d race.

Tuts warrior bird is always held up to public exe-
cration. The very word carrion, attached to his
name, carries something disgusting with it; and
no one ever shows him any kindness. Though he
certainly has his vices, still he has his virtues too ;
and it would be a pity if the general odium in which
he is held should be the means, one day or other,
of blotting out his name from the page of our British
ornithology. With great propriety he might be
styled the lesser raven in our catalogue of native
birds ; for, to all appearance, he is a raven; and I
should wish to see his name changed, were I not
devoutly attached to the nomenclature established
by the wisdom of our ancestors,

The carrion crow is a very early riser; and, long
before the rook is on the wing, your hear this bird
announcing the approach of morn, with his loud
hollow croaking, from the oak to which he had re-
sorted the night before. He retires to rest later
than the rook : indeed, as far as I have been able to
observe his motions, I consider him the first bird on
wing in the morning, and the last at night, of all
our non-migrating diurnal British birds.

When the genial voice of spring calls upon him
to prepare for the continuation of his species, the
carrion crow, which, up to this period, has been

THE CARRION CROW. 87

wary, shy, and cautious, now, all of a sudden, seems
to lose these qualities; and, regardless of personal
danger, sometimes makes his nest within a hundred
yards of the habitation of man, upona tree, at once
the most conspicuous and exposed. To us, who
know so little of the economy of birds, this seems a
strange phenomenon; nor can any penetration of
which we may be possessed enable us to comprehend
the true meaning of this change from timidity to
boldness, from distance to proximity, from wariness
to heedlessness, in so many different species of birds.
One would suppose that they would be more shy
and distant at this interesting period; and, in imi-
tation of the cat, the rabbit, and the fox, conceal as
much as possible the place of their retirement. The
rook will sometimes build a poor and slovenly nest,
but this is never the case with the carrion crow;
this bird invariably makes its nest firm and compact.
A writer, who signs himself A. B. C., in the Maga-
zine of Natural History (vol. i. p. 590.), tells us
thet “some of the nests have such deep beds of
wool, moss, and cows’ hair, that the eggs seemed
quite lost; and might have given the professor
his erroneous idea of their being covered with
those substances to keep them warm.” O, fie!
How is it possible that the eggs should seem quite
lost, when the lining on which they lie is so per-
fectly smooth that they appear as though they were
inabasin. Nota single particle of the lining of the
nest is ever seen betwixt the eggs and the eye of
him who has ascended the tree to take a view of
then. I challenge any naturalist to bring proof
G 4

88 THE CARRION CROW.

positive which can invalidate this assertion. Verily
when the Professor climbs up to crows’ nests this en-
suing spring, he will agree with Ovid, that ‘* Causa
patrocinio, non bona, pejor erit.”

The carrion crow never covers its eggs on leaving
the nest; they are generally from three to five, and
sometimes even six, in number; wonderfully irregular
in size and shape and colour. This irregularity is so
very apparent, that on examining the nests of some
carrion crows with eggs in them, you might fancy
to yourself that the rook had been there, to add
one of hers to those already laid by the original
owner,

This bird never builds its nest in hedges, but will
construct it in any of our forest trees; and, with
me, it seems to give the preference, in general, to
the oak, the spruce fir, and the Scotch pine. The
young are hatched naked and blind, and remain
blind for some days.

Our phepetors, no doubt, bestowed the epithet
“ carrion” upon this bird, in order to make a cl¢ar
and decided distinction between it (whose flesh, tley
probably supposed, was rank and bad) and the raok,
the flesh of which was well known to be good and
wholesome food. Perhaps, too, in those days of
plenty, and of less trade, the carrion crow had more
opportunities of tasting flesh than it has in these qur
enviable times of divers kinds of improvement.
Were a carrion crow of the present day to depmd
upon the finding of a dead cow or horse for its dimter,
would soon become an adept in the art of fasting by
actual experiment; for, no sooner is one of tlese
animals, in our neighbourhood, struck by the hind

|

THE CARRION CROW. 89

of death, than its hide is sent to the tan-pit, and its re-
mains are either made into soup for the hunt, or care-
fully buried in the dunghill, to increase the farmer’s
tillage. The poor crow, in the mean time, despised
and persecuted for having an inclination to feed upon
that of which, by the by, the occupier of the soil
takes good care that he shall scarcely have a transient
view, is obliged to look out for other kinds of food.
Hence you see it regularly examining the meadows,
the pastures, and the corn fields, with an assiduity
nor even surpassed by that of the rook itself.

We labour under a mistake in supposing that the
flesh of the young carrion crow is rank and unpa-
latable. It is fully as goodas that of the rook; and
I believe that nobody who is accustomed to eat
rook-pie will deny that rook-pie is nearly, if not
quite, as good as pigeon-pie. Having fully satisfied
myself of the delicacy of the flesh of young carrion
crows, I once caused a pie of these birds to be served
up to two convalescent friends. whose stomach would
have yearned spasmodically had they known the
nature of the dish. I had the satisfaction of seeing
them make a hearty meal upon what they considered
pigeon-pie.

The carrion crow- will feed voraciously on ripe
cherries ; and, in the autumn, he will be seen in the
walnut trees, carrying off, from time to time, a few
of the nuts. With the exception of these two petty
acts of depredation, he does very little injury to man
during nine or ten months of the year; and if, in
this period, he is to be called over the coals for
occasionally throttling an unprotected leveret or a
stray partridge, he may fairly meet the accusation

90 THE CARRION CROW.

by aset-off against it in his account of millions of
noxious insects destroyed by him. However, in the
spring of the year, when he has a nest full of young
to provide for, and when those young begin to give
him broad hints that their stomachs would like some-
thing of a more solid and substantial nature than
mere worms and caterpillars, his attention to game
and poultry is enough to alarm the stoutest-hearted
squire and henwife. These personages have long
sworn an eternal enmity to him; and he now, in his
turn, visits, to their sorrow, the rising hopes of the
manor with ominous aspect; and he assaults the
broods of the duck-pond, in revenge, as it were, for
the many attempts which both squire and henwife
have made to rob and strangle him.

In 1815, I fully satisfied myself of his inordinate
partiality for young aquatic poultry. The cook had
in her custody a brood of ten ducklings, which had
been hatched about a fortnight. Unobserved by any
body, I put the old duck and her young ones in a
pond, nearly three hundred yards from a high fir
tree in which a carrion crow had built its nest: it
contained five young ones almost fledged. I took
my station on the bridge, about one hundred yards
from the tree. Nine times the parent crows flew to
the pond, and brought back a duckling each time to
their young. I saved a tenth victim by timely in-
terference. When a young brood is attacked by an
enemy, the old duck does nothing to defend it. In
lieu of putting herself betwixt it and danger, as the
dunghill fowl would do, she opens her mouth, and
shoots obliquely through the water, beating it with

THE CARRION CROW. 91

her wings. During these useless movements, the
invader secures his prey with impunity.

I would recommend all henwives, in early spring,
to place their ducks’ eggs under a hen. At that
time of the year there are no weeds on ponds suffi-
ciently high to afford shelter to the young, when they
are led on to the water by their real mother. If the
first sitting of eggs be taken from a duck, she will
generally lay a second time; and that will be at a
period when the water abounds with weeds, amongst
which the young brood can skulk, and screen itself
from the watchful eye of an enemy.

From what I have written, the reader may be able
to form a pretty correct idea of the habits of the
carrion crow ; and he will perceive that, for nearly
ten months of the year, this bird, far from being
considered an enemy, ought to be prone the
friend of man.

Let us now examine if the attacks of this bird on
domestic poultry cannot be easily counteracted ;
and whether its assiduous attention to the nests of
pheasants and of partridges is of so alarming and so
important a nature as tocall for itsutter extermination
from the land. For my own part, I acknowledge
that I should lament his final absence from our
meadows and our woods. His loud and varied notes
at early dawn, and again at latest eve, are extremely
grateful to me; and many an hour of delight do I
experience, when, having mounted up to the top of
a favourite aged oak which grows on the border of
a swamp, I see him chasing the heron and the wind-
hover through the liquid void, till they are lost in

92 THE CARRION CROW.

the distance. Then, again, how eager is his pursuit !
—how loud his croaking !—how inveterate his hos-
tility! when he has espied a fox stealing away
from the hounds, under the covert of some friendly
hedge. His compact and well-built figure, too, and
the fine jet black of his plumage, are, in my eye,
beautifully ornamental to the surrounding sylvan
scenery.

A very small share of precaution, on the part of
the henwife, would effectually preserve her chickens
and her ducklings from the dreaded grasp of the
carrion crow. Let her but attend to the suggestion
of setting her early ducks’ eggs under a hen, and let
her keep that hen from rambling, and she will find
her best hopes realised. As for the game, I verily
believe that, in most cases, the main cause of the
destruction of its eggs may be brought home to
the gamekeeper himself. This unrelenting butcher
of our finest and rarest British birds goes, forsooth,
and makes a boast to his master that he has a
matter of five hen pheasants hatching in such a
wood, and as many partridges in the adjacent
meadows, This man probably never reflects that,
in his rambles to find the nests of these birds, he
has made a track, which will often be followed up
by the cat, the fox, and the weasel, to the direful
cost of the sitting birds; and, moreover, that by his
own obtrusive and unexpected presence in a place
which ought to be free from every kind of inspection,
whether of man or beast, he has driven the bird
precipitately from her nest, by which means the eggs

THE CARRION CROW. 95 ©

are left uncovered. Now, the carrion crow, sweeping
up and down in quest of food, takes advantage of
this forced absence of the bird from her uncovered
eggs, and pounces down upon them. He carries
them off, not in his bill, but on the point of it, having
thrust his upper mandible through the shell. Had
there been no officious prying on the part of the
keeper, it is very probable that the game would have
hatched its brood in safety, even in the immediate
vicinity of the carrion crow’s nest ; for instinct never
fails to teach the sitting bird what to do. Thus, in
the wild state, when wearied nature calls for
relaxation, the pheasant first covers her eggs, and
then takes wing ‘directly, without running from the
nest. I once witnessed this, and concluded that it
was a general thing. From my sitting-room, in the
attic story of the house, I saw a pheasant fly from
her nest in the grass; and, on her return, she kept
on wing till she dropped down upon it. By this in-
stinctive precaution of rising immediately from the
nest on the bird’s departure, and its dropping on it
at its return, there is neither scent produced, not
track made, in the immediate neighbourhood, by
which an enemy might have a clew to find it out,
and rob it of its treasure. These little wiles are the
very safety of the nest; and I suspect that they are
put in practice by most birds which have their nest
on the ground. To these wiles, in part (before gangs
of forty or fifty nocturnal poachers desolated this
district), I attributed the great increase of my
pheasants, though they were surrounded by hawks,

94 THE CARRION CROW.

jays, crows, and magpies, which had all large
families to maintain and bring up in the immediate
neighbourhood.

Keepers may boast of their prowess in setting
traps (and, in testimony of their success, they may
nail up the mutilated bodies of carrion crows against
the kennel wall); but I am of opinion, that, if the
squire could ever get to know the real number of
pheasants and hares, which have been killed or mu-
tilated in those traps, he would soon perceive that
he had been duped by the gamekeeper ; and that
henceforth he would forbid him to enter the covers
in the breeding season, for the purpose of destroying
the carrion crows. The frequent discharge, too, of
the keeper’s gun, though it may now and then kill or
wound a carrion crow, still will infallibly drive away
the game in the end, and oblige it to seek some more
favoured and sequestered spot. As to the setting of
poison, —a practice socommon with these worthless
destroyers of crows, hawks, magpies, jays,and ravens,
which they are pleased to style feathered vermin, —
it isa well known fact that foxes, ducks, dogs, hogs,
and pheasants are all liable to fall a prey to the nox-
ious bait. Often has the disappointed vulpine sports-
man to mark down a blank day in his calendar, on ac-
count of his quarry having supped upon what was laid
to kill the carrion crow ; and I have reason to believe
that the fox sometimes loses his life, by feeding on
carrion crows which have died by poison.

If we were to sum up, on one side, the probable
number of pheasants and partridges destroyed during
one season by the carrion crow; and, on the other,

THE CARRION CROW. 95

reckon up how many times the keeper has disturbed
the game by going in search of this bird, and thus
exposed the nests of partridges and pheasants to
certain destruction by vermin of all kinds; and then,
if we take into the account the many heads of game
which the keeper has killed in his steel traps and
rabbit-snares, we should conclude, I think, that, in
the long run, the game actually suffers more from
the keeper, in his attempts to destroy the crow, than
it really does from the crow itself, while catering
for its young. Indeed, I have made out the account
myself; and, finding the balance to be against the
keeper, [have renewed the order which I gave to his
predecessor, never, upon any score, to persecute
what is commonly called flying vermin. Thus, the
partridges and pheasants here, during the time of
incubation, are abandoned to their own discretion:
and I judge, from what I have seen, that old Dame
Nature, without any interference on my part, will
kindly continue to point out to these birds proper
places where to lay their eggs and rear their young;
and, moreover, I am confident she will teach them,
by her own admirable and secret process, how to
elude the prying scrutiny of the carrion crow.
Should, however, the- country squire, whose eye is
seldom quite closed to the advantages derived from
a well-stored autumnal larder ; should he, I say, not
have sufficient faith in the dame’s protecting care,
it will be some consolation to him to be informed
that, when birds of the game species lose their first
eggs, they seldom fail to havea second hatch, which
will be sure to find ample security from its enemies,

96 THE CARRION CROW.

in the abundant growth of summer grass and
corn.

The carrion crow is evidently gregarious at times,
in the autumnal and winter months: I have some-
times counted fifty of them together. Unlike the
rook, these birds never become bare of feathers at
the base of the bill.

The vulgar remark, that a carrion crow can smell
gunpowder, ought to be received with explanation.
The natural wariness of this bird at most seasons of
the year, and the perpetual persecution it has to un<
dergo from man, are the causes of its keeping a very
sharp look-out; and it takes flight at the earliest
approach of the gunner; hence the surmise that it
smells the powder (which might certainly be smelled
after the discharge of the gun, provided the crow
were to leeward) ; but then the loud report would
cause it to take instant flight, and it would be far away
long before the scent from the burnt gunpowder
could have any chance of reaching its olfactory
nerves, though they were (and, for aught I know,
they are) as sensible as those of the vulture.

I turn loose on the public, from my park, about
threescore carrion crows per annum; which no,
doubt, are considered as a dangerous lot of rascals
by the good folks of this neighbourhood.

I beg to say that I have written this paper ex-
pressly to calm the fears of sportsmen, who may
imagine that I do an evil deed in befriending a
tribe of birds hitherto considered, by common con-
sent, in no other light than that of plundering rogues
and vagabonds. If they will do me the honour to

THE PHEASANT. 97
.

read this little history of my warrior bird, I trust
they will be satisfied that he is not sucha desperate
thief as he is generally imagined to be; and, further-
more, upon due consideration, they will agree with
me that, when the keeper is abroad with his gun.
his poison, and his traps, their game may be said,
with great truth, to be exposed to much worse com-
pany than that of the carrion crow.

HABITS OF THE PHEASANT.

Tuts splendid well-known inhabitant of our woods
and plains is generally supposed to have come from
Asia, though the time of its arrival in this cold and
cloudy climate seems to be quite unknown.

A variety of this bird, sometimes spotted and
sometimes milk-white, appears among the other
pheasants, and breeds with them. I have never yet
been able to perceive that it continues its white or
varied plumage to the offspring. The plumage of
the white or pied pheasant seems purely accidental,
and is produced by a male and female of ordinary
colours. The ring-neck pheasant, so common in
the more northern parts of the kingdom, is never
seen in this immediate neighbourhood.

By the laws of England, the pheasant is considered
game ; and the sportsman is under the necessity of
taking out a licence from government, in order to
qualify himself to shoot it. When we consider the.

H

98 THE PHEASANT.

habits of this bird, we are apt to doubt of the pro-
priety of placing it under the denomination of fere
natura ; and I am one of those who think that it
would be a better plan to put it on the same footing
with the barn-door fowl, by making it private pro-
perty ; that is, by considering it the property of the
person in whose field or wood it may be found.
The pheasant is a more than half-reclaimed bird.
While the hare and the partridge wander in wildest
freedom through the land, heedless of the fostering
care of man; the bird in question will come to us,
at all hours of the day, to be fed. It will even some-
times associate with the poultry on the farm; and,
where it is not disturbed, it will roost in trees, close
to our habitations,

Its produce with the barn-door fowl is unprolific,
and seems to have nothing to recommend it to our
notice on the score of brilliancy of plumage, or of
fineness of shape.

The pheasant crows at all seasons, on retiring to
roost. It repeats the call, often during the night,
and again at early dawn; and frequently in the day-
time, on the appearance of an enemy, or at the re-
port of a gun, or during a thunder storm. I am of
opinion that it does not pair. The female lays from
seven to eighteen eggs; but in general the nest
contains about twelve.

Notwithstanding the proximity of the pheasant
to the nature of the barn-door fowl, still it has that
within it which baffles every attempt on our part to
render its domestication complete. What I allude
to Is, a mogt singular innate timidity, which never

ne

THE PHEASANT. 99

fails to show itself on the sudden and abrupt ap-
pearance of an object. I spent some months in trying
to overcome this timorous propensity in the pheasant;
but I failed completely in the attempt. The young
birds, which had been hatched under a domestic
hen, soon became very tame, and would even receive
food from the hand, when it was offered cautiously
to them. They would fly up to the window, and
would feed in company with the common poultry.
But, if any body approached them unawares, off
they went to the nearest cover with surprising ve-
locity. They remained in it till all was quiet, and
then returned with their usual confidence. Two of
them lost their lives in the water by the unexpected
appearance of a pointer, while the barn-door fowls
seemed scarcely to notice the presence of the in-
truder. The rest took finally to the woods at the
commencement of the breeding season. This par-
ticular kind of timidity, which does not appear in
our domestic fowls, seems to me to oppose the only,
though at the same time an insurmountable, bar to
our final triumph over the pheasant. After attentive
observation, I can perceive nothing else in the habits
of the bird, to serve as a clue by which we may be
enabled to trace the cause of failure in the many
attempts which have been made to invite it to breed
in our yards, and retire to rest with the barn-door
fowl and turkey.

Though a preserve of pheasants is an unpopular
thing, still I am satisfied in my own mind that the
bird cannot exist in this country without one; at
the same time, I am aware that a preserve may be

H 2

100 THE PHEASANT.

overdone. Thus, when pheasants are reserved for a
day of slaughter, under the appellation of a battu,
the regular supply of the market is endangered, the
diversion has the appearance of cruelty, and no
good end seems to be answered. It exposes the
preservers of pheasants in general to the animad-
versions of an angry press, which are greedily read,
and long remembered, by those whose situation in
life precludes them from joining in the supposed
diversion, However ardently I may wish to protect
the pheasant in an ornithological point of view, — I
say ornithological, for its flesh I heed not, — still, T
am fully aware, that the danger to be incurred and
the odium to be borne are mighty objections. We
read, that the ancients sacrificed a cock to A‘scu-
lapius: perhaps the day is at no great distance,
when it will be considered an indispensable act of
prudence for the country gentleman to offer up his
last hecatomb of pheasants at the shrine of public
opinion.

The more we look into the habits of the pheasant,
the more we must be persuaded that much greater
attention ought to be paid to it than is generally paid
to other kinds of game. The never-failing morning
and evening notice which it gives of its place of re-
treat, together with its superior size, cause it to be
soon detected and easily killed. The tax, too, which
government has put upon it, enhances its value as
an indispensable delicacy at the tables of those who
give good cheer. In fact, few are the autumnal
and winter dinners of the wealthy, where a roasted
pheasant does not grace the second course. The

THE PHEASANT. 101

fowling-piece of the nocturnal poacher is the most
fatal weapon used for its destruction. The report
of a gun or a clap of thunder, during the night, will
often cause the pheasants to begin to crow, as I have
already stated; and this greatly endangers their
safety. When once they are frightened from their
roost, they never perch again during the remainder
of the night, but take refuge among the grass
and underneath the hedges, where they fall an easy
prey to the cat, the fox, and the stoat. A poacher
armed with a gun finds a cloudy night fully as good
for slaughter as one in which the moon shines ; and,
if larch trees grow in the wood, to these he resorts ;
knowing, by experience, that the pheasant prefers
this kind of tree to any other. The larch suits
pheasants admirably, on account of its branches
growing nearly at right angles from the stem. This
renders the sitting position of the birds very easy.
I consider the smoking of pheasants, while they are
roosting in the tree, as a mere idle story. I myself
ought to be apretty good hand at poaching ; still, lam
obliged to confess that I have never been successful,
in one single instance, in the many attempts I have
made to bring down the pheasant frem his roost
_ by the application of a smoking apparatus. Indeed,
when we reflect that the mouth of the bird is al-
ways shut during sleep, and that both it and the
nostrils are buried in the dorsal feathers, we are at
a loss to conceive how the smoke can enter them,
and cause the bird to fall in stupefaction. If smok-
ing were a successful method, depend upon it the
poachers would never be such noodles as to use
H 3

102 THE PHEASANT.

a gun; the report of which is sure to bring an
attentive keeper to the scene of their night's di-
version. |

To the illegal possession of the pheasant, alone,
may be traced the cause of all the sanguinary noc-
turnal conflicts between the poachers and _ those
who are appointed to watch for its safety. The
poacher is well aware that he cannot procure phea-
sants without the aid of a gun; and he knows, at
the same time, that the report of that gun will be-
tray him, and bring up the watchers, against whom
he would have no chance, single-handed. Where-
fore, in order that he may come off victorious, he
musters an overwhelming force of tinkers, cobblers,
masons, smiths, and labourers, armed with blud-
geons, and, perhaps, here and there a rusty gun.
Taking the precaution to get well primed with beer,
off they go, fully bent on having every thing their
own way. . The pheasants fall; the watchers come
up; oaths and curses are poured out, and a des-
perate fray commences. Here are furnished, work
important for the nearest magistrate, profit to his
clerk, expense to the county, and practice for Mr.
Ketch. Let it be also observed, that the unlawful
capture of the hare and the partridge (which are
really fere naturd) does not produce similar work
of mischief. These are taken with nets and snares.
The fewer poachers employed, the more certain is
their success. A number of men would only do
harm, and mar the plan of capture. So silently is
this mode of poaching carried on, that the owner
of the soil is not aware of the loss he is about to

THE PHEASANT. 103

sustain in the plunder of his game. When his
hares and partridges are actually on their way to
the dealer’s shop, he, “ good easy man,’ may fancy
that they are merely on a visit to his neighbour’s
manor, or that the fox and the polecat may have
made free with them. Not so with regard to the
capture of the pheasant. The mansion is some-
times beset ; guns are fired close to the windows;
females are frightened into hysterics; and, if the
owner sallies forth to repel the marauders, his re-
ception is often the most untoward and disagreeable
that can well be imagined.

Having now treated of the pheasant, and the
mode which is adopted for its destruction, I will
draw upon the reader’s time a little longer, by pro-
posing a plan for its propagation and protection.

Pheasants would certainly be delightful orna-
ments to the lawn of the country gentleman, were
it not for the annoying idea that, any night, from
November to May, he runs the risk of getting a
broken head, if he ventures out to disturb the sport
of those who have assembled to destroy them,
There must be something radically wrong in the
game laws. How or when those laws are to be
amended, is an affair of the legislature. The orni-
thologist can do no more than point out the griev-
ance which they inflict upon society, and hope that
there will soon be a change in them for the better,
But to the point. Food and a quiet retreat are
the two best offers that man can make to the fea-
thered race, to induce them to take up their abode
on his domain; and they are absolutely necessary

H 4

104 THE PHEASANT.

to the successful propagation of the pheasant. This
bird has a capacious stomach, and requires much
nutriment; while its timidity soon causes it to
abandon those places which are disturbed. It is
fond of acorns, beech mast, the berries of the haw-
thorn, the seeds of the wild rose, and the tubers of
the Jerusalem artichoke. As long as these, and
the corn dropped in the harvest, can be procured,
the pheasant will do very well. In the spring it
finds abundance of nourishment in the sprouting
leaves of young clover; but, from the commence-
ment of the new year till the vernal period, their
wild food affords a very scanty supply; and the
bird will be exposed to all the evils of the vagrant
act, unless you can contrive to keep it at home by
an artificial supply of food. Boiled potatoes (which
the pheasant prefers much to those in the raw state)
and beans are, perhaps, the two most nourishing
things that can be offered in the depth of winter.
Beans, in the end, are cheaper than all the smaller
kinds of grain; because the little birds, which usu-
ally swarm at the place where pheasants are fed,
cannot swallow them ; and, if you conceal the beans
under yew or holly bushes, or under the lower
branches of the spruce fir tree, they will be out of
the way of the rooks and ringdoves. About two
roods of the thousand-headed cabbage are a most
valuable acquisition to the pheasant preserve. You
sow a few ounces of seed in April, and transplant
- the young plants, two feet asunder, in the month of
June. By the time that the harvest is all in, these
cabbages will afford a most excellent aliment to the

THE PHEASANT. 105

pheasants, and are particularly serviceable when the
ground is deeply covered with snow. I often think
that pheasants are unintentionally destroyed by
farmers during the autumnal seedtime. They have
a custom of steeping the wheat in arsenic water.
This must be injurious to birds which pick up the
corn remaining on the surface of the mould. If
sometimes find pheasants, at this period, dead in
the plantations, and now and then take them up,
weak and languid, and quite unable to fly.

I will mention, here, a little robbery by the
pheasants, which has entirely deprived me of a grati-
fication I used formerly to experience in an even-
ings’ saunter down the vale. They have completely
exterminated the grasshoppers. For these last
fourteen years I have not once heard the voice of
this merry summer charmer in the park.

In. order to render useless all attempts of the
nocturnal poacher to destroy the pheasants, it is
absolutely necessary that a place of security should
be formed. I know of no position more appropriate
than a piece of level ground, at the bottom of a
hill, bordered by a gentle stream. About three
acres of this, sowed with whins, and surrounded by
a holly fence, to keep the cattle out, would be the
very thing. In the centre of it, for the space of
one acre, there ought to be planted spruce fir trees,
about fourteen feet asunder. Next to the larch,
this species of tree is generally preferred by the
pheasants for their roosting place; and it is quite
impossible that the poachers can shoot them in
these trees. Moreover, magpies and jays will al-

106 THE PHEASANT.

ways resort to them at nightfall; and they never
fail to give the alarm, on the first appearance of an
enemy. Many atime has the magpie been of es-
sential service to me, in a night excursion after
poachers, If there be no park wall, an eye ought
to be kept, from time to time, on the neighbouring
hedges. Poachers are apt to set horse-hair snares
in them; and these villanous nooses give the phea-
sants apoplexy. Six or seven dozen of wooden
pheasants, nailed on the branches of trees, in the
surrounding woods, cause unutterable vexation and
loss of ammunition to these amateurs of nocturnal
plunder. Small clumps of hollies, and yew trees
with holly hedges round them, are of infinite ser-
vice, when planted at intervals of 150 yards. To
these the pheasants fly, on the sudden approach of
danger during the day, and skulk there till the
alarm is over. When incubation is going on, the
diurnal poachers make great havoc among the phea-
sants’ eggs. They sell sittings of them for five
shillings (and sometimes for ten, if the risk in pro-
curing them be great), to gentlemen in towns, who
place them under bantam hens. If to these ar-
rangements for protecting pheasants there could be
added a park wall from nine to ten feet high, and
including about 250 acres, consisting of wood, mea-
dow, pasture, and arable land, the naturalist might
put all enemies at defiance, and revel in the en-
chanting scene afforded by the different evolutions
of single pairs, and congregated groups, of animated
nature. Unmolested by packs of hounds, unbroken
in upon by idle boys, and unannoyed by stray cattle,

THE PHEASANT. 107

and by those going in search of them, his wildfowl
would never desert the pool till their day of mi-
gration arrived; and his pheasants (except for the
purpose of incubation, and then in no great quan-
tities) would seldom rove beyond the protected
enclosure.

The teal and wigeons stay with me till the last
week in April; long after the pochards and the
main flocks of mallards have winged their flight to
northern polar regions; and a white male pheasant
has taken up his abode here, for seven years, with-
out having been once seen to wander half a mile
from the house.

Birds thus protected have very different habits from
those which are exposed to the caprice and perse-
cutions of man. When the ornithologist pays at-
tention to them, in their safe retreat, where they
can follow, without molestation, the impulse of that
instinct which has been so bountifully given to them,
he will have great cause to suspect that there is
many an error, and many a false conclusion, in the
works which we have at present, on the habits and
economy of the feathered race. These errors are,
no doubt, quite unintentional on the part of the
writers on British ornithology; and can only be
corrected by great care, and a frequent personal
attendance at those places where birds are encou-
raged and befriended.

108 THE JACKDAW.

HABITS OF THE JACKDAW.

Tus lively bird is the constant friend and com-
panion of the rook, in our part of Yorkshire, for
nine months out of twelve ; and, I think, there is no
doubt but that it would remain with the rook for
the other three if it only had that particular kind of
convenience for incubation which its nature, for
reasons totally unknown to us, seems to require.
Though the jackdaw makes use of the same kind
of materials for building as those which are found
in the nest of the rook; though it is, to all appear-
ance, quite as hardy a bird; and though it passes
the night, exposed to the chilling cold and rains of
winter, on the leafless branches of the lofty elm;
still, when the period for incubation arrives, it bids
farewell to those exposed heights where the rook
remains to hatch its young, and betakes itself to
the shelter which is afforded in the holes of steeples,
towers, and trees. Perhaps there is no instance in
the annals of ornithology which tells of the jackdaw
ever building its nest in the open air. Wishing to
try whether these two congeners could not be
induced to continue the year throughout in that
bond of society which, I had observed, was only
broken during incubation, I made a commodious
cavity in an aged elm, just at the place where it
had lost a mighty limb, some forty years ago,
in a tremendous gale of wind which laid prostrate

THE JACKDAW. 109

some of the finest trees in this part of Yorkshire.
At the approach of breeding-time, a pair of jack-
daws took possession of it, and reared their young
in shelter; while the rooks performed a similar
duty on the top of the same tree, exposed to all the
rigours of an English spring. This success induced
me to appropriate other conveniences for the in-
cubation of the jackdaw: and I have now the
satisfaction to see an uninterrupted fellowship exist,
the year throughout, between the jackdaw and the
rook.

Those who are of opinion that birds are gifted
with a certain portion of reasoning, superior to
that which is usually denominated instinct, will
have cause for reflection, should they ever examine
the materials of a jackdaw’s nest, or pay any at-
tention to the mode by which the bird tries to
introduce those materials into the hole. The jack-
daw invariably carries into it a certain quantity of
sticks, fully as thick as those which are made use of
by the rcok. Now, it always occurs to us that the
rook conveys sticks up to the branches of a tree in
order to make a kind of frame which may support
the inner parts of the nest. But why should the
jackdaw deposit a large heap of strong sticks in the
hole which is already calculated to support every
kind of material proper for a nest? Then, again:
how the act itself of introducing those apparently
useless sticks causes us to suspend our judgment,
before we finally conclude that the bird is endowed
with any sort of reasoning superior to what is com-
monly denominated the instinct of brutes! You

110 THE JACKDAW.

may see the jackdaw trying, for a quarter of an
hour, to get a stick into the hole; while every
attempt will be futile, because, the bird having laid
hold of it by the middle, it is necessarily thrown at
right angles with the body; and the daw cannot
possibly perceive that the stick ought to be nearly
parallel with its body, before it can be conveyed
into the hole. Fatigued at length with repeated
efforts, and completely foiled in its numberless
attempts to introduce the stick, it lets it fall to
the ground; and immediately goes in quest of
another, probably to experience another disap-
pointment on its return. When time and chance
have enabled it to place a quantity of sticks at the
bottom of the hole, it then goes to seek for mate-
rials of a more pliant and a softer nature.

The shrill and quickly repeated notes of the
jackdaw, especially during incubation, are far from
being unpleasant to the ear which is accustomed to
rural sounds ; but very few people have an oppor-
tunity of paying attention to them, as this bird is
by no means a general favourite with man. It is
commonly accused of sucking eggs: but eggs form
no part of its diet, otherwise it would be a bad
neighbour here; and ringdoves, house-doves, wag-
tails, fowls, and ducks would wish it far away.
It is vastly fond of peas and cherries. When these
are done, the jackdaw repairs to the pastures, where
it devours an incredible number of insects.

After the young have left the nest, they join the
rooks, and roost with them in the surrounding
woods till near the autumnal equinox ; when both

THE JACKDAW. lll

rooks and jackdaws regularly retire at nightfall to
the eastward of this place, in immense flocks, and
return to the westward every morning for the en-
suing half year.

The jackdaw lays from four to six eggs, varying
very much in colour, and often in size and shape.
When protected, it will build its nest in holes not
above six feet from the ground, where people are
passing and repassing every hour of the day. If
you take away the eggs, and substitute those of
magpies, the bird will hatch them, and rear the
young ones with great care and affection.

The plumage of the jackdaw is black, with
shining silvery grey behind the head, changing
when exposed to the different rays of light. A
jackdaw once appeared here with a remarkable
portion of white in one of the wings; it tarried
with us for two years, and then disappeared for
ever. Probably the singularity of its wing had
attracted the fatal notice of some experienced
gunner, in its peregrinations beyond this vale of
safety.

The jackdaw, like the rook, collects insects in
its mouth, to feed its young; and this gives it
the appearance of a pouch under the lower man-
dible.

I know not how far naturalists will agree with me
in the speculation that these birds remain in pairs
the year throughout. When November’s winds
have stripped the sycamore of its every leaf, I see
the daws sitting in pairs, side by side, upon the
naked branches. They seem fond of preening

112 DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF

each other’s heads; and, as they mostly leave the
trees in pairs, and in pairs return, I am led to
conjecture that their union is not dissolved at the
period when the young no longer need parental
aid.

He who is fond of rural scenes, and loves to
rove

«* On a mountain’s lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings,
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale,”

will never bring his mind to drive away this playful
merry bird, or allow his gardener to take its life,
for the value of a handful of cherries.

DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF THE FE-
LINE AND CANINE TRIBES.

A MAN, at some period or other of his life, may have
the misfortune to come in contact with the larger in-
dividuals of these two desperate and sanguinary
races of quadrupeds. Perhaps a few hints of a pre-
cautionary nature, in case of collision, may not be
altogether unacceptable to the reader.

The dog and the lion are both most formidable
foes to an unarmed man; and itis singular enough
that the very resistance which he would be forced
to make, in order to escape being worried by the

THE FELINE AND CANINE TRIBES, 113

former, would inevitably expose him to certain de-
struction from the claws and teeth of the latter.

All animals of the dog tribe must be combated
with might and main, and with unceasing exertion,
in their attacks upon man: for, from the moment
they obtain the mastery, they worry and tear their
victim as long as life remains in it. On the con-
trary, animals of the cat tribe having once over-
come their prey, they cease for a certain time to
inflict further injury on it. Thus, during the mo-
mentous interval from the stroke which has laid a
man beneath a lion, to the time when the lion shall
begin to devour him, the man may have it in his
power to rise again, either by his own exertions, or
by the fortuitous intervention of an armed friend.
But then all depends upon quiet, extreme quiet, on
the part of the man, until he plunges his dagger
into the heart of the animal; for if he tries to re-
sist, he is sure to feel the force of his adversary’s
claws and teeth with redoubled vengeance. Many
years ago, Colonel Duff, in India, was laid low by
the stroke of a Bengal tiger. On coming to him-
self he found the animal standing over him. Re-
collecting that he had his dirk by his side, he drew
it out of the case in the most cautious manner pos-
sible, and by one happy thrust quite through the
heart, he laid the tiger dead at his side.

I will here mention a trivial row I once had with
two dogs. It will tend to prove the advantage of
standing up manfully when attacked by animals of
the canine tribe; and I will conclude with recount-

I

114 DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF

ing an adventure with a lion, perhaps unparalleled
in the annals of hunting.

Towards the close of the year 1823, in passing
over a common, I accidentally came upon two dogs.
One of them was a stout, ill-looking, uncouth brute,
apparently of that genealogy which dog-fanciers
term half bull and half terrier; the other was an
insignificant female cur. The dog immediately
bristled up, and I had just time to take off my hat,
and hold it shieldwise in self-defence, when he came
on and made directly at it. I gave him a hearty
kick under the breast, which caused him to desist
for amoment. But he stoutly renewed the attack,
which was continued for above five minutes; he
always flying at the hat, and I regularly repeating
my kicks, sometimes slightly, sometimes heavily,
according to our relative situations. In the mean
time the female cur was assailing me from behind,
and it was with difficulty that I succeeded in keeping
her clear of me, by means of swinging my foot
backwards at her. At last, a lucky blow on her
muzzle from the heel of my shoe caused her to run
away howling, and the dog immediately followed
her, just at the moment when two masons were
coming up to assist me. Thus, bya resolute oppo-
sition I escaped laceration. But this little affair is
scarcely worth relating, except that it affords a proof
of the advantage to be derived from resisting the
attack of a dog to the utmost.

And now for the feline tribe. The story which I
am about to recount, will show that nonresistance
was the only plan to be pursued when escape from

THE FELINE AND CANINE TRIBES, 115

death seemed utterly hopeless. The principals in
this affair were a brave young British officer and a
full-grown lion of India. I was at Frankfort on the
Mayne in August last, and I heard the account
from the officer’s own mouth. I shall never forget
the affable and unassuming manner in which he re-
lated itto me. I repeatedly urged him to allow me
to put it on record, and at the same time to make
use of his name ; but I plainly saw that his feelings
were against his complying with my request; and I
think I should not have succeeded, had I not luckily
brought to my assistance the plea of benefit to
natural history. With this I conquered the objec-
tions of the young soldier ; and I only wish that it
had fallen to an abler pen than mine to relate the
following adventure.

In the month of July, 1831, two fine lions made
their appearance in a jungle some twenty miles
distant from the cantonment of Rajcoté, in the East
Indies, where Captain Woodhouse, and his two
friends, Lieutenants Delamain and Lang, were sta-
tioned. An elephant was despatched to the place
in the evening on which the information arrived ;
and on the morrow, at the break of day, the three
gentlemen set off on horseback, full of glee, and
elated with the hope of a speedy engagement. On
arriving at the edge of the jungle, people were
ordered to ascend the neighbouring trees, that they
might be able to trace the route of the lions in case
they left the cover. After beating about in the
jungle for some time, the hunters started the two

12

116 DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF

lordly strangers. The officers fired immediately,
and one of the lions fell to riseno more. His com-
panion broke cover, and took off across the country.
The officers now pursued him on horseback as fast
as the nature of the ground would allow, until they
learned from the men who were stationed in the
trees, and who held up flags by way of signal, that
the lion had gone back into the thicket. Upon this
the three officers returned to the edge of the jungle,
and having dismounted from their horses, they got
upon the elephant; Captain Woodhouse placing
himself in the hindermost seat. They now pro-
ceeded towards the heart of the jungle, in the ex-
pectation of rousing the royal fugitive a second
time. They found him standing under a large bush,
with his face directly towards them. The lion
allowed them to approach within range of his spring,
and then he made a sudden dart at the elephant,
clung on his trunk with a tremendous roar, and
wounded him just above the eye. While he was in
the act of doing this, the two lieutenants fired at
him, but without success. The elephant now shook
him off; but the fierce and sudden attack on the
part of the lion seemed to have thrown him into
the greatest consternation. This was the first time
he had ever come in contact with so formidable an
animal; and much exertion was used before his
riders succeeded in urging him on again in quest of
the lion. At last he became somewhat more tract-
able; but as he was advancing through the jungle,
all of a sudden the lion, which had Jain concealed in
the high grass, made at him with redoubled fury.

THE FELINE AND CANINE TRIBES. 117

The officers now lost all hopes of keeping their
elephant in order. He turned round abruptly, and
was going away quite ungovernable, when the lion
again sprang at him, seized his hinder parts with
his teeth, and hung on them until the affrighted
animal managed to shake him off by incessant
kicking.

The lion retreated farther into the thicket ; Cap-
tain Woodhouse in the meantime firing a random
shot at him, which proved of no avail, as the jolting
of the elephant and the uproar of the moment pre-
vented him from taking a steady aim. No exertions
on the part of the officers could now force the ter-
rified elephant to face his fierce foe, and they found
themselves reduced to the necessity of dismounting.
Determined, however, to come to still closer quar-
ters with the formidable king of quadrupeds, Capt.
Woodhouse took the desperate resolution to proceed
on foot in quest of him ; and after searching about for
some time, he observed the lion indistinctly through
the bushes, and discharged his rifle at him; but he
was pretty well convinced that he had not hit him,
for he saw the lion retire with the utmost composure
into the thicker parts of the brake. The two lieu-
tenants, who had remained at the outside of the
jungle, joined their companion on hearing the report
of his gun.

The weather was intolerably sultry. After vainly
spending a considerable time in creeping through
the grass and bushes, with the hope of discovering
the place of the lion’s retreat, they concluded that
he had passed quite through the jungle, and gone

13

118 DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF

off in an opposite direction. Resolved not to let
their game escape, the lieutenants returned to the
elephant, and immediately proceeded round the
jungle, expecting to discover the route which they
conjectured the lion had taken. Captain Wood-
house, however, remained in the thicket; and as he
could discern the print of the animal’s feet on the
ground, he boldly resolved to follow up the track at
all hazards. The Indian gamefinder, who continued
with his commander, at last espied the lion in the
cover, and pointed him out to the captain, who
fired, but unfortunately missed his mark. There
was now no alternative left but to retreat and load
his rifle. Having retired to a distance, he was
joined by Lieutenant Delamain, who had dismounted
from his elephant on hearing the report of the gun.
This unexpected meeting increased the captain’s
hopes of ultimate success. He lost no time in
pointing out to the lieutenant the place where he
would probably find the lion, and said he would be
up with him in a moment or two.

Lieutenant Delamain, on going eight or ten paces
down a sheep track, got a sight of the lion, and
instantly discharged his rifle at him.

‘“‘ Impetus est fulvis, et vasta leonibus ira ! ”

This irritated the mighty lord of the woods, and he
rushed towards him, breaking through the bushes
(to use the captain’s own words) “ in most magnifi-
cent style.” Captain Woodhouse now found him-
self placed in a awkward situation. He was aware
that if he retraced his steps in order to put himself

THE FELINE AND CANINE TRIBES. 119

in a better position for attack, he would just get.to
the point from which the lieutenant had fired, and
to which the lion was making; wherefore he in-
stantly resolved to stand still, in the hopes that the
lion would pass by, at a distance of four yards or so,
without perceiving him, as the intervening cover
was thick and strong. In this, however, he was
most unfortunately deceived ; for the enraged lion
saw him in passing, and flew at him with a dreadful
roar. In an instant, as though it had been done by
a stroke of lightning, the rifle was broken and
thrown out of the captain’s hand, his left arm at the
same moment being seized by the claws, and his
right by the teeth, of his desperate antagonist.
While these two brave and sturdy combatants,
“whose courage none could stain,” were yet stand-
ing in mortal conflict, Lieutenant Delamain ran up,
and discharged his piece full at the lion. This
caused the lion and the captain to come to the
ground together, while Lieutenant Delamain has-
tened out of the jungle to reload his gun. The
lion now began to craunch the captain’s arm; but as
the brave fellow, notwithstanding the pain which
this horrid process caused, had the cool determined
resolution to lie still, the lordly savage let the arm
drop out of his mouth, and quietly placed himself in
a couching position, with both his paws upon the
thigh of his fallen foe. While things were in this
untoward situation, the captain unthinkingly raised
his hand to support his head, which had got placed
ill at ease in the fall. No sooner, however, had he
moved it, than the lion seized the lacerated arm a
14

120 DEFENCE AGAINST ANIMALS OF

second time, craunched it as before, and fractured
the bone still higher up. This additional memento
mori from the lion was not lost upon Captain Wood-
house ; it immediately put him in mind that he had
committed an act of imprudence in stirring. The
motionless state in which he persevered after this
_ broad hint, showed that he had learned to profit by
the painful lesson.

He now lay bleeding and disabled under the foot
of a mighty and an irritated enemy. Death was
close upon him, armed with every terror calculated
to appal the heart of a prostrate and defenceless
man. Just as this world, with all its flitting honours,
was on the point of vanishing for ever, he heard two
faint reports of a gun, which he thought sounded
from a distance; but he was totally at a loss to
account for them. He learned, after the affair was
over, that the reports were caused by his friend at
the outside of the jungle, who had flashed off some
powder in order to be quite sure that the nipples of
his rifle were clean.

The two lieutenants were now hastening to his
assistance, and he heard the welcome sound of feet
approaching ; but, unfortunately, they were in a
wrong direction, as the lion was betwixt them and
him. Aware that if his friends fired, the balls
would hit him, after they had passed through the
lion’s body, Captain Woodhouse quietly pronounced,
in a low and subdued tone, “to the other side! to
the other side!” Hearing the voice, they looked
in the direction from whence it proceeded, and to
their horror saw their brave comrade in his utmost

THE FELINE AND CANINE TRIBES. 121

need. Having madea circuit, they cautiously came
up on the other side, and Lieuteriant Delamain,
whose coolness in encounters with wild beasts had
always been conspicuous, from a distance of about a
dozen yards, fired at the lion over the person of the
prostrate warrior.

The lion merely quivered ; his head dropped upon
the ground, and in an instant he lay dead on his
side close to his intended victim. The lieutenant’s
aim was so good and true, that it puts one in mind
of what happened at Chevy Chase ;

“¢ Against Sir Hugh Montgomery
So right the shaft was set,
The grey goose wing that was thereon
In his heart’s blood was wet! ”’

Thus ended this ever-memorable homo-leonine
encounter. I beg to return my thanks to Captain
Woodhouse for allowing me to avail myself of it.
From what has been related, a proof may be drawn
of the utility of lying quite still when we have the
misfortune to be struck to the ground by an animal
of the cat tribe.

I bade a long farewell to Captain Woodhouse and
his two friends, Messrs. Kavanagh and Pontardent,
at Frankfort on the Mayne. They were on their
way to India, through Vienna and Constantinople.
May honours, health, and wealth attend them!

122 AERIAL ENCOUNTER OF

AERIAL ENCOUNTER OF THE EAGLE AND
THE VULTURE.

Next to the adventure of the rattlesnake and
squirrel, in which Audubon informs us that he saw
a rattlesnake swallow a large American squirrel,
tail foremost, I am of opinion that this presents the
toughest morsel ever offered to the proverbially
wide gullet of John Bull. Audubon says : —‘“ Many
vultures were engaged in devouring the-body and
entrails of a dead horse, when a white-headed eagle
accidentally passing by, the vultures all took to
wing, one, amongst the rest, with a portion of the
entrails, partly swallowed, and the remaining part,
about a yard in length, dangling in the air. The
eagle instantly marked him, and gave chase. The
poor vulture tried, in vain, to disgorge, when the
eagle, coming up, seized the loose end of the gut,
and dragged the bird along for twenty or thirty
yards, much against its will, till both fell to the
ground; when the eagle struck the vulture, and in
a few moments killed it, after which he swallowed
the delicious morsel.” In his strange paper on the
habits of the turkey buzzard, Mr. Audubon tells us
“that if the object discovered is large, lately dead,
and covered with a skin too tough to be ate and
torn asunder (cart before the horse), and afford
free scope to their appetites, they remain about it
and in the neighbourhood.” Now, reader, observe,

THE EAGLE AND THE VULTURE. 123 —

that, the dead horse being a large animal, its skin,
according to this quotation, must have been too
tough to be torn asunder by the vultures, until
putrefaction took place. If,.then, these vultures
really commenced devouring the dead animal while
it was yet fresh, Mr. Audubon’s theory, just quoted,
is worth nothing. If, on the contrary, the horse
in question had become sufficiently putrid to allow
the vultures to commence operations, then I will
show that the aérial account of the eagle and the
vulture is either a mere imaginary effusion of the
author’s fancy, or a hoax played off upon his igno-
rance by some designing wag.

The entrails of a dead animal are invariably the
first part to be affected by putrefaction. Now, we
are told that a piece of gut had been torn from the
rest, and swallowed by the vulture; a portion of
the said gut, about a yard in length, hanging out of
his mouth. The vulture, pressed hard by the eagle,
tried in vain to disgorge the gut. This is at vari-
ance with a former statement, in which Mr. Audu-
ben assures us that an eagle will force a vulture to
disgorge its food in a moment: so that the validity
of this former statement must be thrown overboard,
in order to insure the safety of the present adven-
ture; or, vice versd, the present adventure must
inevitably sink, if the former statement is to be
preserved. Be this as it may, the eagle, out of all
manner of patience at the clumsiness of the vulture,
in his attempt to restore to daylight that part of
the gut which was lying at the bottom of his sto-
mach, laid hold of the end which was still hanging

124 ENCOUNTER OF THE EAGLE AND VULTURE.

out of the unfortunate rascal’s mouth, and actually
dragged him along through the air, for a space of
twenty or thirty yards, much against the vulture’s
will. Now, though the eagle pulled, and the vul-
ture resisted, still the yard of gut, which we must
suppose was in a putrid state, for reasons already
mentioned, remained fixed and firm in the vulture’s
bill. With such a force, applied to each extremity,
the gut ought either to have given way in the mid-
dle, or to have been cut in two at those places
where the sharp bills of the birds held it fast. But
stop, reader, I pray you: speculation might be
allowed here, provided this uncommon encounter
had taken place on éerra firma; but, in order that
our astonishment may be wound up to the highest
pitch, we are positively informed that the conten-
tion took place, not on the ground, or in a tree, but
in the circumambient air !

Pray, how was it possible for the eagle to pro-
gress through the air, and to have dragged along a
resisting vulture, by means of a piece of gut acting
as a rope, about a yard inlength? Birds cannot
fly backwards ; and the very act of the eagle turn-
ing round to progress after it had seized the end of
the gut, would have shortened the connecting me-
dium so much, that the long wings of both birds
must have immediately come in contact ; their pro-
gress would have been prevented by the collision ;
and, in lieu of the eagle dragging the resisting
vulture through the air, for a space of twenty or
thirty yards, both birds would have come to the
ground, or the gut would have given way.

THE HUMMING-BIRD. 125

I have never read any thing in the annals of or-
nithology that bears any similarity to this aquila-
vulturian exhibition progressing through the vault
of heaven. Verily, “ there is a freshness in it.”

When we reflect that Mr Audubon is an Ame-
rican; that he has lived the best part of his life in
America ; that the two birds themselves were Ame-
rican, and that their wonderful encounter took place
in America, we Englishmen marvel much that Mr.
Audubon did not allow the press of his own country
to have the honour to impart to the world so asto-
nishing an adventure.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

Mr. Aupvusoy tells us, that in one week the young
of the ruby-throated humming-bird are ready to fly.
One would suppose, by this, that they must be
hatched witha good coating of feathers to begin with.
Old Dame Nature sometimes performs odd pranks.
We are informed that our crooked-back Dicky
the Third was born with teeth; and Ovid mentions
the astonishingly quick growth of certain men. He
says, in his account of the adventures of Captain
Cadmus, who built Thebes, that the captain em-
ployed some men as masons who had just sprung up
out of the earth.

I have read Mr. Audubon’s account of the growth

7

126 THE HUMMING-BIRD.

of the humming-bird, and I have read Mr. Ovid’s
account of the growth of Captain Cadmus’s masons,
and both very attentively. I think the veracity of
the one is as apparent as the veracity of the other.
What, in the name of skin and feathers, I ask, has
Mr. Audubon found in the economy of the ruby-
throated humming-bird to enable him to inform
Englishmen that its young can fly in so short a space
of time? The young of no other bird that we are
acquainted with, from the condor to the wren, can
fly when only a week old.

The humming-bird, in every part of its body and
plumage, is quite as perfect as the eagle itself;
neither is it known to differ in the duration of its
life from any of the smaller birds of the forest which
it inhabits. Like them, it bursts the shell in a state
of nudity ; like them, it is blind for some days; and,
like them, it has to undergo the gradual process of
fledging, which is so slow in its operation, that I
affirm, without fear of refutation, it cannot possibly
produce, in the space of one short week, a series
of feathers capable of supporting the bird through
the air.

Again, the precocious flying of the young birds,
argues precocity of feathers; and this would authorise
us to look for precocity of lustre in the male. But
Mr. Audubon informs us that the male does not re-
ceive its full brilliancy of colour until the succeeding
spring; and I myself can affirm, from actual obser-
vation, that the additional plumage which adorns
some humming-birds does not make its appearance
till towards the middle of the second year.

THE HUMMING-BIRD. 127

Were it necessary, I could show to naturalists
their error, in sometimes mistaking a male humming-
bird of the first year for a full-plumaged female. I
am fully satisfied in my own mind that the internal
anatomy of all humming-birds is precisely the same,
except in size; having found it the same in every
humming-bird which I dissected in Guiana and Brazil.
Now, as the young of the humming-birds in these
countries require more than a week to enable them
to fly, and as Mr. Audubon’s humming-bird differs
not in internal anatomy from them, I see no reason
why the young of his species should receive earlier
powers of flying than the young of the humming-birds
in the countries just mentioned.

A wordon the cradle. Mr. Audubon tells us, that
the little pieces of lichen, used in forming the nest
of the humming-bird, “are glued together with the
saliva of the bird.” Fiddle! The saliva of all birds
immediately mixes with water. A single shower of
rain would undo all the saliva-glued work on the nest
of Mr. Audubon’s humming-bird. When our great
master in ornithology (whose writings, according
to Swainson, will be read when our favourite the-
ories shall have sunk into oblivion) saw his hum-
ming-bird fix the lichen to the nest, pray what in-
strument did it make use of, in order to detach the
lichen from the point of its own clammy bill and
tongue ; to which it would be apt to adhere just as
firmly as to the place where it was intended that it
should permanently remain ?

128 THE VIRGINIAN PARTRIDGE.

THE VIRGINIAN PARTRIDGE.
** Nantes in gurgite vasto.” Virgil.

“ Lixe the turkeys, many of the weaker partridges often fail
into the water while thus attempting to cross, and generally
perish; for, although they swim surprisingly, they have not
muscular power sufficient to keep up a protracted struggle.”
(See Biography of Birds, p. 388.)

Birds which can “ swim surprisingly” will never
“perish” by the act of swimming; neither would
they be under the necessity of having recourse to “a
protracted struggle” in a movement which requires
no struggle at all. A bird struggling in the act of
swimming, in order to save itself from drowning, is
about the sameas if we were to struggle in our usual act
of walking, lest we perish therein. The very mention
of “a protracted struggle” argues that the partridge
cannot swim. A partridge on the water is nearly in
as great a scrape as a shark on shore. ‘The latter,
by floundering, may, perchance, get into the water
again ; still we cannot say that a shark moves sur-
prisingly on land: and the former, by help of its
feet, may possibly reach the river’s bank, through
an element as fatal to it as the shore is to the shark.
All birds, whether alive or dead, must naturally float
on the surface of the water; but all birds cannot
swim: otherwise those birds which we commonly call
land birds would have to be new-modelled in form,
and would require a very different kind of plumage.

We startle at the novel information of a partridge
“ swimming surprisingly,” and we are anxious to

THE VIRGINIAN PARTRIDGE. "129

know what sudden change has taken place amongst
the birds in the western hemisphere, whilst our
eastern birds remain in statu quo. For example’s
sake, let us examine a waterhen, which, like the
partridge, is not web-footed; still it swims remarkably
well. Its body is nearly similar in shape to a boat ;
the arrangement of its feathers is most admirably
calculated to resist the entrance of the water;
while its every motion, when in the act of swimming,
is full of gracefulness and confidence. It moves
to and fro by a very gentle action of the feet,
and it may be seen, for hours together, enjoying
itself on the deep; in perfect security. This
bird may be truly said to swim surprisingly ; but it
_ is never doomed to keep up a protracted struggle
by means of muscular power, in order to save its life,
on an element where it runs no risk of perishing.
Now let us look at a partridge floating on the
river. The form of its body is very unlike that
of the waterhen, and though it cannot possibly sink,
still it is in the utmost fear of death, and tries to
reach the shore by an evident and vehement
struggle. Its feathers immediately become saturated
with water, whilst the cold strikes deeply into its
body. Death is fast approaching ; the wings are
soaked with flapping on the water, and at last appear
extended quite motionless on the surface of the
stream; the legs are cramped and stiffened; the
mouth is open; the head falls, and, after a few con-
vulsive efforts to support itself, down it drops for the
last time into the water, and the bird dies. This is
the fate of the partridge, which Mr. Audubon assures
K

130 THE ROOK.

us can “swim surprisingly.” The mere motion of
its legs, to propel its floating body towards land, in
order to escape from certain death on an element
where it was never intended by Nature to exist, even
for the space of one short hour, has been magnified
by Mr. Audubon into an important act of “swimming
surprisingly.”

If the admirers of Mr. Audubon should try to
force us to agree with their great naturalist, that
partridges can “swim surprisingly,” then it behoves
us to call upon them to declare that every bird in
the creation can swim. Our little tomtit, till nowa
land bird, must be proclaimed to swim surprisingly,
and have a place amongst the waterfowl; because,
on tumbling accidentally into a washing-tub, he has _
*‘ muscular power sufficient to keep up a protracted
struggle ” till he reaches the side.

ON THE HABITS OF THE ROOK.

Last year I partly promised that, on some dis-
mal winter's evening, I would sit me down, and
write the history of the rook. The period has now
arrived. Nothing can be more gloomy and tem-
pestuous than the present aspect of the heavens.
The wind is roaring through the naked branches
of the sycamores, the rain beats fiercely on the
eastern windows, and the dashing of the waves
against the walls of the island, warns us that
one of November's dark and stormy nights is close
at hand; such a night, probably, as that in which

THE ROOK. 131

Tam O’Shanter unfortunately peeped into Kirk
Alloway. Foreigners tell us that on these nights
Englishmen are prone to use the knife, ora piece of
twisted hemp, to calm their agitated spirits. For
my own part, I must say that I have an insuperable
repugnance to such anodynes; and, were a host of
blue devils, conjured up by November’s fogs, just
now to assail me, I would prefer combating the
phantoms with the weapons of ornithology, rather
than run any risk of disturbing the economy of my
jugular vein, by a process productive of very un-
pleasant sensations, before it lulls one to rest.

According to my promise, I will now pen downa
few remarks on the habits of the rook, which bird,
in good old sensible times, was styled frugilegus. It is
now pronounced to be predatorius. Who knows but
that our Great Ones in Ornithology, may ultimately
determine to call it up to the house of hawks ?

If this useful bird were not so closely allied to the
carrion crow in colour and in shape, we should see:
it sent up to the tables of the rich, as often as we
see the pigeon. But prejudice forbids the appearance
of broiled rook in the lordly mansion. If we wish
to partake of it, we must repair to the cottage of the
lowly swain, or, here and there, to the hall of the
homely country squire, whose kitchen has never been
blessed by the presence of a first-rate cook, and
whose yearnings for a good and wholesome dish, are
not stifled by the fear of what a too highly polished
world will say.

There is no wild bird in England so completely
gregarious as the rook; or so regular in its daily

K 2

132 THE ROOK. ©

movements. The ringdoves will assemble in count-
less multitudes, the finches will unite in vast as-
semblies, and waterfowl] will flock in thousands to
the protected lake, during the dreary months of
winter: but, when the returning sun spreads joy and
consolation over the face of nature, their congregated
numbers are dissolved, and the individuals retire in
pairs to propagate their respective species. The
rook, however,remains in society the year throughout.
In flocks it builds its nest, in flocks it seeks for food,
and in flocks it retires to roost.

About two miles to the eastward of this place are.
the woods of Nostell Priory, where, from time im-
memorial, the rooks have retired to pass the night.
I suspect, by the observations which I have been
able to make on the morning and evening transit of
these birds, that there is not another roosting-place
for, at least, thirty miles to the westward of Nostell
Priory. Every morning, from within a few days of
the autumnal, to about a week before the vernal
equinox, the rooks, in congregated thousands upon
thousands, fly over this valley in a westerly direction,
and return, in undiminished numbers, to the east, an
hour or so before the night sets in. In their
morning passage, some stop here; others, in other
favourite places, farther and farther on; now re-
pairing to the trees for pastime, now resorting to the
fields for food, till the declining sun warns those
which have gone farthest to the westward that it is
time they should return. They rise in a mass, re-
ceiving additions to their numbers from every inter-
vening place, till they reach this neighbourhood in

THE ROOK. Bike

an amazing flock. Sometimes they pass on without
stopping, and are joined by those which have spent
the day here. At other times they make my park
their place of rendezvous, and cover the ground in
vast profusion, or perch upon the surrounding trees.
After tarrying here for a certain time, every rook
takes wing. They linger in the air for a while, in
slow revolving circles, and then they all proceed to
Nostell Priory, which is their last resting-place for
the night. In their morning and evening passage,
the loftiness or lowliness of their flight, seems to be
regulated by the state of the weather.. When it
blows a hard gale of wind, they descend the valley
with astonishing rapidity, and just skim over the tops
of the intervening hills, a few feet above the trees:
but, when the sky is calm and clear, they pass
through the heavens ata great height, in regular and
easy flight.

Sometimes these birds perform an evolution, which
is, in this part. of the country, usually called the
shooting of the rooks. Farmers tell you, that this
shooting portends a coming wind. He who pays
attention to the flight of birds has, no doubt, observed
this downward movement. _ When rooks have risen
to an immense height in the air, so that, in ap-
pearance, they are scarcely larger than the lark, they
suddenly descend to the ground, or to the tops of
trees exactly under them. To effect this, they come
headlong down, on pinion a little raised, but not ex-
panded, in a zig-zag direction (presenting, alternately
their back and breast to you), through the resisting
air, which causes a noise similar to that of a rushing

K 3

134 THE ROOK.

wind. This is a magnificent and beautiful sight to the
eye of an ornithologist. It is idle to suppose for a mo-
ment that it portends wind. It is merely the ordi-
nary descent of the birds to an inviting spot beneath
them, where, in general, some of their associates
are already assembled, or where there is food to be
procured. When we consider the prodigious height
of the rooks at the time they begin to descend, we
conclude that they cannot effect their arrival at a
spot perpendicular under them, by any other process
so short and rapid.

Rooks remain with us the year throughout. If
there were a deficiency of food, this would not be
the case ; for, when birds can no longer support them-
selves in the place which they have chosen for their
residence, they leave it, and go in quest of nutriment
elsewhere. Thus, for want of food, myriads of wild
fowl leave the frozen north, and repair to milder
climates ; and in this immediate district, when there
is but a scanty sprinkling of seeds on the whitethorn
bush, our flocks of fieldfares and of redwings bear
no proportion to those in times of a plentiful supply
of their favourite food, But the number of rooks
never visibly diminishes ; and on this account we may
safely conclude that, one way or other, they always
find a sufficiency of food. Now, if webring, as acharge
against them, their feeding upon the industry of
man, as, for example, during the time of a hard frost,
or at seedtime, or at harvest, at which periods they —
will commit depredations, if not narrowly watched;
we ought, in justice, to put down in their favour the
rest of the year, when they feed entirely upon in-

THE ROOK. 135

sects. Should we wish to know the amountof noxious
insects destroyed by rooks, we have only to refer to
a most valuable and interesting Paper on the Services
of the Rook, signed T. G. Clitheroe, Lancashire,
which is given in the Mag. of Nat. Hist., vol. vi.
p- 142. Iwish every farmer in England would read
it: they would then be convinced how much the
rook befriends them.

Some author (I think, Geldsmith) informs us, that
the North American colonists got the notion into
their heads that the purple grakle was a great
consumer of their maize; and these wise men of
the west actually offered a reward of threepence for
the killed dozen of the plunderers. This tempting
boon soon caused the country to be thinned of
grakles, and then myriads of insects appeared, to put
the good people in mind of the former plagues of
Egypt. They damaged the grass to such a fearful
extent, that, in 1749, the rash colonists were obliged
to procure hay from Pennsylvania, and even from
England. Buffon mentions, that grakles were brought
from India to Bourbon, in order to exterminate the
grasshoppers. The colonists, seeing these birds busy
in the new-sown fields, fancied that they were search-
ing for grain, and instantly gave the alarm. The
poor grakles were proscribed by Government, and
in two hours after the sentence was passed, not a
grakle remained in the island. The grasshoppers
again got the ascendency, and then the deluded
islanders began to mourn for the loss of their grakles.
The governor procured four of these birds from
India, about eight years after their proscription, and

K 4

136 _ THE ROOK.

the state took charge of their preservation. Laws
were immediately tramed for their protection ; and,
lest the people should have a hankering for grakle
pie, the physicians were instructed to proclaim the
flesh of the grakle very unwholesome food. When-
ever I see a flock of rooks at work in a turnip-field,
which, in dry weather, is often the case, I know that
they have not assembled there to eat either the
turnips or the tops, but that they are employed in
picking out a grub, which has already made a
lodgment in the turnip.

Last spring, I paid a visit, once a day, to a car-
rion crow’s nest on the top of a fir tree. In the
course of the morning in which she had laid her fifth
egg, I took all the eggs out of the nest, and in their
place I put two rooks’ eggs, which were within six
days of being hatched. The carrion crow attended
on the stranger eggs, just as though they had been
her own, and she raised the young of them with
parental care. When they had become sufficiently
large, I took them out of the nest, and carried them
home. One of them was sent up to the game-
keeper’s house, with proper instructions; the other
remained with me. Just at this time an old woman
had made me a present ofa barn-door hen. “Take
it, sir,” said she, “and welcome; for, if it stays here
any longer, we shall be obliged to kill it. When
we get up to wash in the morning, it crows like a
cock. All its feathers are getting like those ofa
cock ; it is high time that it was put out of the way,
for when hens turn cocks people say that they are
known to be very unlucky; and, if this thing is

_THE ROOK. 137

allowed to live, we don’t know what may happen.
It has great spurs on its legs, and last summer it
laid four eggs. If I had had my own way, it would
have been killed when it first began to crow.” I
received the hen with abundant thanks; and, in
return, I sent the old woman a full-bred Malay fowl.
On examining the hen, I found her comb very large;
the feathers on the neck and rump much elongated ;
the spurs curved, and about 14 inch long; the two
largest feathers in her tail arched, and four or five
smaller arched ones, of a beautiful and glossy colour,
hanging down on each side of the tail. In a word,
this hen had so masculine an appearance, that, when
strangers looked at her, they all took her to be a
cock, and it was with difficulty I persuaded them
that she wasahen. We allowed her the range of
a sheltered grass-plot, flanked on one side by holly
trees, and open to the lake on the other. Here,
also, was placed, in a cage, the young rook which I
had taken from the nest of the carrion crow. The
hen showed such an antipathy to it, that, whenever
I held it to her, she would immediately fly at it.
When visiters came to inspect her, I had only to
take the rook out of the cage, and pit it against her,
when she would stand upright, raise the long feathers
on her neck, and begin to cackle, cluck, and crow.
One morning the rook had managed to push aside
a bar in front of its cage. A servant, in passing by,
looked into it, and missed the bird. The hen had
also disappeared. On search being made, they
were both found floating side by side, dead, in the
lake below. We conjectured that the hen had

138 THE ROOK.

pursued the rook after its escape from the cage,
and that the wind, which blew very strong that
morning, had forced them both into a watery grave.
I had still one rook left at the gamekeeper’s. It
was kept in a cage, which was placed ona little
stand in his garden; and I had given orders that
upon no account was it to be allowed to go at large.
The feathers remained firm at the base of the bill
till the 15th of August; on which day the keeper
perceived that a few feathers had dropped from the
lower mandible, and were lying at the bottom of the
cage. In a couple of weeks more, the lower man-
dible had begun to put on a white scurfy appearance,
while here and there a few feathers had fallen from
the upper one. This is the purport of the keeper’s
information to me, on my return home from Bavaria.
On the 3lst of the same month, a terrible storm
set in. By what the keeper told me, the night
must have been as dark and dismal as that in which
poor King Lear stood in lamentation, and exposed
his hoary locks to the four rude winds of heaven.
A standard white-heart cherry tree, perhaps the
finest in Yorkshire, and which, for many generations,
had been the pride and ornament of this place, lost
two large branches during the gale; and in the
morning, when the keeper rose, he found the cage
shattered and upset, and driven to the farthest
corner of his garden. The rook was quite dead.
It had lost its life, either through the inclemency of
that stormy night, or through bruises received in
the fall of the cage. Thus both the rooks were
unlucky. The old woman, no doubt, could clearly

THE ROOK. 139

trace their misfortunes to her crowing hen. How-
ever, the experiment with the two young rooks,
though not perfect, has nevertheless been of some
use. It has shown us that the carrion crow makes
no distinction betwixt its own eggs and those of the
rook ; that it can know nothing of the actual time
required to sit upon eggs in order to produce the
young; that the young of the rook will thrive under
the care of the carrion crow, just as well as under
that of its own parents; and finally, that the feathers
fall off from the root of the rook’s bill, by the order
of nature, as was surmised by the intelligent Bewick,
and not by the process of the bird’s thrusting its
bill into the earth, in search of food, as is the opinion
of some naturalists.

The rook advances through the heavens with a
very regular and a somewhat tardy beat of wing;
but it is capable of proceeding with great velocity
when it chooses: witness its pursuit and attack on
the sparrowhawk and kestrel. It is apt to injure,
in the course of time, the elm trees on which it
builds its nest, by nipping off the uppermost twigs.
But this, after all, is mere conjecture. The damage
may be caused by an accumulation of nests, or by
the constant resort of such a number of birds to
one tree. Certain, however, it is, that, when rooks
have taken possession of an elm tree for the purpose
of incubation, the uppermost branches of that tree
are often subject to premature decay.

Though the flocks of rooks appear to have no
objection to keep company, from time to time, with
the carrion crows, in a winter's evening, before they

140 THE ROOK.

retire to roost, still I can never see a carrion crow
build its nest in arookery. There was always a
carrion crow’s nest here, in a clump of high Scotch
pines, near the stables, till the rooks got possession
of the trees; the carrion couple then forsook the
place: the rooks were dislodged from this clump of
trees ; and then a pair of carrion crows (the same,
for aught I know to the contrary) came and _ built
their nest in it.

The rook lays from three to five eggs, varying
much, like those of the carrion crow, in colour,
shape, and size. After the rooks have built, and
even lined their nests, they leave them, on the ap-
proach of night, to repair to the general rendezvous
at Nostell Priory; but, as soon as they begin to lay,
they then no longer quit the trees at night, until
they have reared their young. When this has been
effected, we see large flocks of them resorting to
the different woods of the. neighbourhood to pass
the night. . This they continue to do, till a few days
before the autumnal. equinox, when, for reasons
which baffle all conjecture, they begin to pass over
this valley every morning .in a westerly direction,
and return in the evening to their eastern roosting-
place in the woods of Nostell Priory.

Rooks are.observed to keep up a very close and
friendly intercourse with starlings and jackdaws ;
but, on looking at them in the fields, the observer
will perceive, that, while the jackdaws mix promis-
cuously with the rooks, both in their flight and
in searching for food, the starlings always keep in
their own flock. This circumstance has long engaged

THE PASSENGER PIGEON. 141]

my attention; but I am no farther advanced in the
investigation than I was on the first day on which
Iset out. Itis one of the many secrets in the habits
of birds, which will, perhaps, be for ever concealed
from our. view.

THE PASSENGER PIGEON.

** Towarps the approach of day, the noise in some measure
subsided ; long before objects were distinguishable, the pigeons
began to move off in a direction quite different from that in
which they had arrived the evening before; and, at sunrise,
all that were able to fly had disappeared. The howlings of
the wolves now reached our ears, and the foxes, lynxes, cou-
gars, bears, raccoons, opossums, and polecats were seen sneak-
ing off.” (Biography of Birds, by Audubon, p. 325.)

“ Variarum monstra ferarum!” Virgil.

Mr. Audubon may boast of a sight never before
seen by mortal eyes under similar circumstances.
Great indeed must have been the yearning for
pigeon flesh, to have caused such a variety of wild
animals to assemble there; and irresistible the
flavour which induced them to tarry so long be-
yond their wonted time of prowling. Their very
nature seems to have been changed. Their re-
maining at the pigeon-slaughter till the time of
sunrise is a most wonderful circumstance, which
demands investigation on the part of naturalists; for,
hitherto, all these wild beasts which Mr. Audubon

142 THE PASSENGER PIGEON.

has introduced into his description, have only
been known as animals of nocturnal movements,
and of very skulking and suspecting habits. In
general, the flash of a gun, the crackling of a flame,
or the shout of a huntsman, will scare any one
of them, even when concealed in the lonely re-
treat; but, on this ever-memorable occasion, the
nerves of the animals, both large and small, were
strung up to an astonishing degree of intensity.
The day had already dawned, unheeded by them;
and it was only at sunrise that they seemed aware
of being in dangerous company, and found that
it was high time to sneak off from a place where,
Mr. Audubon tells us “there was little under-
wood ;” where “ the uproar continued the whole of
the night ;” where men had assembled “ with iron
pots, containing sulphur;” and “ with torches of
pine-knots, with poles and with guns;” where
“fires were lighted, and a magnificent as well as
wonderful and almost terrifying sight presented
itself;” where, in fine, the auditory faculties of
Mr. Audubon himself became so completely use-
less, on account of the stunning noise, that, ab-
solutely, he was “only aware of the firing by
seeing the shooters reloading.” “O judgment!
thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost
their reason,” if they can bring themselves to be-
lieve that into this sulphureous, torch-lighted, de-
tonating, yelling, roaring, and terrific attack on
the passenger pigeons, there came up a motley
herd of wolves, foxes, cougars, lynxes, bears, rac-
coons, opossums, and polecats, to share the plun-

THE PASSENGER PIGEON. 143

der, and actually tarried there till the rising of
the sun;” at which time, Mr. Audubon informs
us, they were seen sneaking off. He himself saw
what he relates.

But let us pass on. ‘The pigeons,” continues
Mr. Audubon, “arriving by thousands, alighted
everywhere, one above another, until solid masses
as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches
all around.” Solid masses! Our European pigeons,
in a similar situation, would have been all smo-
thered in less than three minutes. Mr. Audubon
informs us, towards the end of his narrative, that
the feathers of this pigeon “fall off at the least
touch.” From this, we may infer to a certainty
that every pigeon which was unlucky enough to
be undermost in the solid masses would lose every
feather from its uppermost parts, through the
pressure of the feet of those above it. Now, I
would fain believe that instinct taught these pi-
geons to resort to a certain part of the forest,
solely for the purpose of repose, and not to undergo
a process of inevitable suffocation; and, at the
same time, to have their backs deprived of every
feather, while they were voluntarily submitting to
this self-inflicted method of ending their days.

“ Many trees,” says Mr. Audubon, “two feet in
diameter, I observed, were broken off at no great
distance from the ground; and the branches of
many of the largest and tallest had given way,
as if the forest had been swept by a tornado.
Every thing proved to me that the number of
birds resorting to this part of the forest must be

144 THE PASSENGER PIGEON.

immense beyond conception.” I know that the
force of a tornado will break the trunk of a tree
two feet in diameter, because its force acts horizon-
tally against the upright stem; but how is it pos- ,
sible that a multitude of pigeons, alighting upon a
tree, could cause ‘its upright bole, two feet in
diameter, to break off at no great distance from
the ground? The branches of the tree, which
took their lead diagonally from the bole, might
possibly have given way under a heavy pressure,
because they were inclined more or less from their
perpendicular ; but the upright bole itself would
stand uninjured, and defy for ever any weight
that could be brought to bear upon it from above.

I now leave the assemblage of wild beasts, the
solid masses of pigeons as large as hogsheads, and
the broken trunk of the tree two feet in diameter,
to the consideration of those British naturalists
who have volunteered to support a foreigner in
his exertions to teach Mr. Bull ornithology in the
nineteenth century.

The passages upon which I have just commented
form part of “the facts” on which R. B., in the
Magazine of Natural History (vol. vi. p. 273.),
tells us that the value of Mr. Audubon’s Bio-
graphy of Birds solely rests. - No wonder that,
ruit alto a culmine. . By the way, I observe, at
the end of that Biography, a most laudatery no-
tice by Mr. Swainson. He tells us that Audubon
contemplated Nature as she really is, not as she
is represented in books: he sought her in her
sanctuaries. Well, be it so; I do not dispute his

THE RINGDOVE. ' 145

word: still I suspect, that, during the search and
contemplation, either the dame herself was in li-
quor, or her wooer in hallucination.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE HABITS OF THE
RINGDOVE.

THE supposed purity of the dove is a common
topic with many writers; and their readers are apt
to imagine that this bird has been more favoured
by nature than the rest of the feathered tribe.
What may be allowed to romantic and sentimental
composers, cannot by any means be conceded to
writers on natural history. Genuine Ornithology
would be offended at the attempt to introduce un-
warrantable matter into her pages; while her true
votaries would always grieve on seeing it admitted
into them.

All wild birds which go in pairs are invariably
attached to each other by Nature’s strongest ties ;
and they can experience no feelings of what may be
called mistrust or -suspicions of unfaithfulness ;
otherwise we should witness scenes of ornitholo-
gical assault and battery in every hedge and wood,
during the entire process of their incubation. The
soot-black crow is just as chaste, affectionate, and
constant as the snow-white dove itself. The move-
ments of both these birds, at a certain time of the
year, tend exactly to the same point. They are

L

146 THE RINGDOVE.

inherent and unalterable in them, and, of course,
are not to be repressed or changed. At the inter-
esting period of incubation, Nature knows no dis-
tinction betwixt the cooing of the dove and the
cackling of the goose. Both sounds express the
same emotions, and are perfectly understood by the
parties. They have only one plain and obvious
meaning. Audubon’s description of his love-sick
turtle-dove, which listened with delight to her
mate’s “assurances of devoted affection,” and was
«still coy and undetermined, and seemed fearful
of the truth of her lover,” and, “ virgin-like, resolved
to put his sincerity to the test,” is lovesome non-
sense, as far as regards the feathered tribe; and is
a burlesque upon the undeviating tenor of Nature's
course. ‘Those who approve of such absurd aber-
rations from the line of instinct allotted to birds,
would do well to confine their studies to the ro-
mances on their drawing-room tables. Let us hope
that better days are in store for ornithology; and
that when the ardent novice shall turn over the
pages which may be really intended for his improve-
ment in this fascinating study, he will find their
contents in unison with what he will observe after-
wards in Nature’s boundless range.

If size and beauty give a claim to priority, the
ringdove will hold ‘the first place in the scanty
catalogue of the wild pigeons of Europe. It stays
with us in Yorkshire the whole of the year; and, in
the winter months, it resorts chiefly to the turnip
fields for sustenance, where it feeds voraciously on
the leaves, and not on the body, of the turnip. The

THE RINGDOVE. 14:7

leaves are said to impart a rank and disagreeable
taste to the flesh of the bird; but this is easily pre-
vented by cutting open the crop, as soon as the
pigeon is killed, and discharging the contents.
White of Selborne recommends this process. To-
wards evening the form of the ringdove becomes
considerably changed. Having fed on the turnip
tops during the course of the day, its crop gets so
distended with food, that it gives to the fore part of
the pigeon’s body a very full appearance; and this
is easily discerned as the bird passes over your head
to its evening retreat. The contents of the stomach
having been digested during the night, we observe
that the body has regained its ordinary proportions
at the break of day.

There has been a great increase of ringdoves
during the winter season, in this part of the country,
since the farmers have paid so much attention to
the cultivation of turnips. On seeing the congre-
gated numbers of these birds, one is led to imagine
that there must be an annual influx of them, at the
close of autumn, from some far distant part. As
the ringdove is an unprotected bird, and much
sought after on account of the delicacy of its flesh,
I have strong doubts whether our breeding season
can produce a sufficient supply to make up the
flocks which are seen here in winter. At all events,
in this quarter of Yorkshire, very few young ring-
doves are allowed to escape. Farmers and game-
keepers are ever on the look-out to transfer them
from the nest to the kitchen. These marauders are
so perpetually upon the watch, that it has never yet

L 2

148 THE RINGDOVE.

been my lot to find a ringdove’s nest in our neigh-
bouring woods with full-fledged young ones in it;
although I am continually in the habit of straying
into them, and looking for the nests with a careful
and unwearied eye. Wherefore, I conclude that
our winter flocks receive migratory individuals from
distant regions.

The ringdove, by not feeding on insects, renders
no service to man while visiting his fields. On the
contrary, it is known to injure him considerably in
his crop of rising clover. As soon as this plant
begins, under the influence of the vernal sun, to
expand its leaves, the ringdove attacks the heart-
shoot with fatal severity ; and much address is re-
quired on the part of the farmer to scare the birds
from their favourite food. Leaving, however, the
sons of Ceres to fight their own battles, I will merely
add, that this handsome bird is protected here. I
love to listen to its soothing murmurs, and take
intense pleasure in observing its habits during the
breeding season, when it becomes fully as tame as
the domestic pigeon. The housekeeper often hints
to me that a couple of them would look extremely
well on the table; and the farmer calls them de-
vouring vermin. I receive the opinions of these
respectable personages with perfect indifference;
and I sometimes soothe them by observing that
where the ringdove has one friend, it has a thousand _
enemies, ready to prepare it for the spit, or to pre-
vent for ever its return to the clover field.

The ringdove lays two snow-white eggs on a nest
which may be termed a platform of sticks, so spar-

THE RINGDOVE. 149

ingly put together, that theeggs are easily seen
through it by an eye habituated to look for them.
On inspecting this apparent commencement or rem-
nant of a nest, one is led to surmise, at the first
glance, that the young are necessarily exposed to
many a cold and bitter blast during the spring of
this ever-changing climate. “ But God tempers the
wind,” said Maria, “to the shorn lamb;” and in
the case before us, instinct teaches the parent bird
to sit upon its offspring for a longer period after
they are hatched than, perhaps, any other of the
feathered tribe. In the mean time, the droppings
of the young, which the old birds of some species
carefully convey away, are allowed to remain in the
nest of the ringdove. They soon form a kind of
plaster strong and scentless. This adds consistency
to the nest, producing, at the same time, a defence
against the cold. The ornithologist, while going
his autumnal beats, in quest of knowledge, on seeing
this, will know immediately that the nest has con-
tained young: should this be wanting, he may con-
clude that the nest has been abandoned at an early
period. As he will find but very few nests with
this species of plaster in them, he may conclude, to
a certainty, that the ringdove has a host of enemies
in this country, and that it is seldom fortunate
enough to rear its young to that state in which the
faculty of flying saves them from destruction.

No bird in the British dominions seems to resort
to so many trees and shrubs for the purpose of incu=
bation as the ringdove. Not a tree, from the tow-
ering pine to the lowly thorn, ever comes amiss to

L 3

SSS eee

eae

150 THE RINGDOVE.

it. There is something, too, peculiarly singular in
the locality of some of the nests. While one is seen
placed nearly on the topmost branches of the lofty
sycamore, another may be found within four feet of
the ground, in the humble shelter of the hedge-row
bush. Last year, I found a ringdove sitting on one
egg, in a magpie’s nest of the year gone by; and I
observed another ringdove, rearing two young ones
in a spruce fir tree, below that of a magpie, oit of
which I had taken seven eggs, and substituted five
of a jackdaw in their place. It was interesting to
see these two species of birds, one so calm and
gentle, the other so pert and roguish, thus ¢lose to
each other, at so critical a juncture. Whilé I was
observing them, I felt convinced that there/are cer-
tain times in which birds are not so bent on plunder
as we would fain suppose they are; and, moreover
that they can frequent each other’s company in
perfect peace and quiet. In this instance it appears
that instinct showed the ringdove how to preserve
her eggs from being plundered by her crafty neigh-
bour, who, according to our own short-sighted view
of ornithological economy, would have been apt to
make free with them at the earliest call of hunger.
The ringdove had settled there with her eyes open
to her supposed danger; for the magpie was the
first to get possession of the tree.

I had but a faint idea of the habits of the ring-
dove until I had offered it an undisturbed asylum in
this « valley free.” Its movements are remarkably
periodical. In mild winters, or, more properly
speaking, in winters of short continuance, it makes

THE RINGDOVE. 151

its first appearance on the island where my house
stands, early in February. This year it came for
the first time, on the second of the month, and cooed
in full note. From this period, it may be seen here,
every day till October, either in the sycamore trees,
or in the ivy on the old ruined tower, or on the
lawn, picking up the tender sprouts of grass. Pro-
vided you approach with “ cautious step and slow,”
you may get within seven yards of different pairs
of these birds ; and when the window-sash is down,
they will come within a few paces of the place
where you are standing, and allow you to gaze at
them for any length of time. After the first week
in October, they take their final leave of my island
for the winter; and never, by any chance, pay us
even one single solitary visit till February sets in;
though they may be seen every day in congregated
numbers in other parts of the park, where they
roost in the elm and fir trees. During the winter
months, they are exceedingly shy and timorous,
seeking for safety in lofty flight, the moment they
see you approach. They become quite silent to-
wards the last week in October, and their notes are
reduced to half their number for some days before
they cease to coo entirely. At this period they dis-
continue those graceful risings and sinkings in the
air, in which they appear to so much advantage
during the whole of the breeding season.

Thus we have a bird which, during the course of
the year, at one time approaches the haunts of man
with wonderful assurance, and at another shuns
them with a timidity equally astonishing. I speak

L 4

152 THE RINGDOVE.

only of its diurnal movements; for, at the close of
day, both in winter and in summer, when not mo-
lested, this bird will come near to our out-buildings, .
and seek a roosting-place in the trees which sur-
round them. This peculiarity of the ringdove in
approaching so near to our mansions during the day
in the breeding season, and then losing all confidence
in us, aS soon as incubation ceases, is not a
accidental trait of one or two particular birds,
usual habits may have been changed, eith
want of food, or by protection offered; bu
inherent in the whole species, when the

I have never yet seen it vary ; and the whife spot or
segment of a circle on the back of its neck, from
which it takes its name, is always of the same size.

Ringdoves are exceedingly numerous here during
summer; and when winter sets in, many thousands
come every evening to take up their quarters for
the night. They retire early to roost, and never
leave the trees till all the other birds are on the
stir.
As yet, all attempts to reclaim this pigeon have
been of no avail. I should suppose that it is not in
the power of man to make it breed within the walls
of a dovecot. For my own part, I am not exactly
aware that its reduction to domestication would be
productive of much advantage to us. Let others
offer it the same protection i$ enjoys with me, and
there would always be an ample supply of ringdoves

THE GUILLEMOT. 153

to fill their groves with softest murmurs, and furnish
their tables with a delicious repast. Connoisseurs
tell us that the flesh of the ringdove, in winter, has
the flavour of moor game: I have fed on pigeons in
many countries, but cannot say that I ever found
them. vary in taste from the pigeon which inhabits
our common dovecots. Much, perhaps, depends
upon the cooking. The culinary art, no doubt,
with other important sciences, has derived great
benefit from the march of intellect. In London
they will'serve you up aram cat for a Martlemas
rabbit : and we are told that in Paris a pair of old
hunting boots can be stewed down to a very excel-
lent and wholesome soup.

“* Nil equidem durare diu sub imagine eadem

_ Crediderim.”

These cooks will suffer nothing to remain
In pristine flavour, or its shape retain.

NOTES OF A VISIT TO THE HAUNTS OF THE
GUILLEMOT, AND FACTS ON ITS HABITS.

THE immense range of perpendicular rocks, lashed
by old ocean’s briny surge, offers a choice and favour-
able retreat to myriads of wildfowl, from far-famed
Flamborough Head to Bempton, and thence to
Buckton and Speaton, and onwards to the Bay of
Filey.

He who wishes to examine the nidification of
these birds ought to be at this part of the sea-coast

154 THE GUILLEMOT.

early in the month of May. About five miles from
Bridlington Quay is the village of Flamborough,
chiefly inhabited by fishermen; and a little farther
on is a country inn, called the North Star, which
has good accommodation for man and horse; but a
lady would feel herself ill at ease in it, on account
of the daily visits of the fishermen, those hardy sons
of Neptune, who stop at it on their way to the ocean,
and again on their return. Here they rendezvous,
to fortify their interior with a pint or two of comfort,
and to smoke a pipe, by way of compensation for
the many buffets which they ever and anon receive
in the exercise of their stormy and nocturnal calling.

On the bare ledges of these stupendous cliffs the
guillemot lays its egg, which is exposed to the face
of heaven, without any nest whatever; but the
razorbills and puffins lay theirs in crannies, deep and
difficult of access. Here, too, the peregrine falcon
breeds, and here the raven rears its young; while
the rock pigeon and the starling enter the fissures
of the precipice, and proceed with their nidification,
far removed from the prying eye of man. The kit-
tiwake makes her nest of dried grass wherever she
can find a lodgement, and lays two spotted eggs,
very rarely three. The cormorant and shag inhabit
that part of the rocks which is opposite to Buckton
Hall. You are told that the cormorants had their
nests, in former times, near to the Flamborough
lighthouse ; but now these birds totally abandon the
place during the breeding season. The jackdaw is
found throughout the whole of this bold and craggy
shore ; he associates with the seafowl, as though he
were quite at home amongst his own inland conge-

THE GUILLEMOT. 155

ners. ‘Towards the top of the cliffs, both rabbits
and foxes have descended from the table land above
them, and managed to find a shelter among the
crevices, in places where you would suppose that
no four-footed animal would ever dare to venture.
A low mound, half earth, half stone, thrown up by
the farmers for the protection of their flocks, skirts
the winding summit of the precipice. Cattle have
been known to surmount this artificial boundary,
and lose their lives in the roaring surge below.

This extensive range of rocks, as far as appertains
to birds, is not considered private property. Any
person who can:climb it may carry away what num-
ber of eggs he chooses. Still there is a kind of
honourable understanding betwixt the different sets
of climbers, that they will not trespass over the
boundaries which have been marked by mutual
consent.

The eggs of the guillemot and razorbills form a
considerable article of traffic from old May-day till
about the middle of June. Though the eggs of the
kittiwake and puffin are of fully as good a flavour,
still they are not in such request, on account of
their tender shells, which are easily broken in
packing, and in transporting from place to place.

The usual process of seeking for the eggs is
generally carried on by three men, though two will
suffice in case of necessity. Having provided them-
selves with two ropes of sufficient length and
strength, they drive an iron bar into the ground,
about 6 in. deep, on the table land at the top of the
precipice. To this bar is fastened the thickest of
the two ropes, and then it is thrown down the rocks.

156 THE GUILLEMOT.

He who is to descend now puts his legs through a
pair of hempen braces, which meet round his middle,
and there form a waistband. At each end of this
waistband is a loophole, through which they reeve
the smaller rope. Sometimes an iron hook and eye
are used in lieu of thisloop. A man now holds the
rope firmly in his hand, and gradually lowers his
comrade down the precipice. While he is descending
he has hold of the other rope, which was fastened
to the iron bar; and, with this assistance, he passes
from ledge to ledge, and from rock to rock, picking
up the eggs of the guillemot, and putting them into
two bags, which he had slung across his shoulder
ere he commenced his arduous undertaking. When
he has filled these bags with eggs, he jerks the rope,
and the motion informs his friend at the top that it
is now time to draw him up. On coming up again to
the place from whence he first set out, all the eggs
are taken from the bags, and put into a large basket,
prior to their being packed in hampers and carried
off in a cart by wholesale dealers, who purchase
them from the climbers for sixpence the score.
At Bridlington and the neighbouring places the
eggs are retailed at a halfpenny a piece.

The rocks are searched for eggs every third day,
provided the weather be fair. It requires consi-
derable address on the part of the descending
climber to save himself from being hit by fragments
of the rock, which are broken off by the rope
coming in contact with them. He avoids the danger
by moving sidewise when the stone is falling, and
by taking care, as he goes down, to clear away with
his foot any portion of the rock that seems ready

——s

a

_.

THE GUILLEMOT. 157

to give way. One of the climbers, while he was
imparting to me instructions how to act, grinned
purposely, and showed his upper jaw. I learned by
his story, that, last year, a falling stone had driven
two of his front teeth down his throat; while the
poor climber, with all his dexterity, was unable to
fend off the blow. :

As I was lowered down, the grandeur and sub-
limity of the scene beggared all description, and
amply repaid any little unpleasant sensations which
arose on the score of danger. The sea was roaring
at the base of this stupendous wall of rocks ; thou-
sands and tens of thousands of wildfowl were in an
instant on the wing: the kittiwakes and jackdaws
rose in circling flight ; while most of the guillemots,
razorbills, and puffins, left the ledges of the rocks,
in a straight and downward line, with a pecu-
liarly quick motion of the pinions, till they plunged
into the ocean. It was easy to distinguish the
puffins from the razorbills in their descent: these,
presented a back of a uniformly dark colour : those,
had a faint white diagonal line running across the
wings. The nests of the kittiwakes were close to
each other, on every part of the rocks which was
capable of holding them; and they were so nume-
rous, as totally to defy any attempt to count them.
_On the bare and level ledge of the rocks, often not
more than six inches wide, lay the eggs of the guil-
lemots: some were placed parallel with the range
of the shelf, others nearly so, and others with their
blunt and sharp ends indiscriminately pointing to
the sea. By no glutinous matter, nor any foreign
body whatever, were they affixed to the rock: bare

158 THE GUILLEMOT.

they lay, and unattached, as on the palm of your
outstretched hand. You might see nine or ten, or
sometimes twelve, old guillemots in a line, so near
to each other that their wings seemed to touch
those of their neighbours ; and when they flew off
at your approach, you would see as many eggs as
you had counted birds sitting on the ledge.

The eggs vary in size and shape and colour
beyond all belief. Some are large, others small
some exceedingly sharp at one end, and others
nearly rotund. Where one is green, streaked and
blotched with black, another has a milk-white
ground, blotched and streaked with light brown.
Others, again, present a very pale green colour,
without any markings at all; while others are of a
somewhat darker green, with streaks and blotches
of a remarkably faded brown. In a word, nature
seems to have introduced such an endless inter-
mixture of white, brown, green, yellow, and black
into the shells of the eggs of the guillemots, that it
absolutely requires the aid of the well-set pallet of a
painter to give an adequate idea of their beautifully
blended variety of colouring. The pen has no
chance of success in attempting the description.

The rock-climbers assure you that the guillemot,
when undisturbed, never lays more than one egg ;
but that, if it be taken away, she will lay another ;
and, if she be plundered of that, she will then pro-
duce a third; and so on. If you dissect a guillemot,
you will find a knot of eggs within her. The rock-
climbers affirm that the bird can retain these eggs,
or produce them, according to circumstances. Thus,

THE GUILLEMOT. 159

if she be allowed to hatch her first egg, she lays no
more for the season; if that egg be lost or taken
away, another is laid to supply its place.

The men also assure you that, when the young
guillemot gets to a certain size, it manages to climb
upon the back of the old bird, which conveys it
down to the ocean. Having carried a good tele-
scope with me, through it I saw numbers of young
guillemots, diving and sporting on the sea, quite
unable to fly ; and I observed others on the ledges
of the rocks, as I went down among them, in such
situations that, had they attempted to fall into the
waves beneath, they would have been killed by
striking against the projecting points of the inter-
vening sharp and rugged rocks: wherefore I con-
cluded that the information of the rock-climbers
was to be depended upon; and I more easily gave
credit to it, because I myself have seen an old swan
sailing on the water with her young ones upon her
back, about a week after they were hatched.

He who rejoices when he sees all nature smiling
around him, and who takes an interest in contem-
plating the birds of heaven as they wing their way
before him, will feel sad at heart on learning the
unmerited persecution to which these harmless
seafowl are exposed. Parties of sportsmen, from
all quarters of the kingdom, visit Flamborough and
its vicinity during the summer months, and spread
sad devastation all around them. No profit attends
the carnage; the poor unfortunate birds serve merely
as marks to aim at, and they are generally left
where they fall. Did these heartless gunmen reflect,

160 THE CORMORANT.

but for one moment, how many innocent birds their
shot destroys; how many fall disabled on the wave,
there to linger for hours, perhaps for days, in torture
and in anguish; did they but consider how many
helpless young ones will never see again their parents
coming to the rock with food ; they would, methinks,
adopt some other plan to try their skill, or cheat
the lingering hour.

NOTES OF A VISIT TO THE HAUNTS OF THE
CORMORANT, AND FACTS ON ITS HABITS.

Tue fabulous story concerning the cormorant made
a great impression upon me in early youth; and I
well remember with what avidity I first read his true
history in the pages of Buffon.

The old fable tells us that the cormorant was once
a wool-merchant. He entered into partnership
with the bramble and the bat, and they freighted a
large vessel with wool. She struck on some rocks,
and went to the bottom. This loss caused the firm
to become bankrupt. Since that disaster, the bat
sculks in his hiding-hole until twilight, in order that
he may avoid his creditors: the bramble seizes hold
of every passing sheep, to make up his loss by
retaining part of its wool; while the cormorant is
for ever diving into the waters of the deep, in hopes
of discovering whereabouts his foundered vessel
lies. So far for the fable, which will always bring

THE CORMORANT. 161

pleasing recollections into the minds of those who
are fond of rural pursuits.

The cormorants often pay me a visit in the winter
season; and, could they but perceive that there
is safety for them here, and great danger elsewhere,
they would remain with me while the water is
unfrozen. But they wander, unfortunately, through
parts where protection is not afforded them ; and,
being outlandish birds in the eyes of the neigh-
bouring gamekeepers, they are immediately shot at.
Those which find their way here are so unconscious
of danger, that, after they have spent a considerable
portion of time in diving for fish, they will come and
preen their feathers on the terrace which rises from
the water, within ten yards of the drawingroom
windows.

The cormorant may be justly styled the feathered
terror of the finny tribe. His skill in diving is most
admirable, and his success beyond belief. You may
know him at a distance, among a thousand water-
fowl, by his upright neck, by his body being appa-
rently half immersed in the water, and by his being
perpetually in motion when not on land. While
the ducks and teal and wigeons are stationary on the
pool, the cormorant is seen swimming to and fro,
“as if in quest of something.” First raising his
body nearly perpendicular, down he plunges into the
deep ; and after staying there a considerable time,
he is sure to bring up a fish, which he invariably
swallows head foremost. Sometimes half an hour
elapses before he can manage to accommodate a
large eel quietly in his stomach. You see him

M

162 THE CORMORANT.

straining violently, with repeated efforts to gulp it ;
and when you fancy that the slippery mouthful is
successfully disposed of, all on a sudden the eel
retrogrades upwards from its dismal sepulchre, strug-
gling violently to escape. The cormorant swallows
it again; and up again it comes, and shows its tail
a foot or more out of its destroyer’s mouth. At
length, worn out with ineffectual writhings and
slidings, the eel is gulped down into the cormorant’s
stomach for the last time, there to meet its dreaded
and inevitable fate. This gormandising exhibition
was witnessed here by several individuals, both
ladies and gentlemen, on Nov. 26. 1832, through an
excellent eight and twenty guinea telescope; the
cormorant being, at that time, not more than a
hundred yards distant from the observers. I was of
the party.

When I visited Flamborough Head in the first
week in June, I was disappointed in not seeing the
cormorant there ; but I was informed in Bridlington
Quay, that this bird was not to be found nearer than
the rocks at Buckton; and that it had eggs very
late in the season. In consequence of this inform-
ation, I made a second expedition to the sea coast,
and arrived at Bridlington Quay on July 14. 1834.

About three quarters of a mile from the sea,
betwixt Flamborough Head-and Filey Bay, stands
the once hospitable mansion of Buckton Hall. I say
hospitable, because its carved ornaments in stone,
its stately appearance, and the excellent manner in
which its out-buildings have been constructed,
plainly indicate that mirth and revelry must once

THE CORMORANT. 163

have cheered its walls. But the tide of prosperity
has ceased to flow. Something or other seems to
have intervened, and turned it down another chan-
nel: for now the once well-known Buckton Hall is
a neglected mansion ; and the stranger, as he passes
near it, sees at one glance that it is no longer a
place of rendezvous for the great. The present
tenant kindly allowed the horse and gig, which I
had hired in Bridlington Quay, to be put under
cover till I returned from the cliff.

My guide, whose name was Mellor, and who
possesses a very accurate knowledge of all the birds
in this district, having mustered men and ropes in
the village of Buckton, we proceeded across the
table land to the Raincliff, which forms a perpendi-
cular wall to the ocean, 140 yards high. Whilst I
was descending this precipice, thousands of guille-
mots and razorbills enlivened the interesting scene.
Some were going down to the water, others were
ascending from it; while every ledge of the rock,
as far as my eye could reach, was literally covered
with birds of the same species. The cormorants
stayed not to witness my unwelcome descent into
their ancient and almost inaccessible settlement.
They all took wing, as soon as we reached the edge
of the cliff, and went far away to sea. It was a
difficult matter to procure their eggs; for the nests
were built in: places where the rocks overhung
them; and it was only by my giving the rope a
swinging motion, and then taking advantage of it,
as it brought me to the face of the cliff, that I was
enabled to get a footing on the ledges which con-

M 2

164 THE CORMORANT.

tained them. These nests were composed of thick
sticks, plants from the rocks, grass, ketlocks which
had gone to seed, and a little wool. There were
four young birds in one, three eggs in another, two
in a third, and one newly laid in a fourth. The
shell of the cormorant’s eggs is incrusted with a
white chalky substance, which is easily scraped off
with your penknife, and then you get at the true
colour of the shell; the outside of which is of a
whitish green, and the inside of a green extremely
delicate and beautiful. The egg is oblong in shape,
and you find it small for the size of the bird. The
four young cormorants were unfledged, and covered
with a black down. ‘Their long necks, and long
wing-bones, gave them a grotesque, and an almost
hideous appearance. They would have been of
service to the renowned Callot, when he was making
his celebrated sketch of the Temptations of St.
Anthony. There came from the nests a fetid smell,
so intolerable, that you might have fancied you had
got among Virgil’s Harpies; or that you were
inhaling exhalations from the den of Cacus. No-
thing could have been more distressing to your
nasal sensibilities.

It is remarkable that on the Raincliff not a kitti-
wake is seen to alight; and scarcely ever observed
to fly close past it. I saw no signs that this bird
had ever made its nest here. An attentive natu-
ralist, who would take up his quarters in this neigh-
bourhood, and visit the coast every day during the
breeding season, might possibly be able to discover
the cause why the kittiwake, which is seen in such

THE CORMORANT. 165

countless thousands from Flamborough Head to
Bempton, should shun the Raincliff, which, appa-
rently, differs in nothing but height from the other
parts of this bold and rocky shore.

I am positive that we have not two species of
cormorant in Great Britain. The crested cormorant,
with a white spot on each thigh, is merely the com-
mon cormorant in his nuptial dress. This is not
the only bird which becomes highly ornamented
during the breeding season. On some future day,
when the storms of winter forbid all access to the
fields, and condemn me to the dull monotony of life
within doors, I may possibly take up the pen, and
write down a few remarks upon the change of
plumage in birds.

The flesh of the cormorant possesses no flavour
that would suit the palate of our modern epicures.
Hence it is despised by aldermen, and, of course,
never served up at a Lord Mayor of London’s feast.
On the sea coast, this poor bird is shot at by marks-
men through mere wanton pastime; and when he
takes a flight inland, he runs great risk of never
getting back again to sea; for nobody will befriend
him, on account of his well-known inclination to
make too free with the contents of well-stored fish-
ponds. + Still, for my own part, I love to see him
come this way. Stay here, poor wandering mariner,
as long as it pleases thee to do so. The sight of
thee puts me in mind of the happy hours I spent in
reading the Metamorphoses at the Jesuits’ College.
Well do I remember how beautifully the poet tells
thy affecting story, before thou wert reduced to the

M 3

166 THE KINGFISHER.

necessity of diving for a livelihood. I do not care if
thou takest all the eels in the lake. Thou art wel-
come to them. I am well aware that thy stomach
requires a frequent and alarge supply. So, pr’ythee,
help thyself.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE KING-
FISHER.

** Perque dies placidos hiberno tempore septem
Incubat Halcyone pendentibus zquore nidis.’*
Ovid. Met., lib. xi.

WuEN the delicious season of spring sets in, I often
get up into the topmost branches of a wide-spread-
ing oak; and there, taking the Metamorphoses out
of my pocket, I read the sorrows of poor Haleyone.
A brook runs close by the tree, and on its bank I
have fixed a stump for a resting-place to the king-
fisher. . On it, this pretty bird will tarry for a while
in passing up and down, and then plunge into the
stream, and bring out a fish. My elevated station
on the oak gives me a fine opportunity of admiring
its back, as it darts along beneath me. When the
sunbeam is upon it, no words can do justice to the
beauty of the glowing azure which attracts the eye.

Modern ornithologists have thought fit to remove
the kingfisher from the land birds, and assign it a
place amongst the water-fowl. To me the change
appears a bad one; and I could wish to see it
brought back again to the original situation in which

THE KINGFISHER. 167

our ancestors had placed it; for there seems to be
nothing in its external formation which can warrant
this arbitrary transposition. The plumage of the
kingfisher is precisely that of the land bird, and, of
course, some parts of the skin are bare of feathers ;
while the whole body is deprived of that thick coat
of down so remarkable in those birds which are
classed under the denomination of water-fowl. Its
feet are not webbed; its breast-bone is formed
like that of land birds; and its legs are ill calculated
to enable it to walk into the water. Thus we see
that it can neither swim with .the duck, nor dive
with the merganser, nor wade with the heron. Its
act of immersion in the water is quite momentary,
and bears no similarity to the immersion of those
water-fowl which can pursue their prey under the
surface, and persevere for a certain length of time,
till they lay hold of it. Still the mode of taking its
food is similar to that of the gulls, which first see
the fish, and then plunge into the deep to obtain it;
but this bird differs from the gull in every other
habit.

You observe the kingfisher sitting on a rock, or
upon the branch of a tree, or hovering over the
water; and the moment a fish is seen in the stream
below, it drops down upon it like a falling stone.
If it miss the mark, which is rarely the case, it
comes up again immediately, without further exer-
tion in the water, and then flies off, or occasionally
regains its former station in order to make another
plunge. As this process of immersion is of very
short duration, the bird is enabled to escape with

M 4

168 THE KINGFISHER.

impunity from the deep, in which, or on which,
were it to remain for a very little time, Goat: would
inevitably be its fate.

These undeniable circumstances have induced me
to wish for the restoration of the kingfisher to its
former situation amongst the land birds ; for I feel
reluctant to admit that the single act of procuring
its food from the water should be thought a sufficient
reason for removing it from its old associates, and
placing it amongst strangers, with whom it can
neither dive nor swim, nor even float with any chance
of safety. If the kingfisher is to be considered a
water bird merely because it draws its sustenance
from the water, then our modern innovators ought
to consider the osprey in the same light: and even
the barn owl might give them a hint that she feels
inclined to seek a new acquaintance; for I myself
have seen her plunge into the water, bring out a
fish, and convey it to her nest. Indeed, the swallow,
with a still better grace, might ask permission to
form a new division, distant both from land and
water birds, and call it ethereal; because it pro-
cures the whole of its sustenance from insects in the
circumambient air.

When I remarked above, that the feet of the
kingfisher are not webbed, I did not wish it to be
understood, that I consider the webbed foot essen-
tially necessary to the act of swimming. The water
hen is an expert swimmer, without having the feet
webbed ; but then, its form and plumage, so different
from the form and plumage of land birds, enable it

——

THE KINGFISHER. 169

to move with swiftness and with safety, either on
the water, or under its surface.

There is not much difference in appearance be-
twixt the adult male and female kingfisher; and
their young have the fine azure feathers on the back
before they leave the nest. This early metallic
brilliancy of plumage seems only to be found in
birds of the pie tribe. It obtains in the magpie, the
jay, and, most probably, in all the rollers. Where-
ever it is observed in the young birds, we may be
certain that the adult male and female will be nearly
alike in colour. We are in great ignorance, and I
fear we shall long remain so, concerning colour in
the plumage of birds. The adult male and female

kingfisher have a very splendid display of fine tints;
so have the adult male and female starling; but,
though the young of the kingfisher have their bright
colours in the first plumage, we find the first plu-
mage of the young starlings pale and dull. I have
had an eye to this circumstance for above thirty
years, and still I am sorely in want of the school-
master.

The old story, that the kingfisher hovers over the
water, in order to attract the fish by the brightness
of its plumage, is an idle surmise. In the first
place, fishes cannot see an object directly above
them; and, secondly, if they could see it, there
would be nothing brilliant for them to look at in the
kingfisher, as all the splendid feathers are upon its
upper parts.

A brook runs through this park, and alongside of

Nee A ee

170 THE KINGFISHER.

it grows a small oak, part of the roots of which are
bare; the earth and gravel having gradually left
them, and fallen into the stream below. In the bank
where these roots are seen, about six feet from the
surface of the water, is a hole in which a pair of
kingfishers have had their nest time out of mind.
They have afforded me the best possible opportu-
nities of examining their economy; and, from what
I have seen, I am perfectly satisfied that this pair
of birds, at least, lives entirely upon fish: I have
never been able to detect these kingfishers feeding
either upon snails, or worms, or insects. They
bring up a fish from the water, crosswise in their
bills, and then chuck it down their throats head
foremost. I do not think that they ever eat a fish
piecemeal: and these birds, with me, never utter
their ordinary shrill piping succession of notes,
except when they are on the wing.

I love to take my stand behind a large tree, and
watch the kingfisher as he hovers over the water,
and at last plunges into it, with a velocity like that
of an arrow from a bow. How we are lost in asto-
nishment when we reflect that instinct forces this
little bird to seek its sustenance underneath the
water ; and that it can emerge from it in perfect
safety ; though it possesses none of the faculties
(save that of plunging) which have been so liberally
granted to most other birds which frequent the
deep! I sometimes fancy that it is all over with it,
when I see it plunge into a pond, which I know to
be well stocked with ravenous pike: still it in-

THE KINGFISHER. 171

variably returns uninjured, and prepares to take
another dip.

There are people who imagine that the brilliancy
of the plumage of birds has some connection with a
tropical sun. Here, however, in our own native
bird, we have an instance that the glowing sun of
the tropics is not required to produce a splendid
plumage. The hottest parts of Asia and of Africa
do not present us with an azure more rich and lovely
than that which adorns the back of this charming
little bird; while throughout the whole of America,
from Hudson’s Bay to Tierra del Fuego, there has
not been discovered a kingfisher with colours half
so rich or beautiful. Asia, Africa, and America
offer to the naturalist a vast abundance of different
species of the kingfisher. Europe presents only
one; but that one is like a gem of the finest lustre.

I feel sorry to add that our kingfisher is becoming
scarcer every year in this part of Yorkshire. The
proprietors of museums are always anxious to add
it to their collections, and offer a tempting price
for it. On the canals, too, it undergoes a continual
persecution: not a waterman steers his boat along
them, but who has his gun ready to procure the
kingfisher. If I may judge from the disappearance
of the kite, the raven, and the buzzard from this
part of the country, I should say that the day is at
no great distance when the kingfisher will be seen
no more in this neighbourhood, where once it was
so plentiful and its appearance so grateful to every
lover of animated nature. Where, in fine, its sin-

byl THE TAWNY OWL.

gular mode of procuring food, contrasted with its
anatomy, causes astonishment in the beholder, and
cannot fail to convince him that modern ornitholo-
gists were ignorant of the true nature of the king-
fisher when they rashly removed it from its old as-
sociates, and assigned it a place amongst strangers,
whose formation differs so widely from its own.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE TAWNY
OWL.

Or all our British owls, this is by far the greatest
favourite with me, and I take great interest in its
preservation.

Whilst temperance societies are rising up in all
directions to warn the thirsty sinner that gin and
godliness are not in unison, I could wish that some
benevolent person would instruct the ignorant on
the true nature and. habits of many poor dumb
animals, which undergo a perpetual persecution,
under the erroneous idea that they are inimical to
the interests of man. I would willingly go twenty
miles on foot, over the flintiest road, to hear some
patroness of infant schools tell her little pupils that,
nowadays, there are no old women who ride through
the air on broomsticks, with a black cat in their
laps ; that ravens, owls, and magpies have long since
dropped all dealing with people in the other world ;
and that hedgehogs are clearly proved never to have
sucked a cow; though our silly farmers, almost to a
man, would fain persuade us that these little harm-

THE TAWNY OWL. 173

less creatures are guilty of the preposterous act.
Notwithstanding the apprehensions of the dairy-
maid, I now and then venture to purchase a captive
hedgehog, and turn it into the park; there to live
and die in peace.

It was but the other day that a neighbouring
young lady complained to me of an owl which had
been hooting, for three or four successive nights,
far too near her bedroom windows; and she wished
indeed that it were shot. I startled as she uttered
this, for it instantly occurred to me that the bird of
which she complained might possibly be one which
was bred here last summer; and that its propensity
to night-errantry, had brought it into a scrape. So,
I tried to persuade her that nothing but sheer curi-
osity could have induced the owl to take the undue
liberty of peeping in at her window; and I was sure
that it could have seen nothing there to displease it.

I have never heard an owl, either in Europe or in
America, that utters sounds so nearly resembling
the human voice as those which our tawny owl
sends forth. Here, where all is still, and every
thing to be found that is inviting to the feathered
race, this bird will hoot at intervals throughout the
day, both in cloudy and in sunny weather. Were
you to pronounce the letter O in a loud and very
clear tone of voice, and then, after a short pause,
repeat the same letter in a drawling, tremulous
accent, you would have a tolerably just idea of the
hooting of the tawny owl. It will sometimes pro-
duce a sharp cry, which sounds not unlike the word
quo-ah: both male and female utter this cry.

ee a

174 THE TAWNY OWL.

Though the tawny owl generally takes up its
abode in dark and gloomy woods, still it occasionally
settles very near the habitation of man. In a hollow
sycamore, within a dozen yards of this house, there
had been the nest of a tawny owl, time out of mind.
Here the birds would have remained to this day,
had not a colony of jackdaws, which I had encou-
raged, by hanging up wooden boxes for them in the
next tree, actually driven the owls away, in order
that they might get possession of the hole. Before
this misfortune befel them, a servant once robbed
their nest, and placed the young ones in a willow
cage, not far from the hollow tree. The parent
birds brought food for their captive offspring ; but,
not being able to get it through the bars of the
cage, they left it on the ground on the outside.
This food consisted of mice, rats, small birds, and
fish, which I myself saw and examined. At the
present time, I have a tawny owl, sitting on four
eggs, in a large ash tree, close to a much-frequented
summer-house. The male stays in a spruce fir
tree, and hoots occasionally throughout the day. I
have found, by dissecting the ejected bolus of this
species, that is feeds copiously upon different sorts
of beetles.

Were I just now requested to find a hollow tree
in the woods of the neighbourhood, I should say
that it were useless to go in quest of one ; so eager
have the proprietors been to put into their pockets
the value of every tree. which was not ‘‘making
money,” according to the cant phrase of modern
wood-valuers. No bird has felt this felling of ancient

THE TAWNY OWL. 175

timber more than the tawny owl. To thé extreme
scarcity of breeding-holes, and to the destructive
measures of the gamekeepers, I attribute the great
rarity of this bird in our own immediate neighbour-
hood: add to this, that it sometimes rests on the
ground, under covert of a bush, where it is flushed
and killed by sportsmen while in pursuit of wood-
cocks. Were it not for my park, I believe that the
tawny owl would be extinct in this part of Yorkshire.
Some ten years ago, it was so scarce, that I seldom
heard its voice. Once or so, in the winter, I could
catch the hooting of a solitary owl as I was after the
midnight poachers; but that was all: and, then,
whole weeks would elapse before I could hear the
pleasing notes again. At present, however, this
favourite warbler is on the increase.

He who befriends the tawny owl, and loves to
have it near his mansion, may easily make a habi-
tation for it, provided there be a wood at hand, with
full-grown ash trees in it. But, no wood, no tawny
owl; Point d'argent, point de Suisse, as the saying
has it. On examining his ash timber, he will occa-
sionally find a tree with a particular fungus on it ;
yellow when growing, and black when ripe. But
more of this, perhaps, another time, should I ever
offer to the public a short paper on the cause and
prevention of dry rot: a misnomer, by the way.
When this fungus falls to the ground, after the rains
of winter have set in, the bark on which it has
grown shows such faint traces of a change, that an
eye not accustomed to look for these things would
scarcely notice the distempered part. By means,

176 THE TAWNY OWL.

however, of a hammer and a chisel applied to the
spot, you are soon let into the secret: and you find
the wood, in the quarter where the fungus appeared,
of a texture soft and altered, and somewhat ap-
proaching to that of cork. Here, then, you can
readily form an excavation large enough to contain
a pair of tawny owls.

In the year 1831, I pointed out to Mr. Ord (the
elegant and scientific biographer of poor Wilson)
just such an ash tree as that which I have described.
It was above 2 ft. in diameter, and there was a fungus
on the western side of it. After I had excavated
nearly half way through the tree, I found a portion
of the wood more tainted than the rest: so, putting
a longer handle into the socket of the chisel, I
worked in the direction which it took; until, most
unexpectedly, I came to the nest of a titmouse.
The bird, like the Portuguese at Mindanao, had
evidently taken possession of the tenement through
an aperture from the eastward, now closed up with
living bark ; while I, like the Spaniards, had arrived
at the same place, by pursuing a course from the
westward. If I might judge by the solid appearance
of the bark, I should say that, some fifty or sixty
years ago, a branch must have been blown off from
this eastern side of the bole; and there the rain
had found an entrance, and had gradually formed a
cavity. The titmouse, judging it a convenient place,
had chosen it for her nidification; and, probably,
had resorted to it every year, until the growing
wood at the mouth of the orifice had contracted the
entrance, and, at last, closed it up for ever: leaving

THE TAWNY OWL. 177

the nest hermetically sealed in the bole of the tree.
A thousand people might gaze on this tree, in
passing by, and still not see a blemish. I myself
can just perceive it, by means of a few concentrated
lines still visible on the bark; but, had not the
discovery of the nest drawn my attention to the
place, I should never have perceived that the eastern
part of the tree had formerly received an injury.
Mr. Ord was enraptured at the exposition of the
ornithological treasure; and noted down in his
pocketbook every thing worthy of record. The
tree still stands: and long may it stand, to gratify
the curiosity of naturalists. Last year, a pair of
barn owls reared their young in it: and, just now,
there are eggs in the same place. I made another
excavation, in an ash tree about two hundred yards
from this; and, last summer, it gave me an increase
of three tawny owls. Throughout the winter, I
could, at any time, find them reposing in some
neighbouring fir trees.

The tawny owl generally lays four snow-white
eggs in the same hole which it had chosen for its
winter quarters. I am satisfied in my own mind,
that no owl in the world ever gathers materials to
form the lining of its nest. Indeed, there is no
necessity whatever for it to take that trouble;
nature makes a sufficient provision for the lining of
the hole to which the owl resorts, long before the
breeding-time sets in. Every species of this bird
ejects from the stomach all the indigestible parts of
their food, in the shape of a dark-coloured oblong
bolus ; which, when dried, is soon reduced to frag-

N

178 _ THE WIGEON.

ments by the superincumbent body of the bird. On
this the female lays her eggs; nor could she well
procure a better or a softer substance for them.

Trifling as an attention to the feathered tribe may
seem, still it has its sweets for those who love to
lead a rural life. I generally observe that visiters
who come here are always anxious to have a sight
of the birds which take up their abode in this
sequestered valley; and they listen with evident
signs of pleasure to the cries of the nocturnal wan-
derers of the air. It is not above a week ago that I
heard the heron screaming, the wigeon whistling,
the barn owl screeching, and the tawny owl hooting,
in rapid succession. The moon was playing on the
water at the time, and the air was nearly as warm
as summer. I thought of times long past and gone,
when I was enjoying nature’s richest scenery in the
interminable forests of Guiana.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE WIGEON.

From the month of May to that of October, we
know nothing of the haunts and economy of this
cheerful and familiar stranger; for he always takes
his leave of us in spring ; at which time he is sup-
posed to proceed to distant regions of the north,
where ornithologists have never yet dared to ven-
ture.

THE WIGEON. 179

I am satisfied in my own mind, that the wigeon
does not stay here to breed. All my endeavours to
find its nest have hitherto been ineffectual ; nor can
I recollect to have met with one well authenticated
account of the wigeon’s eggs having ever been found
in England.

Formerly, I used to consider the wigeon as one
of those migratory birds ,of which little could ever
be known, as it merely came here to spend the
winter months amongst us, in order to avoid the
dismal tempests which were raging in its own native
land. Under this erroneous impression, I always
availed myself of every opportunity to get a shot at
the wigeons. Of course, this made them exceed-
ingly shy and wary ; for persecution soon shows to
birds the danger of placing themselves within the
reach of man. Hence their visits here were few
and transitory ; and sometimes weeks elapsed with-
out my seeing a single wigeon on the water.

Since I have shut the temple of Janus, and pro-
claimed undisturbed repose to those of the feathered
race which come to seek for shelter here, the
wigeons are in great abundance ; and, from the time
of their arrival to the period of their departure, they
may be found here every day, whether in a frosty,
a snowy, or an open season. A stranger, on observ-
ing them, would hardly suppose that they are wild
fowl; for he will often see nearly one hundred of
them congregating with the tame ducks, not sixty
yards from the kitchen windows. Protection has
restored to them their innate familiarity ; and now

N2

180 THE WIGEON.

I am enabled to say something on certain parts of
their economy, which our ornithological writers
seem never to have noticed.

The wigeon is a much more familiar bird than
either the pochard or the teal. While these con-
gregate on the water, beyond the reach of man, the
wigeon appears to have divested itself of the timid-
ity observable in all other species of wild fowl, and
approaches very near to our habitations. A consi-
derable time elapsed before I was enabled to account
satisfactorily for the wigeon’s remaining here during
the night ; a circumstance directly at variance with
the habits of its congeners, which, to a bird, pass
the night away from the place where they have
been staying during the day. But, upon paying
a much closer attention to it than I had formerly
been accustomed to do, I observed that it differed
from them all, both in the nature of its food, and in
the time of procuring it. The mallard, the pochard,
and the teal obtain nearly the whole of their nourish-
ment during the night. On the contrary, the wigeon
procures its food in the day time, and that food is
grass. He who has an opportunity of watching the
wigeon when it is undisturbed, and allowed to follow
the bent of its own inclinations, will find that, while
the mallard, the pochard, and the teal are sporting
on the water, or reposing on the bank at their ease,
it is devouring with avidity that same kind of short
grass, on which the goose is known to feed. Hence,
though many flocks of wigeons accompany the other
water-fowl in their nocturnal wanderings, still num-
bers of them pass the whole of the night here; and

THE WIGEON. 181

this I know to be a fact, by their singular whistling
noise, which is heard at all hours.

On January 26. 1832, for the first time, I satis-
fied myself beyond all doubt of what I had long
suspected, namely, that wigeons feed upon grass,
exactly after the manner of geese. A flock of them
was then feeding opposite the windows. I took the
large telescope, and distinctly saw them feeding
voraciously on the green short blades of grass.
Whilst I am writing this (January 12. 1835) the
ground is covered with snow, except under some
large elm trees; and at the root of these there are,
just now, above one hundred wigeons and thirty
coots, all feeding on the grass which is not concealed
by the snow.

In other places, where persecution is the wigeon’s
lot, no doubt it will be very shy in frequenting pas-
tures during the day; and, of course, it will be
compelled, contrary to its natural habits, to seek
for food throughout the night, in company with
its congeners.

As the ordinary food of the wigeons is evidently
grass, perhaps there may not be a sufficient supply
of it in those high northern regions, whither the
water-fowl are supposed to repair when they leave
us in spring. Should this conjecture prove well
founded, we can account for the wigeon remaining
with us till the beginning of May, at which period
all the migratory water birds (saving a few teal,
which are known to breed in England) must be
busily employed, far away from us, in the essential
work of incubation.

nN 3

182 THE WIGEON.

Though we are quite ignorant of the manner and
place in which the wigeon makes its nest, and of
the number and colour of its eggs, still we are in
possession of a clew to lead us to the fact, that it
hatches its young long after its congeners the mal-
lards have hatched theirs. The mallards return
here, in full plumage, early in the month of Octo-
ber; but the wigeons are observed to be in their
mottled plumage as late as the end of November.
Again, as the old male wigeon returns to these
latitudes in mottled plumage, we may safely infer
that he undergoes the same process of a double
moulting as the mallard; on which, perhaps, a paper
hereafter. .

I offer to ornithologists, these few observations
and speculations on the economy of the wigeon, to
be approved of, or reproved, or improved, just as
they may think fit. Every disquisition, be it ever
so short, will help a little to put the science of orni-
thology upon a somewhat better footing than that
on which it stands at present. From reviews, which
I have lately read with more than ordinary atten-
tion; and from representations of birds, which I
have lately examined very closely, I pronounce or-
nithology to be at least halfa century behind the
other sciences. I say nothing of the stuffing of birds
for cabinets of natural history. Were I to touch
upon the mode now in general use, I should prove
it to be a total failure, devoid of every scientific
principle; a mode that can never, by any chance,
restore the true form and features of birds.

But to return to the wigeon. I will just add, in

THE HERON. 183

conclusion, that I penned down the remarks on its
habits, after many very close and often repeated in-
spections of the bird, during its winter residence
amongst us. I fear, however, that we must be
contented to remain in absolute ignorance of many

_ important parts of its history, until some bold and

hardy naturalist shall penetrate into those distant
regions of the north, where this pretty bird, in
company with myriads of other wild fowl, is sup-
posed to pass the summer months in undisturbed
security.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE HERON.

Or all the large wild birds which formerly were
so common in this part of Yorkshire, the heron
alone can now be seen. The kite, the buzzard, and
the raven have been exterminated long ago by our
merciless gamekeepers. Ignorant of the real habits
of birds, and ever bent on slaughter, these men ex-
ercise their baneful calling with a severity almost
past belief. No sooner have they received from go-
vernment their shooting license, than out they go
with the gun, and, under one pretext or other, they
kill almost every bird which comes in their way.
Our game laws are at the bottom of all this mis-
chief.

— “ T]lis, non sevior ulla
Pestis, et ira Deim, Stygiis sese extulit undis.”

N 4

184 THE HERON.

Than these, a greater pest our statesmen never
Sent from their old burnt house near London river.

Kites were frequent here in the days of my
father; but I, myself, have never seen one near the
place. In 1813, I had my last sight of the buzzard.
It used to repair to the storm-blasted top of an an-
cient oak which grows near the water’s edge; and
many and many a time again have I gone that way,
on purpose to get a view of it. In the spring of that
year, it went away to return no more; and, about the
same period, our last raven was shot on its nest by a
neighbouring gentleman.

In vain I now look for any of these interesting
birds in our surrounding woods. They have been de-
clared great destroyers of game; they have, in con-
sequence, suffered persecution; and like the family
of poor Charley Stuart (God rest his soul!), they
no longer appear on their own native land, in this
district, where once they graced our rural scenery.

The heron, however, notwithstanding this hostile
feeling, has managed to survive its less fortunate
neighbours. Always on the look-out, it sees in time
the threatened danger, and generally contrives to
avoid it ; for persecution has rendered it fully as shy
and wary as the pie itself. Formerly, in this country,
the heron was a protected bird, in order that it might
afford pastime to the great ; but, nowadays (as little
or nothing remains of falconry, except a title which
introduces the finger and thumb of the bearer into
the public purse), the heron is abandoned to its fate ;
and the fishpond owners may way lay it with impu-
nity, whenever an opportunity offers.

THE HERON. 185

I attribute the bad character which the heron has
with us, for destroying fish, more to erroneous
ideas, than to any well authenticated proofs that it
commits extensive depredations on our store-ponds.
Under this impression, which certainly has not
hitherto been to my disadvantage, I encourage this
poor persecuted wader to come and take shelter here ;
and I am glad to see it build its nest in the trees
which overhang the water, though carp, and tench,
and many other sorts of fish, are there in abundance.
Close attention to its habits has convinced me that
I have not done wrongly. Let us bear in mind that
the heron can neither swim nor dive ; wherefore the
range of its depredations on the finny tribe must
necessarily be very circumscribed. In the shallow
water only can it surprise the fish ; and, even there,
when we see it standing motionless, and suppose it
to be intent on striking some delicious perch or
passing tench, it is just as likely that it has waded
into the pond to have a better opportunity of trans-
fixing a water-rat lurking at the mouth of its hole,
or of gobbling down some unfortunate frog which
has taken refuge on the rush-grown margin of the
pool. ‘The water-rat may appear a large morsel to
be swallowed whole ; but 8o great are the expansive
powers of the heron’s throat, that it can gulp down
one of these animals without much apparent difficulty.
As the ordinary food of this bird consists of reptiles,
quadrupeds, and fish, and as the herons can only
catch the fish when they come into shallow water,
I think we may fairly consider this wader as not very

—

186 THE HERON.

injurious to our property ; especially when we reflect
for a moment on the prodigious fecundity of fish.
Take the roach for example. It swarms here in
multitudes sufficient to satisfy the cravings of every
heron and every cormorant in Europe.

Should the lords of the adjacent fishponds ever
read the contents of this paper, I would fain hope
that their animosity against the heron will be dimi-
nished, and that they will order their gamekeepers
to spare in future a bird which every body loves to
see. Indeed, what can be more interesting tothe orni-
thologist than to have it in his power to watch a dozen
of these birds standing motionless on one leg, for
hours together, upon some leafless branch of a tree ;
or to see them flapping their way over his head, on
wings much more arched than those of any other
bird that cleaves the liquid void.

The heron is gregarious during the breeding
season; though sometimes a solitary nest may be
found miles away from the place of general rendez-
vous. At other times of the year, the society seems
to be dissolved; and the bird is seldom seen in this
part of the country in parties of more than ten or
twelve together. The nest appears like that of the rook,
only often much larger ; and it may be found on the
willow, the oak, the fir, and the sycamore, and pro-
bably on many other kinds of trees, when they are
in a place which affords security, and invites the
heron to incubation. By the time that the young are
ready to fly, the outside of the nest, and part of the
tree which bears it, appear to the observer below as

4
hs
‘

THE HERON. 187

though they had been completely whitewashed: but
the rains of winter cleanse the nest anew, and re-
store the branches to their former colour.

There is an old and vulgar notion, still current
here, that, when the heron is sitting on her eggs,
her legs appear hanging down on the outside of the
nest. Probably the length of the heron’s legs has
given rise to this absurdity. A very slight inspection
of the formation of the bird would suffice to convince
the observer of his error. The thighs of all known
birds are of a length exactly proportioned to that of
the legs; wherefore, when a bird wishes to place
itself in a sitting position, the bending of the knee
causes the leg to recede sufficiently towards the tail
to allow the feet to come to the centre of the body.
This being the case, the heron places its legs in the
nest with as much facility and ease as all other birds
place theirs. Indeed, it cannot possibly perform its
incubation with its legs outside of the nest; and the
admirable provision of nature, in always giving to
birds a due proportional length in their legs and
thighs, saves the heron from the necessity of at-
tempting to place itself in such an unsightly posture.
In fact, the formation of the parts would not admit
of it; and were a bird, by any chance, to put itself
in a position by which the legs would appear on the
outside of the nest, we may rest assured that both
great pain and great inconvenience would ensue,
and soon force it to resume the common process of
incubation. The thighs, by being stretched asunder,
would be thrown out of their ordinary bearings ; and

188 THE HERON.

the feathers, by coming in contact with the outer
materials of which the nest is formed, would be
forced into a direction quite opposite to that which
they have received from the hand of nature. Hence
we may safely conclude that neither the herons, nor
any other birds of the creation, ever perform their
incubation with their legs on the outside of the
nest.

In the day-time this bird seldom exhibits any very
extraordinary activity. Although it will fly from
place to place at intervals, still it seems to pass the
greater part of the time betwixt sunrise and sunset
quietly on the bank of a stream, or on the branch of
a tree, often with one leg drawn up under the body
in a most picturesque manner. But, as soon as the
shades of night set in, the heron becomes as anxious
and impatient as a London alderman half an hour
before the Lord Mayor’s festive dinner. It walks
up and down the bank, or moves from branch to
branch with extraordinary activity, every now and
then stretching out its wings, and giving us to un-
derstand, by various gesticulations, that it is about
to commence its nocturnal peregrinations in quest
of food. One loud and harsh cry, often repeated,
now informs you that the heron is on wing,
wending its way to some distant river, swamp, or
creek. I suspect that this cry is never uttered but
when the bird is flying.

Formerly we had a range of fishponds here, one
above the other, covering a space of about three
acres of ground. Close by them ran a brook, from

eee

~ eS

THE HERON. 189

which the water-rats made regular passages through
the intervening bank into the ponds. These vermin
were engaged in never-ceasing mischief. No sooner
was one hole repaired, than another was made; so
that we had the mortification to see the ponds gene-
rally eight or ten inches below water-mark. This
encouraged the growth of weeds to a most incom-
modious extent, which at last put an end to all
pleasure in fishing. Finding that “the green mantle
from the standing pool” was neither useful nor
pleasant, I ordered the ponds to be drained, and a
plantation to be made in the space of ground which
they had occupied. Had I known as much then as
I know now of the valuable services of the heron,
and had there been a good heronry near the place,
I should not have made the change. The draining
of the ponds did not seem to lessen the number of
rats in the brook; but, soon after the herons had
settled here to breed, the rats became extremely
scarce ; and now I rarely see one in the place where
formerly I could ebserve numbers sitting on the
stones at the mouth of their holes, as soon as the
sun had gone down below the horizon. I often
watch the herons on the banks of some other store-
ponds with feelings of delight; and nothing would
grieve me more than to see the lives of these valu-
able and ornamental birds sacrificed to the whims
and caprice of man.

I know, and freely avow, that the herons will
catch fish (especially eels), whenever those fish fre-
quent the shallow water; still these birds make

190 THE DIPPER.

ample amends for their little depredations, by pre-
venting the increase of rats and frogs. Little, in-
deed, must be those depredations: for fishermen
are allowed to come here, during the summer, in
unrestricted numbers, and the herons have their
nests in the trees which hang over the water ; still
there is always a most plentiful supply of fish.

If country gentlemen would grant protection to
the heron, it would be to us, in some sort, what the
stork formerly was, and now is, to our Continental
neighbours; namely, an ornamental and a useful bird,
Though it certainly would not be so domestic as the
stork, still the protection afforded it would tend |
considerably to change its present habits. Nothing
but the roar of guns, the prejudices of pond-owners,
and the barbarity of gamekeepers, has rendered the
heron a shy, degraded, and devoted bird.

THE DIPPER.

«Mr. Waterton will not, I believe, allow that birds ever
oil their feathers; but I would wish to ask of him, how he
accounts for the fact that, while the feathers of a thrush
or robin, if they have only fallen into the water for a few
minutes, become totally spoiled, as far as the purposes of
stuffing are concerned, those of the dipper may remain half an
hour or more in the water without receiving any damage?”
(Rev. F. 0. Morris, in Mag. Nat. Hist., vol. viii. p. 375.)

I cannot account for the fact stated by the Rev.
Mr. Morris. If he infers that birds oil their plumage

THE DIPPER. 191

from the fact that the feathers of the dipper “ may
remain half an hour or more in the water without
receiving damage,” he nullifies his inference, by
adducing a subsequent fact, that the feathers of a
robin or a thrush, “ if they have only fallen into the
water for a few minutes, become totally spoiled, as
far as the purposes of stuffing are concerned ;’ for
the robin and the thrush have the oil-gland as
completely developed, and as perfect in every point
of view, as that of the dipper. If, then, the feathers
of the dipper are preserved from injury in the water
by the contents of the oil-gland, surely, by a parity
of reasoning; those of the robin and the thrush ought
to be equally preserved. But the Rev. Mr. Morris
informs us that the feathers of the robin and the
thrush become totally spoiled, as far as the purposes
of stuffing are concerned, if they have only fallen
into the water for a few minutes. This I consider
tantamount to an avowal, on the part of the reverend
ornithologist, that the robin and the thrush do not
lubricate their feathers. So much for the oil-gland,
and its supposed uses. |

I will now take the liberty of assuring the Rev.
Mr. Morris, that the feathers of the robin and the
thrush do not become totally spoiled, as far as the
purposes of stuffing are concerned, by immersion in
the water; on the contrary, their plumage is im-
proved by it. Merses profundo, pulchrior evenit.
I will engage to steep a robin and a thrush for a
whole day in a basin of water, and make better spe-
cimens of them than if I had stuffed them before
they had undergone the immersion.

192, THE DIPPER.

A concluding word on the remark, that “the
habit of the dipper walking underneath the water,
is too well known and authenticated to need any
additional information from me” [that is, from Mr.
Morris]. I am not a convert to the doctrine of a
subaquatic promenade: first, because I know that
the bodies of all birds float on the surface of the
water; secondly, because I am convinced that birds
are obliged to make great exertions with their wings;
and feet in order to be able to reach the bottom
thirdly, because I am satisfied that, as soon as they
have arrived at the bottom of the water, the force
which enabled them to descend to it ceases to act.
Hence I infer that the body of a bird, impelled to
the bottom by the aid of the feet and wings, must
rise again when deprived of that aid. I can easily
conceive, however, that the dipper, by the use of
its legs and wings, may manage to keep sufficiently
near the bottom to be enabled to turn over the peb-
bles with its bill in quest of food; because, in this
position, the legs and wings would have power to
act, and they would tend to counteract the rising
motion of the body. I maintain positively, that a
bird cannot, by any chance, walk on the ground
under water. The moment it attempted to do so,
the legs and wings, by the altered position of the
body, would be deprived of all depressing power ;
and the body itself would be raised up towards the
surface by the fluid in which it is immersed. This
would put an effectual stop to all proposed peram-
bulations at the bottom of the stream. This is only
theory, and theory may err. I often used to watch

ey ae

a=

THE WATER OUZEL. 193

the dipper, when in Northumberland ; but I own
that I never had courage to follow it to the realms
below, in order to have a clear and distinct view of
its proceedings. JF wish that old Nicolas Pescé were
alive in these days. I would engage him to put this
very important ornithological question at rest for
ever. Old Nicolas was quite at home under water.
His toes and fingers (credat Judeus) were said to
be webbed; and he could take in at one gulp as
much breath as would serve him for a whole day.
They tell us, he would often spend five days toge-
ther in the midst of the waves, and live on the fish
which he caught. The roaring gulfs among the
Lipari Islands were a kind of Hyde Park promenade
to him. Nick would resort to them whenever he
felt inclined to take an airing, either for his amuse-
ment, or for the benefit of his health.

ON THE HABITS OF THE WATER OUZEL,
WITH A FEW REMARKS ON THE OIL
GLANDS IN BIRDS.

THE water ouzel is sometimes known by the name

of the dipper in England, and by that of merle d’eau

in France, and is pronounced to be a water-fowh

by Buffon. Indeed, as the count affected to believe

the strange story of Monsieur Herbert, he might

have called it the water bird par excellence ; it being
)

194 THE WATER OUZEL.

supposed to possess a subaquatic faculty, not granted
to any other bird in the creation.

The water ouzel is found in hilly countries, where
rapid rivulets wind their way through an abrupt and
rocky bed. Here, it is never seen; but I have had
opportunities of paying attention to its habits in the
county of Northumberland, where it frequents the
borders of transparent streams, which meander
through the moors. There, you will find its nest,
in favoured localities, overhanging the brook ; while,
ever and anon, you see the bird itself go under
water, in quest of its wonted food.

This is the bird which has given rise to so much
controversy. This is the bird whose supposed sub-
aquatic pranks have set the laws of gravity at defi-
ance, by breaking through the general mandate
which has ordained that things lighter than water
shall rise towards its surface, and that things which
are heavier shall sink beneath it. If the water ouzel
can walk on the ground at the bottom of the water,
then, indeed, we may exclaim with the poet,

‘“ Omnia Nature prepostera legibus ibunt,
Parsque suum mundi nulla tenebit iter.”

All Nature’s laws will tumble in decay,
And e’en the world itself will lose its way.

How comes it that writers concede to the dipper
alone the privilege of turning nature’s mandates
topsyturvy? Why do not they tell us, that the
grebes, the coots, and the water hens (which last
have cloven feet) can walk at the bottom of streams?
The question is easily answered. The birds just

)

THE WATER OUZEL. 195

enumerated frequent waters which are generally
either too deep, or too muddy, to allow the eye of
man to follow them to any great distance in their
descent. Add to this, that these birds are much
more shy and wary than the water ouzel, and they
contrive to keep out of the reach of observation ;
thus depriving naturalists of the opportunity of a
close investigation of their subaquatic habits. But
here, where the grebe, the coot, and the water hen
come close to the terrace which rises from the lake,
I can steal upon them, and see them dive whilst
I am standing above them; and I can affirm that
they never do walk on the bottom. Now, the rivu-
lets frequented by the water ouzel afford numberless
opportunities to the observer who wishes to watch
the motions of this bird. He has only to conceal
himself behind some rock which rises from the
stream, or to show himself suddenly on the bank of
the brook where the water ouzel is found, and he
will see the little bird go under water, and he will
be able to trace its downward process. He then
fancies that he sees it walk on the ground, when, in
fact, it does no such thing ; the observer's own eyes,
in this instance, giving him false information.
Monsieur Herbert was the first man on record,
according to Buffon, who persuaded himself that the
water ouzel actually performed the impossible feat
of walking on the ground at the bottom of streams ;
and he communicated his supposed discovery to the
count. The water ouzel appeared, says Monsieur
Herbert, “ enveloped with air, which gave it a bril-
02

196 . THE MALLARD.

liant surface.” Now, we all know that this garment
of air would have added considerably to the natural
levity of the bird. It ought to have had a roquelaure
of lead, not of air. “It seemed to quiver,” con-
tinues Monsieur Herbert. ‘There would have ap-
peared no quivering, had the bird been really walking
on terra firma.

If the water ouzel, which is specifically lighter
than water, can manage, by some inherent power, to
walk on the ground at the bottom ofa rivulet ; then
there is great reason to hope that we, who are
heavier than air, may, any day, rise up into it, un-
assisted by artificial apparatus, such as wings, gas,
steam, or broom-staff.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE MALLARD.

Tuts bird yields to none of our wild water-fowl in
loveliness of plumage, while it far surpasses most of
them in the excellent flavour of its flesh. Having
been completely subjugated by man, it can now be
obtained either in its enlarged dimensions, acquired
by superabundance of food picked up at the barn-
door of its owner, or in its original small and compact
form, on which a precarious subsistence in the field
of freedom has hitherto worked no visible change.
There cannot be a doubt that the wild duck and
the domestic duck have had one and the same origin.
They are still intimate; for they breed together,

ee

THE MALLARD. 197

and flock together, and are both subject to the
double annual moulting ; of which moreanon. The

domesticated duck only loses its inclination for.

flying, when it is bred and reared far from any large
sheet of water; but where an extent of water is at
hand, this bird will be observed to assume more
brisk and active habits. It will indulge in long and
lofty flights, and frequently take off with the con-
gregated wild-fowl in their nocturnal excursions.

I have the finest possible opportunity of looking
into the habits of the mallard at any hour of the
day, from the rising to the setting sun; for here
this bird, and large flocks of its congeners, are per-
petual visitors during the winter months. They
fear no danger ; and they seem to know that in this
populous neighbourhood there is one retreat left to
which they can retire, and in which they can find
a shelter from the persecutions which are poured
down so thick upon them in other places, by man,
their ever watchful and insatiate pursuer.

Some six years ago, I put a number of wild ducks’
eggs to be hatched by a domestic duck. ‘The pro-
duce of these eggs having intermixed with the
common barn-door breed of ducks, there has been
produced by this union such an endless variety of
colouring, that it is now impossible to trace the
identical origin of the birds with any degree of cer-
tainty. Half wild, half tame, they will come to the
windows to be fed; but still they have a wariness
about them quite remarkable; and they will often
startle and take wing at very trivial causes of alarm.
In this group the naturalist may see the milk-white

0 3

198 THE MALLARD.

duck, and the duck in the real wild plumage; and
others of every intermediate colour; now sport-
ing and diving before him, now retiring to the
stranger flocks at a distance, and now rising with
them in the air at the close of day, to pursue in
congregated numbers their journey through the
heavens, to those favourite places which afford them
a regular supply of food.

In 1827, two males and three females made their
appearance here, and took up their permanent quar-
ters with the domestic ducks. They resembled
the original wild breed in every thing except in size.
You could barely perceive that they were a trifle
larger, and that was all. Hence I conclude that
there must have been a shade of the reclaimed duck
in their parentage. Though shy at first, in time
they became surprisingly tame. One of the ducks
singled out the cook as an object worthy of its
attention, and would steal into the kitchen whenever
an opportunity offered. The number is now reduced
to one, the other four having disappeared at intervals.
Fearing that this last remaining bird might give me
“the slip for ever,” I have taken the precaution to
pinion him. The curtailing of his flight will probably
be the means of prolonging his existence; for I
always conjectured that his companions had been
’ surprised and killed in their aberrations down the
neighbouring brooks, where protection was not ex-
tended to them.

The wild ducks which frequent this place may be
observed to catch insects on the water in the day-
time: but they do not, in general, rove on land in

THE MALLARD. 199

quest of food, though once or twice, in moist and
heavy weather, I have seen them waddle through
the pasture; but I marked the fact down, as one of
rare occurrence. When undisturbed, they are seen
to pass much of their time asleep on the ground.
At intervals they will take to the water; and while
some float on it, with the head reclined on the
shoulder, others will sport and dive into the deep,
and then return to land, and there arrange and
preen their feathers, though not with oil from the
gland on the rump, as is generally supposed. At
the close of day they become exceedingly vociferous,
the voice of the female being much louder and more
frequent than that of the male; a circumstance too
notorious in the human species. After this uproar
of tongues has continued for a certain time, they
rise on rapid wing in detached flocks, and, to a bird,
they go away for the night. At early dawn they
return in companies, consisting of fifteen or twenty
birds, and stay here, to pass the day in peace and
quiet. When the water is frozen over, they some-
times huddle together on the ice, and at other times
collect in one large flock in the adjacent pasture.
Every now and then a peregrine falcon makes his
appearance, and perches on a neighbouring sycamore
tree. We know of his approach by the singular
agitation which takes place amongst the ducks ; they
shake their wings with a tremulous noise, and get
into a compact group. After this they all rise in
the air; and then you may see the falcon dash at an
outside duck with an almost inconceivable velocity.
o 4

200 THE MALLARD.

‘“‘ Ocior cervis, et agente nimbos
Ocior Euro.”

One morning he was observed to pursue a teal,
which only just escaped destruction by alighting on
a pond, within a few yards of the place where some
labourers were at work.

I should think that the old birds remain in pairs
through the entire year; and that the young ones,
which have been hatched in the preceding spring,
choose their mates long before they depart for the
arctic regions in the following year. I have a fa-
vourite hollow oak tree on a steep hill, into which
I can retire to watch the movements of the pretty
visitors. From this I can often see a male and female
on the water beneath me, nodding and bowing to
each other with as much ceremony as though they
were swimming a minuet, if I may use the expres-
sion. Hence I conclude that there is mutual love
in the exhibition, and that a union is formed.

When these large flocks of wildfowl take their
departure in spring for the distant regions of the
north, about a dozen pairs of mallards remain here
to breed. Sometimes you may find a solitary nest
of these birds near the water’s edge, or a few yards
from it, on a sloping bank thickly clothed with
underwood: but, in general, they seem to prefer
the recesses of a distant wood for the purposes of
their incubation ; though we have had an instance
of one building its nest in a tree, and of another
which hatched its young on an old ruin. Last year
a domesticated wild duck had a brood of ten young
ones in the month of May; and on the 27th day of

a

THE MALLARD. 201

October the same bird brought out a second brood
of eleven. In an evil hour they strayed too far
from the water. A tame raven met them on their
travels, and killed every bird.

At the close of the breeding season, the drake
undergoes a very remarkable change of plumage:
on viewing it, all speculation on the part of the
ornithologist is utterly confounded ; for there is not
the smallest clue afforded him, by which he may be
enabled to trace out the cause of the strange phe-
nomenon. To Him alone, who has ordered the
ostrich to remain on the earth, and allowed the bat
to range through the ethereal vault of heaven, is
known why the drake, for a very short period of the
year, should be so completely clothed in the raiment
of the female, that it requires a keen and penetrating
eye to distinguish the one from the other. About
+the 24th of May, the breast and back of the drake
exhibit the first appearance of a change of colour.
Tn a few days after this, the curled feathers above
the tail drop out, and gray feathers begin to appear
amongst the lovely green plumage which surrounds
the eyes. Every succeeding day now brings marks
of rapid change. By the 23d of June scarcely one
single green feather is to be seen on the head and
neck of the bird. By the 6th of July every feather
of the former brilliant plumage has made its disap-
pearance, and the male has received a garb like that
of the female, though of a somewhat darker tint-
In the early part of August this new plumage begins
to change gradually, and by the 10th of October
the drake will appear again in all his rich magnifi-

yo

202 THE MALLARD.

cence of dress; than which scarcely any thing
throughout the whole wild field of nature can be
seen more lovely, or better arranged to charm the
eye of man. This description of the change of
plumage in the mallard has been penned down with
great care. I enclosed two male birds in a coop,
from the middle of May to the middle of October,
and saw them every day during the whole of their
captivity. Perhaps the moulting in other individuals
may vary a trifle with regard to time. Thus we
may say that once every year, for a very short
period, the drake goes, as it were, into an eclipse,
so that, from the early part of the month of July, to
about the first week in August, neither in the
poultry-yards of civilised man, nor through the vast
expanse of Nature’s wildest range, can there be
found a drake in that plumage which, at all other
seasons of the year, is so remarkably splendid and
diversified.

Though I dislike the cold and dreary months of
winter as much as any man can well dislike them,
still I always feel sorry when the returning sun
prepares the way for the wildfowl to commence
their annual migratory journey into the unknown
regions of the north. Their flights through the
heavens, and their sportings on the pool, never fail
to impart both pleasure and instruction to me.
When the time of their departure comes, I bid my
charming harmless company farewell, and from my
heart I wish them a safe return.

THE SNAKE. 203

ON SNAKES, THEIR FANGS, AND THEIR
MODE OF PROCURING FOOD.

Mr. Taytor, in his paper which appeared in The
Magazine of Natural History, vol. viii. p. 529—541.,
says : — “I have repeatedly endeavoured to verify
Mr, Audubon’s account of the rattlesnake ascending
trees, which has been confirmed.” Now, a great
part of that account by Audubon consists of the
description of a rattlesnake chasing a squirrel up
and down a tree. Does Mr. Taylor wish us to un-
derstand that this part of the account has been
confirmed by him? I ask this necessary question,
because I cannot suppose that Mr. Taylor would
spend his time in repeatedly endeavouring to verify
the simple fact that rattlesnakes ascend trees. The
fact is already as well established as is the existence
of the rattlesnake itself. The merest novice in
zoology must know that the muscular power in the
bodies of snakes enables them to ascend trees. I
anxiously wait for Mr. Taylor’s reply. If he has
actually seen a rattlesnake chasing its prey up and
down a tree, then I will own that I have hitherto
been completely in the dark with regard to snakes;
and that all the time which I have spent in studying
their habits, while J was in the forests of Guiana,
has been unprofitable and of no avail. If, on the
contrary, Mr. Taylor informs us that his experience
goes no farther than to verify the fact that snakes

SS RT

ag —

2 ae

204 THE SNAKE.

do get up into trees, then I take the liberty to re-
mark that he has told us nothing new.

I have been in the midst of snakes for many years:
I have observed them on the ground, on trees, in
bushes, on bedsteads, and upon old mouldering
walls ; but never in my life have I seen a snake
pursue a retreating prey. I am fully satisfied, in
my own mind, that it is not in a snake’s nature to
do so. A snake would follow its retreating prey in
a tree with just about as much success as a grey-
hound would follow a hare through the mazes of a
thick wood. Snakes are always in a quiescent state
just before they seize their prey; and their mode of
capturing it is by an instantaneous spring, consisting
of a bound which never exceeds two thirds of the
length of the reptile’s body. -

As: we are now on snakes, and as Mr. Taylor
informs us that the names of his birds and animals
“are corrected from the splendid work of Audubon,”
I beg leave to draw his particular attention to plate
21. ofthat work. It represents a rattlesnake attack-
ing a mocking-bird’s nest. Mr. Swainson, in his
critique upon it in the Magazine of Natural History,
i. 48, 49., seems lost in admiration at its excellence.
He says (after lauding plate 17.), “ The same poetic
sentiment and masterly execution characterises this
picture.” ““ Pictoribus atque poetis,’ &c. The
mouth of the rattlesnake is wide open, and the fangs
are the first things to attract the inspector’s notice,
being by far the most conspicuous feature in it.

There they are on elephant [folio] with their points”

curved upwards! The artist, in his notes on the

THE SNAKE. 205

rattlesnake, addressed to. Thomas Stuart Traill,
M.D., and inserted in Jameson’s Journal, says, that
he confined a rattlesnake for three years in a cage.
Did he never once get a sight of the fangs all that
time? I will allow any body the range of the
whole world ; and if he can produce one single soli-
tary fang of any snake, great or small, with the
point turned upwards, I will submit to be sent to
the treadmill for three years. All fangs of snakes
are curved somewhat in the shape of a scythe, with
their points downwards; and we see clearly that
their position in the mouth, and the manner in
which they convey the poison, require that their
points should be curved downwards.

Mr. Taylor further informs us that “ black snakes
are called racers, from their occasionally chasing
men with great ferocity.” Chase argues pursuit
and retreat: now, I affirm that snakes never chase
men, nor, indeed, any other animals.

If often happens that a man turns round and runs
away when he has come suddenly upon a snake,
“retroque pedem cum voce repressit ;’ while the
disturbed snake itself is obliged through necessity

(as I shall show by and by), to glide in the same

path which the man has taken. The man, seeing
this, runs away at double speed, fancying that he is

pursued by the snake. If he would only have the

courage to stand still, and would step sideways on
the snake’s coming up to him, he might rest secure
that it would not attack him, provided that he, on
his part, abstained from provoking it. I once laid
hold of a serpent’s tail as it was crossing the path

206 THE SNAKE.

before me; and then, as might be expected, it im-
mediately raised itself and came at me, and I had
to fight it for my pains; but, until I had seized its
tail, it showed no inclination whatever either to

_ chase me or to attack me. Had I been ignorant of

the habits of ‘snakes, I should certainly have taken
myself off as soon as I perceived that it was ap-
proaching the place where I was standing; and then
I should have told everybody that I had been pur-
sued by a serpent, and had had to run for ig 2 life.
This snake was ten feet long.

In 1820, on my way to the interior of Guiana, I
accompanied Mr. President Rough to the hospitable
house of Archibald Edmonstone, Esq., in Hobbabba
Creek, which falls into the river Demerara. We
had just sat down to breakfast. I was in the act of
apologising for appearing barefoot, and in a check
shirt, alleging, by way of excuse, that we were now
in the forest, when a negro came running up from
the swamp, and informed us that a large snake had
just seized a tame Muscovy duck. . My lance, which
was an old bayonet on the end of a long stick, being
luckily in a corner of the room, I laid hold of it in
passing, and immediately ran down to the morass.
The president and his son followed; and I think
that Mr. Edmonstone and his late lamented brother
joined them. As the scene of action was within a
few yards of the ground on which they stood, they
had a full view of all that. passed, from the com-
mencement of the fray up to its final close. A
number of trees had been felled in the swamp, and
the snake had retreated among them. I walked on

| a

- Or oy SS <

THE SNAKE. 207

their boles, and stepped from branch to branch,
every now and then getting an imperfect sight of
the snake. Sometimes I headed him, and some-
times I was behind him, as he rose and sank, and
lurked in the muddy water. During all this time,
he never once attempted to spring at me, because
I took care to manceuvre in a way not to alarm him.
At last, having observed a favourable opportunity,
I made a thrust at him with the lance; but I did it
in a bungling manner, for I only gave him a slight
wound. I hadno sooner done this, than he instantly
sprang at my left buttock, seized the Russia sheet-
ing trousers with his teeth, and coiled his tail round
my right arm. All this was the work of a moment.
Thus accoutred, I made my way out of the swamp,
while the serpent kept his hold of my arm and
trousers with the tenacity of a bulldog.

As many travellers are now going up and down
the world in quest of zoological adventures, I could
wish to persuade them that they run no manner of
risk in being seized ferociously by an American
racer snake, provided they be not the aggressors:
neither need they fear of being called to an ac-
count for intruding upon the amours of the rattle-
snake (see Jameson's Journal for June, 1827);
which amours, by the way, are never consummated
in the manner there described. The racer’s exploits
must evidently have been invented long ago, by
some anxious old grandmother, in the back woods
of the United States, to deter her grandchildren
from straying into the wilds. The account of the
rattlesnake’s amours is an idle fabrication as old as

208 THE SNAKE.

the hills. When I was a lad, it was said, how that,
in the plains of Cayenne, quantities of snakes were
to be seen knotted together, and how that, on the
approach of man, they would immediately dissolve
company, and make the rash intruder pay for his
curiosity far more severely than Diana of old made
Acton pay for an ill-timed peep. She merely
changed the hunter into a stag: they chased the
man, and barbarously stung him to death.

When a man is ranging the forest, and sees a
serpent gliding towards him (which is a very rare
occurrence), he has only to take off in a side direc-
tion, and he may be perfectly assured that it will
not follow him. Should the man, however, stand
still, and should the snake be one of those overgrown
monsters capable of making a meal of a man, in
these cases, the snake would pursue its course; and,
when it got sufficiently near to the place where the
man was standing, would raise the fore part of its
body in a retiring attitude, and then dart at him
and seize him. A man may pass within a yard of
rattlesnakes with safety, provided he goes quietly;
but, should he irritate a rattlesnake, or tread in-
cautiously upon it, he would infallibly receive a
wound from its fang; though, by the by, with the
point of that fang curved downwards, not upwards.
Should I ever be chased by a snake, I should really
be inclined to suspect that it was some slippery
emissary of Beelzebub: for, I will forfeit my ears,
if any of old Dame Nature’s snakes are ever seen
to chase either man or beast. They know better

—<—-

THE SNAKE. 209

than to play pranks, which the dame has peremp-
torily forbidden.

In the village of Walton there is a cross road
known by the name of Blind Lane. One summer’s
evening, as an old woman, named Molly Mokeson,
was passing up the causeway in this lane, a man,
by name Wilson, saw a snake gliding onwards in the
same direction. “ Molly,” said he, “look! there’s
a snake running after you.” She turned her head
to see what was the matter; and, on observing the
snake approaching, fear “ seized her withered veins.”
After getting some twenty yards further up the
causeway, she took refuge in a neighbour’s house,
and sat down in silent apprehension, not having
breath enough to tell her troubles. In the mean
time, Wilson had followed up the snake, and, being
without a stick, he had tried repeatedly to kick it,
but had always missed his mark. All of a sudden,
the snake totally disappeared. Now, the true solu-
tion of this chase is nothing more or less than that
the snake had been disturbed by the old woman,
and had taken its departure for some other place,
but, on seeing a man coming up from behind, it had
glided harmlessly along the path which the old wo-
man had taken; and then, to save its life, it had
slipped into the weeds in the hedge-bottom.

Nothing was talked of in the village, but how that
Molly Mokeson had been chased by the devil; for
the good people of Walton, wiser in their generation
than the sages of Philadelphia, never dreamed of
taking this animal for a real snake ; knowing full

P

4
re

210 THE RAT.

well that snakes are not in the habit of chasing men
er women. I was consulted on the important affair;
and I remarked, with great gravity, that there was
something very strange and awful in it. “If,” said
I, “ Molly has unfortunately been interfering with
any other woman’s witchcraft; or if she has been
writing words with her own blood; or, above all, if
there was a strong smell of brimstone in the lane at
the time of the chase, then, and in that case, there
is too much reason to fear that the thing which
Wilson took for a snake was an imp from the bot-
tomless pit, sent up here, no doubt, by the king of
sulphur, on some wicked and mischievous errand.”
Poor old Molly is still alive, but nature is almost
done within her; and she is now rarely seen on the
cold side of the threshold. Many a time have I
bantered old Molly on this serpentine apparition ;
but she would only shake her head and say, she
wished she had been at home that evening, instead
of going up Blind Lane.

NOTES ON THE HISTORY AND HABITS OF
THE BROWN, OR GREY, RAT.

Some few years after the fatal period of 1688,
when our aristocracy, in defence of its iil-gotten
goods, took upon itself to dispose of hereditary
monarchy in a way which, if attempted nowadays,
would cause a considerable rise in the price of

THE RAT. 211

hemp, there arrived on the coast of England a ship
from Germany, freighted with a cargo of no ordi-
nary importance. In it was a sovereign remedy for
all manner of national grievances. Royal expen-
diture was to be mere moonshine, taxation as light
as Camilla’s footsteps, and the soul of man was to
fly up to heaven its own way. But the poet says,

‘‘ dicique beatus
Ante obitum nemo, supremaque funera debet ;”

that is, we must not expect supreme happiness on
our side of the grave. As a counterpoise to the
promised felicity to be derived from this super-
excellent German cargo, there was introduced,
either by accident or by design, an article destined,
_at no far distant period, to put the sons of Mr. Bull
in mind of the verses which I have just quoted.
This was no other than a little grey-coloured
short-legged animal, too insignificant, at the time
that the cargo was landed, to attract the slightest
notice. It is known to naturalists, sometimes by
the name of the Norwegian, sometimes by that of
the Hanoverian, rat. Though I am not aware that
there are any minutes, in the zoological archives
of this country, which point out to us the precise
time at which this insatiate and mischievous little
brute first appeared among us; still, there is a
tradition current in this part of the country, that
it actually came over in the same ship which con-
veyed the new dynasty to these shores. My father,
who was of the first order of field naturalists, was
always positive on this point; and he maintained
P 2

212 THE RAT.

firmly, that it did accompany the House of Hanover
in its emigration from Germany to England. Be
this as it may, it is certain that the stranger rat has
now punished us severely for more than a century
and a quarter. Its rapacity knows no bounds, while
its increase is prodigious beyond all belief. But the
most singular part of its history is, that it has
nearly worried every individual of the original rat
of Great Britain. So scarce have these last-men-
tioned animals become, that in all my life I have
never seen but one single solitary specimen: it was
sent, some few years ago, to Nostell Priory, in a
cage, from Bristol; and I received an invitation
from Mr. Arthur Strickland, who was on a visit
there, to go and see it. Whilst I was looking at
the little native prisoner in its cage, I could not
help exclaiming,—“ Poor injured Briton! hard,
indeed, has been the fate of thy family! in another
generation, at farthest, it will probably sink down
to the dust for ever ! ” :

Vain would be an attempt to trace the progress
of the stranger rat through England’s wide domain,
as the old people now alive can tell nothing of
its coming amongst them. No part of the country
is free from its baneful presence: the fold and the
field, the street and the stable, the ground and the
garret, all bear undoubted testimony to its ubiquity
and to its. forbidding habits. After dining on
carrion in the filthiest sink, it will often manage
to sup on the choicest dainties of the larder, where,
like Celzeno of old, “vestigia foeda relinquit.” We
may now consider it saddled upon us for. ever.

THE RAT. 213

Hercules himself, could he return to earth, would
have his hands full, were he to attempt to drive
this harpy back again to Stymphalus. It were loss
of time to dwell on its fecundity. Let any body
trace its movements in the cellar, the dairy, the
outhouse, and the barn, and he will be able to form
some notion of the number of hungry mouths
which we have to fill. Nine or ten young ones at
a time, twice or thrice during the year, are an
enormous increase, and must naturally recall to our
minds one of the many plagues which formerly
desolated the fertile land of Egypt. In the sum-
mer months it will take off to the fields, and rear
its young amongst the weeds which grow in the
hedgerows; plundering, for their support, the birds’
nests with a ferocity scarcely conceivable in so
small an animal,

Man has invented various instruments for its
destruction ; and what with these, and with poison,
added to the occasional assistance which he re-
ceives from his auxiliaries, the cat, the dog, the
- owl, the weasel, the ferret, and the foumart, he is
enabled, in some degree, to thin its numbers, and
to check its depredations.

There are some localities, however, from which
it may be effectually ousted, provided you go the
right way to work. My own house, than which
none in Great Britain can have suffered more from
the plundering propensities of the Hanoverian rats,
is now completely free from their unwelcome pre-
sence. On my return to it in 1813, they absolutely
seemed to consider it their own property. They

P’3

214 THE RAT.

had gnawed through thirty-two doors; and many
of the oaken window frames were irreparably in-
jured by them. While I was in Guiana, a Dutch
lady, named Vandenheuvil, had given me a young
tiger-cat, which one of her negroes had taken that
day in a coffee field. It was the marjay, which,
by the by, Buffon considers untameable. I raised
it with great care; and it grew so fond of me, that
it would follow my steps like a dog. Nothing
could surpass the dexterity with which this little
feline favourite destroyed the rats on our reaching
home. Towards the close of day it would as-
cend the staircase; and no sooner did a rat make
its appearance from the casements, than it would
spring at it with the velocity of an arrow, and
never fail to seize it. In 1828, having got, by long
experience, a tolerably good insight into the habits
of this tormenting quadruped, and having found
that it spoiled or pilfered every thing within its
reach, I finally resolved that it should look out for
another place of residence. Wherefore I carefully
searched for all its various entrance holes. These
I effectually closed with stone and mortar. I then
filled up all useless sewers, and paid great attention
to the paving and renewing of those which were
absolutely required ; fixing, at the same time, in
either end of them, a cast-iron grate, movable at
pleasure. The bottoms of all the outer doors were
done with hoop iron; and the pavement which goes
round the house was relaid with particular care.
By these precautions, I barred all access to these
greedy intruders; and, as no rubbish or lumber

THE RAT. 915

is now allowed to remain in the different nooks
and crannies commonly found near ancient dwell-
ings, there is no place of shelter left to conceal
any stray individual whose bowels may chance to
yearn for one more repast on cheese or bacon.
In the mean time, the cat and the owl meet with
no obstructions, while prowling for those which
may still linger in the environs. The mice, too,
seem to have taken the alarm. In a word, not a
single mouse or rat is to be found in any part of
the house, from the cellars to the attic stories.

In case it were not convenient or practicable to
adopt similar precautions to those already enume-
rated, I would suggest what follows:—Take a
quantity of oatmeal that would fill a common-sized
wash-hand basin; add to this two pounds of coarse
brown sugar, and one dessert spoonful of arsenic.
Mix these ingredients very well together, and then
put the composition into an earthen jar. From
time to time place a table-spoonful of this in the
runs which the rats frequent, taking care that it is
out of the reach of innocuous animals. They will
partake of it freely; and it will soon put an end
to all their depredations. |

Rats are fond of frequenting places where there
are good doings; while their natural sagacity
teaches them to retire in time from a falling house.
This knack at taking care of self seems common
both to man and brute. Hence the poet :—

*¢ Donec eris felix, multos numerabis amicos ;
Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris.”

P 4

216 THE RAT.

When Fortune smiles, thy friends are many ;
But, if she frowns, thou hast not any.

Whilst the rats had all their own way here, they
annoyed me beyond measure; and many a time
have I wished the ship at Jericho, which first
brought their ancestors to these shores. They
had formed a run behind the plinth in my favourite
sitting-room, and their clatter was unceasing.
Having caught one of them in a box trap, I dipped
its hinder parts into warm tar, and then turned it
loose behind the hollow plinth. The others, seeing
it in this condition, and smelling the tar all along
the run through which it had gone, thought it
most prudent to take themselves off; and thus, for
some months after this experiment, I could sit and
read in peace, free from the hated noise of rats.
On removing the plinth at a subsequent period, we
found that they had actually gnawed away the
corner of a peculiarly hard-burnt brick, which had
obstructed their thoroughfare.

The grey rats are said to destroy each other,
in places where they become too numerous for
their food; but, bad as they are, I will not add
this to the catalogue of their misdemeanours.
They can never be in such want of aliment as to
do this; because instinct would teach them that
where there is ingress to a place, there is also
egress from it; and thus, when they began to be
pinched for food, they would take off in a body,
or disperse amongst the fields, and live upon the
tender bark of trees, and upon birds, beetles, and

a a

THE RAT. 217

other things which the adjacent ground would
afford.

That they move from place to place, in large
bodies, cannot well be disputed. A respectable
farmer, by name John Mathewman, now living in
this neighbourhood, has informed me that, as he
was returning home one moonlight night, about
eleven o'clock, he suddenly came upon a large
drove of rats, near Sandal Three-houses. They
were coming up a lane which opened upon the
high road; and, as soon as they discovered him,
they gave mouth in a general squeal. Those
nearest to him rose on their hind legs; and then
the whole body separated, and scampered off in
all directions. Probably these adventurers were
on the look out that night for better quarters.

Rats will occasionally attempt to feed on indi-
viduals of the human species when they are asleep.
In 1824, I went with that excellent American
naturalist, Mr. Titian Peale, down the Delaware,
to the neighbourhood of Salem, in order to make
researches in ernithology ; and we procured good
lodgings at a farmer’s house. During the night
I was disturbed by a movement in the straw mat-
tress on which I lay, of a somewhat suspicious
nature; but, being. exceedingly tired with our
day’s exertion, I fell asleep again till about half-
past four, my usual hour of rising. At breakfast,
«“ Madam,” said I to the farmer’s wife, “I could
almost have fancied that there were rats in my
mattress last night.” “ Very likely, Sir,” said she,
with the greatest composure; and then she told

218 THE RAT.

me that the year before, whilst she was fast asleep
in the bed which I had occupied, a rat began to
eat into her shoulder. On saying this, she bared
the place to let me have a view of it; and I dis-
tinctly saw the marks which the hungry rat had
left. “Upon my word, Madam,” said I, “ though
I am not prone to make wry faces at a fair allow-
ance of fleas or bugs, still I must own to you that
I have not yet quite made up my mind to be
devoured alive by rats; wherefore, if you have no
objections, when our breakfast is finished, we will
go and take a peep into the interior of the mat-
tress.” On ripping it up, no rats were found; but
out bounced seven or eight full-grown mice. The
old lady smiled as they ran across the floor; and
I thought I could read in her face that she con-
sidered I had raised a false alarm.

When I reflect on the numbers and the appetite
of the Hanoverian rat, and put down to its account
the many depredations which it is perpetually
committing, I cannot bring my mind to show it
the same good feeling which is extended in this
park to the rest of animated nature. In truth, I
consider its arrival in our country an event pro-
ductive of much annoyance to the community at
large; and, had I the power, I would send its
whole stock, root and branch, back again to the
country whence it came; seeing that we have
gained nothing by letting it exterminate the
original English rat.

ON TREES. 219

REMARKS ON TREES, WITH REFERENCE TO
THEIR BEING PERFORATED BY THE TIT-
MOUSE AND THE WOODPECKER.

Tue tree, that noble and gigantic son of earth, is
the favourite resort of most birds ; and so intimately
is it connected with the charming science of orni-
thology, that he who has neglected to pay attention
to it will often find himself at a loss to give correct
information, in his description of the habits of the
feathered tribes.

The bloom, the fruit, the health and vigour of a
tree, are interwoven with the economy of birds.
Do you wish to have a view of seven or eight dif-
ferent species of Colibri, collected at one tree? Wait,
in patience, till the month of July; when a vast
profusion of red flowers on the bois immortel (a tree
well known to every planter in Guiana) invites
those lovely creatures to a choice repast. Are you
anxious to procure the pompadour, the purple-
breasted and the purple-throated cotingas? Then,
mark the time when the wild guava tree ripens its
fruit; and on it you will find these brilliant orna-
ments of the forest. Is the toucan your object?
You have only to place yourself, before the close of
day, at the shaded root of some towering mora
whose topmost branches have been dried by age, or
blasted by the thunderstorm, and to this tree the
bird will come, and make the surrounding wilds
re-echo to its evening call. Would you inspect the

— A ae ree nee —,

220 ON TREES.

nest of the carrion crow? Brittle are the living
branches of the ash and sycamore; while, on the
contrary, those which are dead on the Scotch pine
are tough, and will support your weight. The arms
of the oak may safely be relied on; but,I pray you, —
trust with extreme caution those of the quick-
growing alder. Neither press heavily on the linden
tree ; though you may ascend the beech and the
elm, without any fear of danger. But let us stop
here for the present. On some future day, should
I be in a right frame for it, I may pen down a few
remarks, which will possibly be useful to the natu-
ralist, when roving in quest of ornithological know-
ledge. I will now confine myself to the misfortunes
and diseases of trees ; and I will show, that neither
the titmouse nor the woodpecker ever bore into the
hard and live wood.

Trees, in general, are exposed to decay by two
different processes, independent of old age.

The first is that of a broken branch, which, when
neglected, or not cut off close to the parent stem,
will, in the course of time, bring utter ruin on the
tree. The new wood, which is annually formed,
cannot grow over the jutting and fractured part,
into which the rain enters, and gradually eats deeper
and deeper, till at last it reaches the trunk itself.
There it makes sad havoc; and the tree, no longer
able to resist the fury of the tempest, is split asunder,
and falls in ponderous ruins. But ere it comes to
this, the titmouse will enter the cavity in a dry
spring, and rear its young ones there. Now, if the
diseased or fractured branches were carefully cut

ON TREES. 221

off close to the bole, you would see the new acces-
sion of wood gradually rolling over the flat surface,
which, in time, would be entirely covered by it;
and then the tree would be freed for ever from all
danger in that quarter.

The second process towards decay is exceedingly
curious, and cannot well be accounted for. If it
takes place to a serious extent, no art of man can
possibly save the tree ; and sooner or later, according
to the magnitude of the disease with which it has
been tainted, it will fall before the force of the
raging winds. Should this disease be slight, the
timely prevention of rain from penetrating the injured
part, will secure the tree from further mischief.

I must here observe that, in animated nature, the
vital functions are internal; so that, if the part
within be mortally wounded, death is the inevitable
consequence. With most trees, and with all those of
Britain, it is otherwise. Their vitality is at the
periphery, connected with the bark, under which
an annual increase of wood takes place, so long as
the tree is alive. Should, however, the bark be cut
away, the tree will die upwards from the place
where all the bark has been destroyed. Not so with
its internal parts. You may entirely excavate the
interior of a tree ; and, provided you leave a suffi-
cient strength of wood, by way of wall, in order that
it may be able to resist the fury of the tempest
without, taking care at the same time to exclude
the rain, your tree will remain in vigour from gener-
ation to generation. The internal texture of a tree
will perish, without any notice by which we may

222 ON TREES.

be forewarned of the coming ruin. The disease
which causes the destruction takes place in the oak ;
but more frequently in the sycamore; and most
commonly of all in the ash. We will select this
last tree by way of elucidation.

Often, when arrayed in all the bloom of vegetable
beauty, the ash tree is seen to send forth from its
bole, or from some principal branch, a small fungus,
which, during the summer, increases to a consider-
able size. It ripens in the autumn, and falls to the
ground when winter's rains set in. The bark through
which this fungus sprouted is now completely dead,
though it still retains its colour; and that part
of the wood from which it proceeded is entirely
changed in its nature, the whole of its vitiated
juices having been expended in forming and nourish-
ing the fungus. Nothing remains of its once firm and
vigorous texture. It is become what is commonly
called touchwood, as soft and frangible as a piece
of cork, which, when set on fire, will burn like
tinder. In the mean time, the tree shows no sign of
sickness ; and its annual increase goes on as usual ;

_ till, at last, the new swelling wood closes over the

part from which the fungus had grown, and all
appears to go on right again. But, ere the slow
process arrives at this state, the titmouse or the
woodpecker will have found an entrance, and a place
of safety for their incubation. They quickly per-
forate the distempered bark ; and then, the tainted
wood beneath it yields to their pointed bills, with
which they soon effect a spacious cavity.

Here then we have the whole mystery unfolded.

ON TREES. 293

These birds, which never perforate the live wood,
find in this diseased part of the tree, or of the branch,
a place suitable to their wants. They make a
circular hole, large enough to admit their bodies ;
and then they form a cavity within, sufficiently
spacious to contain their young. Thus does Nature
kindly smooth the way, in order that all her crea-
tures may prosper and be happy. Whenever I| see
these sylvan carpenters thus employed, I say to
them, “ Work on ye pretty birds; you do no harm
in excavating there: I am your friend, and I will
tell the owner of the tree that you are not to blame.”
But his woodman deserves a severe reprimand.
He ought to have cut down the tree, in the autumn
after the appearance of the fungus.

On the island where this house stands, two
stately sycamores have afforded ample proof of what
I have advanced.

One of these, some forty years ago, began to put
on a sickly appearance ; and I heard my father say
that he expected to see it blown down in a heavy
gale of wind. In the summer of 1800, I climbed
up to the place where the brown owl formerly used
to breed. The hole was full of water, in a branch
_ leading from the bole, at about 20 feet from the
ground. Presuming from appearances that the
damage was extensive, I took a wimble, and bored
into the tree, at the height of 5 feet ; then at 3 feet;
and lastly, I got a chisel, and cut into it at 3 inches
from the walk. Twenty-four gallons of water, having
the appearance of strong coffee, were procured from
these apertures in the course of the day. After

4: ON TREES.

this, I put a cap of lead over the hole on the high
branch above, leaving an entrance for the owl, should
she ever come again; and I drove two long pieces
of iron into the bole below the aperture, sufficiently
low to form a floor for the owl’s apartment, which I
made with scraps of stone covered with sawdust.
In the summer of the present year, 1835, thirty-
five years from the first operation, I enlarged the
lowest hole next the walk 4 inches ; and, by the help
of a little iron shovel, I took from the interior of the
tree four large wheelbarrows full of decomposed
wood, not unlike coffee grounds in appearance.
With this substance, there came out some of the
small scraps of stone, which I had used in making
the floor for the owl’s residence: proof incontest-
able, that the rain water had gradually destroyed
the internal texture of the sycamore, from the
broken branch at the height of 20 feet. The tree,
though hollow as a drum, “or lovers’ vows,” is
now perfectly healthy.

At a little distance from this, is another syca-
more, once a towering and majestic tree. Some
fifteen years ago, it put out a fungus, about 25 feet
from the ground. I saw, by the enormous size of
the fungus, that the tree must give way ere long.
In 1826, during a heavy gale of wind, it broke in
two at the diseased part; leaving one huge branch,
which continued to be clothed with rich foliage
every succeeding season. I built a stonework on
the remaining part of the trunk, by way of cover-
ing; and I made sixteen apartments in it for the
jackdaws, planting an ivy root at the bottom. In

ON TREES. 925

the summer of 1831, another large fungus made
its appearance at 8 feet from the ground. One
Sunday morning, during a raging tempest, the
trunk gave way at the fungus, carrying the remain-
ing branch, the stonework, and the jackdaws’ nests,
with a tremendous crash, into the lake below. I
roofed the remainder of the stump again, leaving
an entrance for the owl. It is now quite covered
with ivy, and has sent forth a partial vegetation
annually from its last misfortune.. In June of the
present year, another huge fungus came out at 4
feet from the ground. I understand the warning ;
and I clearly foresee that the final doom of this
“ statio malefida ” volucri is close at hand.

Thus have two sycamores, within a few feet of
each other, been a prey to distinct diseases, and
both of them afforded an inward retreat to birds.
The first, having entirely lost its inside, by. the
slow-consuming process of wet entering at a broken
branch, still flourishes by the art of man. The
second, for centuries the ornament of the rock
upon which it grew, struck at last by the hand of
nature with an inward distemper which nothing
could arrest, broke down at intervals in partial
ruins; and probably will disappear for ever during
the next fierce wintry blast.

There is still another process by which an en-
trance is prepared for birds in the boles of trees.
Frequently a large branch fails without any apparent
cause; and it remains dead on the tree for many
years. At last, down it comes, having given way
close to the stem. On inspection you will find

Q

—_ Oe ee

296 | THE JAY.

that decay has entered deeply into the tree itself,
without any aid from rain water. The surrounding
live wood, which kept swelling gradually while the
dead branch remained on the tree, now that the
obstruction is removed, begins to advance over the
newly exposed and distempered part. In the
mean time, the birds find no difficulty in excavating
this part, and there forming a place for incubation,
or for a nocturnal residence. Mice and rats will
also find their way into these diseased parts of
trees. I know of a crab tree in which a mouse
lives. Its hole is about 5 feet from the ground.

I have written this paper, first, to show the true
habits of the titmouse and the woodpecker relative
to their choice of a place for their incubation ; and,
secondly, to catch the eye of the proprietor of the
American Quarterly Review, who, I am informed,
has thought fit to heap anonymous abuse upen me,
with an unsparing hand. Let this sage discerner
of ornithological merit turn to pages 200. and 343.
of the Biography of Birds, and then blush for
American ignorance.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE JAY.

Our peas and ripe cherries have attractions which
this well-known bird cannot resist. To these it
unfortunately resorts, and loses its life by the gun
of the watchful gardener, who never fails to magnify

THE JAY. By <4

a petty act of-plunder into a downright commission
of felony. Forgetful of the caution which is its
peculiar characteristic at other seasons of the year,
the jay becomes remarkably daring and adventurous
in pea and cherry time. To this unlucky yearning
for the good things of the garden, I attribute the
general scarcity of this truly British bird. Even
here the jay is never abundant, though a safe retreat
is always open to it; so that, whilst the magpie is
very numerous, it is comparatively a scarce bird.
Two or three nests, at most, are all I can annually
produce. These, by the way, I find are much more
compact, and better put together, than those which
natyralists have hitherto described.

The nest of the jay is never seen near the tops
of trees, like those of the magpie and the crow. He
who feels inclined to study the nidification of this
bird must search the lower branches of the oak, or
inspect the woodbine mantling round the hazel. In
such situations he will find the nest, which mostly
contains six eggs; and, if he advances with “ caus
tious step and slow,” he may approach within a yard
of it before the sitting bird will take its flight.

There seems to be an erroneous opinion current
concerning some birds, which are supposed to for-
sake their eggs if they are handled, be it ever in so
slight a manner. This requires some explanation.
If you rush up abruptly to a nest, so as to terrify
the old bird, you will find, with very few exceptions,
that it will forsake the place. If, on the contrary,
you approach the nest of any bird in gentleness and
silence, and allow the owner to slip off without being

| QZ

228, THE JAY.

fluttered, you may take the eggs out of the nest,
and blow upon them, and put them in your mouth
if you choose, or change their original position when
you replace them in the nest, notwithstanding which
the bird will come back to them (even though it be
a ringdove), and continue to sit on them as atten-
tively as before.

The jay being one of those birds which have their
brilliant colours prior to their first moulting, you
will find the male and female so much alike, that it
will be no easy matter to distinguish the one from
the other.

The young of this bird are born blind: of course,
the parent bird never covers the eggs with any part
of the materials which form the nest, when she has
occasion to be absent.

Here let me remark the immense difference that
exists betwixt a newly hatched bird with its eyes
open, and one newly hatthed with its eyes closed,
The first can walk and find its food in a very short
time; the second is helpless in the extreme for
many days, and cannot support its own weight. A
scientific friend in the United States of North
America has asked my opinion of our English ac-
count concerning a young cuckoo, which, on the
very day that it was hatched, was actually seen
retrograding up the side of a hedge sparrow’s nest
with a young hedge sparrow on its back. After
reaching the top, it rested for a moment, and then,
with a jerk, threw off its load quite clear of the nest.
No bird in the creation could perform such an as-
tounding feat under such embarrassing circum-

THE JAY. 229

stances. The young cuckoo cannot, by any means,
support its own weight during the first day of its
existence. Of course, then, it is utterly incapable
of clambering, rump foremost, up the steep side of
a hedge sparrow’s nest with the additional weight
of a young hedge sparrow on its back. Add to this,
_ that an old bird, the young of which are born blind,
always remains on the nest during the whole of the
day on which the chick is excluded from the shell,
in order to protect it. Now, the old hedge sparrow:
in the case just mentioned, must have been forced
from her nest by the accidental presence of an in-
truder. Her absence, then, at this important crisis,
was quite contrary to her usual economy, for she
ought to have been upon the nest. It follows, then,
that instinct could not have directed the newly
hatched and blind cuckoo to oust the hedge sparrow,
even though it had strength to do so, because the
old bird would have been sitting close on the nest,
but for the circumstance which forced her from it,
namely, the accidental presence of an intruder
The account carries its own condemnation, no matter
by whom related or by whom received. I had much
rather believe the story of baby Hercules throttling
two snakes in his cradle.

“ Parvus erat, manibusque suis Tirynthius angues
Pressit, et in cunis jam Jove dignus erat.”

When naturalists affixed the epithet glandarius
to the name of the jay, they ought also to have ac-
corded it to the jackdaw, the rook, the carrion crow,
and the magpie, not forgetting the pheasant and the

Q3

230 THE JAY.

ringdove. All these birds feed voraciously on the
acorn ; and, with the exception of the two last men-
tioned, they bury it in the ground, not in hoarded
heaps, but separately, here and there, as fancy may
direct them.

When the snows of winter have fairly set in, and
thus prevented the jay from finding a supply of
acorns amongst the fallen leaves in the woods, it is
then seen flitting from hedge to hedge in the vicinity
of pea and bean stacks, where it may be observed
clinging to the sides of these in quest of uncovered
pods ; and thus it acquires part of its scanty pro-
vender, “till the vernal suns and showers” have dis-
solved the accumulated snow, and cleared its former
haunts. To these it returns once more, and con-
sumes myriads of insects in comparative safety. But
when the fatal season of peas and ripe cherries
arrives, scarcely any thing short of death can deter
this unfortunate bird from participating in the prof-
fered feast. The gardener, in discharging his gun
at it, is sure to make bad worse by his officious in-
terference; for, in his eagerness to kill the poor
bird, he never once reflects that the contents of his
piece do ten times more harm to the fruit and to
the tender shoots of the cherry tree, than the
dreaded presence of half a dozen jays, all with empty
stomachs.

Towards the end of April, when nature smiles
around, and the woods begin to expand their open-
ing bloom, he who loves to wander through them,
in quest of ornithological adventures, will sometimes
hear a profusion of imitative tones not far from the

THE JAY. 231

place where he is straying, now hoarse and sonorous,
now lowered and subdued, and composed of modu-
lations almost approaching to those of song: they
are produced by ten or a dozen sprightly jays, as-
sembled in merry mimicry and glee, ere they depart
in pairs to select a place for approaching incubation.
This is the only period of the year in which the jay
shows a disposition to be social ; for, at other times,
it is a wandering solitary bird, and does not allow
its young to associate with it, after they have ar-
rived at a state to be able to provide for themselves.
Here, where the jay is encouraged and protected,
this part of its economy may be easily verified.

This bird would probably not be noticed as having
anything remarkable either in shape or plumage,
were it not for the loveliness of its bastard wing
and greater covert feathers. The blue, the black,
and the white in them are so exquisitely blended,
that the eye is never tired with gazing on the co-
lours. Nothing can possibly be conceived more
charming. No other known bird in the creation
possesses such a rich exhibition of colouring in the
bastard wing and greater coverts. It belongs ex-
clusively to this one species of bird: it is the indu-
bitable and never-failing mark of the jay of Europe;
a bird which will ever have a friend in me, notwith-
standing its acknowledged depredations in gardens
and in orchards. Its pilferings are of short dura-
tion: they are too trivial to cause uneasiness, and
of far too light a nature to demand the forfeiture
of life.

Q 4

agi “eaibdae —_— Someta a i ne Oa _— =. SM
ee ee ee eee. Ot ar

232 THE MAGPIE.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE MAGPIE.

Turs beautiful frequenter of our woods and plains
was notorious, two thousand years ago, for pertness
of character and volubility of tongue. Ovid, who
knew more of birds than any man of his time,
gives us an account of a family of young ladies in
Macedonia, who were all changed into magpies ;
and he expressly tells us, that they retained their
inordinate fondness for gabble long after they had
lost the lovely forms of woman.

«¢ Nunc quoque in alitibus, facundia prisca remansit,
Rauca garrulitas, studiumque immane loquendi.”

And still their tongues went on, though changed to birds,
In endless clack, and vast desire of words.

If similar transformations were to take place
nowadays, I suspect that many a father here in
England would have to look for his lost daughter,
chattering amongst the lofty branches of the trees
in his park.

I protect the magpie with greater care than,
perhaps, any other bird, on account of its having
nobody to stand up for it. Both rich and poor
seem to entertain so great an antipathy to this gay
and lively bird in its wild state, that I often wonder
how the breed has managed to escape utter ex-
tirpation in this populous district. The country
gentlemen all agree in signing the death warrant
of this friendless bird, because it is known to suck

oni a a

on

: — oot a ici en ~ .
LP ee i i a ig Srna

THE MAGPIE. 233

eggs, and to strangle young game; whilst, in
general, the lower orders have an insurmountable
prejudice against it, on the score of its supposed
knowledge of their future destiny. They tell you
that, when four of these ominous birds are seen
together, it is a sure sign, that, ere long, there will
be a funeral in the village; and that nine are quite
a horrible sight. I have often heard countrymen
say that they had rather see any bird than a
magpie ; but, upon my asking them the cause of
their antipathy to the bird, all the answer that I
could get was, that they knew it to be unlucky,
and that it always contrived to know what was
going to take place. My keeper both hates and
fears a magpie; but self-interest forces upon the
fellow the unpleasant task of encouraging the
breed, in order to keep well with me. He was
once in conversation with the keeper of a neigh-
bouring gentleman, at the door of a little alehouse
in the village of Heath, when a magpie flew into
a tree hard by. “I must have thee killed,” said
the gentleman’s keeper, “ otherwise there will be
a blow up betwixt me and my master.” “Ah!”
rejoined my keeper, “were I to kill a magpie, my
master would soon blow me out of his service.”
The keeper thought this too good to be lost, and I
had it from his own mouth.

I love in my heart to see a magpie, for it always
puts me in mind of the tropics. There is such a
rich glow of colour, and such a metallic splendour
of plumage, in this bird, that one would almost be

——

234 THE MAGPIE.

apt to imagine it must have found its way here
from the blazing latitudes of the south.

I am fully aware that it has propensities of a
sufficiently predatory nature to bring it into general
disrepute with civilised man; but let us remember
that, like the carrion crow, it only exercises them
to any serious extent for about two months in the
spring of the year. At that season, it certainly
commences operations with surprising assiduity,
Cacus himself, that ancient thief, when he was
about to steal the cows of Hercules, never ex-
hibited greater cunning than that which this bird
puts in practice after it has discovered a hen’s nest
in the yard, or a place of sitting game in the field,
Both the magpie and the carrion crow transfix
the eggs with their beaks, and then convey them
through the air.

After the season of incubation is over, the mag-
pie becomes a harmless bird (unless the pilfering
of a little unprotected fruit be considered a crime),
and spends the remainder of the year in works of
great utility to man, by destroying millions of
insects, and by preventing the air from being in-
fected with the noxious effluvium arising from the
scourings of slaughter-houses. The cattle, too,
are in some degree benefited by the prying re-
searches of this sprightly bird. At a certain time
of the year, it is often seen on the backs of sheep
and oxen, freeing them from vermin, which must
be exceedingly troublesome to them. In Demerara,
where the magpie does not exist, this friendly
office is performed by a hawk. Widely: different

THE MAGPIE. 235

is the object of the jackdaw’s visit to the backs of
sheep and oxen: it goes there for fleece; the
magpie for filth.

I cannot suppose, with some naturalists, that
the dome of the magpie’s nest is intended for a
defence; because the hole at which the bird enters
is always open to an enemy, while the contents of
the nest are quite visible through the dome itself.

The young of the magpie being hatched blind,
the eggs are never covered when the parent bird
leaves the nest. I am satisfied in my own mind,
that neither the magpie, nor any other bird, can
have the least idea that their nests will be robbed,
up to the very moment when their eggs, or their
young, are taken away. Did they apprehend such
a disaster, we may be assured that their first object
would be to build their nests in a place out of
harm’s way. Now, the magpie generally chooses
the site for its intended incubation in a spot the
most exposed that can possibly be imagined. It
will continue to work at the structure of its nest,
although we visit the nest two or three times a
day; and it will return to the nest, and sit upon
its eggs, after those eggs have been handled times
out of number. Nay, more; you may take away
its own eggs, and substitute those of some other
bird, and it will hatch them, and rear the produce.

The magpie (and we may include all other birds)
shows not that intensity of feeling for its eggs
which it is known to have for its young. Thus,
if you take the eggs from the nest and place them
on the ground, the magpie will abandon them for

ee eee a ng A Oy I I ct ye te

. 236 THE MAGPIE.

ever; but if you remove the young to a place to
which the parent bird can have. access, she will
regularly bring them a supply of food.

When there is an addle egg, it is allowed to
remain in the nest during the entire process of
rearing the young. Birds which make their nests
in walls, or in the holes of trees (the starling to
wit), bring out the addle egg, which has remained
from the last year’s incubation, and drop it on the
ground, when they begin to renew the nest.

The magpie builds its nest in any tree, no matter
of what kind; and it is very partial even to the
lowly thorn bush in the hedgerow. The apple tree
in the garden; the lonely ash in the meadow; the
alder in the swamp; and the oak in the heart of
the forest, far from the abode of man; all have
their attractions for the magpie; and in these it
will form its nest, which is invariably composed
of sticks, and clay or earth, and lined with fibrous
roots. When I am informed that magpies -line
their nest with wool, I suspect that there is either
an error in the statement, or that the modern
magpie has conformed to the times, and_ has
brought to her nest a kind of furniture wholly
unknown to her ancestors.

The magpie lays from three to nine eggs; but
seven seems to be the average number, varying
in size, and shape, and colour, as much as those
of the carrion crow.

The female magpie has so near a resemblance
to the male, that you can scarcely distinguish the
one from the other. This is the case with all

a Set ey oe Pe a

THE MAGPIE, 237 °

birds, where the brilliant plumage obtains before
the first moulting.

The sight of a magpie always gives me pleasure ;
its long tail, and its distinct markings of white
and black, having a beautiful effect as it darts
through the air. You may know this bird at a
very great distance, either on the ground, or ina
tree, by the frequent and brisk movement of its
tail; always up and down, never sideways.

The magpie seems to have found out that it has
at least one friend left in our part of the country.
Last year I had thirty-four nests, all of which
ushered their young into the world at large;
making, on an average of five to the nest, including
the parent birds, 238 individuals ; an increase quite
sufficient, one would think, to supply all the wise
men of the county with any quantity of omens.
The name of wise man, in Yorkshire, is always
given to one who professes to deal in the black art.
Even well-educated people of the nineteenth cen-
tury go to him, in order to recover things lost; or
to be put on the right scent, if a cow, or ela or
pig, or relative, be missing.

Magpies are social, though not gregarious in the
strictest sense of the word. In places where they
are beyond the reach of molestation, you may see
them in little parties of fifteen or twenty together,
flitting from tree to tree in noisy. conversation.
Sometimes they will rise to a great height in the
air, passing through it with a velocity which seems
hitherto to have escaped the notice of naturalists.

Like all other birds in a wild state, magpies

}

238 THE MAGPIE.

become vociferous at the approach of night; and
he who loves to watch the movements of animated
nature, may observe them, in small detached
companies, proceeding to their wonted roosting-
places, in some wood of spruce, pine, or larch,
which they seem to prefer to any other. There
they become valuable watchmen for the night.
Whoever enters the grove is sure to attract their
special notice; and then their chattering is inces-
sant. Whenever I hear it during the night, or
even during the day (except towards nightfall), I
know that there is mischief on the stir. Three
years ago, at eleven o'clock in broad day, I was at
the capture of one of the most expert and des-
perate marauders that ever scourged this part of
the country. He had annoyed me for a length of
time ; and was so exceedingly cunning, that, when
we went in pursuit of him, he always contrived to
escape, either by squatting down in the thick cover
of the woods, or by taking himself off in time,
when he saw us approach. At last, he owed his
capture to the magpies. We were directed to the
place of his depredations by the incessant chatter-
ings of these birds in the tops of the trees, just
over the spot where he was working in his vocation.
He had hanged fourteen hares; and the ground
was so covered with brambles and brushwood, that,
when we surprised him, he told us that we never
should have found him, had it not been for the
cursed magpies. His name was Kirk. In the
course of the following summer, he set out on his

aS.

THE CHEGOE. 239

travels towards New South Wales, at the king’s
expense ; having been convicted, at the York as-
sizes, of an overweening inclination for his neigh-
bour’s mutton, to which he had helped himself most
abundantly.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE CHEGOE
OF GUIANA, BETTER KNOWN BY THE
NAME OF /‘JIGGER; AND INSTANCES OF
ITS EFFECTS ON MAN AND DOGS.

** Priore relicta

Sede, novis domibus habitant, vivuntque recepte.” Ovid. Met.
Leaving their former haunts, beneath the skin

They form new settlements, and thrive within.

Tuis apparently insignificant insect far outdoes the
bug in the exercise of its noxious qualities. The
bug attacks you in an open manner, makes a hearty
meal, and then retires to enjoy it: but the chegoe
commences its operations upon you so gently, that
they are scarcely felt; and it terminates them in a
way that calls for your most serious attention. In
a word, it approaches you with such insinuating
address, that you absolutely feel a kind of gratifi-
cation at the very time that it is adopting measures
which will infallibly end in your certain torment.
Soon after the chegoe has entered your skin, you
experience a pleasant itching kind of sensation, by
which you begin to suspect that all is not right;

240 THE CHEGOE.

and, on taking a nearer view of the part, you per-
ceive that the skin is somewhat discolovred.

I know it is supposed by some people, that the
accounts concerning the chegoe have been much
exaggerated. Iam not of this way of thinking, for
I myself have smarted under its attacks; and I have
minutely inspected the foot of a negro, which was
a mass of ulcers, formed entirely by the ee 5
ravages of the chegoe.

Guiana is the native country of this insect. In
that hot and humid region, which is replete with
every thing that can please our imagination, or
administer to our wants, we must not be surprised
to find here and there some little drawback; some
few obstructions in our way; some thorny plants to
impede our journey as we wander on.

The chegoe resembles a flea: and, had you just
come out of a dovecot, on seeing it upon your skin,
you might easily mistake it for a small pigeon flea;
although, upon a closer inspection, you would sur-
mise that it is not capable of taking those amazingly
elastic bounds, so notorious in the flea of Europe.

Not content with merely paying you a visit, and
then taking itself off again, as is the custom of most
insects, this insidious miner contrives to work its
way quite under your skin, and there remains to
rear a numerous progeny. I once had the curiosity
to watch the movements of a chegoe on the back of
my hand, a part not usually selected by it to form a
settlement. It worked ‘its way pretty rapidly for
so small an insect. In half an hour it had bored
quite through the skin, and was completely out of

THE CHEGOE. 244

sight. Not wishful to encourage its intended co-
lony, “ Avast, there! my good little fellow,” said I;
““we must part company without loss of time. I
cannot afford to keep you, and a numerous family,
for nothing: you would soon eat me out of house
and home.” On saying this, I applied the point of
my penknife to the place where the chegoe had
entered, and turned it loose upon the world again.

In the plantations of Guiana, there is generally
an old negress, known by the name of Granny, a
kind of “ Junonis anus,” who loiters about the negro
yard, and is supposed to take charge of the little
negroes who are too young to work. ‘Towards the
close of day, you will sometimes hear the most
dismal cries of woe coming from that quarter. Old
Granny is then at work, grubbing the chegoe nests
out of the feet of the sable urchins, and filling the
holes with lime juice and Cayenne pepper. This
searching compound has two duties to perform:
first, it causes death to any remaining chegoe in the
hole ; and, secondly, it acts as akind of birch-rod to
the unruly brats, by which they are warned, to their
cost, not to conceal their chegoes in future: for,
afraid of encountering old Granny’s tomahawk, many
of them prefer to let the chegoes riot in their flesh,
rather than come under her dissecting hand.

A knowing eye may always perceive when the
feet of negroes are the abode of the chegoe. They
dare not place their feet firmly on the ground,
on account of the pain which such a position would
give them; but they hobble along with their toes
turned up: and by this you know that they are nog

R

242 THE CHEGOE.

suffering from tubboes (a remnant of the yaws),
but from the actual depredations of the chegoes,
which have penetrated under the nails of the toes,
and there formed sores, which, if not attended to,
would, ere long, become foul and corroding ulcers.
AsI seldom had a shoe or stocking on my: foot from
the time that I finally left the sea coast in 1812,
the chegoe was a source of perpetual disquietude to
me. I found it necessary to examine my feet every
evening, in order to counteract the career of this
extraordinary insect. Occasionally, at one over-
hauling, I have broken up no less than four of its
establishments under the toe nails.

In 1825, a day or two before I left Guiana, wish-
ful to try how this puny creature and myself would
agree during a sea voyage, I purposely went to a
place where it abounded, not doubting but that
some needy individual of its tribe would attempt to
better its condition. Ere long, a pleasant and
agreeable kind of itching under the bend of the
great toe informed me that a chegoe had bored for
a settlement. In about three days after we had
sailed, a change of colour took place in the skin,
just at the spot where the chegoe had entered, ap-
pearing somewhat like a blue pea. By the time we
were in the latitude of Antigua, my guest had be-
come insupportable ; and I saw there was an imme-
diate necessity for his discharge. Wherefore, I
turned him and his numerous family adrift, and
poured spirits of turpentine into the cavity which
they had occupied, in order to prevent the remotest
chance of a regeneration.

THE CHEGOE. | 943

The Indian and negro wenches perform the oper-
ation of extracting chegoes with surprising skill.
They take a pin, and, by a very slow process, they
lay the part bare, and contrive to work quite round
the bag which contains the chegoe and its offspring.
As soon as this has been effected, they turn the bag
out, whole and uninjured; by which means none
are left in the hole to form a new colony.

For my own part, I never troubled these gentle
operators ; although I have looked on many a time,
and admired their exquisite skill, whilst they were
fingering the toes of my acquaintance. Once, how-
ever, I had it not in my power to be my own. sur-
geon, and, on that occasion, a faithful old negro
performed the friendly office.

I was descending the Demerara, with an inveterate
tertian ague; and I was so much exhausted by
sitting upright in the canoe, that I no sooner got
ashore at an Indian’s hut, than I lay down on the
ground at full length. Sickness had pressed so
heavily on me, that I was callous to the well-known
feeling which the chegoe causes. I was quite un-
conscious that there were nine thriving nests of
chegoes in my back, until one was accidentally ob-
served by the old negro; and this led to the dis-
covery of the rest. I handed him my penknife, and
told him to start the intruders. Sick as I was, I
wished an artist were present at the operation.
The Indian’s hut, with its scanty furniture, and bows
and arrows hanging round; the deep verdure of the
adjoining forest ; the river flowing rapidly by; my-
self wasted to a shadow; and the negro grinning

RZ

Le a el

24:4 THE DOVECOT PIGEON.

with exultation, as he showed me the chegoes’ nests
which he had grubbed out; would have formed a
scene of no ordinary variety.

Dogs are often sorely tormented by the chegoe;
and they get rid of them by an extremely painful
operation. They gradually gnaw into their own
toes, whining piteously as they do it, until they get
at the chegoe’s nest. Were it not for this singular
mode of freeing themselves from the latent enemy,
dogs would absolutely be cripples in Guiana.

But it is time to stop. I have penned down
enough to give the reader a tolerably correct idea
of one of the smallest, and, at the same time, one of
the most annoying, insects, which attack both man
and beast in the interminable region of Guiana.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE DOVECOT
PIGEON.

** Aspicis ut veniant ad candida tecta columbe,
Accipiat nullas, sordida turris aves.” Ovid. Tris.

See, to the whitewash’d cot what doves have flown!
While, that unwhitewash’d, not a bird will own,
By this it appears, that the old Romans paid con-
siderable attention to the raising of pigeons.

Our common dovecot pigeon is only a_half-
reclaimed bird; not being sufficiently domesticated
to be deemed private property in the strictest sense
of the word. Thus, I may raise any quantity of
these pigeons; but, if they should forsake my

THE DOVECOT PIGEON. 245

dovecot, and retire to that of my neighbour, I
cannot claim them. However, in order that dove-
cot pigeons may not fall into the hands of those
who contribute nothing to their support, the legis-
lature has enacted a fine of forty shillings, to be
paid by him who has been convicted of having shot
a dovecot pigeon.

This act, till of late years, was of great use to
the farmer; for it enabled him to raise this useful
bird in vast abundance: but now the times are
changed. The owners of dovecots have to com-
plain, not only of bargemen, who shoot their pigeons
along the whole line of the canals whenever an
opportunity offers, but also of a plundering set of
land vagabonds, who attack the dovecots in the
dead of the night, and sometimes actually rob them
of their last remaining bird. The origin of this
novel species of depredation can be clearly traced
to the modern amusement, known by the name of
a pigeon-shooting match. A purveyor is usually
engaged by the members. He offers a tempting
price to poachers and other loose characters, and
they agree to supply him with any quantity of
dovecot pigeons, to be ready for the day on which
the cruel exhibition is to take place. Generally,
under the covert of a dark night, these hired thieves
go to the place where they have previously seen a
ladder, and carry it off to the devoted dovecot,
upon the outside of which they mount, and with
great caution fix a net to the glover, or aperture,
on the top of the building. After they have
effected this, they descend from the roof, and im-

R 3

246 THE DOVECOT PIGEON.

mediately force the door to get at the pigeons.
Should, however, their original survey of the dove-
cot, prior to their mounting on it, have shown them
that the door is strong enough to resist their
attempts to break it open, they take the precaution
to leave a man on the roof, where he seizes the
pigeons as soon as they become entangled in the
net. In the mean time, his associates below tap
sufficiently loud at the door of the dovecot to cause
the pigeons to start from their roost and try to
escape. Thus the hopes of the farmer are utterly
destroyed, and a supply of birds is procured for the
shooting matches in a manner not over and above
creditable to civilised society. It remains with the
members of the club to decide, whether it be
honourable or just in them to encourage these
midnight depredators. They must be aware that
all the pigeons which they buy are old ones ; and
that old ones are never offered for sale by the
owners of dovecots. The dovecots in this neigh-
bourhood have been robbed repeatedly; and it is
well known that the pigeons which have been stolen
from them have fallen at shooting matches near
forty miles distant. : :

No farm-yard can be considered complete erithe
out a well-stocked dovecot, the contents of which
make the owner a most ample return, and repay
him abundantly for the depredations which the
pigeons are wont to make upon his ripening corn.
He commands a supply of delicious young birds
for his table; and he has the tillage from the
dovecot, which is of vast advantage to his barley

er a

THE DOVECOT PIGEON. “IT

land. Moreover, the pigeons render him an essen-
tial service, by consuming millions ef seeds which
fall in the autumn, and which, if allowed to remain
on the ground, would rise up the following year, in
all the rank exuberance of weed, and choke the
wholesome plant.

A dovecot ought to be well lighted; and it should
be white-washed once every year. The tillage
which it produces may be removed early in No-
vember, and again at the end of February. The
young of the dovecot pigeon, like all others of the
columbine order, are reared in a nest lined by their
own dung; which, if left in the hole after the birds
are gone, is apt to harbour vermin. Wherefore,
cleanliness dictates its early removal.

No dovecot can possibly thrive if rats have found
an entrance into it. These cruel and audacious
plunderers will destroy every young pigeon within
their reach. Oust them you must, and preclude
their return, be the cost ever so great; otherwise,
diappointment will most assuredly be your lot.

The barn-owl and the starling are harmless un-
offending visitors to the dovecot: they repair to it
merely for shelter, or for a breeding-place ; so that
I always like to see them enter mine. It is a lofty
and a spacious building; and last season it furnish-
ed seventy-three dozens of young pigeons. ‘The
walls were made with flues, by the judicious use of
which we had a very early supply for the table;
but, through some neglect on the part of the
attendant, a fire took place, which threatened
destruction to the surrounding buildings. In con-

R 4

248 THE DOVECOT PIGEON.

sequence of this, the flues were no longer heated,
and they have continued in disuse since that time.
Though owls, and hawks, and crows, and magpies,
are allowed an unmolested range in the vicinity
of this dovecot, still it is acknowledged to be one ~
of the most productive in the county.

There is a peculiarity in the habits of the dovecot
pigeon which ought not to pass unnoticed. Though
this bird will often perch on trees in the daytime,
it has never been known to roost on them during
the night. Neither will it pass the night in the
open air, except in cases of the greatest emergency.
I have an aged elm here, of gigantic size, to which
both the dovecot pigeon and the wild ring-pigeon
will frequently resort. It is amusing to watch the
peculiar habits of these two different species of
birds. They seem to come to the tree solely for
their own convenience, and not with any intention
to enjoy each other’s company; and they appear to
be as devoid of mutual signs of courtesy, as are
our own countrymen when seated in a foreign
diligence. I am positive that there will never be
a union betwixt the dovecot pigeon and the ring-
dove. A long series of observations, which I have
been enabled to make, tends to convince me more
and more of the impossibility.

The dovecot pigeons, like the rest of the genus,
are remarkable for retiring to their roost at an
early hour, and for leaving it late in the morning:
thus fulfilling only half of Poor Richard’s maxim of,

*«« Early to bed, and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

-THE DOVECOT PIGEON. 949

These pigeons never lay more than two eggs at
one sitting. Indeed, I should be most surprised
were it satisfactorily proved that any pigeon ever
sits on three eggs.

Nothing can surpass the attachment of these
birds to the cot of their choice. Provided you do
not absolutely molest them by the repeated dis-
charge of fire-arms, they can scarcely be driven
from it. You may unroof their habitation; and,
though you leave it in that dismantled state for
weeks together, still the pigeons will not forsake it.
At their early hour of roosting, they will approach
within three or four yards of the workmen, and
then take shelter in the holes of the roofless walls,
where they remain for the night.

Much might be written by the ornithologist on
the intimacy which would exist betwixt man and
the feathered tribes, if man would condescend to
cultivate it. Were I “close pent up in the social
chimney corner,” on some dismal winter’s evening,
with an attentive “Eugenius” by my side, I would
show him the cause of shyness which exists betwixt
the birds and us; and, amongst other things, I
would prove to him that no bird ever anticipates
the return of man to the vicinity of its nest, by the
supposed act of removing its “ young to new quar-
ters.” The pretended discovery of this reasoning
quality in birds may be just the thing to raise
the writer in the estimation of the editor of the
American Quarterly ; but it won’t go down here
in England.

Our ancestors generally built their. dovecots in

“250 THE DOVECOT PIGEON.

an open field, apart from the farm-yard; fearing,
probably, that the noise and bustle occasioned by
the rustic votaries of good Mother Eleusina might
interrupt the process of incubation, were the dove-
cots placed in the midst of the buildings dedicated
to husbandry.

Birds very soon get accustomed to the sounds
of civilised life, be they ever so loud, except those
which proceed from the discharge of a gun; and
even those, in some few cases of extreme hunger,
will not deter a famished wild bird from approach-
ing the place where nutriment can be found. How
unconcernedly the daw sits on the lofty steeple,
while the merry chimes are going! and with what
confidence the rooks will attend their nests on
trees in the heart of a town, even on the busy
market day! The report of fire-arms is terrible
to birds; and, indeed, it ought never to be heard
in places in which you wish to encourage the pre-
sence of animated nature. Where the discharge
of fire-arms is strictly prohibited, you will find that
the shyest species of birds will soon forget their
wariness, and assume habits which persecution pre-
vents them from putting in practice. Thus, the
cautious heron will take up its abode in the
immediate vicinity of your mansion; the barn-owl
will hunt for mice under the blazing sun of noon,
even in the very meadow where the hay-makers
are at work; and the wigeons will mix, in conscious
security, with the geese, as they pluck the sweet
herbage on your verdant lawn; where the hares
may be seen all day long, now lying on their sides

THE STORMCOCK. 951

to enjoy the warmth of the sun, and now engaged
in sportive chase, unbroken-in-upon by enemies,
whose sole endeavour is to take their lives.

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE STORMCOCK,
OR MISTLETOE THRUSH.

* Te, dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum,
Te, veniente die, te, decedente, canebat.”’

For thee, sweet mate, for thee he pour’d his lay,
At early dawn, and at the close of day.
Ir isa pleasing and ingenious way to account for the
song in birds, by supposing that it is given to them
by Nature, in order that they may enliven the
female during the lonely task of incubation. At that
interesting season of the year, one might really
imagine that the song of the male is absolutely
uxorious ; and, in truth, it may be, for aught I know
to the contrary. No cow ever chewed her cud more
deliberately than I have weighed this matter in my
own mind; and, after all, I am not one jot the
wiser. My speculations in April have all been
shivered to atoms in November, and I am left in the
midst of uncertainty. To-day, I hear a male bird
singing close to the bush where his female is on her
nest; and, five months hence, I shall hear a male
bird sing, in apparent ecstasy, when the chilling
season of the year peremptorily forbids the female
to make any preparations for the nursery. Baffled

252 THE STORMCOCK.

at every point, I sometimes peevishly ask myself,
Why should nature have made a provision in the
male blackbird, in order that he may soothe his
incubating female, and have denied that provision
to my favourite, the carrion crow? And then I
answer my own question, by whispering to myself,
that the she carrion may possibly experience won-
derful delight in listening to the hoarse croaking of
her partner ; just as the old Scotchwoman did, when
she used to gaze at the carbuncle on her husband's
nose. In a word, I know nothing, absolutely nothing,
about the song in birds. The raven will whistle
you a tune so true and pleasing that you feel quite
enchanted with his performance; whilst his congener,
the carrion crow, notwithstanding all your pains to
instruct him, will remain as unmusical as Paddy’s
fiddle, which was dumb for want of catgut. We
listen with delight to the many species of male birds
which make the groves resound with their melody ;
and we cannot imagine why the females so seldom
venture an attempt at song; for we know that with
us both ladies and gentlemen are full of fine sounds.
Wherever a Braham is heard, there is sure to be a
Billington not far off.

However, should it be the case, in ornithology,
that Nature has ordered the male to sing his female
to repose, there are some exceptions to the supposed
general rule. I may adduce the stormcock by way
of example; for he warbles nearly the year through-
out. I have often heard him pour forth his wild
and plaintive notes in the months of August, October,
November, and December, and in every following

THE STORMCOCK. © 953

month, until the sun has entered into cancer, at
which period he seems to unstring his lyre for a
few weeks. Towards the close of December his
song is particularly charming ; and it becomes more
frequent as the new year advances. I remember
well (indeed, I noted down the circumstance, ) that,
on December 21. 1827, his carol was remarkably
attractive. He warbled incessantly from the top of
a lofty elm, just as the poor from a neighbouring
village were receiving corn under it, in memory of
St. Thomas the apostle. In the olden time, it was
a common practice throughout the land to distribute
corn to the needy, on the day in which the festival
of this glorious saint is kept. At present the good
dole seems fast approaching to its latter end. Pro-
bably in a few years more it will fall a victim to the
times, and be trodden under foot in the modern
march of intellect.

This bird, though usually known by the name of
the mistletoe thrush in many parts of England, is
invariably called the stormcock by all the lower
orders in our neighbourhood; not that it delights
in storms more than in fine weather, but that
Nature has taught it to pour forth its melody at a
time of the year when the bleak winds of winter
roar through the leafless trees. Should, however,
a few days of calm and warmth succeed to the
chilling blast, then the stormcock is heard to sing,
if anything, more sweetly than before.

The stormcock is a decided inhabitant of trees,
except sometimes when in quest of food ; for at that
time he may be seen on the ground, and in berry-

254 THE STORMCOCK. —

bearing shrubs. But in shrubs I have never been
able to find his nest, which is generally placed either
in the forked branches of the forest trees, or in
those of the larger fruit trees, sometimes very high
up, and sometimes within 5ft. of the ground. The
outside of the nest is composed of dried grass, to
which is added a little green moss ; whilst the inside
contains a lining of dried grass alone, on which the
female commonly lays five eggs, speckled over with
chocolate-coloured spots, of a lighter and a darker
shade, on a greyish-green ground.

During the period of the breeding season, the
habits of the stormcock undergo a noted change.
At other times of the year, except in cherry-time,
and when the seeds of the different species of the
service tree are ripe, this bird carefully avoids the
haunts of man; but no sooner does the time arrive
in which it has to make its nest, than it draws near
to our habitations with the utmost confidence, and
forms its nest in places the most exposed to our
view. There both male and female protect their
charge with matchless courage. On the approach
of an enemy you immediately hear their singular
cry, which somewhat resembles the sound produced
by striking the teeth of a comb smartly with your
finger ; and you see the parent birds dashing inces-
santly at the crow, the cat, or the magpie, until
they clear the coast. This year there is a storm-
cock’s nest within fifteen yards of the place where
the masons are at work. Our tame magpie, which
is allowed its freedom, and the use of its wings,
seized the female, some days ago, and brought her

THE STORMCOCK. 255°

close to the masons. The male bird instantly came
up, and rescued his mate, by fighting the magpie,
until he made it let go its hold. “ Causa vie conjux.”
It was to save his female that he advanced so un-
dauntedly into the midst of his mortal enemies :
nothing else could have induced him to face the
danger. I fancy that I hear him say—

“ Si fata negant veniam pro conjuge, certum est,
Nolle redire mihi: letho gaudete duorum.”

“Tf you won’t give my poor dear up to me, here I
stay: you may kill us both.” This loving couple
retired triumphant to their nest ; but the female lost
half of her tail in the fray.

The stormcock surpasses all other thrushes in
size, and is decidedly the largest songster of the
European birds. He remains with us the whole of
the year ; and he is one of three birds which charm
us with their melody during the dreary months of
winter, when the throstle and the lark are silent,
and all the migratory birds have left us, to sojourn
in warmer climates. On this account I prize him
doubly. He appears to be gregarious in the months
of August and September. I have occasionally
counted from forty to fifty of these birds in a flock ;
and I suspect that they are sometimes mistaken for
an early arrival of fieldfares, by those who pay atten-
tion to the migration of birds.

The stormcock is remarkably fond of the berries
of the mountain-ash. He who loves to see this
pretty songster near his dwelling would do well to
plant a number of mountain-ashes in the midst of.

256 THE STORMCOCK.»

his pleasure-grounds: they are of quick growth,
and they soon produce an abundance of berries.
Whilst the fruit of these trees affords a delicious
autumnal repast to the stormcock, the branches
which bear the berries are well known to be an
effectual preservative against the devilish spells of
witchcraft. In the village of Walton I have two
small tenants; the name of one is James Simpson,
that of the other Sally Holloway; and, Sally’s house
stands a little before the house of Simpson. Some
three months ago I overtook Simpson on the turnpike
road, and I asked him if his cow were getting better,
for his son had told me she had fallen sick. “ She’s
coming on surprisingly, Sir,” quothhe. “The last
time that the cow-doctor came to see her, ‘ Jem,’
said he to me, looking earnestly at old Sally’s house,
‘Jem,’ said he, ‘mind and keep your cow-house
door shut before the sun goes down, otherwise I
won’t answer what may happen to the cow.’ ‘ Ay,
ay, my lad,’ said I, ‘I understand your meaning;
but I am up to the old slut, and I defy her to do me
any harm now.’” ‘“ And what has old Sally been
doing to you, James?” said I. “ Why, Sir,” replied
he, “we all know, too well, what she can do. She
has long owed me a grudge; and my cow, which
was in very good health, fell sick immediately after
Sally had been seen to look in at the door of the
cow-house, just as night was coming on. The cow
grew worse and worse; and so I went and cut a
bundle of wiggin (mountain-ash), and I nailed the
branches all up and down the cow-house; and,
Sir, you may see them there if you will take the

THE WINDHOVER HAWK. 257

trouble to step in. Iam a match for old Sally now,
and she ca’nt do me any more harm, so long as the
wiggin branches hang in the place where I have
nailed them. My poor cow will get well in spite of
her.” Alas! thought I to myself, as the deluded
man was finishing his story, how much there is yet
to be done in our part of the country by the school-
master of the nineteenth century !

NOTES ON THE HABITS OF THE WINDHOVER
HAWK.

NoTHING can be more unfortunate for a man, than
to bear a strong resemblance to another who is
notorious for his evil deeds. ‘The public eye marks
him as he passes on, and tacitly condemns him for
misdemeanors of which he is, probably, as inno-
cent as the lamb which gambols on the lawn. This
may be applied with great truth to the windhover
hawk. He is perpetually confounded with the spar-
rowhawk, and too often doomed to suffer for the
predatory attacks of that bird on the property of
man. But, when your gun has brought the poor
windhover to the ground, look, I pray you, into the
contents of his stomach; you will find nothing there
to show that his life ought to have been forfeited.
On the contrary, the remnants of the beetle and the
field mouse which will attract your notice, prove
indisputably, that his visits to your farm have been
of real service to it.

oe OO

258 THE WINDHOVER HAWK.

This hawk has received the name of windhover
on account of his custom of hovering in the air.
By the way, he is not the only bird which performs
this curious evolution. The sparrowhawk, the barn-
owl, the gull, and the kingfisher are often seen in a
similar position.

A little attention on the part of the beholder
would soon enable him to distinguish the windhover
from the sparrowhawk. The windhover, when in
quest of food, glides softly through the air, at a
moderate height, now poised in the breeze on flut-
tering pinion, now resting in the void, apparently
without motion ; till, at last, down he comes, like a
falling stone, upon the unconscious prey below.
But, should he be disappointed in his purpose, he
rises again in elegant ascent, to seek for food else-
where. The sparrowhawk, on the contrary, though
he will sometimes hover in the air, still he usually
secures his prey by means of a very quick pursuit.
Both at early dawn and at the fall of night, he will
dart past you with inconceivable velocity ; and then
woe betide the luckless victim that attracts his
eagle eye. This bird often makes his appearance
at a tower which I have built for the starlings, and
to which above fifty pairs of these birds resort during
the spring of the year. His unwelcome visit causes
a tremendous uproar. A universal shriek of horror
announces his detested presence; and scarcely
have I time to fix my eyes upon the tower, ere the
intruder is off with a starling in his talons.

Did the nurseryman, the farmer, and the country
gentleman know the value of the windhover’s ser-

THE WINDHOVER HAWK. 259

vices, they would vie with each other in offering
him a safe retreat. He may be said to live almost
entirely on mice; and mice, you know, are not the
friends of man; for they bring desolation to the
bee-hive, destruction to the pea-bed, and spoliation
to the corn-stack. Add to this, they are extremely
injurious to the planter of trees. The year 1815
was memorable, in this part of the county of York,
for swarms of field-mice exceeding all belief. Some
eight years before this, I had planted two acres of
ground with oaks and larches in alternate rows.
Scarcely any of the oaks put forth their buds in the
spring of 1816; and, on my examining them, in
order to learn the cause of their failure, I found the
bark entirely gnawed away under the grass, quite
close to the earth, whilst. the grass itself, in all
directions, was literally honeycombed with holes,
which the mice had made. In addition to the bark
of young oaks, mice are extremely fond of that of
the holly tree: Ihave hollies which yet bear the
marks of having been materially injured by the
mice in winter. Apple trees, when placed in hedge-
rows, are often attacked by mice, and, in many
cases, are much injured by them. I prize the ser-
vices of the windhover hawk, which are manifest
by the quantity of mice which he destroys; and I
do all in my power to put this pretty bird on a good
footing with the gamekeepers and sportsmen of our
neighbourhood. Were this bird properly protected,
it would repay our kindness with interest ; and we
should then have the windhover by day, and the
s 2

260 THE WINDHOVER HAWK.

owls by night, to thin the swarms of mice which
overrun the land. :

As the windhovers make no nest, they are reduced
to the necessity of occupying, at second hand, that
of another bird. I once made the experiment to
try if a windhover would take possession of a nest
newly built; and, in order to prepare the way, I
singled out the nest of a carrion crow. As soon as
the crow had laid her third egg, I ascended the
tree, and robbed the nest. In less than a week
after this, a pair of windhovers took to it; and they
reared a brood of young in its soft and woolly
hollow.

The windhover is a social bird, and, unlike most
other hawks, it seems fond of taking up its abode
near the haunts of men. What heartfelt pleasure
I often experience in watching the evolutions of
this handsome little falcon! and with what content I
see the crow and the magpie forming their own nests,
as I know that, on the return of another spring, these
very nests will afford shelter to the windhover.
Were I to allow the crow and the magpie to be per-
secuted, there would be no chance for the windhover
to rear its progeny here; for Nature has not taught
this bird the art of making its nest in a tree. How
astonishing, and how diversified, are the habits of
birds! The windhover is never known to make
use of a nest until it has been abandoned for good
and all by the rightful owner; whilst, on the con-
trary, the cuckoo lays her egg in one of which the
original framer still retains pessession.

The windhover usually lays five eggs, and one of

>

THE WINDHOVER HAWK. 261

them sometimes proves addle. This bird is seen
to the greatest advantage during the time that it
is occupied in rearing its young; at that period,
nothing throughout the whole range of ornitholo-
gical economy can surpass the elegance of its aérial
evolutions.

Perhaps it is not generally known, that the wind-
hover is a migratory bird ; but, whether the greater
part of these hawks leave England in the autumn,
or merely retire from their breeding-place to some
other part of our country, more congenial to their
habits, is a problem which remains yet to be solved.
For my own part I am of opinion, that a very large
proportion of those which are bred in England leave
it in the autumn, to join the vast flights of hawks
which are seen to pass periodically over the Medi-
terranean Sea, on their way to Africa.

Last summer I visited twenty-four nests in my
park, all with the windhover’s eggs in them. The
old birds and their young tarried here till the de-
parture of the swallow, and then they disappeared.
During the winter, there is scarcely a windhover to
be found. Sometimes a pair or so, makes its ap-
pearance, but does not remain long. When Fe-
bruary has set in, more of the windhovers are seen;
and about the middle of the month their numbers
have much increased. They may be then heard at
all hours of the day; and he who loves to study
nature in the fields may observe them, now on
soaring wing, high above in the blue expanse of
heaven ; now hovering near the earth, ready to

s 3

264% THE RUMPLESS FOWL.

pounce upon the luckless mouse ; and now inspect-
ing the deserted nests of crows and magpies, in
order to secure a commodious retreat; wherein to
perform their approaching incubation. Allowing,
on an average, four young ones to the nest, there
must have been bred here ninety-six windhover
hawks last summer: add the parent birds, and we
shall have, in all, one hundred and forty-four.
Scarcely five of these birds were seen here from
Michaelmas to the latter end of January.

The periodical disappearance of the windhover
from its breeding-place might give rise to much
ornithological enquiry ; but I suspect that, when
every circumstance shall have been duly weighed,
we shall still be in the dark with regard to the true
cause of its departure. The want of food cannot
be supposed to force it away; for food the most
congenial to its appetite is found here in great
abundance at the very time when it deserts us.
Neither can supposed inclemency of weather be
alleged in support of its migration, as the temper-
ature of England is remarkably mild long after the
sun has descended into the southern hemisphere.

THE RUMPLESS FOWL.
Pauca meo gallo. Virgil.
Some time ago, I introduced this bird to the readers

of Mr. Loudon’s Magazine, in order to show them,
that the feathers of birds are just as brilliant, and

eee
mer

>on

THE RUMPLESS FOWL. 263

in as good condition, on the body of one which has
no oil-gland, as on the body of one which is fur-
nished with it. This being really the case, I drew
the conclusion, that birds are not in the habit of
anointing their plumage with the contents of their
oil-gland.

The history of the rumpless fowl seems to be
involved in much obscurity. Buffon tells us, that
most of the hens and cocks of Virginia have no
rump; and the inhabitants, he adds, affirm that,
when these birds are imported, they soon lose
the rump. Surely the inhabitants must mean that
the progeny of the imported birds lose the rump.
Monsieur Fournier assured the Count, that, when
the rumpless fowl couples with the ordinary kind, a
half-rumped sort is produced, with six feathers in
the tail instead of twelve. Buffon tells us, that
this bird is sometimes called the Persian fowl.
Perhaps it may be more common in that eastern
country than in France ; still, after all, I find, upon
investigation, that it is nothing more or less than a
variety of the common barn-door fowl ; and that it
can be produced by a male and female, both of
which are furnished with a rump, and of course
with a tail.

Two years ago, in the village of Walton, a com-
mon barn-door hen, with a rump, laid eighteen
eggs under a hedge which separates a little meadow
from the highway. There was not a rumpless
‘male fowl in all the village, or in the adjacent
country. ‘The mowers were cutting the grass just
as the old hen was hatching her young. She was

s 4

i yt el

264 THE RUMPLESS FOWL.

killed by a stroke of the scythe ; and two chickens
were all that could be saved from the wreck. One
of the mowers conveyed the two young birds in his
hat to the villager who had owned the hen, and whose
house was hard by. She brought them up at the
fire-side. ‘They were male and female. The male
was rumpless, and without a tail, whilst the female
had a rump, and a tail of ordinary size.

When the former had become a full-grown fowl,
I introduced to it a rumpless hen, by way of com-—
panion. She laid fourteen eggs, and sat upon them
with great perseverance; but every egg proved
addle. After this, she produced a dozen more in
the course of the summer ; and she sat upon them,
but with no better success. I then substituted a
male fowl with a tail, in lieu of her rumpless para-
mour ; and they soon became a loving couple. She
laid well the summer following, and sat twice; but
her repeated efforts to produce a family were of
no avail. During her last sitting, a Malay hen, of
prying habits, took the opportunity of her momen-
tary absence from the nest, and laid an egg in it.
This produced a chicken, which the rumpless step-
mother reared with maternal care.

It would appear, from these experiments, that
the rumpless fowl is not prolific. But Cervantes
tells us, that one swallow does not make summer.
“Una golondrina, no hace verano.” Wherefore
further investigation is absolutely necessary, before
the affair in question can be set at rest. However,
the testimony which follows tends to prove that the
rumpless fowl is fully capable of producing its race.

eT

THE RUMPLESS FOWL. 265

There lives, in the village of Walton, an old
woman notorious for rearing poultry. Her name
is Nanny Ackroyd. Some few years ago, I had
seen a pair of rumpless fowls feeding at her door.
I called on Nanny the other day, and I asked
her where she had procured the fowls; and if
they had ever had a brood. She told me, that
she had got them from the Isle of Wight; and
that they had produced seven rumpless chickens,
which she sold at the Market-cross, in Wakefield ;
but that she could not get the full price for them,
as her customers did not fancy them, on account
of their want of tail. On asking her what had
become of the parent fowls, she said, that they
both suddenly disappeared, a few weeks after she
had sold the young ones, at the Market-cross,
in Wakefield. Two or three unknown mendicants
had been lurking in the outskirts of the village ;
and she was sure the vagabonds had nipped up her
poor fowls.

My own rumpless fowl, mentioned above, came
to an untimely end. He was at the keeper’s house;
and as the keeper had got a tame fox, I foresaw
that some day or other, my bird would fall into its
clutches. To prevent the impending catastrophe,
I sent up one morning to the keeper, and desired
that the fowl might be brought down to the hall
in the evening. A giant Malay fowl espied it as soon
as it had left its roost the next day; and, indignant
at the appearance of such a rival-stranger on the
island, he drove it headlong into the water, where
it perished before assistance could be procured.

266 THE RUMPLESS FOWL.

But though its vital spark has fled for ever, still its
outer form will remain here, probably for ages yet
to come. I dissected it; and then I restored its
form and features in a manner that may cause it
to be taken for a living bird. This fowl now stands
along-side of a common barn-door hen, which had
assumed the plumage of a male, and whose fate
has already been recounted in Mr. Loudon’s Ma-
gazine of Natural History. She has been furnished
by nature with an oil-gland, and a handsome tail ;
he has been deprived by nature of both these
appendages. Still, his feathers are as glossy, and
in as high condition, as those of his companion. ‘I
consider this fact as conclusive evidence against
the received opinion, that birds make use of the
contents of the oil-gland, in order to lubricate their
feathers. If they really did make use of it, the
state of the plumage on one of these birds ought
to bear marks of its application.

Before I can be convinced that birds lubricate
their feathers, i must require him, who inspects
these two fowls (with a magnifying glass, if he
chooses), to point out to me a difference in the
plumage of the bird with an oil-gland, from that of
the bird without one. When he shall have done
this, I will yield, and willingly confess, that a close
attention to this subject, for a very long time, has
availed me nothing, and has only been the means
of leading me into an evident error.

THE RAVEN. 267

THE RAVEN.
Sepe sinistra cava predixit ab ilice cornix. ~ Virg.

It is now about three and twenty years since the
last raven which frequented this neighbourhood
either lost its life for supposed offences against the
game-laws, or found it expedient to retire to some
distant part, where it could live unmolested, and
rear its brood in safety. Not far from hence, in
the middle of a wood, there was a large oak tree,
the bole of which, by its thickness and its towering
height, had set every idling boy at defiance, time
out of mind. Ona huge limb of this giant son of
earth, a pair of ravens annually renewed their nest,
and reared a brood of young. At last, in evil hour,
a restless village cobbler got a scheme into his head
to plunder the establishment; and he forthwith
engaged the blacksmith to make him some iron
spikes, which were to be affixed to his feet, in order
to facilitate his ascent into the tree. With this
provision, one Sunday morning, of all other days in
the week, the ragged rascal bent his unhallowed
steps towards the tree which contained the raven’s
nest. By means of the spikes, he was enabled to
overcome the difficulties hitherto deemed insur-
mountable, by every passing vagabond, who had cast
a longing eye upon the treasure which was lodged
in the tree. He mounted aloft, and robbed the nest
of its young. From that unlucky day, the ravens
were never seen to alight again upon their once fa-
vourite tree. But they still lingered in the neigh-

268 THE RAVEN.

bourhood ; and as they approached the eastern hill,
which forms one side of this valley, I could hear
their hoarse and hollow croaking long before I could
see the birds themselves.

How different are the habits of the rooks, with
regard to their place of incubation! You may
plunder their nest annually, and annually they will
return to it, and perform their incubation in it. So
will the starling, and the jackdaw. But the carrion
crow abandons her nest for ever, after the breeding
season ; no matter whether it has been plundered
or not. It may here be remarked, that the rook,
‘the starling, and the jackdaw, are always gregarious ;
the raven and the carrion crow solitary birds most
parts of the year. ?

Some few years after the ravens had been plun-
dered by the cobbler, either the same couple, or a
stranger pair, built their nest in an oak of moderate
size, within a few yards of an ornamental sheet of
water, and about two miles distant from the wood
to which they had resorted in better times. The
gentleman’s gamekeeper, like all others of that san-
guinary set, was on the look-out ; and on seeing the
nest, he fancied that he had discovered a den of
thieves, who had settled there to pilfer poultry, and
to worry his master’s hares and pheasants by the
dozen. The poor female was shot down dead to the
ground; but, fortunately, the male escaped assas-
sination. He tarried for a day or two in the envi-
rons, and then deserted us for ever. From the day
of his disappearance, I have never seen or heard
a wild raven in this part of the country ; and times

THE RAVEN. 269

are now so changed for the worse, that I despair of
ever seeing again this fine British bird in any of our
woods.

He who wishes to study the habits of the raven
in its own native haunts, must not look for him here.
He must bend his. steps to those parts of Yorkshire
where the bird is still aliowed to exist.

There is a brood of ravens every season on the
rocks near Flamborough Head; and, no doubt, others
are to be found, at certain intervals, along the vast
extent of that bold and rock-bound shore. The
nest is chiefly made of the same materials as that of
the carrion crow, with the addition of a few dried
weeds which grow on the coast. I have never
taken the eggs, but if I may judge from one in my
possession, the egg is remarkably small for the size
of the bird; and in colour, it bears a close resem-
blance to the egg of the carrion crow. The young,
like those of all the pie tribe, are hatched blind.
On leaving the nest, their feathers have a brownish
cast; but after the first moulting, the birds acquire
that glossy richness of plumage which is so conspi-
cuous in the raven.

Though the naturalist will feel but little interest
in the habits of a bird which is brought up as a pet,
under the immediate inspection of man; still I can-
not help remarking here, that of all known birds (the
grey red-tailed parrot of Africa not excepted), there
is none to be found so docile, so clever, and so amus-
ing as the raven. I bought a young one, about
three years ago, at the well-known village of Flam-
borough, and I called it Marco. Marco could do

270 THE RAVEN.

every thing. He was as playful as a kitten; he
showed vast aptitude in learning to talk; and he
was so correct an imitator of sounds, that I had
every hope of teaching him the tune, which Gold-
smith informs us he heard a raven sing, with “ great
distinctness, truth, and humour.” Marco was fond
of seeing a carriage approach the house. He would
attend company on their arrival at the bridge, and
wait near the gate until their return; and then he
would go part of the way back with them. He was
an universal favourite, notwithstanding that at times
his evil genius prompted him to commit almost
unpardonable excesses; so much so, that I often
said to him in the words of the poet,— |

‘* Difficilis,— facilis, jucundus acerbus es idem.”

‘In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow,
Thou art such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ;
Hast so much wit, and mirth, and glee about thee,
There is no living with thee, nor without thee.”

One day, he took a sudden dislike to an old duck,
with which, till then, he had been upon the best of
terms; and he killed her in an instant. The coach-
man and Marco were inseparable companions ; but
at last they had a serious and a fatal quarrel. Marco
bit him severely in the thumb; upon which, this
ferocious son of the whip seized the bird by the
throat, and deliberately strangled it. I learned
from poor Marco, that birds will occasionally do
that which I had always supposed to be solely con-
fined to quadrupeds. When Marco could find a
heap of sand, or when there was snow upon: the

THE RAVEN. o71

ground, he would throw himself on his back, and
rub himself on the sand or snow, just as dogs are
wont to do, when they fall in with carrion.

No bird in the creation exhibits finer symmetry
than the raven. His beautiful proportions, and his
glossy plumage, are calculated to strike the eye of
every beholder with admiration. He is by far the
largest of all the pie tribe in Europe ; and, according
to our notion of things, no bird can be better pro-
vided with the means of making his way through
the world; for his armour is solid, his spirit uncon-
querable, and his strength surprising. ;

Necromancers of old were noted for their atten-
tion to the movements of the raven; and they are
said to have counted no less than sixty-five different
inflexions of his voice. His sable robe and hollow
croaking seem to have rendered him of vast im-
portance in those days; when old women were
known to travel through the air on broom-staffs,
and when the destiny of man was frequently fore-
told by the flight of birds. Nay, in our own times,
the raven has not quite lost all claim to the know-
ledge of things to come; for good farmer Muck-
drag’s wife, whilst jogging on with eggs to market,
knew that there was mischief brewing as soon as
she had heard a raven croak on the unlucky side of
the road.

‘¢ That raven on the left hand oak,
Curse on his ill betiding croak,
Bodes me no good.”

She had scarcely uttered this, when down came her

272 THE RAVEN.

old stumbling mare to the ground. Her every egg
was smashed to atoms; and whilst she lay sprawling
on the ruins of her oological speculation, she was
perfectly convinced, in her own mind, that the raven
had clearly foreseen her irreparable misadventure.
Our royal sovereign, good King Arthur of ancient
days, was known to have passed into the body of
araven. Cervantes tells us of a tradition, current
through the whole of Great Britain, that this much-
beloved monarch was changed into a raven by the
art of witchcraft; and that, in the due course of
time, he would be again in possession of his crown
and sceptre. I don’t care how soon. Cervantes
adds, that from the day on which the change took
place, no Englishman has ever been known to kill a
raven, and that the whole British nation is momently
expecting its king’s return. I should like to see
King Arthur's face, when his loving subjects tell
him of our national debt, and show him the civil
list. Methinks his long-lost Majesty will groan in
spirit, when he learns that the first was a present
from Dutch William, and the second a donation to
the country by the cormorant-traitors who had
driven away our last Catholic king, because he had
proclaimed universal liberty of conscience, and had
begun to question their right to the stolen property.
The ancients were of opinion that the raven lived
to an extreme old age. Ido not exactly see how
the longevity can be proved, whilst the bird roves
at liberty from place to place, far beyond the reach
of man; and, indeed, the difficulty of proof is no-
ways diminished when the raven is brought up tame

THE RAVEN. 273

in civilised society, for its perpetual bickerings with
stranger dogs, and its incautious approach to the
heels of vicious horses, seldom fail, sooner or later,
to bring it to an untimely end. Still, I should be the
last man in the world to question the veracity of
remote antiquity, upon the mere strength of hasty
surmise. Those who are gone before us, may
possibly have had better opportunities of ascertain-
ing the longevity of birds, than any which we now
possess.

I never tire with reading the old fables in which
birds are introduced. Notwithstanding the impos-
sibilities and absurdities which are manifest in
those rich effusions of ancient wit and humour;
still I can always find much in them to convince me,
that the writers of the olden times were no strang-
ers to the real habits of birds. Ovid, who flou-
rished some two thousand years ago, tells of a re-
markably old raven. It might indeed have been a
companion for Methusalem himself. When Medea,
that wicked, wanton, wandering witch, had made
up her mind to restore her aged father to the bloom
of youth, (which was contrary to the order of the
Fates,) she boiled a pot of herbs, and threw into it
the bones and carcass of an ow], together with a few
slices of wolf’s flesh, and the shell and inside of a
fresh water-turtle. To these she added the beak
and head of a raven, above nine hundred years old.

« Quibus insuper addit
Ora, caputque, novem cornicis secula passz.”

Thrice she soused her father over head in water,
T

Q74: THE RAVEN.

and thrice she held him to the fire, and thrice
she rubbed him well with brimstone.

‘«¢ Terque senem flamma, ter aqua, ter sulphure lustrat.”

She then applied her lancet to his jugular, and
having let out all the old man’s blood, she replaced
it with broth made from the ingredients which
she had stewed down for the operation. This did
the job, and up jumped her father AZson a spruce
dashing young fellow in the prime of life, with a
fine black beard in lieu of a white one. N.B. From
this operation we might surmise, that transfusion of
blood in surgery is no modern invention.

Pity it is that the raven, a bird of such note and
consequence in times gone by, should be exposed to
unrelenting persecution, in our own days of pro-
fessed philanthropy. His noble aspect, his aerial
evolutions, and his wonderful modulations of voice,
all contribute to render him an ornament to any
gentleman’s park. He can scarcely be styled a bird
of rapine, in the strict sense of the word ; for, in the
few inland parts of this country where he is still pro-
tected, we hear of no very alarming acts of depreda-
tion on his part. A stray chicken or so, during the
time that he is obliged to feed his young,—a rickety
lamb which would never make mutton, — a leveret
started from her seat by the village mole-catcher,
make up nearly the whole amount of the raven’s
plunder. For my own part I would freely give him
these; ay, and a dozen pheasants annually to boot,
if he would but visit us again, and once more attempt
to take up a permanent abode amongst us.

APPLE TREES. 275

APPLE TREES.

Inutilesque falce ramos amputans
Feliciores inserit.”’ Horace.

Many a time have I helped to cut away the
branches of decaying apple trees, and to insert
healthy grafts in their places; hoping to restore the
tree to the sound and fertile state in which it once
had been. Revolving seasons did but tend to show
that I had completely lost my time; for the Ame-
rican bug, supposed to have been unknown formerly,
in this country, attacked my labours in such for-
midable array, that nothing could withstand its fury.

Every lover of the orchard must have observed
this white pestilence in the enclosures sacred to
Pomona. It is seen on the branches and on the
bole of the apple tree in the month of June, when it
gives them the appearance of being dotted over
with little patches of a downy white.

Long ago I turned my thoughts to the extermi-
nation of the spoliator, which had nearly rendered
the choicest parts of the orchard a sickly, sad, un-
profitable waste.

I began by trying to make the branches, upon
which these diminutive harpies had settled, as dis-
agreeable to them as it were possible, hoping by this
manceuvre to starve them out of house and home.
With this in view, I applied unctuous preparations to
the injured parts of the trees; but finding, in the long
run, that this availed me nothing, I made a decoction
from walnut leaves, and washed the branches well

T 2

276 APPLE TREES.

with it, calculating that the bitterness of the decoc-
tion would render the favourite food of the insects
unpalatable to them. But I was deceived: the bugs
continued their depredations as though no pains ©
had been taken to dislodge them.

The application of spirit of turpentine killed
them at once, and for a few days after it had been
applied I was in hopes that their extermination had
been effected; but others soon appeared.

Despairing of success, I was on the point of quit-
ting the field, and leaving the bugs in undisturbed
possession of it; when I began to conjecture that I
had not gone the right way to work. I reflected,
that none of my applications could have penetrated
sufficiently deep into the curved and knotty sinu-
osities of the diseased parts; and that, on this
account, there would be a sufficient force of the
enemy left alive to recommence its depredations at
the first favourable opportunity. Wherefore I con-
cluded, that nothing short of the entire destruction
of the eggs, the young, and the adult, could save
the trees from ultimate ruin. Knowing that the
bug could not exist if totally deprived of air, I
resolved to bury it alive; and this I effected by an
application at once the most easy and simple that
can be imagined. It costs nothing.

I mixed clay with water, till it was of a consist-
ency that it could be put on to the injured parts
of the tree, either with a mason’s trowel, or with a
painter’s brush. I then applied it to the diseased
places of the tree, and it soon smothered every bug.
A second coat upon the first filled up every crack

THE CHAFFINCH. Q77

which showed itself when the clay had become dry :
and this resisted for a sufficient length of time the
effects both of sun and rain. The sickly parts, now
effectually freed from the enemy which had been
preying on their vitals, were placed in a state to
be cured by the healing process of nature; and
that nature has done her duty, my apple trees
amply testify.

Probably this nostrum is too simple, and not suf-
ficiently costly, for me to expect that it will attract
much notice. Still I think there is no harm in
committing it to paper. It may yet prove the best
friend to the cultivator of apples, when all his more
scientific and expensive resources shall have failed
in their effect. I may say of it, what was said of a
certain book of medicine in the olden time :—

** Venena
Enecat, morbos fugat, atque sanos
Protegit artus.””

THE CHAFFINCH.

** The thrushes chatter’d with affright,
The nightingales abhorr’d his sight ;
And every beast before him ran,
To shun the hateful sight of man.” Gay.

True was when the pretty denizens of air had no
friend to encourage them to settle in this part of
T3

ee te i a i _
<I ee erteng | rms

278 THE CHAFFINCH.

the country. They were slain without pity, or were
chased away by every intruding gunner who took
pleasure in pursuing them ; and whose heart never
throbbed at the sight of the poor bleeding bird
which lay dead at his feet.

Thus the melody cf the vernal thrush, and the
plaintive notes of the ring-dove, scarcely ever an-
nounced to us the arrival of that interesting time of
the year when Nature awakes from her long and
dreary sleep of winter. These sweet choristers of
the grove were said to do mischief in the orchard,
and in the kitchen garden ; and this was a sufficient
pretext to place them in no other light than that of
common outlaws, to be punished with death when-
ever an opportunity should offer.

The little chaffinch, too, was to have no favour
shown to him. He was known to haunt the beds of
early radishes: and he would have done a deal of
damage there, forsooth, had not our gardener luckily
been allowed the use of a gun, with which he
managed to kill, or to drive away, every chaflinch,
thrush, and blackbird, that arrived within the pre-
cinct of his horticultural domain.

But this promiscuous slaughter has ceased at last.
Every bird, be his qualities bad or good, is now
welcome here; and still nothing seems to go wrong,
either in the orchard, or in the garden. Neither
does the protection afforded to them appear to act
to my disadvantage in other quarters. The dovecot
is most productive, notwithstanding that a colony of
starlings (those pests to all dovecots in the eyes of
farmers) exists within a stone’s throw of it. The

———————

THE CHAFFINCH. 279

pheasants are crowing in every wood around; nor
do the hoarse croakings of the carrion crows, or the
frequent chatterings of the magpies, cause me any
apprehensions that there will be a deficiency in the
usual supply of game.

The chief way to encourage birds is to forbid the
use of fire-arms in the place of their resort. I have
done so here ; and to this precaution I chiefly owe
my unparalleled success.. We have a tame magpie
in the stable yard. It is the same bird that is men-
tioned in the paper on the stormcock, p. 254. Being
one of the tribe whose plumage in the nest has the
colours of that in after life, you cannot decide
whether it is a male or a female. However, it has
paired with a wild one; and although the wariness
of the magpie is proverbial, nevertheless this strange
bird will actually come and feed within a few yards
of us, without betraying any symptoms of fear.

For these two years, a Canada goose and gander,
attracted hither by the quiet which this place
affords, have made their nest on a little island of
alder trees. Although the female has laid five eggs
each year, still there has been no brood. ‘The
gander seems to have been aware that something
was going on wrong in his establishment, for this
spring the old gentleman has taken care to introduce
an extra female. Were Ovid, that excellent orni-
thologist, now on earth, he would tell us that this
he-goose, dissatisfied with our law of monogamy,
has been as far as Constantinople to buy a licence
for a plurality of wives.

Amongst all the pretty warblers which flit from

T 4

280 THE CHAFFINCH.

bush to bush before me, as I wander through the
flowery fields, next to poor cock robin, the chaffinch
is my favourite bird. I see him almost at every
step. He is in the fruit and forest trees, and in the
lowly hawthorn: he is on the housetop, and on the
ground close to your feet. You may observe him
on the stack-bar, and on the dunghill; on the king’s
highway, in the fallow field, in the meadow, in the
pasture, and by the margin of the stream.

If his little pilferings on the beds of early radishes
alarm you for the return of the kitchen garden,
think, I pray you, how many thousands of seeds he
consumes, which otherwise would be carried by the
wind into your choicest quarters of cultivation, and
would spring up there, most sadly to your cost.
Think again of his continual services. at your barn
door, where he lives throughout the winter, chiefly
on the unprofitable seeds, which would cause you
endless trouble were they allowed to lie in the straw,
and to be carried out with it into the land, on the
approach of spring.

His nest is a paragon of perfection. He attaches
lichen to the outside of it, by means of the spider’s
slender web. In the year 1805, when I was ona
plantation in Guiana, I saw the humming bird
making use of the spider’s web in its nidification ;
and then the thought struck me that our chaffinch
might probably make use of it too. On my return
to Europe, I watched a chaffinch busy at its nest :
it left it, and flew to an old wall, took a cobweb from
it, then conveyed it to its nest, and interwove it
with the lichen on the outside of it. Four or five

THE CHAFFINCH. 281

eggs, are the usual number which the chaffinch’s nest
contains: and sometimes only three. The thorn, and
most of the evergreen shrubs, the sprouts on the
boles of forest trees, the woodbine, the whin, the wild
rose, and occasionally the bramble, are this bird’s
favourite places for nidification. Like all its con-
geners, it never covers its eggs on retiring from the
nest, for its young are hatched blind.

There is something peculiarly pleasing to me in
the song of this bird. Perhaps association of ideas
may add a trifle to the value of its melody; for
when I hear the first note of the chaffinch, I know
that winter is on the eve of his departure, and that
sunshine and fine weather are not far off. His first
song tells me, that in a day or two more we shall
hear the cooing of the ring-dove, and see it rise and
fall in the air, as it flies from grove to grove, and
that this pretty pigeon, so shy and wary during the
winter, will in a day or two more allow me to ap-
proach within ten paces of it, as it feeds on the new
springing verdure of the lawn.

Say, ye learned in ornithology, say, what is it
that causes this astonishing change in the habits of
the ring-dove; and forces it, I may say, to come
close to our dwellings, and to coo incessantly from
early February into late October ; and then to shun
our society abruptly, as though we had never be-
friended it at all ?

The chaffinch never sings when on the wing; but’.
it warbles incessantly on the trees, and on the hedge
rows, from the early part of February to the second
week in July ; and then (if the bird be in a state of

282 THE CHAFFINCH.

freedom) its song entirely ceases. You may hear
the thrush, the lark, the robin, and the wren, sing
from time to time in the dreary months of winter ;
but you will never, by any chance, have one single
note of melody from the chaffinch. Its powers of
song have sunk into a deep and long lasting trance,
not to be roused by any casualty whatever. All that
remains of its voice, lately so sweet and so exhilirat-
ing, is the shrill and well-known monotonous call,
which becomes remarkably distinct and frequent
whenever the cat, the ow], the weasel, or the fox,
are seen to be on the move.

We are told that in the winter season, the female
chaffinches separate from the males, and migrate
into distant countries. I have-not been able to
ascertain that so ungallant a divorce takes place in
this part of the country. The chaffinches assemble
here with their congeners during the period of
frost and snow, and you may count amongst them
as many females as males.

Sad and mournful is the fate which awaits this
harmless songster in Belgium and in Holland, and
and in other kingdoms of the continent. In your
visit to the towns in these countries, you see it
outside the window, a lonely prisoner in a wooden
cage, which is scarcely large enough to allow it to
turn round upon its perch. Itno longer enjoys the
light of day. Its eyes have been seared with a red-
hot iron, in order to increase its powers of song,
which, unfortunately for the cause of humanity, are
supposed to be heightened and prolonged far beyond
their ordinary duration by this barbarous process.

YHE CHAFFINCH. 283

Poor chaffinches, poor choristers, poor little suffer-
ers! My heart aches as I pass along the streets,
and listen to your plaintive notes. At all hours of
the day we may hear these hapless captives singing
(as far as we can judge) in apparent ecstasy. I
would fain hope that these pretty prisoners, so woe-
begone, and so steeped in sorrow, to the eye of him
who knows their sad story, may have no recollection
of those days when they poured forth their wild
notes in the woods, free as air, “the happiest of the
happy.” Did they remember the hour when the
hand of man so cruelly deprived them both of
liberty and eyesight, we should say that they would
pine in anguish, and sink down at last, a certain
prey to grief and melancholy. At Aix la Chapelle
may be seen a dozen or fourteen of these blind
songsters, hung out in cages at a public house, not
far from the cathedral. They sing incessantly, for
months after those in liberty have ceased to warble;
and they seem to vie with each other, which can
carol in the loudest strain. There is something in
song so closely connected with the overflowings of
a joyous heart, that when we hear it, we imme-
diately fancy we can see both mirth and pleasure
joining in the party. Would, indeed, that both of
these were the constant attendants on this much to
be pitied group of captive choristers! How the
song of birds is involved in mystery! mystery pro-
bably never to be explained. Whilst sauntering up
and down the Continent in the blooming month of
May, we hear the frequent warbling of the chaffinch ;
and then we fancy that he is singing solely to be-

284 REMARKS ON THE DRY ROT.

guile the incubation of his female, sitting on her
nest in a bush close at hand. But on returning to
the town, we notice another little chaffinch, often in
some wretched alley, a prisoner with the loss of
both its eyes, and singing nevertheless as though its
little throat would burst. Does this blind captive
pour forth its melody in order to soothe its sorrows ?
Has Omnipotence kindly endowed the chaffinch
with vocal faculties; which at one time may be em-
ployed to support it in distress, and at another time
to add to its social enjoyments? What answer
shall we make? We know not-what to say. But
be it as it will, I would not put out the eyes of the
poor chaffinch, though by doing so I might render
its melody ten times sweeter than that of the sweet
nightingale itself. O that the Potentate, in whose
dominions this little bird is doomed to such a cruel
fate, would pass an edict to forbid the perpetration
of the barbarous deed! Then would I exclaim,
O king of men, thy act is worthy of a royal heart.
*« That kind Being, who is a friend to the friendless,
shall recompense thee for this.”

A SHORT REMARK OR TWO ON WHAT IS
COMMONLY CALLED DRY ROT.

Dry Rot is a misnomer. This disease in timber
ought to be designated, a decomposition of wood
by its own internal juices, which have become
vitiated for want of a free circulation of air.

REMARKS ON THE DRY ROT. 285

If you rear a piece of timber, newly cut down,
in an upright position in the open air, it will last
for ages. Put another piece of the same tree into
a ship, or into a house, where there is no access to
the fresh air, and ere long it will be decomposed.

But, should you have painted the piece of wood
which you placed in an upright position, it will not
last long ; because, the paint having stopped up its
pores, the incarcerated juices have become vitiated,
and have caused the wood to rot. Nine times in
ten, wood is painted too soon. The upright un-
painted posts, in the houses of our ancestors, though
exposed to the heats of summer, and the blasts of
winter, have lasted for centuries ; because the pores
of the wood were not closed by any external appli-
cation of tar or paint; and thus the juices had an
opportunity of drying up gradually.

In 1827, on making some alterations in a passage,
I put down and painted a new plinth, made of the
best, and, apparently, well-seasoned, foreign deal.
The stone wall was faced with wood and laths; and
the plaster was so well worked in the plinth, that
it might be said to have beenair-tight. In about four
months, a yellow fungus was perceived to ooze out
betwixt the bottom of the plinth and the flags; and
on taking up the plinth, both it, and the laths, and
the ends of the upright pieces of wood to which the
laths had been nailed, were found in as complete
a state of decomposition as though they had been
buried in a hotbed. Part of these materials exhi-
bited the appearance of what is usually called dry
rot; and part was still moist, with fungus on it,

286 REMARKS ON THE DRY ROT.

sending forth a very disagreeable odour. A new
plinth was immediately put down; and holes 14 in,
in diameter, at every yard, were bored through it.
This admitted a free circulation of air; and to this
day the wood is as sound and good as the day on
which it was first put down. The same year, I
reared up, in the end of a neglected and notoriously
damp barn, a lot of newly felled larch poles; and I
placed another lot of larch poles against the wall
on the outside of the same barn. These are now
good and well seasoned: those within became
tainted, the first year, with what is called dry rot,
and were used for firewood.

If, then, you admit a free circulation of air to the
timber which is used in a house (no difficult matter),
and abstain from painting that timber till it be per-
fectly seasoned, you will never suffer from what is
called dry rot. And if the naval architect, by
means of air-holes in the gunwale of a vessel (which
might be closed in bad weather), could admit a free
circulation of air to the timbers; and if he could,
also, abstain from painting, or doing with turpen-
tine, &c., the outer parts of the vessel, till the wood
had become sufficiently seasoned, he would not
have to complain of dry rot. I am of opinion, that,
if a vessel were to make three or four voyages
before it is painted, or done with turpentine, &c.,
its outer wood would suffer much less from the in-
fluence of the weather than it usually suffers from
its own internal juices, which cannot get vent, on
account of artificial applications to the pores. But
still the timber would be subject to the depredation

Pat he») ae

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS. 287

of the insect. To prevent this effectually, Mr.
Kyan’s process must absolutely be adopted; and it
must also be adopted to secure wood from what is
called dry rot, in places where a free circulation of
air cannot be introduced. I consider Mr. Kyan’s
process perfectly unexceptionable. The long ar-
rows which the Indians use in Guiana are very
subject to be eaten by the worm. In 1812, I ap-
plied the solution of corrosive sublimate to a large
quantity of these arrows. At this hour they are
perfectly sound, and show no appearance that the
worm has ever tried to feed upon them.

I have penned down these transient remarks by
way of preface to others, which I may possibly
write, at some future time, on decay in living
trees.

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS.

Most men have some favourite pursuit — some
well-trained hobby, which they have ridden from
the days of their youth. Mine is ornithology; and
when the vexations of the world have broken in
upon me, I mount it, and go away for an hour or
two, amongst the birds of the valley ; and I seldom
fail to return with better feelings than when I first
set out. He who has made it his study to become
acquainted with the habits of the feathered tribes,
will be able to understand their various movements
almost as well as though they had actually related
their own adventures to him.

288 HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTsS.

Thus, when I see the windhover hawk, hanging
in the air on fluttering wing, although it be at broad
noon-day, I am quite certain that there is a mouse
below, just on the point of leaving its hole for a
short excursion: and then I thank him kindly, for
his many services to the gardener and the hus-
bandman ; and I tell him, that he shall always have
a friend and a protector in me. Again, when I ob-
serve the carrion crow, in the month of May, sailing
over the meadows with the sagacity of a spaniel ;
I know at once, that, somewhere or other, she has
a nest of hungry little ones to provide for ; and that
she is on the look-out for eggs, or for young birds,
to supply their wants: and then I tell her I feel
sorry from my heart, that the pressing duty of pro-
viding for a large and ravenous family should ex-
pose her to the eternal enmity of man ; knowing full
wel] that, at other seasons of the year, she is a real
benefactress to him, by clearing his fields of a world
of insects, which feed upon their produce.

For reasons unknown to us, the birds are parti-
cularly vociferous, both at early dawn, and at the
fall of night. But when I hear the partridge utter-
ing its well-known call in the middle of the day, I
comprehend at once, that it either sees bad company
close at ‘hand, in the shape of cats or weasels, or
that its brood has beén surprised and dispersed by
some intruder; and that the individuals of the
covey are then calling to each other, from the
place of their retreat, in order that they may all
meet again in some more secure and more shel-

tered quarter.

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS. 289

This knowledge of the habits of birds, which at
once lets you into their little secrets, is only to be
obtained by a constant attention to the notes and
the habits of the feathered tribes in the open air.
It can never be learned in the solitude of the closet.
Those naturalists who pass nearly the whole of
their time in their study have it not in their
power to produce a’ work of real merit. On the
contrary, it too often happens that they do (most
unintentionally, no doubt) a great deal of harm to
science. ‘Travellers, and now and then a foreigner,
come to them, and desire that they will revise, or
concoct, or prepare a work for the press. They
comply with the request. But, having little or no
knowledge themselves of the real habits of birds,
they do not perceive the numberless faults in the
pages which they are requested to prepare for the
public eye. Hence it is that errors innumerable
stare us in the face, when we open books which
profess to treat on the nature and the habits of
birds.

What a world we live in! say I, when I read
that turkey-cocks will break all the eggs of the fe-
males, for the purpose of protracting their future
frolics ; and that another species of bird flies away-
from the nest, when the egg is hatched, in order
to procure food for the young one.

I tremble for the welfare of ornithology, when I
am informed that the ornithologist, now-a-days, is
not expected to climb lofty trees and precipices, in

order to ascertain whether the birds which fre-
U

290 HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTs».

quent them are in the habit of fabricating’ their ©
own nests, or of using a natural cavity.

We are gravely told it cannot be expected that
field ornithologists should risk life and limb, in
order to ascertain such points. This is melancholy
doctrine, and he who is determined to follow it
must be content to remain in ignorance.

I cannot admit that the mere art of preserving
the skin of a bird is sufficient to answer every
scientific purpose; and I disagree with him who
will not allow the study of internal anatomy to be
the basis of the zoological system.

We may measure the feet of preserved bird-skins
with rule and compasses, and then draw the con-
clusion, from external appearances, that this foot,
forsooth, is gifted by Nature for grasping, and that,
for perching: but it will not do. Internal anatomy
must be consulted. It alone can let us into the
real secret, why all birds which frequent the trees
can grasp a branch with the utmost facility, and sit
securely there, without any fear of falling from it.

See the barn-door fowl walking before us! No
sooner does it lift its foot from the ground, than
the toes immediately bend inwards. From this na-
tural tendency to contract we draw the conclusion,
that a bird is in absolute security when it perches
upon a branch. By means of this admirable pro-
vision of Nature, the little delicate golden-crested
wren can brave the raging tempest, on the top of
the loftiest tree, in as perfect safety as the largest
bird of the creation.

Nothing can be more illusory than an attempt

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS. 991

to judge of a bird’s powers of perching by an ex-
ternal admeasurement of its feet and claws. Our
speculation is unprofitable, and our judgment is of
no avail whatever; for, after we have laid our rule
and compasses down upon the table, and have left
the house to take a walk into the fields, with a full
conviction that we have learned our lesson from
the dried skin of a bird, we find that the habits of
one bird are utterly at variance with those of
another, although the proportional anatomy of
their feet and claws be exactly the same. Thus,
we observe the ring-dove sitting up aloft on the
slender branches of the towering elm: but the dove-
cot pigeon is never to be seen in so elevated a situ-
ation. Still, the feet of these two birds are alike. —
Our pheasant will sleep both upon the ground, and
upon the branch of a tree. But the partridge of
England is never known to resort to the trees,
although its toes differ in nothing but in size from
the toes of the pheasant. It requires an effort in
birds to keep their toes straight; and -an effort in
man to keep his fingers closed.

Thus, from the study of internal anatomy, we
learn that man can never be safe upon the branch of
a tree, except when he is awake ; and that a bird
is perfectly secure upon it, even in the profoundest
sleep.

The barn owl has been singled out as a specimen
of pre-eminence in perching ; and we are informed
that, as it represents the insessorial or perching
order, its powers of grasping ought to be more
than ordinary. We consequently find, continues

vu 2 ’

292 HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS.

our informant, that one of the claws is serrated, to
give the bird a firmer grasp than it would other-
wise have.

Now, this serrated part of the claw happens to
be so high upon the claw itself, that it cannot, by
any chance, come in contact with the branch to
which the bird has resorted ; and, as for this owl’s
pre-eminent powers of grasping, I may remark,
that it is seldom or ever seen upon a small branch.
Nine times out of ten it will alight upon the thick
parts of the tree, where it remains in a standing
position ; and it will fall asleep in that position, if
not disturbed.

We shall never know why some birds prefer to
sleep on the ground, and why others select the
branch of a tree whereon to take their repose for
the night. That the formation of the feet and toes
has nothing to do with their choice appears evident
from the different habits of the ring-dove and the
common pigeon, the partridge and the pheasant.

By the way, though the pheasant will unite with
our barn-door fowl, and produce a progeny, still
there is a wonderful difference in the habits of
these two birds. The pheasant crows before it
shakes or claps its wings ; the barn-door fowl, after.
The pheasant never claps or shakes its wings ex-
cept in the breeding season, and when it is on the
ground; but the barn-door fowl will clap its wings,
either on the ground or on the roost, at all times
of the year.

Should our grave doctors of zoology decide that,
by the study of external anatomy alone, we can be

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS. 993

enabled to point out those birds which are supposed
to be pre-eminently gifted with the powers of
perching and of grasping; and should these our
masters recommend that this novel study be ap-
plied to quadrupeds, and to bipeds, as well as to
birds; I respectfully beg leave to inform them
that I have been gifted by Nature with vast powers
of leg and toe: I can spread all my five toes; and,
when I am barefoot in the forest, I can make use
of them in picking up sundry small articles from
the ground. Having an uncommon liking for high
situations, I often mount to the top of a lofty tree,
there to enjoy the surrounding scenery: nor can I
be persuaded that I risk “life and limb ” in gaining
the elevated situation. These, no doubt, are quali-
ties and propensities aberrant from the true human
type; and, according to the new theory, will at
once account for my inordinate love of arboreal
celsitude.

There is a bird in Guiana named Kamichi. We
call it the horned screamer. On its head grows a
long, slender, and blunt kind of horn; if horn it
can be called. We are informed, in a late publica-
tion, that the bird uses this horn as a means of self-
defence against its enemies.

La Mancha’s knight, in his wildest mood for pike
and helmet, never hit upon any thing so extrava-
gant as this. No bird ever makes use of the crown
of its head, or of anything that grows thereon, as a
means of self-defence. Even if the horn on the
head of the Kamichi were of a texture sufficiently
strong to form a weapon of defence, still this bird

v3 ;

294 HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS.

would not want it; for it has tremendous spurs on
its pinions, well adapted, and rightly placed, to
punish an opponent.

Were we to estimate the powers of walking in
the coots by the outward appearance of their feet,
we might inform the public that “they are such
bad walkers that they appear to stagger in their
gait, and that they walk with difficulty and un-
steadiness.” But when we see them on land, every
day throughout the winter, feeding on grass with
the wigeons, except in a great fall of snow, we
have proof positive, by their aptitude at walking,
and by their velocity in running, that our judgment
has been rash, and that our theory is unsound.

We are informed that jays live more amongst
trees than upon the ground; and the arboreal pro-
pensity of this bird is inferred from the shape of its
toes. Now, let it be remembered, that, with the
exception of the short periods when garden fruits
and acorns are ripe, this bird must be upon the
ground to procure a maintenance. Here, where he
is protected, he may be seen upon the ground at
all hours of the day.

The common wagtail, too, is pronounced to be a
“ truly terrestrial bird,” on account of the formation
of his toes. Come hither, and you shall see the
common wagtail in the daily habit of resorting to
the trees.

Those who derive their knowledge of birds from
the inspection of their external anatomy alone, may
write on the use of bristles at the mouths of
birds; and they may, tell us that, in proportion as

HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS. 295

birds partake of a vegetable and an insect diet, so
are these bristles more or less developed. But the
fallacy of this theory is manifest in the ordinary
habits of the barn-door fowl, the wigeon, and many
other birds. During the summer months, the barn-
door fowl, whilst cropping the grass and herbs, will
capture, with the utmost facility and avidity, every
insect, great or small, or soft or hard, which is un-
fortunate enough to be within its reach. The diet
of the wigeon is grass. Still, neither the wigeon,
nor the barn-door fowl, have bristles at the beak.

The claws of rapacious birds are pronounced to
be “retractile.” If they are so, then the knowledge
of internal anatomy would force us to pronounce
the claws of other tribes of birds, such as the
robins, the doves, the barn-door fowls, and a thou-
sand others, to be retractile.

The soldier must spend many a day amid the
roar of hostile cannon, before he becomes qualified
to command an army; the carpenter ought to
work for years in the dock-yard, ere he attempts to
build a line-of-battle ship; and the schoolmaster
has to pore over many a scientific volume, in order
to prepare himself to teach the mathematics.

But, somehow or other, it happens, now-a-days,
that practical knowledge does not seem to be con-
sidered essentially necessary for those who under-
take to write on certain parts of Natural History.
Thus, some there are who will offer their history
of birds to the public, although it can be ascer-
tained that they have never been in the country
which those birds inhabit. Others again, not

U 4 |

i rl

296 HINTS TO ORNITHOLOGISTS.

having resided a sufficient length of time amongst
the foreign birds which they undertake to describe,
are perpetually giving statements at variance with
the real habits of the birds. Thus the account
which is given us of the habits of the Toucan is
wrong at all points; to say nothing of its tongue, &c.
No man who has paid sufficient attention to the
woodpeckers whilst in quest of food, will allow him-
self to be led away with the idea that these birds
‘break through and demolish the hardest wood.”

Give me the man who, after minute examination,
has written his account of birds in the country
where the birds themselves are found. Give me
the man, I don’t care of what nation, who has pub-
lished his ornithological investigations without
having first placed them in the scientific hands of
those men, who would fain persuade him that no
work on ornithology can pass safely through the
fiery ordeal of modern criticism, unless it has pre-
viously received the polish of their own incom-
parable varnish.

Thus, in days of yore, old Apollo advised his son
Phaethon to let his face be well smeared with ce-
lestial ointment, in order to make it fireproof, ere he
mounted on the box of the solar chariot.

«« Tum pater ora sui, sacro medicamine, nati
Contigit, et rapide fecit patientia flammz.”

But, notwithstanding this precaution, the lad got
himself into a sad broil; and we know not what
disasters his folly might have brought upon the
world, had not mother Earth bestirred herself, and
persuaded Jupiter to stop his wild career. At her

LOLOL OER INE,

MUSEUMS. . 297

urgent entreaties, Jupiter felled him with a thun-
derbolt into the river Po, where, I understand, he
got pretty well cooled.

Would that we had a Jupiter here in England,
with a birch rod in his hand, to tickle some of our
zoological Phaethons! I would willingly act the
part of mother Earth; and I would undertake to
show, by sundry documents, which have reached
me through the medium of the press, that, if they
be allowed to drive their new-fashioned vehicles on
our good old zodiac much longer, they will disfigure
it in such a manner that, at last, we shall not be
able to distinguish the Bull from the Ram, or the

_ beautifully tapering fingers on the hand of the Vir-

gin, from the rough and crooked claws which arm
the shell-bound body of the Crab.

ON MUSEUMS.

TueEsE are the times for scientific discoveries.
Till lately, we went fastest on a race-horse; but
now we go faster still upon a rail. In our days,
an Italian has put many thousand pounds of English
money into his pocket, for imparting to Mr. Bull
the important secret that we can have as good music
with one fiddle-string as we formerly had with four.
Witches can now go through the air without the aid
of broom-staffs, by applying to Mrs. Graham, the
aeronautess. A piece of stamped paper from Thread-
needle Street is as eagerly sought after as the

298 MUSEUMS.

purest gold of Peru. Vessels are now made to
go both against wind and tide; a thing deemed
utterly impossible in brave Commodore Trun-
nion’s day. It was once indispensably necessary
for Englishmen to wear tails (either club or
pig) on the nape of the neck. Billy Pitt’s discovery
of the powder-tax has proved that we can do with-
out them.

Amidst all these extraordinary movements and
inventions, our museums alone seem to have stood
stock still, with the most invincible pertinacity. I
allude not to the mere buildings themselves: they,
indeed, are ever on the change. Scarcely a year
passes over our heads, but some new structure is
raised by the votaries of natural history, with an
outside of beautiful architecture, but with inner
apartments destined to receive articles of old and
execrable workmanship.

When I visit these magnificent buildings, in the
different countries through which I pass, I can
scarcely refrain from quoting the old verses : —

‘* The walls are thick, the servants thin,
The Gods without, the devils within.”

In every apartment dedicated to the arts and
‘sciences, saving that of natural history, we find the
materials in the inner places quite upon a par, and
often vastly superior, to the outer workmanship of
the building itself. Thus, he who dedicates a gallery
to painting always takes care to have a show of
pictures which will adorn the walls; and he who
builds an ornamental library seldom fails to fill it
with books far more costly and important than any-

<
ON TE wae ES FE VARS OO He AOL oe ae

MUSEUMS. 299

thing in the composition of the structure which he
has raised for their reception. But, when a com-
mittee of gentlemen is chosen to form a museum,
their attention to the outer parts of the building
seems to know no bounds; whilst the ornamenting
of the interior (which, by the way, ought to be con-
sidered as the very marrow and essence of the
establishment) is left to pure chance. Thus, the
members tell the public that they will be thankful
for private donations. They often deposit speci-
mens of their own in the museum; and authorise
their curator to pick up what he can, at different
public sales. The lavish expenditure on the outside
of the temple, and parsimony with regard to the
internal decorations, is giving, as it were, too much
_to the body, and too little to the soul.

Still, the directors do not see the thing in this
light. They go jogging on in the old beaten path ;
and I don’t know whether it be very prudent in me
to hint that it is high time for them both ‘to
digress, and to mend their pace. Iam much more
cautious now, than I used formerly to be in giving
my opinion when I enter a museum. The burnt
child generally dreads the fire.

Some years ago, curiosity led me to stray into’a
very spacious museum. As I passed through ‘a
kind of antechamber, I observed a huge mass of out-
stretched skin, which once had evidently been an
elephant. I turned round to gaze at the “‘ monstrum
horrendum informe,” when a person came up, and
asked me what I thought of their elephant. “If,”
said I, “ you will give me two cow-skins, with that

300 MUSEUMS.

of a calf in addition to them, I will-engage to make
you a better elephant.” This unlucky and off-hand
proposal. was within an ace of getting me into
trouble. The sages of the establishment took cogni-
sance of it at one of their meetings; and somebody
proposed that a written reprimand should /be sent
tome. However, a prudent voice in the“assembly
caused their wrath to subside, and smiles played

, once more over their hitherto benign countenances.
\ I have occasionally noticed the defective manner

in which birds are stuffed for museums. At present,
I will confine myself solely to quadrupeds ; and, in
my remarks on the very inferior way in which they
are preserved, I beg to declare that I make no al-
lusions whatever to any one museum in particular,

It may be said with great truth that, from Rome
to Russia, and from Orkney to Africa, there is not
to be found, in any cabinet of natural history, one
single quadruped which has been stuffed, or pre-
pared, or mounted (as the French term it), upon
scientific principles. Hence, every specimen through-
out the whole of them must be wrong at every point.

Horace, in giving instructions to poets, tells
them how he would have different personages repre-
sented. Let Medea, says he, be savage and uncon-
querable; let Ino be in tears ; let Ixion be perfidious ;
let Io be vagrant; and let Orestes be in sorrow :—

«“ Sit Medea ferox invictaque, flebilis Ino,
Perfidus Ixion, Io vaga, tristis Orestes.”

Now, should I call upon any one of those, who have
given to the public a mode of preserving specimens
for museums, to step forward and show me how to

in. tl

MUSEUMS. 301

restore majesty to the face of a lion’s skin, ferocity
to the tiger’s countenance, innocence to that of the
lamb, or sulkiness to that of the bull, he would not
know which way to set to work: he would have no
resources at hand to help him in the operation ; he
could not call to mind one idea which would enable
him to restore the protuberance which is seen over
the eye, or to give boldness to the front, or expression
to the lips, or beauty to the cheeks, or, in fine, sym-
metry to the whole. He could produce nothing
beyond a mere dried specimen, shrunk too much in
this part, or too bloated in that; a mummy, a dis-
tortion, an hideous bs arg a failure in every sense
of the word.

But how comes it, that such clever and enter-
prising men, as those generally are who have the
appointment of working-curators to museums, should
never yet have discovered the true cause which has
occasioned all their errors and mistakes? The an-
swer is brief and easy. They have not gone the
right way to work in their attempts to overcome
the difficulties which stared them in the face. They
seem not to have reflected sufficiently that the
quadruped, before they skinned it, was of beautiful
form, and of just proportions, and had that in its
outward appearance which pleased the eye of every
beholder ; but that no sooner had they taken the skin
off, than it had lost its beauty, and these fine pro-
portions; and that the parts which still in some mea-
sure retained the appearance which they had in life
would, in the course of a short time, contract and
dry in, and put on a very shriveled and mummy-

See are

302 MUSEUMS.

like appearance. Add to this that, in stuffing their
animals, they have tried to effect by despatch what
could only be done by a very slow process.

Thus, in order to prevent the skins from becoming
putrid, especially in hot climates, it has always
been a main object with these operators to get the
skins dried as soon as possible. Again, finding tha*

. the skins wanted support, they have placed insid«

of them a hard body of straw, or of tow, or some-
times of wood, by way of a solid foundation, into
which they might fix their wires. Such a process
must effectually destroy every chance of success.
The nose, and lips, and ears, &c., of the specimen
may\look well for a few days after the operation ; but,
in the course of time, they will become so hideous,
that every connoisseur will turn from them in
disgust.

These remarks are just. Let us go and examine
a stuffed monkey, for example, in any museum we
choose. See! its once pouting lips are shrunk to
parchment ; its artificial eyes are starting from the
sockets; its ears seem like the withered leaf of
autumn ; and its paws are quite gone to skin and
hone. It is what it ought not to be: it is the product
of a bad system, which ought to be exploded in
these days of research and improvement. But how
is this defective system to be improved, so that e
specimen may be produced, which shall be right in
all its parts, durable as the table on which it is placed,
safe from the depredations of the moth, and not
liable to injury when exposed to damp? To effect
this, two things are indispensably necessary. The

MUSEUMS. 303

first is, to put the skin of the quadruped upon
which you are going to operate in a state to resist
putrefaction, and the attacks of the moth, without
the use of that dangerous, and at the same time in-
efficient, composition, known by the name of arsene-
tical soap. The second is, to keep the skin moist
during the time in which you are imparting to it the
form and features which it is ultimately to retain.

These most necessary points are gained by im-
mersing the skin in a solution of corrosive sublimate
in alcohol; and afterwards, when you are in the act
of restoring it to the proper form, by touching certain
parts of it, such as the nose, lips, and orbits, with a
mixture, one portion of which is salad oil, and the
other three are spirit of turpentine. ,

Those who preserve quadrupeds for cabinets of
natural history seem not to be aware that, after
the skin of the animal has been taken off, there is a
necessity for some parts of it to be pared down from
within. ‘These parts are chiefly the nose, the lips,
and the soles of the feet. Unless they be rendered
thin by the operation of the knife, there will be no
possibility of restoring to them that natural appear-
ance which they were seen to possess in life. The
inner skin of the ears, too, must be separated from
the outer one, until you come close to the extreme
edges. Nothing short of this operation can save the
ear from becoming a deformity.

Every bone in the skin, to the last joint of the
toe, next the claw, must be taken out, in order to
allow the operator an opportunity of restoring the
skin to its former just proportions.

304 MUSEUMS.

The mouth must be sewed up from the inside
(the skin being inside out when you sew it), begin-
ning exactly in the front, and continuing the oper-
ation each way to the end of the gape. When the
skin is taken out of the solution, it must be filled
quite full of chaff or sawdust (but I prefer chaff),
not minding whether the fur be wet or dry. When
this has been done, the skin has almost the appear-
ance of an inflated bag, quite deficient in feature
and in muscular appearance. ‘ Rudis, indigestaque
moles.” It now depends upon the skill and anato-
mical knowledge of-the operator (perhaps I ought
to call him artist in this stage of the business), to
do such complete justice to the skin before him, that,
when a visiter shall gaze upon it afterwards, he will
exclaim, ‘ That animal is alive!” “ Stare loco nescit,.
micat auribus, et tremit artus !”

There are now no obstacles, either from without
or from within, to impede the artist’s progress.. The
skin is perfectly free from all chance of putrefaction,
is quite supple, and will remain so as long as re-
quired. There is no hard body inside to obstruct
the transit of a working-iron ; there is not anything
in the shape of wires to prevent him from lengthen-
ing or shortening the neck, body, thighs, and legs,
according to his own judgment.

Now we proceed to support the skin in any
attitude the artist may wish to place it in.

Join two pieces of wood in the shape of a carpen-
ter’s gimlet, and of size corresponding to the size of
the animal. When you have nearly filled the ab-
domen with chaff, introduce this machine, and let

MUSEUMS. 305

the shank hang down outside of the skin, just as
though it were a fifth leg in the centre of the body,
equidistant from the fore and hind legs. This fifth
leg, or what may be called the shank of the gimlet,
is of any sufficient length, and is passed through a
hole in the table before you, and then fastened with
a couple of wedges. By this contrivance you can
raise the animal as high as you wish, or you can
lower it at your pleasure; and the feet will just
touch the table, without requiring any wire inside
to support them. I used formerly to put a stick
into the skin by way of back-bone, with pieces of
string tied to it at short intervals. These pieces of
string were passed through the skin, just where the
back-bone had been; and then they were attached
to a gallows above, which gave an excellent support
to the skin. But I now prefer the other process, as
I find it more convenient.

Every thing is now ready for the artist to exer-
cise his abilities.

With a piece of iron, from the size of a large
darning-needle to that of a ramrod (or larger and
thicker still if the bulk of the animal require it),
and shaped at one end like a carpenter's pricker, he
will push out every part of the skin which ought to
be pushed out, and then reduce with the end of his
finger any part that may be too prominent ; having
already made divers small holes in the skin with his
penknife, in order to afford entrance to the working-
iron. Thus, a small hole on the top of the head will
enable him to reach the nose, upper lip, and cheeks ;
another behind the root of each ear ; another under

x

306 MUSEUMS.

the jaws; others, again, on the back, that he may
reach the legs and remaining parts of the body.
Under each foot there will also be a hole, to give
him the opportunity of getting at the toes. The
lips are by far the most difficult part to manage.
The operator must have a working-iron in both
hands, One of these will do the work within the
head, and the other that without: for the lips re-
quire to be re-formed with a beautiful rotundity ;
and this can only be effected by means of the inner
and the outer irons working in opposite directions.
During the actual operation, the animal need not be
kept in its original position. A smaller animal may
be placed on the operator’s lap: the larger may be
thrown on the ground, or on the table. Every day
the nose, and lips, and orbits ought to be touched
with the oil and turpentine, in order to keep them
moist. At first, after you have used the working-
iron in every quarter where it is required, there will
be no appearance of a re-formation of the features.
Nevertheless, in the due'course of time, as the skin
stiffens, the artist will see the features gradually
appear; and every day he will be more and more
content with his work. At last, the skin will retain
the slightest impression communicated to it by the
touch of the working-iron. Thus the artist will
have it fully in his power to reproduce wrinkles, or
warts, or hollows, or a smooth surface, just as occa-
sion may require.

The fur will be equally under his command. He
will raise it, or depress it, according to circumstances,
and it will retain the position ever after. Thus, a

‘MUSEUMS. 807,

stuffed cat in anger will exhibit a tail of the same
extraordinary bulk which it does when a dog threat-
ens its existence. .

All animals ought to be well washed in soap and
water, with a hard brush, before they are skinned.
This will have a surprising effect in beautifying the
fur.

As there are parts of a quadruped’s skin which
are bound down, as it were, to the bone (at the
eyes, for example), it will be necessary to pass a
thread, with a sufficient knot at one end, through
these parts, and to let the end without a knot hang
loose after it has been drawn out at the opposite
quarter. Thus, there must be a thread in the ex-
tremities at the gape of the mouth, and one at the
corners of the eyes; and others in different parts
of the body, according to the operator’s judgment.
By pulling these at the end which hangs out, he
will be enabled to depress the parts into their
natural shape.

The artificial eyes must be put in on the first day
of the operation, and taken out and put back again
every time the head of the specimen is modelled. -

When all is completed, and the skin has become
perfectly dry, the artist takesout the chaff or sawdust;
and he finds that the specimen is quite firm enough
to stand without any support from wires. He cuts
three sides of a square hole under the feet, to let
out the chaff; and when this is done he returns the
skin to its place.

A slit must be made in the crown of the head, or
under the jaws, to allow him to fix the artificial

x 2

308 MUSEUMS.

eyes with a little putty or wax. The slit, if properly
done, will leave no mark on the fur.

If the quadruped be stuffed in distant countries,
with an intention to be sent home, it may be cut
up, when finished, into three or four separate pieces,
and this will facilitate the carriage. When dividing
it, the operator must take care to hold his knife so
as to humour the angle which the fur forms with
the skin. Thus, were I to cut a preserved skin in
two parts, the blade of my knife would point to the
head, and the haft to the tail of the animal. By
attention to this, not a hair of the fur will be cut
during the operation.

I will just add here (although it be a digression),
that there is no difficulty in making the legs and
feet of eagles, turkeys, and other large birds, retain
their natural size. You may go through every
known museum, and you will find that the legs of
these, and of all large birds, are dried and shrivelled,
as though they belonged to the mummies of ancient
days. In order to give the legs of birds a natural
appearance, and a natural size, the skin, from the
very claws to the top of the leg, must be separated
from the bone by running a working-iron betwixt
it and the bone, and then modelling the skin with
the working-iron.

The wattles of fowls, the caruncles of turkeys,

-and the combs of cocks, by the simple process of
internal modelling, may be made to retain their
natural size.

I have now given an outline of the mode of pre-
serving quadrupeds upon scientific principles. Here,

MUSEUMS. 309

then, I stop; for I can go on no farther. I can no
more explain, by the agency of my pen, how to
make the thousand and one little touches which are
necessary to insure success, than a fiddler can con-
vey instructions by letter to one who has never
used the bow. He may tell him, forsooth, to draw
the horse-hair at right angles over the catgut ; and
and he may add directions how the learner is to
stop and shift, and stop and shift again, until he
shall produce delightful music. But this will avail
him nothing. The lad will scrape and scrape again,
for want of personal instructions, till at last the
man who is doomed to be punished by his grating
will cry out, —

* Old Orpheus play’d so well, he moved Old Nick ;
But thou movest nothing but thy fiddle-stick.”

I have turned this new discovery ten thousand times
over in my mind, and I invariably come to the same
conclusion ; viz., that I cannot give sufficient in-
struction by means of the pen alone. I am placed
in a situation somewhat like that of the French
cook, who was ordered by his king to make a dish
out of that which put his culinary powers utterly at
defiance. ‘I have turned it every way, an’t please
your Majesty,” said he; “ and I have tried it with
every kind of sauce ; but, positively, I cannot make
a dish of it.” Neither can I effect, through the
medium of the pen, that which I could wish to do
in this case. Wherefore, I beg to inform the reader
that it requires the dissecting hand of the instruc-
tor, and from two to three weeks of actual work

a

310 MUSEUMS.

upon a specimen, to render the novice an adept in
this new mode of preserving quadrupeds for cabinets
of natural history. But, as I have neither leisure
nor inclination to assemble pupils around me, I
must request him who approves of the plan to be
satisfied with the outline which I have just given
him. I have no doubt but that his own abilities
and industry will eventually crown his efforts with
success.

Upon this new principle I have prepared the
large ant-bear, a land tortoise, an armadillo, a dog’s
head (now in the possession of the Duke of North-
umberland), a hedgehog, a polecat, and the non-
descript.

These specimens will be amply sufficient to prove
that animals with a rough coat of hair, others
with a smooth one, others with a shell, others
with a scaly armour, others with a soft fur, and
others, in fine, with a skin studded over with spikes,
can have their form and features restored ; and that
the skin, prepared after the manner which I have
described, will always retain its shape and brilliancy,
and be quite free from the ravages of the moth, or
from any detriment by being exposed to damp.

Museums ought to be encouraged by every means
possible. The buildings themselves are, in general,
an ornament to the towns in which they have been
built ; whilst the zoological specimens which they
contain, although prepared upon wrong principles,
are, nevertheless, of great interest ; since they afford
to thousands, who have not the means of leaving
their own country, a frequent opportunity of seeing

So ~~

MUSEUMS. 311

the rare and valuable productions which are found
in far distant parts of the globe.

When I visit Leeds, I generally spend an hour in
Calvert’s Museum, where I never fail to be highly
gratified. Mr. Calvert is a gun-maker of the first
order. I am always lost in admiration when I cast
my eyes on the vast collection of treasure which
this lover of the arts has brought into the spacious
and well-proportioned apartment, built at his own
expense, and arranged after his own plan. In con-
versing with him on the habits of those animals
which have come under his own immediate notice,
I perceive something so true, so pertinent, and so
straightforward in_his observations, that I always
feel regret when I see by my watch it is time for
me to depart.

It has been remarked by some, who have con-
versed with me on this new process of preparing
specimens for museums, that it would take up too
much time. I am not aware that this would be the
case ; for he who is solely occupied in preparing
specimens would always contrive to have several on
hand at one and the same time. But, even granting
that a great portion of his time were spent upon a
single animal; is not one good specimen worth
twenty bad ones? Who would fill his gallery full
of Holland toys, when he has it in his power to
place there statues of the first workmanship ?

Indifferent specimens are admitted into museums
only because better cannot be procured: and better
will never be procured, until a radical change be

————

312 MUSEUMS.

made in that mode of preparation which is now in
universal use.

I often’ think that the directors of public mu-
seums commit an error in not giving more encou-
ragement, in a pecuniary point of view, to those
whom they engage to prepare the specimens. The
very moderate salary which these meritorious men
receive is not a sufficient requital for their services.
Moreover, the quantity of work which is required
at their hands too ‘often prevents them from trying
experiments, which might probably prove of vast
utility to the establishments under their inspection.
Should this paper find its way across the water,
and attract the notice of our Gallic neighbours, who
are full of genius, and are remarkable for their per-
severance, I do not despair to see a great alteration
for the better at their magnificent establishment
for natural history in the Jardin des Plantes, on
my next visit to the French capital.

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tj 15

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