THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

'i-

NATURE STUDIES

FOREST TITHES

AND OTHER STUDIES FROM NATURE

A SON OF THE MARSHES

fc7_c ,v/. <a^« «• CW-tc/^Vw
AUTHOR OF 'WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM' 'ON SURREY HILLS'

ANNALS OK A FISHING VILLAGE' ' WITHIN' AN HOUR
OP LONDON TOWN*

EDITED BY J. A. OWEN

LONDON

SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1893

{All rights reserved]

.50 ///<• of these articles are reprinted from the ' CORN KILL
MAGAZINE,' ' BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE,' ' THE TIMES,'
<5rv., but others are original.

8CGG42

CONTENTS

FOREST TITHES i

EYES AND No EYES 26

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 42

IN THE WEALD . . . . . , * . . 66

BRITISH REPTILES . . -. ", . J . .94
MORE ABOUT THE OTTER .... . . . 123

SMALL DEER — OUR RODENTS . . . ' . .134

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 153

LITTLE JAKE 170

IN FLIGHT TIME 176

LONGSHORE MEMORIES. ...... 190

Errata

Page 15, line 13, for yard read mile
,, 18, ,, 15, ,, plums ,, plumes
„ 24, „ i, ,, spine „ spines

FOREST TITHES

THE leaves are falling fast, for a spell of wet weather
has been followed by frosty nights, though the days
are bright and warm still, and the mellow autumnal
tints glow in the sunshine.

At the farm, which is perched on the highest point
of the moor, not a sound is to be heard, the menfolk
being all at work in the fields. The farmstead is in
good order, old though it is, for its stone walls were
solidly built, they are thick, and all the timber used
was oak, well seasoned. So substantial was the work
that, with the exception of a few necessary repairs
about some of the outbuildings, all is in nearly the
same condition in which it was left by the owners,
long dead, who caused it to be built so many genera-
tions ago. The land also is to all appearance just
what it was when the site of the farm was chosen.
What was suited for cultivation was planted then, and
the rest left wild, as it still remains, close to the solid
path or track that leads from the woods up to the

B

FORES 2' TITHES

farm ; and halfway up the rush-grown hillside is a
bog into which it would be a sorry business to stray.
Cattle avoid it by instinct ; no hoofprints are ever
seen round that soft place.

Never a moor without its trout stream, or streams,
which flow at its foot, cutting sharp runs where, in the
course of years, all the earthy matter has been washed
away, leaving at last a bottom of clean, sharp sand
and bright washed stones. You can hear the swirl
and the splash where it runs through the copse-growth
of the moorside, and see the glistening of the pure
bright water where it turns into the meadows, as it
continually pursues its course from the hills and moors
above down to the moors below ; hidden here and
there by thorns and brambles, giant ' kexes,' thistles,
ferns, and all the other growth common to wild lands.
Rustic bridges, the brickwork of which is as old
as the stonework of the farm buildings, carry the cart
tracks from one meadow — if land such as this can be
dignified by that name— to another. Where they
have fallen into decay and tumbled into the stream
many years ago — for mosses cover all the brickwork,
over which the water ripples, forming miniature cas-
cades— thick planks have been placed, and turf on the
top of them. And as in the course of time the cattle
passing and repassing, to say nothing of the carts,

FOREST TITHES

have worn the turf covering thin, more has been
added, and tough heather tangle worked in with it,
until at last a good, solid crust has been formed above
the stout, rough oak planks, which is nearly a foot in
thickness. As a rule the water is only a few inches
deep in the middle ; but where it has cut its way
under the roots of the trees that line its course from
its source up in the hill moors to its final delivery
into the river Mole, it is deeper. If you probe with a
stick under those roots you will know just where the
trout rush to, when they are frightened. At this time
of the year they do get frightened, and, more than
that, killed ; for it is their spawning time — or, as the
dwellers on the moor put it, ' the trout are running
up ' — and the herons are about, taking their moorland
tithe, which they will have, try to stop them who
will.

For a whole week I have been watching five par-
ticular herons busy in most systematic fashion ; and
also the trout. If you go to work very quietly, you
may watch fish, but it is only learned by much prac-
tice and experience. A footfall or a shadow will be
enough to clear the stream, or at least that part of it
which you wish to examine, in a flash.

So we slip down the side of the hedge that leads
clown to one of the old bridges — they might equally

FOREST TITHES

well be called culverts ; and before reaching it we
crawl on our hands and knees to look through a small
opening there is between the hedge and the brick-
work. The sunshine being warm and bright, the trout
are working on the clean, sharp gravel, winding and
rooting about like eels. Not large fish — they never
are that in the upper parts of these quick hill streams :
the largest of them is only a small herring size, the
very thing for our herons. Scotch firs, of a fine
growth, are numerous along the run of the stream ;
single trees, and again clumps of smaller ones. Some
of the larger ones are sadly torn by the fierce blasts
that sweep over the moors in winter. In the firs,
when the trout run up, one may look for the heron,
one of the keenest and most sagacious of birds. Many
a time has he outwitted and outschemed me in the
days of my youth, and I have always admired and
respected him accordingly. I would fain write a whole
book about the heron alone — perch er, as well as
swimmer and wader, is he. From what I have seen
of him in the trees, he is as much at home in them as
is a blackbird or a thrush, and his movements are far
more graceful, notwithstanding his form and size ;
for the bird drops, glides, and walks about the trees as
noiselessly as a grey and white shadow. On the very
topmost shoots of a fir that can afford him a foothold

FOREST TITHES

he will perch, and sit there for twenty minutes, and
more, at a time. A few days ago I watched one do
this from a place of ambush, which was, like most of
those suitable for the purpose, anything but a pleasant
one, being a large clump of blackthorns and brambles,
in the midst of which I lay hidden. He was not,
however, allowed to enjoy his elevated point of survey
in peace, for missel-thrushes, blackbirds, and song
thrushes, aided by finches, dashed at him, until the
long neck and bill went darting and striking out like
a silvery snake in all directions as the birds flew at
him. Then he was left unmolested, and away they
flew to cover, screaming and chirping their loudest.

From my lowly position I had examined some firs
that were close to the edge of the stream, thinking
herons might be in them, but had failed to discover
any. They were there, however, and directly I rose to
my feet, almost over my head floated two of these
birds, coming out of the very trees I had watched
closely, glasses in hand. The heron's positions fall in
with chance projections and broken limbs so well — he
perches in fir trees by preference — that it is impossible
to detect him before he has caught sight of oneself. I
put one up recently, and directly in front of me : the
bird was standing close to the edge of water over-
shadowed by some large alders, the grey mud below

FOREST TITHES

being plentifully sprinkled with large open dead shells
of the fresh-water mussels. So well did the heron's
plumage agree with its environment that, until it
moved right before me, I had not seen it. Until then
it had only shown a bit of white, like the glitter of the
inside portions of the mussel shells that lay gaping on
the mud beneath it.

Owls, also, in their plumage mimic and fall in with
the tones of their natural surroundings, to a degree
past the belief of those who have not patiently watched
them in their own haunts.

And often the most patient and constant watching
is unattended with success. Early and late had I
been abroad of late, and had come home quite dis-
heartened with failure, and then I succeeded in my
quest owing to my coming unexpectedly on a large,
partially drained moorland fish-pond, whilst in search
of an artist friend of mine who, as I had been told,,
was painting in that direction. After stumbling on
bits that were enough to drive a would-be artist wild,
through my field-glass I discovered him settled right
out in the most treacherous part of the moor. Not
without much cautious travelling did I reach him.
Whatever possessed him to go and paint in one of the
worst moor swamps of the district ? I asked. ' To-
get a faithful study of the moor mosses, sulphur

FOREST TITHES

yellow, and rich dark brown, with the rush clumps
scattered about over it,' was his reply. This was his
foreground ; in the distance he had two cottages, and
beyond were the fir woods.

On his feet were huge wooden sabots, lashed
tightly to his leather boots. These, he informed me,
were made by himself — sepulchral-looking articles
they were. He had placed four coats of black paint
on them, he said, both inside and out. Anyway,
they answered his purpose admirably, for although
the \vater had been flowing under his feet beneath
the moss all the day, no damp had reached him ; and
the result on his canvas was all that could be desired.
To my request that he would favour me with a
dance in those coffin-like damp-protectors before I
left him, he replied that it would hardly be wise to
dance about much, for only a few days previously a
couple of cows had got bogged just below the very
spot on which we were, and had the farmer's men not
pulled them out with ropes, they must have been
smothered.

To return to my moorland fish-pond. The sight of
five herons sailing in wide circles over any spot would
be sufficient to attract the notice of any naturalist.
The birds were shouting hoarsely to each other, after
the fashion of rooks, but far more noisily, just out of

FOREST TITHES

gunshot, but within capital distance for a rook rifle.
My appearance in the open did not cause the slightest
difference in their movements : they kept passing over
me in their wide circles, which was quite contrary to
their usual cautious method of movement On diving
into the deep hollow of the moor I discovered the
cause of this. A sluice at the further end of the pond
had rotted and given way, letting great quantities ot
fish down into the moor stream, to the great joy of all
the prowlers in the district, both furred and feathered,
particularly of the herons. And the foresters, noting
the birds at work in the stream, profited by the sight,
and had fine fish also, for the mere picking of them up
out of the water, which was too shallow, now that the
stream had gone down, to cover them.

When the herons found that the stream was not
safe for them, they confined their fishing to the centre
of the water that remained in the large pond, where
they were in no danger, and where their finny prey
seemed literally ready to jump into their mouths ; for
the large fish, pike, perch, trout, and eels, all of them
that remained there, chased the smaller fry continu-
ally. So eager were they, that the shallow edges
were all on the ripple with small fish that had rushed
thither, where those that fed on them could not follow
them. But even this did not completely frustrate the

FOREST TITHES

murderous intentions of the bigger fish, for some of
the pike rushed on to the mud and perished there,
being unable to get out of the ooze. This accident
had brought the herons to the spot in force. The
immediate reason of their hoarse cries and their
circling flights at the time I came up was soon ex-
plained. Two men were repairing the broken sluice-
gate at the further end of the pond, and although the
birds might have settled and fed to their hearts' con-
tent, they would not do it whilst the workmen were
there.

The sluice-pond job is finished, but the pond is
still very low : it will take a long time to fill up the
large space again, even though it is supplied by a
trout stream. So the herons — more have come since
the first ones prospected and returned a favourable
report in their own bird fashion — have it all their
own way there. They range the edges of the shallow
pools as well as the main current in the centre, and
when satisfied to the full, they rest in the trees near,
where, I am happy to say, they have not been fired
at. A few gentlemen who rent these moorland
districts for the rough shooting they can get in them,
have given instructions that the herons shall be left
undisturbed — a very wise precaution, for the diet of
these birds is a varied one, and some of the creatures

FOREST TITHES

that have their habitat where the heron hunts for his
living are far too numerous.

As long as the moors remain there never will be
any lack of trout in the streams, yet even those who
have the right to fish there do not always get them.
After all, a shilling's worth of fresh herrings would,
in my opinion, surpass even a fortunate catch of such
small fish, and it seems a pity that so many of the
little spotted beauties should have to go to make an
ordinary ' fry/ as they term it. However, there is
no perceptible falling off; others come to take the
places of those that get caught ; and, happily, many
who have the privilege of fishing not only do not use
it much themselves, but they take very good care that
some who have not that right, yet could very well
dispose of the fish, or feed themselves and their
children with it, do not get the chance. When the
moon shines, our herons do not let much escape their
sharp eyes and bills.

Calm and beautiful as the moor farms look in the
summer and autumn, surrounded also by the loveliest
woodland scenery in England, in the long winter
time they look the picture of dreariness ; the snow
frequently drifts up about them so as to shut them
out from the rest of the world. In the lanes it is
shoulder high where it has been blown by the fierce

FOREST TITHES

gusts of howling winds that sweep over the uplands.
A fortnight of such weather as this brings the wild
creatures close up to human dwellings, and particu-
larly to these lonely farmsteads. When the light
shows red through the window casements, before the
stout shutters are pinned up for the night, it is the
signal for the fox to come and see if he can pick up
a supper somehow. It will be through no fault of
his if he fails in this, if there is anything about that
he can kill and eat, from a turkey down to a poor
starved blackbird, or from a hare to a mouse. I
have seen some grey dog foxes that I should not like
to be shut up in a small room with, if I had nothing
but a stick in my hands. A hard fighter is Reynard,
when cornered ; he snaps like a wolf and is active as
a cat. He makes short work of anything he can
capture. Domestic fowrls have, some of them, an
aggravating way of preferring to roost, like phea-
sants, in the trees at night, and to make their nests
away out in the moorland or under the trailing plants
and bushes. That jubilant cackle, however, which
the successful hen cannot control herself sufficiently
to repress, after she has had the cunning to hide
away in her nesting place, betrays her to other crea-
tures besides her lawful owners. She may even have
been prudent enough to wander a little way from her

FOREST TITHES

eggs before she commits herself to it ; but the fox
knows the meaning of the cry, and profits by it.
Although, as a rule, he prowls about in the night
time, when his cubs begin to eat flesh and are
hungry he is not particular as to the hour, provided
the locality be a lonely one. I have known the hen's
jubilant voice stopped abruptly, and on going to the
spot whence it had sounded have found a few
feathers and the marks of a hurried scuffle, but no
fowl.

During one bitter winter I was, in the pursuit of
my calling, located in the heart of the moorlands,
where my home for the time was in the cottage of a
hearty old couple. After supper the three of us were
wont to occupy the old-fashioned chimney settles —
' father ' and ' mother ' on one side of the fireplace,
and I on the other. I happened to say that I had
overheard some men complaining that they had
tracked a fox, and found a couple of their fowls
buried.

' Ah ! ' said the old man, as he puffed slowly at
his pipe, and patted the red-hot ash with his finger,
' I killed a fox for that werry self-same thing ; but,'
he added almost in a whisper, ' nobody knowed on it.
You 'members it, mother?'

' Massy, oh ! ' rejoined she, ' I wouldn't hev sich

FOREST TITHES 13

another set out as thet 'ere fur all the spring chicken
as iver wus hatched. I wus feared the Squire wud
ha' got hold on't. A good master he wus, but he
showed no marcy to any thet hed killed a fox on
his grounds, an' they run middlin' wide.'

' Mother kep' her fowls for market,' resumed the
old man — ' they paid middlin', most special in airly
spring time ; 'twus jest sich a winter as this 'ere, an'
some o' them fowls went. She wus 'mazin' vexed,
for they kep' on goin'. I knowed 'twus a fox, but
didn't let on to mother, on'y one mornin' she seed
him cum slippin' roun' on the snow. Thet did it.
When I come home to supper that same night she
looks me most oncommon straight in the face, an'
she says, " Kill that 'ere thing, father, or 'twill ruin us."
She wus middlin' spirity that time o' day, I ken tell
ye, an' I knowed she meant what she said. Well, to
cut it short, I got one o' mother's oldest hens, an' fixed
her up so as the fox could see her, in an empy pig-
stye. Right in front o' the old hen, about a foot
away, wus a trap — a real good un. We went to
bed, and in the middle o' the night we wus 'woke
by the most desprit row. " Father," sez mother,.
" you've ketched thet 'ere varmint o' a fox. Git
up, an' take a prong wi' yer." (Prong is local for
pitchfork.}

i4 FOREST TITHES

1 Up I gets, lights my lantern, takes the prong, an'
goes out. Massy, oh ! the old hen wus hollerin' like
mad, an' the fox wusbangin' about in thet 'ere trap —
the way he flew about, an' bit, wus a sight to see. I
settled un with the prong, an' the old hen too, to stop
her hollerin' ; an' I buried the pair on 'em, in one
hole, a goodish bit away from the house ; but 'twus
a long time afore we felt easy like ; fur 'twas a
most 'menjous row to be heerd in the dead o' the
night : ef anybody hed bin about they must ha'
heerd it.'

If very stringent measures had not been taken for
his preservation, the fcx would have long ago shared
the fate of others of our wild creatures more vir-
tuous but less fortunate than himself. Foxhunters
to the manor born have, of course, their own views on
the matter, and these are very properly universally
respected. Besides this, it is not pleasant for some
others belonging to a certain class who have
struggled up into Society — with a big S— and wish
to keep there, to be cut dead because they have
given their keepers orders to kill foxes. So Master
Reynard goes on taking his tithes, especially when
he has got cubs, for whom it is his duty to pro-
vide. And his foragings round the lonely moor
.farms are not by any means a dead loss to those

FOREST TITHES 15

who suffer from his depredations. If complaint is
made in the right quarters, compensation is gene-
rally most cheerfully given. Yet I have known
some unhappy souls grunt even after they have
received more pay than the ^case demanded. It
is a hard thing to please folks. A fox, dog or
vixen, never comes near man, woman, or child if
he can help it ; but if hemmed in, he would be as
dangerous as a collie dog is under the same circum-
stances.

At the foot of one of the South Down hills, where
there is a long strip of coarse grass and moss, a
quarter of a yard wide and over a mile long, there is o^e
of the abiding places of the badger — one well known
to me. The land was once broken up by the plough,
but this proved useless labour and expense, and now
it is a paradise for wild creatures. That prince of
British butterflies, the purple emperor, floats and
dashes over this bit of moorland valley, crossing from
one belt of oaks to another. The mossy-bee and the
humble-bee have their homes in the moss surface, and
our old friend, in his grey, black, and white coat
scratches them out with his claws, or roots them up
with his nose like a pig. In some of the moor
districts he has been wiped out, and much it is to
be regretted that those who have had the power to

1 6 FOREST TITHES

prevent this had not also the knowledge and the dis-
position to do it. One by one our wild animals and
birds are dwindling down as to numbers : not shot or
trapped on account of any real harm they may do,
but for the money the creatures fetch, dead or living.
One hears in all directions of the harm done by
rabbits, although the Ground Game Act has been
passed. What can be expected when the creatures
that were there to keep the pin-wire vermin in check
are killed ? Besides which, these are bred in vast
numbers expressly for the markets.

Our vermin-killers — polecats, stoats, and weasels —
have been captured and bought in wholesale numbers,
in order that they may be exported to some of our
colonies to kill the rabbits which were formerly intro-
duced there by mischievous bunglers, and which now
prove a curse to the land. Change of climate and
habitat alters the habits of creatures that are not in-
digenous. It will be found that polecats, stoats, and
weasels will turn out another curse ; instead of killing
off the rabbits, they will certainly prove an inveterate
foe to poultry and to the small animals that are native
to the soil. I speak feelingly on this subject, as one
whose opinion on the matter has been often asked
and freely given, yet never followed. This acclima-
tising question is a most unsettled one, but it will

FOREST TITHES 17

have to be studied, to spare much future trouble to
us and our colonies. Soon we shall be cursed with a
plague of rats and mice that will not easily be kept
under.

Man considers himself the lord of creation, as
well as of the soil he buys or inherits, but some of the
changes he brings about are to my mind matter for
great regret. Quite recently I have seen pheasants
take the place of blackgame in one district I know.
Only a few of the latter lingered there, the remnant
of a once fairly numerous family, real natives of the
moors, not imported birds ; but they are gone now.
Where they once fed about the rush clumps, on the
rush seeds, a keeper's cottage now stands, with dog-
kennels attached. Instead of one flushing a black-
cock, one sees a pheasant spring up, and the croon
and pl^y of the former has given place to the drum
and challenge of the latter. And two years ago I
saw preparations made on a secluded side of the moor
to turn the locality, where only wild ducks, woodcocks,
snipe, and blackgame used to have their habitat, into
a cover for pheasants. The job is now completed,
and it will answer its purpose to perfection, but the
alterations have certainly taken away some of the
beauties of that wild hillside.

To return, however, to our moorland tithe-takers.

C

1 8 FOREST TITHES

The polecat, who used to be one of the chief of these,
is now almost a thing of the past, and when he is
seen or captured the circumstance is made a note of.
Like the rest of his species, this very powerful, and
in his own domain most useful, little creature car-
ries his prey like a retriever. From the polecat to
the weasel, the strength of the family is something
remarkable. It is a wonderful sight to see one of
them come bounding along, holding a prey as large
and as heavy as itself off the ground by the middle
of the back. A few days ago, a friend of mine — a
keen observer of wild life, the result of whose obser-
vations will, I trust, ere long come before the public —
saw what he took to be a lump of dry hedgerow
plums blown up by the wind over a green ride
towards him. As it came nearer, it proved to be
some creature bounding along bearing a half-grown
rat, and, when within a yard or so of the spot
where he stood, the rat was dropped on the turf, and
a weasel looked at him as only a weasel can look.
The animal was only aware of the proximity of a
human when he got wind of my friend ; in fact, the
rat he carried before him prevented the weasel from
seeing what was directly in front of him. The man
lifted the rat, noted the way in which it had been
killed, and then placed it where the weasel had

FOREST TITHES 19

dropped it, so that the latter might fetch it after he
had gone.

Rats do not, of course, frequent waste lands, since
there would be nothing for them to feed on there ;
but most of the cottagers who live on commons keep
pigs and fowls. From one of these homesteads the
rat was being carried to a wood-stack, where it could
be consumed in peace. Determined foes to rats and
mice are the weasels, also to frogs and some other
small deer, and for doing man this good service he
kills them or exports them where they are not wanted.
It is true that stoats and weasels kill rabbits, but for
one rabbit they will kill forty rats and mice. I only
wish the whole of the family were more numerous !
Five years ago we had a great plague of mice in the
woodland districts. The pests invaded the gardens
of those who had large houses near the woods, cut
down the flowers in the borders and dragged them
into their holes, and nibbled the wall-fruit. In fact,
the folks had to cast about to find measures for their
destruction. When things were at their worst, weasels
made their appearance — whole families of weasels,
just as the short-eared owls suddenly appeared during
the more recent plague of voles, on the southern up-
lands of Scotland, in large numbers. These owls have
also remained and bred in the district, to the great

FOREST TITHES

relief of the land. It is to be hoped they will be
unmolested and their usefulness universally recognised.
Sir Herbert Maxwell has used his local influence, I
believe, to this end.

The weasels were noticed all making their way
to the parts where the mice were gathered. Then
the mice shifted their quarters, but the weasels fol-
lowed. Two or three families, the old ones and their
half-grown kittens, will soon move mice where they
are about. Four or five ferocious old grey rats will
kill more poultry — of all kinds — and steal more eggs
than all the weasel family in a district

Anyone walking on the roads that are only sepa-
rated from the cornfields by low hedges in our out-
lying country districts, in the dusk of the evening, after
the corn has been carried, can see some very pretty
hunting ; for then the rats come to the fields and live
for a time in the hedgerows. If you go very quietly
and look over one of the field-gates, you will see
dusky, bunched-up forms some eight or ten yards
from the hedge ; rats these are, feeding on the scat-
tered grain. Presently they go loping up and down,
with their peculiar gait, making for the cover of the
hedge. There was nothing apparently in the field la
have alarmed them, so we look upwards, and see at
once what it was that caused them to seek the cover

FOREST TITHES 21

of that hedge bottom. Two brown owls are beating
over the field in quest of rats and mice, no matter
which ; the first that can be got at lives but a very
few moments after it is gripped and bitten through
the back of the neck. Their hunt, this beat, has been
useless ; they flit over the adjacent fir-trees and for a
time become invisible to us. One by one, by threes
and twos, out come the rats again ; the owls are not
overhead, so some venture out a longer distance from
the hedge. Presently we hear a rare scamper and
some squeaking, for the owls have changed their
tactics. They have come down the side of the hedge
this time, and flapped again into the fir-woods, each
with a rat in his grip. A very fortunate matter it is
for the owls that no one in a velveteen jacket and
carrying a double-barrelled gun is at hand, or their
spread-eagled forms might have ornamented the gable
end of a dog-kennel next morning. One of these
gentlemen, to whom I lately appealed for their pro-
tection, replied, ' I ain't sin 'em do what some says
they will do ; but I kills 'em when I has the chance,
to keep 'em from doin' of it.'

When will things be set right in these directions ? I
often wonder. I have seen the inside of wheat-stacks
eaten out, befouled, and ruined by rats and mice ; and
still owls are killed and farm-labourers are rewarded

FOREST TITHES

for killing stoats and weasels. A faggot-stack, also,
I have known half pulled to pieces to get at a poor
little mouse-killing weasel that had taken refuge there
from its pursuers.

Even that glorious insect-destroyer, the great green
dragon-fly, that helps to clear country lanes of such
winged pests as hornets, wasps, and the ferocious
stoat-flies — ' stouts ' — has evil properties attributed to
it by the rustics. I have seen country children — and,
indeed, grown-up people — show far more fear at the
sight of that swift-winged beauty than they would at
hornets or a wasps' nest. ' Them 'ere things is adder-
spears, an' it ain't safe tu meddle wi' 'em.' This super-
stitious belief, in fact, saves the grand insect from
being killed. It is a very rare thing to see a dragon-
fly captured in country places. The farmers' lads
also call the great dragon-fly the hoss-stinger. Just
a word of advice to those who have delicate fingers :
this fine fly, if held incautiously, can and will bite
pretty severely. So will the very large and handsome
garden spiders which weave their wonderfully geo-
metrical webs, suspended from twigs and lashed to
branches, in the latter part of the autumn. A colony
of very fine ones have located themselves in some
box-trees close to my back door. The number of
insects they capture in their nets is something wonder-

FOREST TITHES 23

ful, particularly large bluebottle flies. They do not
get all they capture, though, for wasps come and
take the bluebottles out of the web piecemeal — the
head goes first, and the body is left for a second
journey. Full well do the spiders know the differ-
ence in the sound of the hum of a fly's wing and
that of a wasp. When the latter comes to rob their
webs they do not show themselves ; but directly a
bluebottle gets meshed, they make a tiger-like rush
for it.

The hedgehog, urchin or hedge-pig of Shakespeare,
is very little understood so far as his habits are con-
cerned. I have seen some recent statements in
various papers to the effect that hedgehogs will kill
young fowls, as if this were a new fact for the edifica-
tion of their readers. Not only will they kill the
young ones, but the old ones are not safe from them,
if in a coop. The foot of Master Hedgehog is sure to
be put in or on it if he gets the chance. I have even
seen our friend described as ' our poor little perse-
cuted English porcupine.' That he can never be, for
his habits are nocturnal, and no one considers him
worth looking after, unless it be a gipsy, who has a
taste for baked hedge-pig. He is not so harmless,
however, as some other creatures. A very large
hedgehog is quite capable of killing a wild rabbit. He

24 FOREST TITHES

can depress his spine and squeeze through places one
would have supposed too narrow for him.

The distance this nimble creature can travel over
is quite remarkable. Out in his own domain, the
woods and the fields, he is perfectly harmless. Some
hedgerows arc frequented by numbers of them.
There they lie curled up among the dead leaves in
the daytime. In other hedges you may search for
them in vain. All would go well if the bristly little
animal would keep his own place. But he will not do
this. He sniffs until he finds something to his liking,
to which he applies himself with pig-like determina-
tion. Sometimes this happens to be a trap baited
with portions of rabbit's flesh, where he gets caught,
and whines most pitifully.

But sometimes, when the farmer's wife goes to
look at the coop out on the grass in front of the house,
she finds her chicks killed and eaten, and their mother
bitten and nearly dead with fright, the sole cause of
the mischief being a great hedgehog, which is trying
to get out of the coop : not so easy a matter now that
his stomach is full of chicken as it was for him to
creep through when empty. In such a case he is
usually promptly settled by the points of a bright
hayfork.

But, after all, when the matter is fairly considered

FOREST TITHES 25

without prejudice, the amount of tithe taken by the
wild creatures of the moorlands is very small. The
creatures that are able to do much mischief are now
very few in numbers. As to the birds, the moors are
not their favourite dwelling-places — at least, not of
our common birds, which keep to the line of cultivated
lands. You will see trees laden with fruit in the
cottage gardens, placed in spots few and far between
on the moor ; cottage and garden in its own small
enclosure. The jays may squawk in the cover round
about these, but they let the fruit alone, for they would
have to cross a considerable open space from any given
quarter to reach the fruit. On the whole, considering
all the devices employed by man to circumvent these
tithe-takers, it shows great sagacity on their part
that they are able to get as much from him or his as
they do.

EYES AND NO EYES

As a child I had two great desires, and I do not
remember indulging particularly in any other : one
was that when I grew up I might paint pictures of
the wild things that surrounded my lonely home, the
other that I might have money enough to buy books
about them. I am thankful to say that both these
longings have been in a great measure gratified. In
my wildest day-dreams, however, I never aspired to
writing myself about the creatures. That has come
about since my hair turned grey and my hot blood
has cooled down a little. I am sure of one thing —
that a man who lives amongst the so-called working-
classes, and who has also unrestricted intercourse
with foresters and the more intelligent rustics, has
opportunities for gaining a real insight into wild life
such as many a student of nature, who may have
been what is from the world's point of view more
fortunate in the circumstances of his life, cannot
have.

EYES AND NO EYES

Said one to me lately, ' I have read your books.
But do you really see all those things when you walk
about ? '

4 Not in the streets of Dorking town,' I replied.

' Because really, my dear sir, do you know that in
all the time that I have been in this neighbourhood I
have never seen a tithe of what you have written
about.'

The old story of ' Eyes and No Eyes,' I said to
myself ; also that if some folks had eyes at the back
of their heads, as well as in front, they might wander
far and see little.

Another man observed that, although he had
ridden in a cart for many years in all directions along
our high roads, he had never come across any of the
creatures I had written about. As the vehicle he
used made nearly as much noise in its progress as a
goods train might do, it was hardly to be expected
that he would.

Readers can easily see that my range is not a
wide one — it is only the common objects of the hills,
dales, and waters of a limited area that I describe ;
yet some pains have been necessary even to do that,
and in the pursuit of the rail family alone I have
often supped sorrow ; while to verify a fact or
two has cost me week after week of hard tramping

28 EYES AND NO EYES

many a time. In this way the naturalist fits himself
for writing just a small portion of a bird's life.
Sometimes the long twenty or thirty miles' walk has
been to no purpose, and, after giving up the pursuit
as a bad job, I have turned my face homewards, and
then found the very bird I had gone so far in search
of within a twenty minutes' walk of my own door.
By patient watchings and waitings, on the part of
many different naturalists, fact has been added to
fact, until the whole life of a creature, furred or
feathered, has been placed before the public, in order
that those whose labours confine them to crowded
centres of industry, but who have strong sympathy
with life in the open and the creatures who are able
to enjoy it, may understand what are the real lives of
the animals and birds.

It is a difficult matter to please some of these
would-be students, however, and a short time ago an
amusing scene was reported to me. A gentleman,
who had read a certain article which had been written
by myself, came many miles to see a woodland river
and an old weir, the haunt of the otter, which I had
there described. When he arrived, however, a band
of workmen had, unfortunately, just finished building
a new weir, and they had also cut down all the
alders, willows, sedges, and other growth along the

EYES AND NO EYES 29

river-side, leaving just the stems. This is done every
five or six years, as the case may need. Unfortu-
nately, he arrived at the place just as the two jobs had
been completed. Hither and thither he rushed, until
someone asked him if he had lost anything, or if he
were looking for someone. Then he gave full vent to
his injured feelings ; he said, in fact, that he had been
swindled — that the writer had drawn very largely
on a very fertile imagination. This was perfectly
unintelligible to men who knew nothing about such a
book having been written. One looked at the other,
and then touched his forehead, muttering 'Balmy.'
This the gentleman heard, and naturally resented.

' I have been grossly imposed upon ; some
people's geese are swans. Where is the old weir ? >
he asked.

'Just been pulled down and a new un built.
Don't ye see it ? '

' Why has it been pulled down ? '

' Well, if you ask us, they pulled the old un down
to build the new un. Any fool can see that.'

* But what a complete swindle— there are no trees
here ! '

' Maybe you wants to buy the timber and the
faggots. If ye do, ye needn't ^ut yerself in a
tantrum ; none of it ain't sold yet.'

30 EYES AND NO EYES

Unheeding this, the gentleman went on com-
plaining bitterly ; as to owls, he didn't believe
there was one of them about the place ; and talk
about the yikeing laugh of the yaffle, it was sheer
humbug.

' What's that you say — no yaffles ? ' replied one of
the men, much amused. ' They're nearly as common
as blackbirds in this 'ere park ; and owls too, if it
didn't happen to be just mid-day. If you was to see
them yaffles, and to ask them to holler, I dessay as
they'd do it for ye. But do ye know as you're tres-
passing on this 'ere land ? '

' I have come to see some otters.'

' Then you've come on a fool's errand. Did ye
think they run about here like sheep ? I can get ye
one for a suvrin. Ye don't want one ? Then you
walk off here ; for I tell ye, ye are trespassing.'

ft was certainly very disappointing for our friend,
but rather hard lines that I should be held respon-
sible for his disappointment.

I have received many most kind and sympathetic
letters from ardent lovers of the birds, ladies as well
as gentlemen, asking me if I would give them the
exact localities where I have seen such and such
migrants drop in their flight ; or where such and such
.a sequestered pool happens to be situated. Some

EYES AND NO EYES

of these I would fain answer ; but I make it a rule
not to betray the whereabouts of any of the wild
creatures whose secrets I have surprised.

As I said before, it is really hard work watching
any members of the rail family ; for the cunning of
these birds exceeds all belief, and the places they
frequent are nothing but quakes. Early in the
morning and late in the evening are the times for
getting a glimpse of them — that is, if you are lucky
in this, for they move about more like rats than
birds. Then the midges rise in clouds and sting
you most horribly, swamp lands being the abiding
place of these insect pests. They form a portion of
the daily food of the rails in their nesting time.

And perhaps when you have even offered a
rustic, on whose plot of land you want to trespass
when in quest of your bird, a sum of money for a
small grey and brown bird that you have seen, if he
will snare it for you or allow you to snare it — some
of the garden plots are only separated from the
swamps by a turf wall — he wonders, and some little
diplomacy is necessary ; for the owners are very
tenacious about right of way, and will resent any
attempt at trespass, even fiercely.

Many have been my failures compared to my
successes in hunting after wild things. Let me

32 EYES AND NO EYES

describe the haunt of that spotted crake, or, as it is
usually called, spotted rail, which, after all, did not
come into my hands. A water rail is a bad enough
bird to look up ; a spotted rail or crake is worse.
Both can run, climb, swim, dive to perfection. Even
in thick tangle their movements are as cautious
as when they, with coots and moorhens, visit the
gardens on the edge of the swamp from which these
have been reclaimed. This they will do in order to
pick the hearts out of the ground crops that have
just been planted. How they find them out we do not
know ; and the mischief is done late in the evening
and at night. I have seen them at it many a time,
and when the pools or ponds are close to cottages
situated on estates this has to be put up with : no
shot may be fired, or noose set, where the gentleman
in the velveteen suit walks round. I do not intend
to enter into this matter : not being my business, I
leave it.

A tramp through meadows, with the Mole
twisting in the most erratic manner, for three miles,
brings us to a clear pool of considerable extent,
fringed on one side with dense aquatic tangle. Hay-
ing time is over, so we go right up to the bank of
tangle from the meadows through which the river
snakes. As sedges, bullrushes, stunted willows,

EYES AND NO EYES 33

meadow-sweet, alders, and loose strife do not enter
into the composition of hay, the mowers have simply
cut as far as the tangle, leaving that as it was. I
know what I am about to suffer before I enter it ;
for I have left off smoking, and the day is what the
people in and about the fields call a dead-hot day.
Not a breath of air is stirring and the ' stouts ' bite
most ferociously. At this time birds and fish revel in
insect food ; it drops down on the water or skims
over the surface, and the fish lazily gulp it down ;
in fact they are gorged with it.

I have entered the tangle at the thinnest part, for
I wish once more to confirm something that I have
stated elsewhere, namely, the pike watching for
young water birds. If I could see that every day I
should not tire of watching it, for the birds know of
their danger, and guard against it as well as they can.
Not many yards I have crept along, parting the tangle
gently to right and left, without making a rustle, getting
the backs of my hands covered with midges, whose
bites I bear somehow ; then I drop down and crawl
to the edge, looking through a rush tuft which I
part for the purpose, and not a yard from me I see a
pike — not a large one, for no large fish are here, they
do not thrive in this pure spring water. From two
to three pounds weight will do, but nothing over

D

34 EYES AND NO EYES

that ; they are hungry, however, as wolves. There he
lies, motionless, just behind some withy roots that
run down into the water. Presently there is a ripple
on the other side, then another ; the fish's fins begin
to quiver, but his tail does not move. That quiver of
the fins draws him nearer. But there is only a water
vole with a bit of sedge in his mouth swimming
along, and not the least notice does the fish take of
him. Although at other times voles would come
to grief, they are safe when young water birds are
about.

If I thought fit to go on looking for pike, I should
find one watching every few yards. One side of the
pool is bordered by open meadows without any tangle.
At this season, although very numerous in the water,
the pike do not frequent the open ; they will come back
on that side presently, when no more birds are to be
had. From a small puddle some bird rushes, and
then flutters broken winged. I know what it means
— the bird has young. It is all a sham, but a first-
class sham it is ; another step, and away go a clutch
of young moor-hens, like a lot of black mice on stilts.
Willow wrens chide me — I could almost touch some
of them — but I press quietly on, smothered by dead
tangle and midges, though it will be impossible for
me to put up with much more of it. Was that a rat

EYES AND NO EYES 35

that glided through the bunch of king-cups ? No, it
shows for one moment, flirting up its tail ; it is a
spotted crake, the very bird I had tried in vain to get.

Cold spring water was freely used to my face and
hands for some time after leaving that pool-side tangle.
Birds do not very often come to those who are looking
for them ; you have to go to them, if you can get
there.

It is winter, hard, bitter winter ; the snow covers
the shingle on the beach above high water-mark ; the
sky is lead colour, and the water looks like ink, broken
at times by the spiteful spit of the crests of the waves,
that can barely lift, because the wind is blowing down
on them, right on shore. When the waves break, they
run up with a hissing noise that tells plainly what is
coming.

They rush like huge snakes up to the snow-line
on the beach, sending blinding salt spray in all direc-
tions ; and rush back again, the stones rattling on the
beach as though an express were at full speed there.
It is a gale already ; it will be bad presently ; these
signs are only preliminary ones, for the waters from
the North Sea will come roaring in, a little later, up
to the sand dunes. A dreary look-out there is — a long
stretch as far as the eye can reach of snow, dark sky,
and darker water. In the foreground are a few blocks

36 EYES AND NO EYES

of rock, about the height of a man, and behind one of
these a fowler is crouching. That great mass of white,
about a mile out, is where the wild rush of waters is
breaking up in foam on the sand bar. You can hear
the howl of it ; not a goose, duck, diver, or wader will
be able to rest there, before this gale is over.

Fowls know what is coming ; it is from them, of
course, that coast people gain their knowledge, in a
great measure, about atmospheric changes. At one
time, well within my recollection, the fowls' move-
ments were the only signs they had to go by. Bad
as the weather is, fowls are now eagerly feeding on
the very edge of the tide — curlews these are. Some-
thing moves a whole mob of them, and they rush up
shrieking as curlews only can shriek — just over the
edge of that hissing surf. Ears and eyes are on the
alert ; and as they pass that rock the fowler fires, and
eight birds drop in the water. Without one moment's
hesitation the gun is dropped in the snow, and he
dashes in up to his middle in water ; five he gathers
and brings on shore, then he thinks he will strip and
swim for the others ; but luckily he is restrained, and
the other three birds drift off. I have done foolish
things like this in my time, but this was done by a
brother naturalist, who has just left us. I admired
his pluck, but, being twice his age, I at the same time

EYES AND NO EYES 37

pointed out that the thing might be done once too
often.

In search of birds that frequent salt water and the
shores, I have never failed to find some of the various
species ; quite sufficient indeed to satisfy me. The plan
of proceeding is a very simple one ; certain birds at
various seasons — spring, summer, autumn, and winter
— frequent particular localities. By knowing these,
and going direct to the places, you will find your bird
or birds, and no valuable time will be lost in searching.
Fashionable watering-places, however, had better have
a wide berth given them.

The attitudes that some large birds place them-
selves in would protect them in comparatively open
places. Unless one had seen it, one would hardly
give the raptores credit for this ; but they practise it
to perfection. This class of birds has been my
favourite study from boyhood, and I shall never be
able to finish the study, for something fresh is con-
tinually coming before me.

The eagle, for one, places himself in strange posi-
tions, a mere bundled up bunch of feathers to look at.
A friend of mine who recently visited Achill Island,
the island of the eagle, was on the cliffs with his wife
and some other friends, when the lady saw in a cleft
of the rocks close to her what she thought was a

38 EYES AND NO EYES

splendid tuft of feathers that had been blown there by
the wind. On stooping to pick them up, out from the
cleft dashed a magnificent eagle, leaving behind him a
tuft of feathers as a memento.

Vigilant as the bird is, he is frequently walked
over. After gorging he gets drowsy ; indeed, it is
only under these circumstances that such a thing could
take place.

Falcons, hawks — the larger species — can compress
their feathers and look very slim, if they think it
necessary to do so. As to the owls, they can hump
up into any position they think most suitable. It is
useless to look for these self-preserving traits in any
of the family kept in zoological collections, for the
birds are so accustomed to see large numbers of people
passing and re-passing, or standing in front of them,
that they treat the whole matter with perfect in-
difference. They know that at a certain time their
food will be brought them, and that they are other-
wise perfectly safe. Then the raptores in a wild state
have a bloom on their plumage, like the bloom on a
bunch of grapes, which is not often seen when in
captivity.

There is a sameness to be seen in the habits and
haunts of all shore birds, no matter where they may
be. All shore-shooters know this and compare notes

EYES AND NO EYES 39

about it. Flats of slub ooze are the same in one
locality as another, and beach is beach. As to the
sand dunes, or sand hills, they are all alike in general
features, go where you will ; the only difference is
that some are of very great extent, and some com-
paratively speaking small. One instance out of many
that I have witnessed will prove how completely a
bird's plumage may mirnic the surroundings that it
lives and nests in.

We are standing between broken hills of the sand
dunes ; great humps there are, that will topple over
during some high tide, for the swirl of the waters has
washed the worn bases of several nearly through. In
between, large patches of purple-grey shingles have
been washed. I have called them purple-grey, as this
is the general tone of them ; but broken shells, white
pebbles, and the thousand and one atoms of flotsam
and jetsam that litter the foreshore, make a glitter that
is very deceptive, if you wish to pick matters out in
detail.

Tufts of marum, or bents — for this creeping, wiry,
grass-like growth is called by either name — hold on
where there is the least chance ; if I were asked to
give this a name, I should call it sea couch — for it will
couch and hold on anywhere. A most valuable ally
it is where it is found ; it binds the sand dunes by its

40 EYES AND NO EYES

network of creeping roots. This, with sea holly, sea
thistles, sand convolvuli, and a few tufts of blite, is all
the vegetation that grows here.

Pools of water left in some hollows by the last
storm glitter in the sun ; so clear is this very salt
water that a pin could be seen at the bottom of the
deepest pool. If you turn your eyes inland there are
the rabbit links, and as we are in the hollows that is all
we can see in one direction. Looking seawards we
see a vast flat of sand, for the tide is out. A solitary
gull flaps overhead, the only form of life that shows
itself. It has a beauty, although a weird one, this great
sand-flat with the dunes as a border to it ; but I should
not care to spend a day here alone. Others have
visited the place and made the same remark, for the
strange shapes into which the water had formed the
sand hills, some of them fallen, and others ready to
fall, used to give me the impression that a small
part of our island had been utterly wrecked.

The ringed dotterels nest here ; as we tramp over
the shingle two rise right in front of us and settle on a
sandy knoll near ; we can just make them out, and
that is all. Then they pitch on some beach a few yards
away, and we do not see them again ; all our creeping,
hiding, and waiting will not benefit us one bit. Still
we do not like to be beaten if we can help it, and we

EYES AND NO EYES 41

try again, but all to no purpose ; then, just as we are
leaving, the birds flit up on one side of us, and we are
baffled.

If any one of our readers will visit the New
Natural History Museum at South Kensington, in
the fine room filled with splendid cases of British
birds he will find a case of dotterels and their young
on some beach shingle. They are perfect in their
setting up, even in the most minute details. When
looking at these he will see at the first glance what I
have endeavoured to explain here ; and that is why
dotterels and their young are invisible on shingle.

UNDER GREEN LEAVES

'You like rough ground,' said one of my friends one
day, ' so I think you would find something to suit
you in the Long Valley Moor. You can go just
where you please, and if you like to catch a brace of
trout to paint from, you are quite welcome to them.'

Thick warm mists shroud all things as I leave my
home for a six miles' walk, wishing to see the said
valley lit up by the morning sun. Only those who
have walked through the woodlands in all their fresh
tender greenery, when the dewdrops are glistening
like diamonds on the foliage, and the grasses nod
over the narrow track, bowed down by the clear beads
of moisture that cling to their edges, can form any idea
of the beauty, the calmness, and the good knowledge
that are to be found under green leaves.

The rough weather has gone, winter shifts are a
thing of the past, and the birds sing, for it is their
nesting time. Man himself, in spite of all his cares,
brightens up and looks for better times. The Combe

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 43

farms that we pass on our way are still quiet ; with
the exception of the carter and his mate, who are
going to the stables, no one is moving. Not a rooster
crows ; it may be that the birds know that the fox is
about : birds do know when it will suit their purpose
to keep quiet. How often have I wished that there
was a chance of a fox coming near our house just to
frighten those many roosters into silence that, through
moonlight nights, will crow by turns almost without in-
termission. It is all very well for poets to write about
'Chanticleer, bright herald of the morning.' This
lively fowl has been rather a favourite with our verse
makers, especially the more moral of them. I fancy
they have been mostly familiar with the common
barn-door bird, which simply crows ; they cannot have
suffered from the roaring of the Cochin China fowl,
which after so-called judicious crossings — a fatal
blunder — has become such a favourite on the outskirts
of country towns. Owls never make night hideous
as do these giant roosters ; I have found two or three
of them, in concert with a donkey that grazes near my
dwelling, more than a poor tired naturalist could bear
after a long day's work.

But here all is quiet ; the creatures that were at
large during the night have gone home, or most of
them. Two downy forms float by me and shoot under

44 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

the thatch of the barn. These are brown owls that
have come up from the meadows. They have not
yet finished their hunting, and they leave the barn to
float down to the grass again. So much the better
for the farmer ; if he had twenty owls instead of a
couple about his premises it would be a good visita-
tion for him, for when the grass is mown, a boy will
be put to walk behind the mowing machine, where he
will be sure to be accompanied by another, a volunteer,
who goes for the sport of the thing. It is a much
envied post ; the first lad is the mousekiller, and he
is armed with a stick three feet or so in length, of
ground ash by choice. The invited friend must cut
his from the willows. How often have I watched
this proceeding. The boys will wait for the machine
to make a couple of swathes, one up and one down,
then they follow it up on each side. ' Dog mice ! '
they yell, as the large creatures bolt from the track.
Down come the sticks, and the boys gather their
short-tailed, large-headed quarry as they run. What
with the clacking rattle of the mower, and the click of
the boys' sticks, the mice have a very uncomfortable
time of it If we waited now long enough, those
boys would be sure to come with a dozen of the finest,
and ask if I ' wanted 'em for owls.' I have never
found myself firm enough to refuse these, for the in-

UNDER GREEN LEA VES 45

formation had spread round for miles that ' a big man
in a grey suit o' clothes, as always carried a big ash
stick, one as looked as if he'd bin a soger, he'd actoo-
ally gi'n as much as a penny apiece fur mice.' But
' big uns,' as the boys said, they certainly were ; two
of them made an ample meal for my brown owl,
Friar. Often was I met on my way home from
work by some little country toddler. Not a word
would be spoken, the child would just hold a mouse
up by its tail, receive the penny, and then cut away
as hard as its little legs would carry it. Even when
my owls were gone the pleasant barter was maintained
as long as I walked and worked in this district ; and
I always look back on that period of my life with
pleasant memories, in which children, birds, and
flowers all mingle together.

But to return to my morning's walk. As we enter
the woods the sun is high. Firs show their tops
through the mist, which now is clearing rapidly
away. A magpie appears for one instant, and vanishes ;
another flits out, but there is no noise ; nor do we
make any, standing as we are on dead leaves which,
being wet with the dew, do not rustle ; in certain
parts the woods are silent, and now the vapours
have cleared off over the tree-tops, and have rolled
away.

46 UNDER GREEN LEAVES

From a grey thorn a blackbird flutes, as only a
blackbird can ; his mate is sitting below him on her
nest. This is bird music in perfection, for you have
the singer in sight. There he is in full light of the
morning sun, his jet-black plumage glistening, and
his orange bill showing like a point of light. Stay
awhile and listen as he sings his song ; with it you
have the life-giving scent of the woods, the very
essence of their living growth.

The bird's song rises, falls, and dies away ; the
light wanders here and there, now up, now down, on
the boles of the moss-spangled giant beeches ; the
young golden-green foliage quivers in the light, the
branches wave and softly rustle, and the bird's
glorious song breaks out again and again.

The author of a popular lecture on ' Music and
Morals' would have us believe that there is no
intrinsic beauty in the song of any bird ; he pretends
that its charm is only due to the force of association.
When we hear a bird sing, straightway, he says, we
picture to ourselves the bird's surroundings, and so
are delighted with sounds which in themselves are
not in the least musical. Nothing of the kind. In
the matter of birds, I am convinced Mr. Haweis —
broad as his sympathies may be in other directions —
is a Philistine.

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 47

By the way, never look at preserved specimens
when you can study the live bird. I have seen
owls preserved so as to show three toes in front
and one behind, and, though this is quite wrong,
some works which the credulous public have been
gulled into considering as standard works have also
represented them in the same way : that is, in an
impossible position. No owl that ever I possessed
—and I have kept a goodly number — ever placed
three toes in front and one behind, although they
could do this for a moment if they chose. Another
blunder I must protest against : no owl seizes his
prey or holds it with both feet, though both feet may
be used to carry it when the prey is a large one ;
such quarry, for instance, as a full-grown rat, or at
times a pinwire dotter, called by courtesy a rabbit.
With one foot the owl grasps his prey, the other foot
grasps a tuft or some other inequality of the ground.
Then the bird goes to work.

A few owls remain in the wood through which I
am leading my readers ; some of the long-eared
species, but not many, because when this particular
piece of land was let for shooting, a few years back,
an order to destroy all creatures that were not game
was given. This applied to the utmost limits of the
shooting, so that the head of game should count out

48 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

better than that from the covers adjoining. But what
with one thing and another, the man who rented it
did not have anything like the head that his neigh-
bours had, much to his own surprise. Careless and
indiscriminate trapping and shooting does not often
produce good results. Where so-called vermin are
popped at all the day long, and the traps set for
them get filled with the game itself, the creatures
will seek sanctuaries where so short-sighted a policy
is not in force.

Wood-pigeons shoot up with a flap-flap-flap ;
they soar above, where they float with outspread
wings and tail like giant tree-pipits ; then they settle
again ; their mates are near, sitting on their nests, or
rather their twig platforms. That blackbird must
have given the signal for harmony, for on all sides
the thrushes sing. Loud above the other voices
sound the notes of the missel-thrush. But he sings
best in stormy weather; on a calm, golden-tinted
morning such as this his voice has too trumpet-like a
tone.

And now there is a lull, during which we hear
close to us a plaintive hurried song. There is some-
thing that arrests your attention at once, giving one
the idea that the bird was compelled through some
inner stress to sing, yet against his will. We can see

UNDER GREEN LEA VES 49

him hovering, like a large moth, over the top twigs of
a large beech. It is the delicate tree warbler, near
relative to the willow warblers and the chiff-chaffs ;
only he is of far more secluded habits than they.
You may see fifty of the others before you meet with
the little tree warbler. He frequents high beeches
and great oaks as a rule, where the woods are broken
by open glades ; in which spots the delicate wood
wren and the tree warbler are not uncommon. The
parts which he resorts to are the very ones about
which to look for that rare butterfly, the purple
emperor.

By taking one more path, through this copse,
we shall reach the foot of the fir-covered hill that
overshadows the Valley Moor. The new shoots of
golden-green and purple are finely contrasted, in this
bright light, with the old foliage and the red stems
which rise from what might be a thick lawn of
whortleberry bushes. These are in flower now :
when the fruit is ripe the place will be lively for a
time with children and vipers. And without harm to
either, for the children know that the reptiles will get
away as fast as they can, if they only frighten them a
little. You will meet little toddlers, under the super-
vision of larger children, stained from head to feet
with the deep purple juice of the ' hurts.'

E

50 UNDER GREEN LEAVES

We gain the top and look down the valley. And
what a sight is there ! One worth going many more
miles to see. A gentle breeze has arisen, just strong
enough to bend and wave the hardly yet matured
masses of green foliage, which look like a sea of
rippling verdure. The fluttering whispers among the
young leaves are distinctly audible.

From the firs comes that aromatic scent of resinous
compound. This mingles with that of the beeches
and the oaks ; then there is the odour of the whortle
bushes and the ferns superadded ; each scent differing,
yet here delightfully blended, making the finest
medicine a man can take through his lungs.

Before, and below us, is a long stretch of valley
moorland, fringed on either side by woods. Our
readers will please bear in mind the fact that there
are two kinds of moorland, the upland moors and the
valley moors. The former are far more boggy than
the latter, for this reason — the water continually
coming down from their springs forms the beautiful
little trout streams that drain the valley moors.
From rills, from mere threads, and from drippings,
falling drop by drop from the mosses, the water
comes now as it has done from time beyond record,
from the moors above to the moors below ; in summer
and winter a continual flow, without stint. Now, as

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 51

we stand on the crest of the hill the water is trickling
down below our feet through the moss. At the foot
of the hill, separated from the wood by a strip of bog,
covered by great clumps of rushes and cotton grass,
we are expecting to see some bird life, if we are
very cautious ; but we must avoid that bog, it quakes.
I have been in it once, only at the edge, but that was
quite enough. A grey alder stem, grey with moss,
sticks up in the middle. That is the only object that
strikes our eyes yet I never do expect to see much
at one time, and even if we see nothing we should
not fret ; we shall meet with all we want at some
time or other, if we live long enough. Sometimes,
for weeks and months together, I have not seen
enough to talk to a child about, if I had wished to
amuse one ; and then again have suddenly seen, at a
time when I was not looking for it, more than I could
have hoped for.

If any particular spot has been frequented by
any creature, furred, finned, or feathered, and the spot
remains as it has always been, unless the species has
been quite exterminated, we may look for the same
creature there when the season recurs again. I
have put blackcock up here many years ago, one
of my woodland friends having invited me over to
see them play up. They are very partial to rushy

52 UNDER GREEN LEAVES

flats, and feed in such spots more than on higher
ground.

Just as we are about to descend the hill there is
a commotion in the rush clumps, and a bird tumbles
out which we at first sight take for a wild duck with
its wing broken ; but the cry quickly sets us right.
It is a grey hen — a mother — for we can see some of
her poults dash to cover, the mother with them.
After that all is still ; not a sound or a cheep to be
heard.

Looking over the bog, something on that dead
alder catches our eyes ; it is a hen sparrowhawk,
sitting as motionless as the tree itself. Sitting there,
as upright as a drill sergeant, she might easily be
mistaken for a part of the grey trunk. She has missed
her quarry ; so much the better. The first movement
on our part, as we wish to descend, is enough ; and
with a flirt of her broad tail she is up and away.
Not for long will she have the pleasure of providing
for her young hopefuls, now of some size, for her
domicile is known to our friend. She has had some
of his young guinea-fowls, cute as they were ; and
for that he told us he would knock her out of it, and
the young ones too.

From the bog the water has cut a natural course
for itself through the wood ; and, as it is all down

UNDER GREEN LEA VES 53

hill, the water runs from a clear pool in the centre
with some rapidity. It would have formed a natural
cascade on entering the moor from the wood, if some
one who farmed the lands near had not provided a
very ingenious outlet for it This was formed by the
half of one of the trees which at one time had stood
there ; it was hollowed out to make a spout for the
water, and rough scantling of great thickness had
been placed on the top ; then turf, more scantling,
and then turf again over all. The run of water was
then directed into it, and it runs there still, though
the man who effected it first is forgotten. Like other
jobs of a bygone day, when there was less hurry, it
was done well, and that primitive conduit still fulfils
its purpose.

An R.A., now gone over to the majority, painted
this spot with loving care. He called it ' The Moor-
land Spring,' a most fitting title. Lush herbage and
tangle grow all round, almost hiding the spout from
view. But you see the great flow of pure crystal
water falling into the pool of the little trout stream
below. Here the chattering, scolding white-throats,
the greater and the lesser, gather ; something about
the spot suits them, and also the nightingale ; in the
season you hear his melodious singing close to the
spring, both by day and night.

54 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

Pigeons flew down to drink also, and the black-
birds, thrushes, and finches bathed there. It was, and
is, a beautiful bit for the artist. Into the picture to
which I have alluded a cottage girl was introduced,
with one of those old-fashioned brown pitchers in her
hand. She is about to fill it under the spout ; and
this gives just the human element that was needed.

The stream runs swiftly and merrily on, forming
picturesque miniature bays. Here is one where an
old moorland stump has tried to shoot out again and
failed. Though tiny shallows, some of the bays are
six feet in length ; then comes a pool the size of a
small table top ; after that a run of water two feet
deep for twenty yards or more, and so on, a complete
change at every turn ; at the widest part it is not six
feet in width, even where the cattle come to drink.

On it goes, making rippling, lapping music, all
through the moor. Here the titlark, the meadow
pipit, nests in the tussocks that rise up from the
spongy parts. The bird sits close; if you are careful
you can see all you wish without disturbing the inno-
cent creature that is watching every movement of
yours with her bright eyes.

Pewits breed here ; three of them are now, to all
appearance, unconcernedly feeding quite close to us.
They are, however, simply watching every step we

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 55

take as we jump over the stream on to their part of
the moor. One is suddenly taken very bad indeed,
as we say ; something appears to have got him by the
throat ; he tumbles and flaps so much. No need for
all this, we shall not go nearer to them. They are
satisfied as to this, and springing up, the signal is
given, a sound which is at once answered from a field
close to the woods. Over the splashed moor bank
they come, flapping, wheeling, diving, tumbling, and
shrieking Pewit-wit-wit, Pewit ! Their young are
about, or their eggs are in the field ; the first three
were only pewit scouts. The birds are not molested
here ; even the rooks have had notice to quit, so that
the pewit's eggs may be let alone. The rook's food —
his legitimate food, at least — is wire-worms, grubs,
worms, and beetles, and for poaching on the preserves
of others he is punished here ; we notice a couple of
his family spread-eagled out on the ground. If wild
creatures are allowed to indulge in luxuries, the liking
for them soon passes into a necessity, and becomes a
rooted and transmitted habit. The kea, or, as it is
generally called, the kaka parrot, thus acquired its
taste for the kidneys of the live sheep — a perfectly un-
natural one.

Meadow pipits cheep and run about not very far
from where their mates are sitting so closely, hidden

56 UNDER GREEN LEAVES

in the bottom of the tussocks. And the air is all
alive with tree pipits, or rather with their voices ; they
rise from the lower and outermost boughs that reach
out over the edge of the moor, right over the very tops
of the trees ; then the wings and tail are spread out,
and the gay-hearted little birds gradually float down
singing, to the very twigs they started from. This
is repeated over and over again, a rising, floating,
musical performance.

Great green dragon-flies dart past with their wind-
mill-like sweep of wings. You hear the rustle and the
click of them as they turn in flight ; wood-pigeons
shoot over from the woods to the fields, and back
again, whilst a plaintive Coo-coo-roo-roo-coo Cooee
reaches one's ears, and sounds wonderfully conducive
to repose ; to which, however, we may not yield ; nor
do we wish to, we want to see all we can, as we do
not come here too often. Beside a little shallow, just
below, we come on one of the most beautiful sights
that a wandering naturalist can see — that of a pair of
those graceful little water sprites, the grey wagtails, in
their own home. The colours of this lovely species
are as pure and bright as the water and the sand that
he wades in and runs over. Some of my readers
may not have seen the grey wagtail in his full breed-
ing plumage. The head and back show warm grey?

UNDER GREEN LEA VES 57

with a tinge of green ; there is a white stripe over the
eye and one below ; the throat is velvet black ; the
upper tail coverts yellow ; the breast and under tail
coverts a rich golden yellow ; wings and tail warm
brown. A few of the tail feathers are edged with
buff. Form, colouring, and movements are alike
beautiful. As he sits on one of the stones of the
stream, his head up, his long tail just touching the
water that is rippling round, the bird and his sur-
roundings would be sufficient for a good-sized canvas.
His mate is daintily tripping on the edge of the stream ;
happy, blithe little creatures are they, in this moor-
land home.

Often, when I am wandering alone, some who
have been my companions in years gone by come to
mind, unbidden guests of memory, or called up out
of the past by some trivial incident of the present.
' Father Jemmy ' was one of these. He received this
nickname before he had been one week at school.
His father brought him when they came to settle on
their farm. Never shall I forget the pair as they
entered the schoolroom together — forty-three years
ago it was. I had long ere this done with school,
but I happened to have some business in the
building that day. A sturdy little figure was Jemmy,
a man in miniature, wearing good stout shoes and

58 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

leather gaiters of a dark brown ; these reached to-
his hips, having no end of buttons to them. A short
round frock covered his upper person. The father
was dressed in precisely the same fashion, they seemed
a large and small edition ; even the shirt collars were
the same. I knew Jemmy, too, when he had done
schooling, and had grave matters to attend to ; for his
father died, leaving the mother to his care. Mother
and son understood each other perfectly, and he was
devoted to her. The measured words of premature
wisdom that fell from the lad's lips gained for him
the title of 'Father Jemmy.' But what a shot he
was! He could fish, too, with a rod and line, or
without one ; and, rarest gift of all, he could keep
his mouth shut when there was not any good reason
for opening it.

Quaint, manly Jemmy, he did his best for his
mother as long as she lived, and when she died he
was not long in following her. A fine eight-day
cuckoo clock stood in one corner of their kitchen, inside
the case of which he kept his single-barrelled gun ; a
good one it was, and always kept ready loaded. ' I like
to have things ready and handy-like,' he was wont to
remark ; ' you never know when they may be near ' —
the birds he meant. There was no gun licence needed
in those days, only a game certificate. The things that

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 59

did come when Jemmy was about seldom went away
again. The clock was a good one, but the bird had
not shouted properly for some time ; one day he
would tune up all right, and the next he was mute.
Mother said she really must have it cleaned, but she
never could make up her mind to let it go out of the
house. One day, the very day when this really was
going to be done, a boy came rushing from the
farmyard into the kitchen, where Jemmy was having
his snack of lunch alone, to tell him ' Something had
come, and he'd best be quick, for it was on the move-
like.' Jemmy opened the clock-case, and hurriedly
caught up the gun, as he had done scores of times
before, but not with the same result. In the haste
of the moment he touched one of the weights, it
swayed, the hammer of his gun hit the bottom of the
weight, which threw it back, and off she went, Bang !
right through the works. Down fell the cuckoo.
The mother was upstairs when she heard the report ;
her first thoughts were for Jemmy. ' Jem, my boy,
what have you done ? ' she cried. For a moment he
looked speechless at the wreck, then he shouted
back, 'All right, mother, I've only cleaned the
clock ! '

To return to our creatures : having permission to
fish I may as well avail myself of it, for the stream is

60 UNDER GREEN LEAVES

alive with trout. They give no sign, however ; the
water runs too sharp and rippling to show a rise, and
the formation of the stream would not allow of a fly
being used. So much the better ; my preparations
for taking a brace — merely to study their colour, for
I do not care for fish diet — are soon made. I take
the first three joints ofT my walking-stick rod ; then
I fix up a fine gut line, one foot shorter than the three
joints ; no shot on it, only the hook. From my very
small worm-bag I take a nice red worm of only
medium size, and place it on the hook. Now I am
ready ; here we fish down stream. There is a large
stone about six feet below me, round which the water
spins. Gently stepping back, I throw about two feet
above it ; the worm goes over. Tug-tug, snick ! I
have him, and he is on the grass ; a small fish, but
very thick for his length, which is about that of a
small herring, and having a golden back and sides
crimson spotted belly pure white.

On a shallow below, where the water barely
covers the stones, more for the fun of the thing than
anything else, we pitch our worm. The water has
barely closed over it, when something shoots out
from the bank and back again. Snick ! comes out
of it another trout; but he is not so golden as the
first. He is not hurt, so back he may go again. If a

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 61

fish has been handled, kill it ; it is only right to do
so, in order to prevent its future suffering ; for scales
rubbed off bring misery to fish. When only just lip-
held, it is another matter. My next throw is above a
small hole where the water spins round. Hardly a
moment elapses before there is a tug, and we strike.
This is a larger fish, and he fights well. Half a pound
will be all his weight, but he is a nice fish for this
particular part of the stream. It is a somewhat
curious fact, but if this stream flowed into a lake or
pond, the trout would in the larger water become
large fish ; and if large trout found their way up a
stream of this kind from a pond or lake, they would
very soon dwindle down to the size of the pair I have
just captured.

Having caught my brace, I make a sketch of them •
and the first boy or girl I meet on the way home will
become the happy possessor of the fish. Generally,
when I want to paint fish I have them brought to me
alive. By giving sufficient notice I manage to get
these just when I am ready for them.

As I near my friend's farmyard, I pause for a few
minutes to look into the mouth of a large culvert that
carries the stream under the main road before it runs
through the farmyard. The water at the mouth of
the culvert is about three feet in depth. A small bay

62 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

has formed here, and the water is certainly suggestive
of fish. I had put up my tackle, but I must see what
there is in the culvert under the road. So from my
bag I take five or six worms, and pitching one right
in the mouth of it, I wait. No sign ; I pitch again —
all quiet. The third I pitch a little on one side of the
mouth of the culvert. There is a rush, and a boil up,
and the worm is gone. After this we drop them in
the main current, about a yard from the mouth. Out
shoot a dozen fish, with a rush ; first-rate fish. Having
learned all we wanted to know, we can pass on.

Wild ducks, both the pure wild birds and the half-
wild ones, breed up in these moors. It is impossible
to tell which is which. They nest on knolls and
heathy kobs,the very driest spots they can find in the
heather. Water is all about them, but their nesting
places are dry. After many years of patient watching,
I have come to the conclusion that this is to preserve
their young ones from the numerous enemies that are
on the watch for them at that time, until they are
quite capable of taking care of themselves. They
know when the time of danger comes round, and they
watch for the foe above and below. Feeling they are
safest away from the water, they nest in the haunts of
the blackcock and the ring-ouzel. Who that did not
know the habits of the creatures would ever expect to

UNDER GREEN LEA VES 63

find the wild ducks' nest in fir and heather ? or to find
a nest on the top of a large sand rock, cosily placed
in the hollow of a beech stub, close to the home, or
-earth, of a fox ? Anywhere, it would seem, except
near their own quarters. For murderous rats are
there. No matter where it may be — in the covers or
on the lakes or ponds, even on the bleak foreshores,
wave-washed and wind-swept — you will find that pest.
Wherever man takes wild creatures under his care —
or thinks that he is doing this — the rat follows him,
to see what kind of a job he makes of it.

If wild fowl that are visiting waters get fed, in
order to encourage them to remain, the rats will
come to see how they eat it, and contrive among
themselves to appropriate the food. No job is too
hard for a rat, and I can say from personal experience
that a past master or mistress in ratcraft it is hard to
circumvent. The common house-rat, the brown one,
is a first-rate swimmer and a good diver. He will
watch the ducks and listen to all their calls, and if
the birds have located themselves on some small
island he swims out to it, steals the eggs, or kills and
eats the young birds. If the nest is near the water,
by the side of some stream or outlet, the rats will
cross with the young ducks, after they have killed
them, to the other side A dozen young ducks, half-

64 UNDER GREEN LEA VES

eaten, have been found under one large stone close to
the water's edge. They will watch, close by, for the
departure of man or dog — they know well when
these have gone — and then they do their work quickly.
Stoats and weasels are really benefactors to man,
for they will kill rats and mice in great numbers.
Pheasants and partridges suffer in like manner as the
ducks, but to a less extent A lot of wild ducklings
with their mother is one of the prettiest sights
possible ; the mother's watchfulness, having to look
out above and below, is very interesting. You will
not see the pike close in shore, under the weeds, but
it is lying there, near where the little birds are
paddling. I once let a half-fledged sparrow fly out
of my hand, by accident, over the water. It settled
on the weeds and fluttered a little ; the weeds moved
from below, there was a slight opening in the clear
water, then a plunging splash, and the sparrow was
gone. Pike that have been shot when the ducks
paddled have called forth some stiff language from
the farmer, when their insides were turned out.

I have seen mice on the moors, but I have never
seen a rat there. The foxes would have them if they
tried to settle there. They are found in the fields in
numbers during harvest time — fields that are at the
foot of the moorland hills ; but that is as far as they

UNDER GREEN LEAVES 65

come. In some way the knowledge is transmitted
that the wild land of which man can make no use is
the safest place for the creatures to nest in ; the
birds seem well aware of this — the wild ones know it,
and the half-wild ones find it out. Indeed, man him-
self is at times best off out in the wilds, apart from
his fellows.

Under the tender green leaves is the place to
watch the birds nesting, or rearing their families.
For more than half a century I have had this
pleasure each year, and I hope to have it for many
a year yet to come. What care and self-denial is
theirs, as they feed their young before taking their
own food ! Ever ready, too, they are, to sacrifice
their lives in trying to defend their offspring. And
the birds of prey are as gentle in this respect as is
the robin. Reynard himself is a good father, and
his vixen partner a most exemplary mother. Stoats
and weasels will carry their kittens and will defend
them to the very last. As to the hated rat, no living
creature fights a better battle for its young. Much,
indeed, there is to instruct man, and many matters
for him to ponder over out in the open, when leaves
are green.

66

IN THE WEALD

IN an article entitled ' A Roadside Naturalist' I have
tried to show that to the country roads field naturalists
are indebted for a very great amount of their insight
into the life of wild creatures and their ways. From
our main roads others branch off, leading into the
Weald lands of Surrey and Sussex. You can go a long
day's journey, rest for the night, and take a still longer
walk the next day, all through green lanes. As they
have been for many generations, they continue to be.
In one respect they are different. The roads now
are fit for traffic — this is the only alteration ; for the
land is as it has been for centuries, and the same old
manor-houses and moated farms are still there. Forty
years ago these green lanes or roads at certain seasons
were impassable ; even now the posts which recorded
the water's depth remain by the side of the bridges
that span the woodland trout streams, which, in wet
weather, change from trickling streams to rushing
torrents. So little was known about this network of

IN THE WEALD 67

roads, green though they were, that, at the time we
have mentioned, the inhabitants of country towns
within a few miles of the edges, so to speak, of two
counties, knew nothing about them, beyond the report
that such places existed. What little was heard at
intervals, which were few and far between, was always
connected with smuggling. For months, at different
periods, I have made my home in various parts of
this quiet, lonely district, full of beauty, go where
you will.

It was an open secret that smugglers crossed the
Weald from the south coast, and left portions of their
runs in various parts of it. Smuggling and natural
history are very different subjects, but it was through
being shown the places most used and frequented by
those who followed the former pursuit in past years,
in very secluded spots, by men who had known some-
thing about it, that I first became acquainted with the
wild things and their haunts in the Weald lands of
Surrey and Sussex. Those who are sons of the coast
have very little difficulty in making friends with others
who have known coast people ; and so pleased was I
with the kindly and hospitable people of this wild dis-
trict and their homes, that from time to time I returned
to wander there. When I first knew these districts no
railways existed. I believe that they had not even

F 2

68 IN THE WEALD

been thought about. Indeed, as matters are at present,
you have to walk four or five miles before you reach
a railway station when you are in the centre of the
Weald. Eighteen years had passed since my last
visit, yet, with the exception of a few new mansions —
not many — and one new shop with plate-glass win-
dows, in what can only be called a village by courtesy,
things remain as they have been for centuries, so far
at least as outward appearances go. If our readers
will recall to mind the sudden formation of railways
through districts that had never had anything except
the plough to move the earth — all this within the
last twenty and thirty years — they will be able to
form some opinion of the wonderment of some of the
old folks in this out-of-the-way region when they first
heard of the railroads being made in their midst.
But their existence has made little change here. The
people still have many primitive customs. Take, for
instance, one of these before the change came. The
farming portion of the population — nearly all were of
that class — paid in kind ; very little money passed.
If the village shoemaker made shoes for a small farmer
and his family, he generally took it out in farm pro-
duce. This system still prevails more or less. I have
read much that has been written by those who have
pretended to understand the agricultural population

IN THE WEALD 69

of the southern counties. Their writings seem to me
to prove very clearly that they know nothing what-
ever about them. Slow of speech Hodge of the Weald
may be — that is a virtue, as a rule ; but his wits are
keen, and those who, for want of better knowledge,
think they can easily enlighten the ' tiller of the soil,'
as they term him, will find that he can enlighten his
would-be instructors in a very unpleasant manner. I
am personally of the opinion that the class to which
he belongs forms the very backbone of England.
His reticence is not dulness — far from it. Before he
takes you into his confidence he wants to know who
you are. If he thinks you will do, he will show you
anything he thinks will please you, as soon as he has
found out what your hobby is. If you begin by ask-
ing a favour of him, he will, in most cases, flatly
refuse it.

The lives of these people are passed in the open
air. Both summer and winter they are in the fields
and about the woodlands that stretch for a great dis-
tance in the forest districts. This country is well
wooded right down to the sea-line. There are great
farmsteads with moats round them, the roofs covered
with slabs of stone in place of tiles or slates, the path-
ways leading from the great covered porches right
through the orchards and, in many instances, out to the

70 IN THE WEALD

green lane or road. These paths are raised, and
paved with the same kind of stone that the roofs are
covered with. Old-time houses they are, divided and
subdivided by great oak timbers, which are fixed into
the brick and stone work. Silver-grey the oak is,
but solid and firm now as when the timbers were first
placed there. Huge chimney-stacks there are, with
a large slab of stone on the top of the chimney. Four
piers are built up to carry the slab, so that square
openings are all round the tops, giving them a very
quaint appearance. Wood only was burnt in former
times, and in some of these old farms wood only is
used still. I have seen great logs placed on the iron
dogs. When these were well alight, the stone-paved
kitchen or living-room, with its great beams crossing
the ceiling, glowed again.

This is a land of birds and flowers. The whole of
the district in the months of April and May, the
roadside stripes, mile after mile, the hedgerows, copses,
and the woods, are gay with bloom. In July the
modest wild flowers— such as primroses, blue-bells,
the wild hyacinths and anemones, and many more —
have given place to the gay flowers of the wild lush-
tangle, all that grows in moist or dry places. The
vegetation of dry lands and of the swamps flourishes
here in the rankest luxuriance. Step off the made

IN THE WEALD 71

road on to the green stripe, and you at once sink in
wet ground ankle-deep. The fields that rise above
the road, in most cases, either on one side or the other,
are dry, very dry, for it is a clay soil here. The
tangle is as luxuriant as that of the swamps. Tussock
or hummock grass, great clumps of it, and sheaves of
tall rushes, grow close to the edge of these roads,
which were made over what was simply at one time,
within my knowledge, an impassable swamp in winter.
Thousands of faggots have helped to form the founda-
tion of some of them. If you look at the cattle that
at times graze on the green stripes, attended by one
of the farm lads, you will see mud to above their
knees. Their weight breaks through the thin dry-
crust on top. If any portion of the cultivated lands
here were neglected, they would in a year or two go
back to wild land again. A sturdy race are those
dwellers on the Weald, and they need be. Puny folk
could not do their work. Why certain political agi-
tators should, for their own purposes, attempt to make
this stalwart class of men, with their sturdy indepen-
dence, and loyalty to their employers — we will not
say wasters — pose as a ' down-trodden ' or oppressed
class, is only known to themselves.

The hearts of the farming class are in the right
place ; and we know that all their sympathies are

*F4

72 IN THE WEALD

really with their old employers and with past
times. All things change, but the change from the
old regime to the new is, in many instances, a violent
one. When, from some cause or other, large
estates have changed owners, things have not worked
well. It could not be expected that they should.
The farmer and his men fully appreciate and re-
turn any act of courtesy. They are gentlemen by
nature. I have in my lifetime had opportunities
of studying a considerable amount of so-called
society, some of it as high as was to be got, and
some of it ' low ' — so called because its members had
not so much money, and I have known as much
good-breeding in a woodman and his wife as could
be seen elsewhere. Talk of field naturalists ! Such
men are this in spite of themselves. Works on
natural history, provided especially for the use of
village libraries, are things to mock at. A lie, no
matter how it is dressed up — and some lies are very
nicely dressed — is a lie. Men who have the
living creatures before their eyes, their means of
living, and their various ways of procuring it, require
no books, not even the scientific ones with their errors.
Fifty years in the open air, in all weathers, will teach
one much. Some of the men I know have passed
eighty years, and they are yet well and hearty.

IN THE WEALD 73

Their knowledge of all things that shelter beneath
green leaves is very great ; in fact, it is the know-
ledge of a long and necessarily observant life.
Nearly all the cottages have orchards — the fruit-trees
in some instances trail over the hedge that separates
the garden from the road. Great boughs, loaded
with fine fruit in the season, lie on the hedge,
mingling with the fine blackberries. If you see the
owner or his ' missus,' and ask if you may have an
apple or pear — to offer to pay would be considered a
direct affront— permission will be gladly given. He
or his wife, as the case may be, will get you two or
three from the top boughs, where the sun shines right
on them.

A collector of insects cannot expect to be received
very favourably when he goes about round the
borders of covers at night with a dark lantern,
sugaring trees with treacle and strong ale to capture
intoxicated moths. One I knew had to run for
dear life ; for the keepers, seeing the flashes of light,
now here, now there, for the first time in this district,
thought it was some new poaching device that
was being practised. When the entomologist was
walking to a fresh lot of trees on the edge of the
next small cover from the one he had just finished
exploring, he heard voices stating, in no measured

74 IN THE WEALD

terms, what they would do to the ' poachin' warmint '
that ' was at it with lights.' Very gingerly he crept
over the soft green stripe in the opposite direction to
the sound of their voices. Though most innocent of
bad intent, he knew it would be a difficult matter to
convince those who were looking at that light that he
was so. He remembered too, like a flash, that he had
been told at the house where he put up that no one
was allowed in this particular place in the daytime,
and less still at night. The truth was, a particular
moth that he wanted could only be found on some
tangle which grew on the ditch-banks that sur-
rounded the covers. He fled, and all went well for
about one hundred and fifty yards. He was on the
high road, about one mile from his lodgings, when,
owing to some hurried movement he made, he acci-
dentally for a moment turned the light of his
lantern on in front of him, up the road on which he
was running. It was more than enough. He heard
a voice roar out, ' Damn 'em ! there they be ! ' Then
came the bay of a great hound in leash. The under-
wood crashed, and he fled at top speed. His
specimen-boxes flew out of his pocket, full of small
precious moths. In tearing at some of his buttons,
so that the air could play on his chest as he ran, the
lantern was pulled off his belt and dropped. This

IN THE WEALD 75.

the hound nosed when he reached it, a fortunate cir-
cumstance for the man — although he did not consider
it so at the time — for it caused a slight delay.
Dashing round a corner, he cleared a low hedge, ran
across a meadow, and gained the back part of the
small inn where he had put up, breathless. After
cooling down a little and making himself presentable,
he had a glass or two of ale, and went to bed. The
next morning, as he sat in the neat little bar-parlour,
turning over in his own mind whether it would not
be better to clear out and visit new pastures, one of
those nondescript individuals that are to be found
on all estates where game is preserved strolled in with
a couple of beagles. To all appearance he was-
merely exercising the dogs, but in reality he was in
search of information. The man was dressed in
keeper-fashion, although in the strict sense of the
word he was not a keeper, for he had not reached
the gun-carrying stage.

After some commonplace remarks about the
weather, the landlord, who knew him, asked if he
would not come in and rest a bit, and wash the dry-
ness down. With a half-muttered protest to the
effect that it ' wud hardly do if the " head un "
ketched him there,' he walked in, and after he had
seen the bottom of one pint-jug and ordered another,.

76 IN THE WEALD

he remarked to the landlord, ' Ye ain't seen no
strangers, hev ye ? '

' No, only this gentlemen here ; and you can't call
him a stranger hardly, for he's been here nearly a
week now.'

' No, I don't mean the likes o' him. I aint a born
fool, not quite, I hopes. Fill this here pint agin, my
gullet's like a lime-burner's, all through last night's
work. 'Twas a rum go that ! Our " head un " goin'
roun' the little covers — you knows 'em — sees some
smirches o' sticky stuff on some o' they outside trees.
Well, he don't say much, but he knowed summut
wus goin' forrard as hadn't ought ter be, so he comes
and gives orders fur to watch them covers. We wus
at it last night.'

1 Did you get anyone ? '

' No, but there was a lot on 'em with lights ; art-
ful as sin that lot was ! We could see their lights, and
I think we should 'a had one on 'em, if the blood-
hound hadn't nosed about at one o' their lanterns
what they dropped. Old Jack had him in a leash
fixed to his leather belt. Squire says he ain't tu let
him run loose on no 'count, an' when there's a tussle
he ain't to be loosed unless things gets real desprit-
like. Old Jack feeds him, and looks after him ; an'
he's the only one as ken handle him. Last night,

IN THE WEALD 77

when he nosed that 'ere lantern, Jack said we must
stop, fur if he tried to get him away afore he'd con-
sidered matters over, he'd get wild-like, an' there'd be
a job. It waunt long he nosed it, but it was jest long
enuf fur the one we was almost on to to git clear off.
You see, there was a good many o' them 'ere lights,
an' they must 'a bin about the artfullest lot that ever
come about these 'ere parts, for we only seen one o'
they chaps. Harry, he picked up a gimcrack thing
o' a box with little owlets in it, with pins stuck through
'em. You may depend on it, that 'ere stuff on the
trees and them 'ere owlets on pins was to draw the
birds down arter they'd roosted, so as they culd pick
'em off with their hands. We be goin' there agin to-
night, an' if they comes, we're sure to hev 'em, fur
there'll be more on us at it*

Exit man, to the edification of the entomologist
I have known one instance where a zealous col-
lector 'supped sorrow' for having placed a white
sheet upon poles at a cross-road on the edge of the
woods. Opposite the sheet, on stakes, he had fixed
two very bright lanterns, with large reflectors. His
movements, as he dashed about here and there with
his net, to capture the insects that were naturally
attracted to the lit-up sheet, caused some strange
figures to be thrown on it, in what appeared truly

78 IN THE WEALD

magic style. Some travellers that way turned back,
and got home by another road ; and one individual I
knew, carried for some time a large horse-pistol with a
flint-lock. He told us ' she had got a double charge
in her.' It was a mercy * she ' never went off near
that entomologist, for the man had been so frightened
by the wild figures thrown on the sheet, that several
times in my hearing he spoke rashly, and declared
he would shoot the first thing that came in front of
him in the night-time. When the real truth became
known, the entomologist had to clear out of the
neighbourhood.

A blue sky without a cloud is overhead. All dis-
tant objects are shimmering in the heat, which appears
like a soft grey veil over everything. The fields and
trees, and the farms in the distance, look faint and
dim. In front is a long lane without a bend for more
than a mile, covered in for the greater part of the dis-
tance by the hedgerow growths. Not one house is
to be seen the whole length of it. We have already
passed through several very like this, but with more
houses showing. The bits of landscape we see
through the openings in the hedges, where the gates
are leading into the large fields, would be very beau-
tiful peeps to place on canvas. It is very quiet,
for the birds have done singing. Their young ones

IN THE WEALD 79

are out of the nest, and they have to look after them
now with the greatest care ; young birds have so
many foes that watch for them and kill them if the
chance offers. Though they do not sing, they are by
no means silent, for you can hear the calls of old
birds and the answers of the young. If several dif-
ferent species are about, this kind of conversation is
very animated. When there is a lull in the birds' con-
versation, you can hear the whispering rustle of the
wheat — you may not see it, but you can hear it —
whisper, whisper, rustle, rustle, rustle, as you pass
along. Now and then a lark soars up for a short
time, and drops into the wheat again, without attempt-
ing to sing. His second family of ' game-looking '
young ones are not far away from the spot where he
dropped down. The sweet scent of hay comes and
goes, as some slight current of air wafts it to and fro,
from meadows you are not able to see for the wild,
high lush-tangle of the stripes and the hedges. Huge
docks, burdocks, teazles, or, as they are called here,
kixes or kexes, hog-weed, and the so-called wild pas-
mut (parsnip), with many other plants, tower up high
above your head. As to the hawk-weeds, they blaze
out in magnificent clusters of orange and pale gold,
while purple thistle-blooms top and nod over all. If
you wish to see tangle in perfection, you will find it

8o IN THE WEALD

here. Great dragon-flies, green, orange, and blue, are
abundant. They rush to and fro, now high up, now
low down. These damp stripes are their hunting-
grounds, for their mixed prey is legion here. The
hum from their unseen wings sounds all around you,
above and below. The swallows that nestle about the
farm and the farm-buildings twitter as they dash
about where the hum of insect life sounds loudest.
That dreamy, sleepy hum from wings unseen, at times
penetrates the ear like a faint music of subtle har-
monies. Shrikes revel here, and scold in the most
violent manner, if they think you are getting near
their young ones. Jays have a decided taste for
hedge-life about this time, but missel-thrushes object
to their presence. Mice the jay kills and eats, but
the thrushes know that if they were out of the way,
he would have one of their speckled-breasted young
whom they are trying to teach how to get their living.
Occasionally you hear a low croak — this is the warning
of the nightingale for the young ones to keep close
cover. Butterflies flit in all directions, and the willow-
wrens and white-throats slip in and out as you pass
along, from the sallows that in places line the edges
of the green stripes.

You will not go very far before you pass over a
bridge, and that will be, as a rule, close to a farm — two

/A 777.fi- WEALD 8 1

miles away, it may be, but that is not considered any

distance in this district.

' How far am I from the next village ? ' I once

asked.

' You are close on it,' was the answer ; ' 'tis about
two miles, or a little over.'

From the top of the bridge to the bed of the
trickling stream below will be from ten to fifteen feet.

It is the natural channel that the water has cut for it-
self through layers of clay and slabstone. The marks
on the water-posts reach up nearly to the belly of a
cart-horse. This is the safe-distance mark. A white
bar projects for all to see, and when this is covered no
one attempts to put a horse through the stream.

It is very pleasant to look over one of these small
bridges of one arch only, in midsummer, and to watch
the trout shoot over a shallow, with hardly enough
water to cover his back-fins, into some hole beyond it.
But it is a different matter when summer has gone ;
for I have seen the bridges covered, and only the tops
of the white posts showing above water, and a rushing
torrent, both wide and deep, passing through the
woodlands, making the tops of the young trees bend
and sway with its force, and sending the kingfishers,
which are numerous here, and other shy things, close
to the roadside. I have seen kingfishers perched

G

82 IN THE WEALD

in strange places ; for although the bird gets his living
from the water, if he is not able to get the rest he
needs, he will drown. It is possible even to drown a
duck ; all birds must rest at times.

The fields and the water-meadows are very large,
acres on acres of hay, wheat, or root crops ; and when
these are not on the land, and the fields do not touch
on covers, permission is freely given to prospect about
in the study of wild life. What a grand sight it is to
see a mass of thunder-clouds top the ridges of the
South Downs, fifteen miles away, and sail over the
edge of the Weald ! There is no blue haze now in
the distance — that has been carried off by the current
of air that forces the clouds along. These gather
until they appear to rest in the very centre of the
Weald, over which we are walking. A glorious sight !
Huge clouds, mountains of them, pile upon pile, seem
to have their bases in the fields, and their crests above
you, ready to topple over. There is the great expanse
of the flat all around, with the hills that surround it in
the distance. The cloud-masses are a dark purple-
grey, with lurid tops of light buff. Here and there
you will see great ragged streaks of steely grey, that
show for a few moments and vanish again. This
weird light throws all things up in strange relief.
The distance is seen in detail ; as far as the eye can

IN THE WEALD 83

reach, you can see the general outline of things. The
bolder part of the clouds gets darker in colour, almost
inky, and the light edges are lit up with a brassy light.
It looks as if one were standing under a vast dark
dome, with the light coming down through a rent in
the top of it. As the air moves the corn, which is just
beginning to ripen, the golden-green ears show like
points of light as they bend down and spring up again.
The brush-willows sway for a moment, and are all in
a flutter, their pointed grey-green leaves quivering and
spinning. Then all is still, there is not a sound, not
a chirp. We walk into the yard of the manor farm
to see how this gathering of clouds will affect live
creatures. The swallows are all right, for you can see
them poke their heads out from their resting-places.
One that has its nest on a beam over our heads flits
down, and flutters the length of the shed and back
again, like some great long-winged moth, so gentle is
the bird's flight. This is merely to see if we come
with any ill intent. Being convinced in his bird-mind
that we are quite harmless, with the feeblest of twitters
he sinks down into his nest again ; for swallows use
their nests as resting-places when their young are on
the wing. Flocks of sparrows rush up with a whirr,
and dive into the holes in the thatch, from which
refuge we can hear them congratulating themselves

IN THE WEALD

that they have reached it in time. There is a ' chip,
chip, chip ! ' and a ' chissick, chissick, chissick ! ' from
the whole community, then they are silent. Geese
and ducks come from the pond, and squat down
underneath the waggons and carts below the shed
— their heads turned on to their backs, their bills
buried in the feathers. The poultry come filing
in silently — not a sound do they make — the hens
first and the roosters bringing up the rear, combs
lowered, hackles pressed close to the neck, and the
tail-feathers — the sickle-feathers usually held up so
jauntily — trailing their tips, in some instances touch-
ing the ground. One solitary guinea-fowl, that had
roamed away from its companions, comes rushing
across the yard screaming out its cry of ' Come back,
come back, come back ! ' The dog is curled up in
his kennel, and the cows are standing close together
under the cow-shed. Now all is silent, saving the
' pit, pit, pat ' of large heat-drops of rain. As we
look out, a flash of forked lightning shoots right
across the hollow of the closed dome. The thunder
follows instantly, with a crash that makes things
rattle. This continues for some time, then the rain
falls in a gentle^shower, the greatest boon for the
wheat. A breeze springs up, and the cloud-masses
break and drift. They are sailing away from us, and

IN THE WEALD 85

we have only had the beginning of it, for we can see
the rain descending like sheets of vapour. Leith
Hill and the hills that follow, on to Hind Head, stand
out in bold relief for a few moments, and then they
are blotted out.

The sun shines ; the drops of water on the leaves
of the great vine that runs up the side and over the
roof-slabs of the house, glitter like diamonds. A pair
of starlings fly up to the top of one of the chimneys,
and chatter in their quaint fashion, with quivering
bills and puffed -out feathers, about the change of
weather that came and went so quickly. The
sparrows have left their holes in the thatch, and gone
back to the spot they rushed from. The geese and
ducks waddle to the pond again, where they throw
the water over their backs, flap and splash with their
wings, and have a general trim-up. The roosters
stalk out, give themselves a shake, and there they are
in all their bravery — combs and tails up — followed
by the hens. They crow now. With a ' Come back ! '
the guinea-fowl darts across the yard to finish his
exploration in some hedgerow that the storm had
forced him to leave.

Swallows come out one by one ; presently they are
dashing about all over the place. The one that was
on the beam overhead dives down and out to join his

86 IN THE WEALD

mates. From the fields, where they have been sheltered
in the thick hedges, linnets, greenfinches, and yellow-
hammers fly up to branches of a dead ash, close to
the farm. They have much to say, for they chatter
and warble in the most pleasant manner ; and as you
listen you feel that life is a very pleasant thing after all.

The farms — some of which, the moated ones, have
at one time been gentlemen's houses — are very old-
fashioned, very solid, and very comfortable. The
great stone-paved kitchens, in past times the servants'
halls, are cool in summer and warm in winter. Well-
conditioned they are, surrounded by woods, fields, and
water ; and the waters are well stocked with fish, not
artificially. Mother Nature is most generous and wise
in all her works, and she does her own work here, as
it has been done from the beginning of all things,
perfectly.

The large cottages — they are called that now —
built on the same plan as the farms, were, we think,
at one time occupied by the headmen on the farms,,
the bailiffs of the gentlemen who lived in the large
houses. All the lower rooms of these cottages are
paved with flag-stones. This answered very well for
the generations for whom they were built ; but
these are gone, and their ideas with them. Most of
those stone floors now are covered with a matting of

IN THE WEALD 87

some kind, if the inhabitants can any way afford it.
Women now will not wear hob-nailed shoes, as they
did in past times. As one old lady observed to me,
' Flags is all werry well, but a boorded floor is a deal
comfortabler.'

I have roamed along those long green lanes in
summer-time, from sunset to early morning, listening
to the voices of the night. It is fresh then, the moist
stripes make the hot and dusty roads feel cool.
Sedge-warblers — not reed- wrens — chide and chatter.
If you throw a stick into the tangle they will carry
on at a rare rate. That swish of wings comes from
wild-fowl of some kind, but not wild ducks ; for they
are hiding in the water-tangle finishing their moult-
ing, getting rid of their old feathers. They will not
be able to fly well before the acorns fall. A clicker-
ing chatter is being carried on, like the chatter of an
owl when he talks to himself as he flaps along. It
comes from moor-hens settling some domestic ques-
tion in the pools where the rush-sheaves flourish.

That whirr, breaking out at intervals, something
like the run of a pike-line off the reel, proceeds from
the grasshopper-lark or grasshopper- warbler. ' Crake,
crake, crake, crake, crake ! ' comes from the land-rail,
or, as it is more frequently called, the corn-crake.
This is answered by another. They frequent the

IN THE WEALD

hay-fields more than other places. Most of their
food is procured there ; a certain amount of moisture
is necessary for their well-being, and this they find in
the meadow-lands.

The droning fchur' of the heave-jar comes on
the ear ; but you must go to a fern, fir, and heather
district to get its spinning-wheel music to perfection.
Oaks take the lead as woodland trees here. As a
rule, birds do not sing very often in the heat of
summer. As a rule, I say, for want of a better form
of expression ; for really in bird-life there are no
rules : they are affected by matters that do not
concern other creatures much. Birds do not, how-
ever, sing very often in the heat of summer ; yet one
bird is singing high up in the air above the trees.
We are not able to see him, but we can hear his
sweet, fleeting song. It is the wood-lark. This
country is the wood-lark's paradise, and the little
fellow's song rings out on the still night, and rings
again. Then there is silence for a time.

A shrill complaining bleat of a cry comes from
the road in front of us. A frog is in the grip of
some owl. The sooner it stops, the better I shall
like it, for the bird is eating the poor thing alive.
Owls are numerous here ; they flit about in all direc-
tions, like the bats. These farmhouses and the out-

IN THE WEALD 89

buildings are peculiarly adapted to all their require-
ments. A bell-turret or old pigeon-cote would be
' onnateral ' without its owls. The houses have their
own special pair of these birds, that usually sit in the
daytime in one of the lumber-rooms at the top of the
house, snoring and waking up, looking at each other
with one eye, to go to sleep again and snore.

I have never seen pole-traps set here to capture
the beautiful mouse-hunters. I hope that this may
never happen, though, as land even here has changed
owners, there is no saying what innovations may be
made. It is a pitiful sight to see one of these feathered
benefactors sitting with half-closed eyes, held by its
legs in a pole-trap. It makes one feel just for the
moment a strong inclination to hit out at some one,
and I have at different times given my opinion pretty
freely on the subject to those who ought to have
known better.

All those who live in the woods and fields — that
is, who get their living there — know very well what
creature or creatures do mischief. They will tell you
that rats and mice do most, and that owls make short
work with these. They begin to hunt before the sun
sets. You can tell the farms they come from, just off
the roads. One pair of owls will not poach on the
hunting-grounds of others ; each farm has its own

90 IN THE WEALD

lands, and its own owls to hunt over them. When
the farms are a mile and a half or, in some parts, two
miles apart, this owl question is very easily settled.
The brown owls and the long-eared owls (the title of
' long-eared ' being given them because some feathers
stick up above the rest) float round the farms ; the
long-eared species occasionally, the brown owl or
wood-owl frequently. If he clutches a young rabbit,
or, for that matter, a dozen, the farmer will have less
of these to nibble at his crops ; but this does not
take place so very often, for the simple reason that
the doe-rabbit is a most watchful mother. Now
and again one daring youngster does not heed
mother's warning drum, and then the brown owl
grips him. When he visits the farm, you must look
for him not in the rick-yards, but where the brook-
has been widened out into a shallow bay for the cattle
to drink at. If you do see him, it will be because he
is diving through the openings in the trees, or float-
ing over the tree-tops. Rats and mice come out to
drink at night, in fact they are night wanderers ; but
it is not always a rat or mouse the owl is after. He
wants 'a fish, and that fish is a trout. All drinking-
places for cattle are very productive of insect-life.
The trout know this, and make their way from under
the bridge, over the shallows. You can hear them

IN THE WEALD 91

scuttle over the stones, and so can the owl. Also
you can hear them feeding. They are not large, only
the usual brook size, that of a small herring. Either
in coming or going a pair of owls will have two or
three in the course of the night — that is, if all things
are favourable, for trout are capricious. They do not
feed in one place, or confine themselves to one course
of feeding. There is plenty and to spare, for the
nature of the waters they frequent prevents their
being captured. Great rifts run through woods,
covered in by thorns and briers. Try to wade down
such waters, and find out what the stoat-flies and the
midges will do for you. It is a very old proverb,
that those who use strong language catch no fish. If
you attempt to angle here, you will prove the truth
of that old proverb to a dead certainty. Sometimes,
when the farm lads know that a brown owl has
young, they will go and turn the cupboard out, as
they say, and a very interesting sight it is. If fish
are to be got, portions of it, or the whole fish, will
generally be found there, and the barn-owl keeps a
good larder. You are not able to find it very often,
but when you do, you will find something in it.

I have seen my own owls pack their surplus food
away in the most methodical manner. After I had fed
them up until they refused to take any more, then

92 IN THE WEALD

I have tossed half a dozen mice down in the room ;
and it was fun to see them poke and push and pat
to make them lie nicely, of course out of sight.

Both wind- and water-mills are in full force in
this district. The mills are like the farms they grind
for, very old. The water-mills, from their secluded
position, are naturally the places about which to look
for fowl or fish, the mill-ponds being large. You
may be in such places for a whole day, and the only
sounds you will hear will be the clack of the mill-
wheel, the cry of waterfowl, and the splash of fish.
One spot I know, that lies sheltered in a great
hollow or coombe, on the very edge of the forest,
which is very beautiful. A large old house, half
mill half farm, stands in the trees ; they are all
around it. In front is a large pool, reed and rush
fringed. Great masses of weed float on its calm, deep
waters. Coots, ducks, and dabchicks are going here
and there in all directions ; and as to kingfishers, this
spot has a local reputation for them. Other birds
come that are not often seen elsewhere, and animals
also. The place is very quiet, in fact out of the world,
in the full sense of the term ; the old house in the
trees, the hills above, and the pool in front mirroring
the beautiful surroundings. Summer is the time to
visit the Weald. When the fox barks, and the vixen

IN THE WEALD 93

answers him with a scream like that of a child in pain,
the country wears a different aspect, and the winds
are keen. At such times those long, green lanes are
not to be travelled over easily, yet I have been there
in summer and in winter ; and even when it was
snow-covered, I have found beauty in the Weald.

94

BRITISH REPTILES

I FEAR that this subject is not a favourite one with
the public generally ; but I must ask those who have
read my articles on wild life in its other shapes to
bear with me in this one, although at the first glance
the title may not seem attractive.

The fact is, few are acquainted with the real
nature of the beautiful creatures, as they really are,
divested of all technical ' scientism,' and apart from
those specimens preserved in spirits, with which all
are familiar. To know them properly one must
examine their haunts, where they find food, and bask
in the sun ; also the spots to which they retire when
cold weather sets in.

A straw hat, carefully manipulated with the thumb
and forefinger of my right hand, has been my very
easy method of capturing them, and, what is of vital
importance, without the least injury to myself or
them. Up to the present I have, fortunately, never
been bitten ; quickness and some slight nerve are

BRITISH REPTILES 95

all that are required in picking up a viper from two
feet to nearly three in length ; there must be no
bungling.

The common viper or adder, Pelias Berus, is the
•only poisonous reptile which is a native of this country.
The colouring of the creature, which changes according
to the locality it is found in, is, in fact, as variable as
that of the common brook-trout. But one unmis-
takable sign will single out the viper, namely, a row
of connected zig-zag markings down the back from
the head to the tail ; also, there is a well-defined,
V-shaped, dark mark about the centre of the head —
the viper's monogram. No matter what the size or
colour may be, the creature that has these markings is
a viper, and nothing else. The few accidents that do
take place — and they are very few indeed — are caused
by grown-up people, or children, picking flowers,
accidentally treading on them.

These accidents occur to those who are ignorant
of the creature's habits, and mostly when the primroses
and violets bloom ; for that is the time when the
vipers indolently sun themselves on the grassy banks
warmed by the sun. It is best to look round for a
few feet, before you stoop to gather your violets or
primroses, although, as a rule, the creatures will get
away if they can. They never attack wilfully, but

96 BRITISH REPTILES

when the hand touches them as they lie coiled up,
exactly the colour of the dead leaves, they strike,
naturally, in mere self-defence.

I have lived where these reptiles were very numer-
ous ; yet not one man, woman, or child, have I known
to get bitten, although the creatures were round about
in all directions. To have a large one coiled up
within a foot of you is quite close enough ; stand still
if you please — that is, if you are not prejudiced against
the whole family — and watch the creature. It is
coiled, and the neck thrown back over half the coils,
the pupils of the eye are exactly like those of a cat,
all ablaze, and the tongue plays in and out, ready for
instantaneous action. But finding that you do not
molest it, it slowly uncoils and slips away. I have
good reason to think that the vipers are very much
abroad in the hot nights of midsummer ; for I have
captured them crossing the roads, from the fields that
bordered them, very early in the morning, in fact at
sunrise. There they had been hunting for the large-
headed, short-tailed field-voles, which are quite as
large as any ordinary half-grown rat. I know this, for I
persuaded them by a very simple process to show me
what had caused their aldermanic girth. The voles
had only just been swallowed. The pupil of the
viper's eye when at rest shows as a dark vertical slit ;

BRITISH REPTILES 97

this indicates crepuscular habits — at least it appears
generally to do so.

' We're goin' to hev a middlin' spell o' hot weather
yet, I knows,' was the remark made by my woodland
companion, Waggle.

' How do you know that ? '

' Why, them 'ere crawlers is comin' from the hills
down inter the holler, fur tu git drink ; they bin comin'
fur this two days. I see 'em crossin' the road lots o'
times yesterday. Cuss them things ! they gives me
the creeps. You ain't never goin there, be ye ? You'll
come to mischief some o' these days over them var-
mints. I'm a comin' with ye, I ain't a' goin' tu back
out, after tellin' ye on it, not me. But I say, old
feller, if we does run up agin one, don't you hive him ;
that 'ere last hivin' job did fur me. Why, if anybody
had offered me fifty gold suvrins I culd'nt 'a done it'

We were walking down the dell track very
unconcernedly, and in an unobservant manner, when
my companion yelled :

' Look out ! * and from some red-brown fallen
bramble-leaves, over the toe of my shoe, shot the
largest viper I have ever seen.

' Cum back, I tell ye ! Damn the thing ! you ain't
a goin' tu tackle that ; its most natur'ly sure tu be the
death on ye, let go on it ! '

H

98 BRITISH REPTILES

I had caught it by the tail, and snatched it out of
some trailing branches, jerking it past his legs.

'Are ye goin' tu do fur me as well as yerself?
There he goes, hooray ! the varmint's gone.'

' Not quite ! ' I cry, as I crash through the brambles
and pin the viper behind the head. ' I am all right.
Come and have a look at it. It is a beauty.'

* Hev ye got it by the head or the tail ? If ye hev
got it by the tail, I shan't come.'

' I have it by the neck, with the body coiled round
my wrist.'

' Wun't believe it ! ' he shouts, as he dashes through
the underwood towards me. Then, with one look of
horror, calling out ' I'm off out o' this,' he vanished.

It was a splendid specimen, twenty-six inches in
length, very thick in the body, rich bronze-red in
colour, with black markings, and it had a bloom on
it like the bloom on a plum. When I reached the
road from the hollow, I found a group of the natives
waiting for me, Waggle among them ; and there I
gave them a practical lesson in natural history. Shift-
ing the viper from the right hand to the left, with a
grass stem I tickled the creature's nose ; this raised
its temper. To say that the mouth opened would not
be enough, for the upper and lower jaws fell wide
apart the two poison fangs erected, and the poison

BRITISH REPTILES 99

from the glands showing like very small dew-drops,
as it oozed down the grooved fangs. Also I showed
them the teeth behind, ready to take the place of the
first, if through accident these were broken. The
harmless but dreaded tongue was then examined, and
other matters gone through with, which I need not
detail here.

As I left them with my captive, I heard Waggle's
voice : ' If you tells me agin,' said he, ' as he didn't
catch that varmint fust by its tail and then by its
head, you'll hev to upend yerself (fight). I tell 'ee, I
see un do it.'

To settle the matter, I walked back and placed the
viper on the ground ; it coiled instantly. ' I will give
five shillings to the man who picks him up,' said I.

' Not fur five hundred,' cried they.

I held it before them. ' Ye wunt feel niffed like
when we meets ye, if we gives ye plenty o' elber-room,
mister,' was their comment on this last performance.

In the course of sixteen years' observations of the
reptiles in their own haunts, I have seen many varie-
ties of the same species, of all sizes and all shades of
colour. But one and all had the poison mark — the
zig-zag markings. The situations they live in are as
various as their shades of colouring. In the fir woods
we find them, on the commons, on the sand heaths, or

H 2

BRITISH REPTILES

stony ground well sprinkled with thorn scrubs and
trailing brambles. Such places are a paradise to them,
and they reach a large size there. In birds' nests in
the trees, where they coil themselves after eating the
young ones, in the water, and at times on the door-
flags of the cottages, they are seen ; and yet not one
person in a thousand ever gets bitten. Their food is
composed chiefly of mice ; the vipers hunt for the
little thieves in the most persistent manner. Small
birds, both old and young, frogs, and at times lizards,
they devour ; but young mice are delicious morsels for
them.

Humble-bees, the large and the small species, make
their nests in the mossy ground, and mice have their
homes in the same localities. The mice not only rob the
bees of their honey, but they kill and eat the bees
themselves. The vipers eat the mice, and so all things
work well.

Should anyone be so unfortunate as to be bitten,
if possible, let him go at once or send to a medical
man. If none be near, tie something tightly above
the part bitten, and press the punctures with the hollow
of a fair sized key, then rub the part bitten with olive
oil, until the doctor comes.

The poison is virulent enough to cause death in
small animals, in any creature the size of a small dog,

BRITISH REPTILES

for instance ; or to a weakly child it might prove fatal,
unless immediate measures were taken. Grown-up
people, unless their blood were in a bad state, would
suffer intense pain for a time, and probably have a fort-
night's illness afterwards. All those not well acquainted
with them I would advise to let them alone, and not
handle them, dead or living. If those who kill them
and leave them in the road, or paths, would crush the
heads of the creatures under their heels, crushing
them completely, they would be doing the public a
service ; for the poison is as active in its action after
the viper is dead, if a child should get pricked, as it
is when the creature is living.

Very beautiful but dangerous creatures, that are
always ready to get away if they can, they are ; and
much that has been written about them is mere non-
sense of the worst kind. Fortunately, the viper is
the only venomous reptile we have. When the cold
weather sets in, they lie up for the winter, under the
dry moss and heather-tangle of the heaths ; or in old
birds' nests, full of dead leaves, up trees, in faggots that
have been stacked, and at the bottoms of old posts
gone rotten.

This a friend of mine found out rather unpleasantly.
He had dug all round a decayed post preparatory to
placing a new one in its place. As he stooped down

BRITISH REPTILES

to put a cord round it, in order to lever it out of the
ground, he saw something move that he at first
thought was a dark ball of earth falling.

A second glance showed the ball to be a knot of
half-grown vipers, just beginning to uncoil and show
their heads.

' Hand me that hammer, will ye ? ' Thud. ' That's
done 'em ! '

It is still a vexed question, that of their power to
protect their young in time of danger by taking them
into their gullets. I have never seen the action ; others
have positively stated it to be a fact. They are not
so large as lobworms. The female has been seen
coiled up with her young on and around her; on
being disturbed, she threw herself straight out as a
stick, her mouth wide open, hissing loudly, and then
darted away. Although search as far as possible was
made about the spot where she had been coiled, and
where she straightened herself out, not one of the
young ones could be found. They are probably like
the young of some of the small waders, which conceal
themselves so well that you may walk over them with-
out seeing them.

All the instances of vipers that have come under
my notice have been unexpected ; and in the hurry
and confusion caused by the hissing and struggling of

BRITISH REPTILES 103

a furious reptile that one has almost trodden on, time
will be gained for the young ones to go somewhere.
The enraged mother has been killed ; but although, to
all appearance, her offspring seemed to go down her
throat, not one was found there when she was ex-
amined.

Now the question is, do the young ones glide
beneath her, and hide at once in the surroundings ?
Any small cracks in the sunburnt soil would be
sufficient for that purpose ; this I think may be the
case.

The young of vipers come into the world alive ;
and although at that time they are incapable of doing
harm, they will if you meet with them coil and strike
like the adults ; a decided case of hereditary spiteful-
ness on their part. No viper can strike more than
half its own length. The creatures are very useful
in their own domain, the wilds ; they were, doubtless,
created for use in these.

There is as much difference just before they cast
their old skins, and after they come out in their new
ones, as there is in a man who exchanges shabby
clothes for new ones. So very great is the difference,
that the people give different names to the same
creature. Great numbers are killed every year for
the sake of their fat, with which the rustics make

104 BRITISH REPTILES

theirjprecious adder-oil. Spring is the time for that ;
for, although the creatures have been in a semi-
torpid state all the winter, they are fat when they
crawl out to bask in the first warm sunshine.
You may readily know where the oil-getters have
been at work when you pass along, for there are
the headless bodies] of the vipers hung on the twigs
of the bushes that line the banks. No forester or
forester's child ever^leaves the head on a viper ; it is
cut off, as I said before, and ground into the earth
to prevent accidents. The oil is firmly believed by
them to have wonderful virtues, especially in the case
of a bite from the creature itself, but I think plain
olive oil would be quite as efficacious.

We will now pass on to a more pleasing and per-
fectly harmless member of the family, the common
grass snake, Coluber natrix. This handsome and
perfectly harmless creature, under favourable con-
ditions, reaches the large size of from five to six feet
in length — specimens of from three to four feet long
are very common ; the larger ones are found in waste
places near the woods, where gravel or brick earth
has been dug. The hollows, after the places have
been abandoned, get filled with water, and the rough
ground covered with wild tangle ; here their food
is in abundance — namely, frogs, mice, birds and

BRITISH REPTILES 105

their eggs, especially those of the latter that are
ground builders. One that was killed by two of our
foresters was six feet long, thick in proportion, and it
had a small wild rabbit in its inside. As these
secluded places are rarely visited, except by those
who, like myself, go to them for the express purpose
of watching the reptiles, they live in peace. Rough
rails are generally put round such places to prevent
the stock from getting into the deep pits of water,
where earth and gravel have been dug ; so that
nothing disturbs them. From these places the large
ones make long excursions, for purposes best known
to themselves ; the one that had swallowed the little
rabbit was killed a good mile from his moist haunts :
he had been seen for weeks going to and fro. On
my telling some natives that I would have given them
half-a-crown each if they could have told me where
he travelled, so that we could have caught him alive,
they stared in astonishment, and one of them said,
' Surely, goodness, ye wouldn't ha' bin such a goat as
to ha' tackled that, wud 'ee ? '

I replied by asking them what they had done
with it ; to which they answered they ' hed twisted
un roun' a stake an' showed it to their master, an'
then it was tossed away.'

It is a wonderful sight to see a large snake

106 BRITISH REPTILES

gliding in and among the branches of bushes and
trees. The perfect ease and rapidity with which they
will glide over the slender branches must be seen to
be properly understood.

At times they may be seen hanging head down-
wards ; and at the first glance you might think it
was a dead snake flung up in the branches, so
apparently lifeless does the creature hang, motionless.
It is all a sham ; it is only watching for some
dormouse or bird to come near. Break off one of
the long rush-stems close at hand, and touch the
nose of the snake ; it draws its body up in a flash,
and all you will see afterwards will be a shining
streak shooting through and over the branches and
twigs.

These creatures are frequently represented in
unnatural positions ; as, for instance, coiled round the
branches of trees. This is not correct ; they do at
times coil round objects for the purpose of conceal-
ment when pursued, or they fit themselves into the
angles of old masonry or brick-work in the most
surprising manner ; but when they travel over the
trees or bushes, they simply glide about like ani-
mated whip-lashes. Some consider reptiles, the snake
family especially, to belong to the lowest order of
created beings ; but this is not the case, and their

BRITISH REPTILES 107

structure shows that they are highly fitted for the
place they hold in creation. As geological research
tells us, all creatures now living on the face of the
earth and in the waters, both salt and fresh, are
really the dwarfed forms of mighty creatures that
held sway on the earth and waters before man left
any record. Tropical countries — South America for
one — have huge serpents still ; but even these would
look small beside the monster forms that have passed
away — all we have being their skeletons or portions
of them, that have been kept for ages, safe in the
keeping of Mother Earth.

The general colour of the common snake is grey-
green, more or less bright, dotted with black spots.
At the back of the head is a yellow mark, bordered
with black ; the under parts are generally yellow,
marked with black. If this is borne in mind, it is
easy to distinguish the snake from the viper at a
glance.

Although as harmless, so far as human beings are
concerned, as a worm, the snake will show fight, and
coil, like its dangerous relative the viper. But it is
all show ; it begins and ends there. Many times
have I surprised one in the open, and held my hand
down for it to strike at. Its blow is only like having
a gentle tap with a button. The snake does not open

io8 BRITISH REPTILES

its mouth when it strikes ; the tip of the muzzle only
touches the hand.

One fine specimen, perfectly tame, that I had
when I was in the forest lands, would rest perfectly
contented hanging round my bare neck for hours as
I worked, to the horror and wonder of the rustics who
were about there.

At times it would examine my face with its tongue
in all directions, making a most minute inspection
of it

Three or four men who were near me once chanced
to see this. From a respectable distance they told
me that they believed that I had 'dealings with
familiar spirits an' old Cocky- Hoop,' their name for
his Satanic Majesty. This opinion of me altered
before I left the district ; but if I visit them now, as
I do at times, before they shake hands with me the
old question is asked : ' Ain't got any on 'em 'bout ye
now, hev ye ? '

I have, in the course of my lifetime, kept them all ;
but that is a true old saying, ' A place for everything
and everything in its place,' and a well-kept and well-
ordered house is not the place to keep reptiles in.
The line must be drawn somewhere, and the lady of
my house draws the line tightly at snakes. Yet, if
the general public knew the real nature of the

BRITISH REPTILES 109

creatures, I feel sure folks would look with interest
on the very beings they have turned away from before
with feelings of disgust.

The smooth snake, the Coronella, feeds on lizards,
small snakes, and slow-worms, the deaf adders of the
rustic population. This is our miniature Ophiophagus,
or snake-eater. It is harmless ; in this respect differ-
ing from the large and deadly Hamadryad, which is
really a monstrous snake-eating cobra found in South-
eastern Asia. The coronella will bite, but there is
nothing to fear from that. This creature is much
smaller than a common snake ; it has a smooth look
that the other has not ; there are other distinctions
difficult to make plain]} on paper. They have had
specimens of it in the reptile house at the Zoological
Gardens, where the difference between the two can
be easily seen.

The snake is local in its habitat ; up to the present
time, Dorsetshire and Hampshire are the two counties
where it may be procured. Dorsetshire I am not
able to say anything about, but of Hampshire I can
speak.

The blind-worm, or slow- worm, Anguis fragilis, is
not a snake ; it really belongs to the lizard tribe. If
ever a poor innocent creature has been persecuted,
this one has ; and, simply for untold benefits con-

BRITISH REPTILES

ferred on man by the beautiful, harmless being, he,
as a rule, has crushed it to death whenever he has
seen it. Slugs, caterpillars, and other pests are the
food of the slow-worm. Not even the viper is held
in such abhorrence by them as the innocent slow-
worm.

If I have not been near enough to pick it up and
put it in my pocket, when, in the company of country
friends, I have seen one lying on the road, no mercy
has been shown ; crunch has gone the heel of a heavy
boot, and it was done for. If I have been able to
save the harmless creature in the way mentioned, I
have had all the road to myself afterwards, with the
echo of various opinions on my conduct in general,
couched in the most forcible language they were
capable of using, sounding in my ears.

I have seen fine specimens of this really legless
lizard. Their colour varies from a warm grey to a light
bronze.

The title of blind-worm is wrong all ways, for the
creature has very bright eyes, and also eye-lids. It
is so very smooth you might easily pass it by, taking
it for the broken handle of some old red-glazed tea-
pot, as it lies curled on the ground.

I sincerely trust that the poor creature will not
be persecuted as it has been. So far as my own

BRITISH REPTILES

influence in the matter goes, in some instances I have
been successful in persuading a few to spare it ; but
only some, not all, for the prejudices of tradition are
not easily put aside.

The handsome sand-lizard, Lacerta agilis, comes
next ; this is larger than the common heath-lizard,
which is below on our list. Its general colour is a
sandy brown, clouded with a darker brown, having
rows of black spots with a white dot in the centre ;
but in this species, as in those others we have de-
scribed, the colour varies greatly, according to season
and locality. Some are so green in tone that they
have been taken for the green Jersey lizard, which
has never been found in England ; it is not indigenous,
at least This is also local to some extent ; but dry
heaths and grass-covered banks, bordering the sandy
tracts, are not the only places to look for it, for we
have seen it basking close to the edge of a salt marsh
beside the tide, in the sweltering marsh-harvest times
of past years.

The green, or Jersey lizard has been imported
and turned loose in suitable localities by a gentleman
living near Dorking. But the creatures have not
prospered — they gradually dwindled away. Solitary
specimens have been seen and killed, not captured.
From this circumstance the report spread that the

BRITISH REPTILES

green lizard had recently been discovered to be a
native of the southern part of England. This is how
energetic compilers make stock.

I have seen golden-green lizards, sports or varieties
of the sand-lizard ; but it must be remembered that
there are many shades of green. The green lizard
proper is a large distinct species, and not a native of
any part of England.

I have given the scientific titles of the creatures in
this article in order that there may not be the least
trouble in identifying them in any scientific collec-
tion. Recently it has been the fashion to find and
describe fresh species, so called, and this has created
confusion ; varieties, or sports of nature, are not
species, although some very erroneous so-called new
ones have been formed from them in books.

Those whose business leads them to pass their
lives in London and other centres of commercial life
have, as a rule, little time for studying natural life, if
they have the wish to do so. To these the magnificent
collections of natural history now scattered about
the country, broad-cast we might almost say, must be
a boon indeed.

The common lizard, heath-lizard, or nimble lizard,
Zootoca vivipara.) is very common, as one of its titles
plainly denotes. Its general tone of colouring is a

BRITISH REPTILES 113

golden brown of various shades — all this depends
on season — dotted over with dark spots. Some of
these I have seen were like gold bronze. One of my
young friends, who, I fear, gives me credit for knowing
far more than I do, raps at the door at all times, day
and night, up to ten o'clock p.m., to show me his
captures, and also to ask me to tell him what they
are. One day he brought a fine heath-lizard, telling
me in the most matter-of-fact manner that he was
going to tame it. The boy did tame it, and at
his earnest request I went to see his nimble little pet ;
he had it on his hand out of doors as well as when
at home. I have often seen and admired it since.
It caught its own food with wonderful quickness,
indoors and out, to the admiration of all who saw
it, but the back of the boy's hand was the little
creature's favourite resting place. It was killed by
accident, the almost universal fate of unusual pets.

The young of the common heath-lizard are pro-
duced alive ; so are the young of the slow- worm.
The sand-lizard lays its eggs in the sand, where
the sun's rays hatch them out. This is one of the
mysteries that make useless all conjecture why crea-
tures so closely allied should produce their young in
different ways. Take, for instance, the first two
reptiles described in this article, the viper and the

I

H4 BRITISH REPTILES

snake ; the young of the first come into the world
very much alive, the second deposits a long chain of
eggs in some heap of decayed vegetable matter, and
these are hatched out by the heat generated there.
The reason for this difference we really know nothing
about.

The common frog, Rana aquatica, we have seen
in great variety, of all shades and all sizes, in the
water and out of it, near to water, and again a long
way from it.

As there are all kinds and conditions of men,
so there are all sorts of frogs ; even in common frogs
there is as much difference as there is in common
humanity. Lean frogs we find, also plump frogs,
dirty frogs, and bright handsome frogs ; weather
affects them greatly, in the same way that it does
some of us at times. I remember when the frog
family had a rough time of it at the hands of
all school-boys ; but that is a thing of the past, at
least, I hope so. He is very much appreciated
by animals, birds, fish, and reptiles, so that his race
need be a numerous one. Man himself pays him
some attention, for he eats his hind legs as a choice
morsel. The edible frog proper, which we shall
notice presently, does not always supply the spring-
chicken flavoured hind-quarters.

BRITISH REPTILES 115

It is a most amusing sight to see a lot of domestic
ducks hunting for frogs in the shallow pools, before
these actually emerge from the mud where they have
buried themselves all the winter. As the water gets
warmed by the sun, they gradually work up to the
top until only a very thin layer of mud is above them,
a mere crust in fact. The ducks know all about
this ; they swim in the shallow water, rake the frogs
out with their paddles, and nip them as they try
to escape. The quantity of embalmed frog I have
seen them waddle off with has been something
surprising.

The edible frog, Rana esculenta, is now a native of
this country, but whether it has always been native to
our island, or if it was introduced from the Continent
in past times by the monks, I am not able to say.
One thing is certain, he is to be found in one of the
Cambridgeshire fens ; at least, he was found there
recently. This frog is a valuable creature as a food-
supply ; but it will be some time, I fear, in this
country, before it is seen on the tables of the public
at large. For many years I have known that the
hind legs of our common frog were eaten in some
counties ; but this may have been by people who had
lived on the Continent, or who were immigrants into
those counties.

I 2

ii6 BRITISH REPTILES

Of the changes from the tadpole into the perfect
frog I do not intend to write ; there are very few
people who have not seen that for themselves.

Our common toad, Bufo vulgaris, reaches a large
size, and I have seen some specimens lately that must
be the giants of their race. The toad and the frog
are great helps in destroying insect life, whether it
be flying, running, or crawling, the toad especially.

If one is killed after he has been out for a
night's hunting, the quantity and variety found in the
creature's stomach will be something to wonder at.
Bees are a special delicacy to him, and bee-keepers
show scant mercy if they find the toad near their
hives. In looking over some beautiful and very
accurate drawings executed by a Japanese artist, I
noticed one drawing particularly, which represented a
couple of toads as bee-catching. If they keep from
bee-stealing all is well, as they are most useful in a
garden for clearing off insect pests, but their presence
near bee-hives is not desirable.

The creature can be made very familiar, and it
certainly has the bump of locality very fully developed.
One that'livedin my wife's flower borders used to come
out in the evening to the front door-step, and have a
look at us. After a time, thinking some one might
open the gate in the dusk and crush him as he was

BRITISH REPTILES 117

walking about, I moved him out on to the common.
The next evening he was inside the garden plot as
usual. Once more I carried him away, and this time
to a much longer distance. He found his way back
again, however, and after that he remained with us as
long as he pleased. If toads make up their minds that
they like a place, they will stop there, unless you kill
them, and I certainly could not do that. In most
gardens now, you will see toads in the melon and
cucumber pits, and in the houses where grapes are
grown, for one of the gardener's best friends is our
common toad.

The natterjack toad, Bufo calamtta, may be dis-
tinguished from the common toad by a bright buff
line down the middle of its back. It is more active
in its movements than its far more common relative,
also more local in its distribution. In other respects
it resembles its common representative.

The newts, or, as they are called in the country,
efts, and far more frequently effuts, will close the list
of our British reptiles. The great water-newt, Triton
cristatus, is, as its title implies, the largest member of
this family, and the handsomest. Its length is from
six to seven and sometimes eight inches. In the
breeding season the male is dark yellow-brown in
colour, with dark roundish spots ; the under parts are

ii8 BRITISH REPTILES

deep orange, spotted with black. The sides are dotted
with white, and the sides of the tail are of pearl white.
A deep-notched crest is on the creature's back, in-
dented like a cock's comb ; this, as the creature floats
near the surface of the water, with all its legs spread
out, is a conspicuous ornament. It is a voracious
creature, feeding on tadpoles, small frogs just after
they have ceased to be tadpoles, also on worms ; a
worm it is impossible for him to resist.

' I say, Mister, do ye want any o' them 'ere fin-
backed effuts, big uns ? ' was the question addressed
to me from a couple of woodland youngsters, attired
in suits of clothing very much out of repair, ' 'cos if
ye do, jest cum along o' us down tu old Bitter's hoss-
pond, in the medder ; we'll pull ye out some quick.'

As the invitation from the youngsters to invest in
effuts was so heartily given, I accepted it. The pro-
spect on their part of a small silver coin closing the
performance of fishing for effuts, may have had a little
to do with their readiness to oblige.

On reaching ' old Bitter's hoss-pond,' the proceed-
ings were of the simplest kind. Each lad cut a long
slight rod from the sallow-bushes, tied a piece of stout
thread to it, and then to the end of the thread they
tied a worm by the middle. As the large specimens
showed in the clear water, the worm was dropped

BRITISH REPTILES 119

down in front of these. They at once fixed on to it
like a bull-dog, and so were jerked out on the grass.
As I stooped down to pick the first one up, a very
fine one, alarmed shouts proceeded from the pair of
shavelings.

' Doan't touch un, fur marcy sake, afore we settle
un fur 'ee ; whativer they bites swells till it busts.'

It was not the least use reasoning, it was only time
wasted ; not even the sixpence given them quieted
their fears on my behalf. ' Sumthin' wud cum on it,
sum time or other,' they said.

The children reasoned, although not correctly,
from inferences drawn from their own observations
made in the forest. ' Now look here, Mister, afore
you gits pisined. They must be rank pisin, fur their
bellies is 'zactly the same colour as them 'ere mush-
eroon things what grows under the fir trees, an'
they'll settle ye.'

The newt we have described leaves the water and
hides on land, as well as under the mud of the ponds
it frequents. After the breeding season is over it is a
very different creature. Its crest is gone, and all its
bright colours have faded to dingy shades, so that it
does not look like the same reptile. The common
smooth newt, Lissotriton punctatus, is to be found
almost everywhere, if the water is clear. It is preyed

BRITISH REPTILES

on by its relative, the great water-newt, and by fish.
This newt varies much in colour ; the general tone is
brown-grey above, bright orange below, marked all
over with dark spots, and the crest is very often tipped
with red.

There have been two more kinds of newts figured
and described in works on reptiles. Whether they
are species, or varieties, is of little consequence. I
have seen so many strange changes, influenced by
season and locality, in the creatures I have briefly,
and I trust plainly, described from the life. But after
long study, I should still hesitate before I gave my
opinion from any scientific point of view. I could
have given the dry technical details of all those I have
written about, but have not done so, lest my usually
indulgent readers should skip the article ; what I
have written, however, has been from personal know-
ledge of facts that are beyond dispute.

In conclusion, I must say a few words about the
real use of the creatures. The stronghold of reptile
life in the country, as in other lands, has been the
swamps and wastes. The fens and marshes have re-
cently almost passed away ; fertile corn-fields having
taken the place of sedges and reeds. In the hot, reek-
ing fen and marsh-land summers of my younger days,
snakes and vipers swarmed. When the frogs spawned,

BRITISH REPTILES

.and the snakes left the sedge-beds to come into the
dykes to feed on them, it was a sight beyond the
belief of all inland dwellers. There the snakes were
in numbers. They did not have all their own way in
the matter, moreover, for birds of prey fed upon them
in -their turn. Kites, the forked-tailed kites, harriers,
hooded crows, those that remained to breed with the
carrion crows ; herons and bitterns came also ; but
the frogs formed the principal food for all the others
that had their homes in such places — otters, polecats,
stoats, weasels, spoonbills, nearly all the duck tribe
capable of swallowing them, besides the fish, pike,
perch, and eels.

It is all very well to state that such and such
authorities give certain lists of creatures as the food
of others. Most of this is sheer humbug ; only those
who have lived with the creatures in their haunts,
crawled like the reptiles around them, waded in foul
marsh-water up to the neck, and got the deadly
marsh fever through it, know really much about that.

I have seen a duck knock and bang about a small
reptile in a most determined manner, and then swallow
it down like a worm, after it had been quite disabled.
No reptile from ten inches to twelve inches is any
trouble to a duck, after it has been killed and flattened
• out by being rapidly passed through the birds serrated

BRITISH REPTILES

mandibles. In this manner, in past years, the so-called
balance of nature was kept up — one creature formed
the food of another. Those creatures even that were
most loathsome — or at least so some of them would be
considered — were actually necessary, through their
destruction of other creatures, to make those ague and
fever-stricken districts habitable for human beings.
When the reptiles ceased to be, the creatures that
had fed on them were seen no more, which speaks for
itself. Independently of this, another cause at times
cleared those reptile-haunted flats, for, when at un-
usually high tides and in rough weather the salt water
broke the banks and drowned the flats with a salt
flood, ' it pickled 'em/ as the marsh folks said. If
the creatures that preyed on the reptiles had not
been wantonly killed off in the southern counties,
the latter would not be so numerous as they now are
in some districts that I visit.

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MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

' I WAS looking out for you to pass ; come in and see
what I have to show you.'

So spake one of my friends. Going to an out-
house, he brought from it a fine dog otter, dead, of
course. ' Look him over at your leisure,' added he.
This I at once proceeded to do, with mixed feelings
of pleasure and regret ; glad to be able to examine
once more, minutely, one of the most perfect of
animal mechanisms ever fashioned by the great
Creator, but grieved that this brave, beautiful creature
should have been shot.

I may as well at once state that my opportunities
for studying the otter have been few and far between.
I have, perhaps, only seen the animal five times in
the whole course of my life, fully and properly that
is, though I have been looking out for him for over
forty years. But I can assure my readers that these
opportunities have been made the very most of.
A born naturalist is always on the alert. A few

124 MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

disjointed remarks heard casually, a sign noted here
or there in the creature's haunts, are all that is needed
to bring one as quickly as circumstances will allow to
the spot. No matter if it be night or day ; if the
animal is there he will see it Short though the
glance may be, quick eyes see and gather much, and
one comes away well content, even though one has
been bogged up to the knees, and bitten to such an
extent by poisonous little midges that the eyes are
puffed up and the tip of one's nose feels as if a small
strawberry were fixed on it. These are trifles ; the
main thing is, a man has seen what ' he went out
for to see.'

As I have said before, all wild creatures will, if
permitted, draw near to man and the roads that lead
to his dwellings. The otter is not an exception to
this rule. When he has been domesticated, he
requires a large amount of liberty. Those that have
been best kept have shared the kennel with sporting
dogs. They knew their own place in it and could
keep it well, and there they have been strong and
glossy of fur. Otters vary very much in size and
colour, some being comparatively light in fur, others
darker. Affectionate and intelligent by nature, they
will attach themselves to man when well treated, and
will gambol round him like kittens. You must not,

MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

however, touch the head of any otter that is domesti-
cated. There have been exceptions to this, but it
is a wise precaution to observe. Animals have their
little whims, like ourselves.

To return to my friend and his dead otter. I
have the latter at my feet, and there place him in one
of his favourite attitudes, that of floating calmly with
the current down some stream, or over the sharply
running river-shallows. Head, body, and the long,
powerful tail are in a straight line, his body flattened
out, so that his webbed feet act like four short oars.
This is a characteristic position, but life is wanting.
A while ago his grey-brown fur glistened in the light,
falling in so closely with the shadows under the
banks and the wet mud of the river-side, that he
looked more like a wraith or water-shadow than the
strong, active creature he really was.

As I look at him some old memories come up,
and I am young once more, standing on the sloping
boards of an old weir. The leaves are falling in
showers, like faded flowers blown all about, for it is
November.

A white hoar-frost is on the weir boards and on
the grass in the meadows, but that does not prevent
me from plunging into ten feet of water so as to swim
underneath the overhanging bank in search of the

126 MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

curious seal that those partially webbed feet have left
behind on the soft sand and mud. I would plunge in
there again if I had the chance. I do not feel too
old for that yet, but the place he still frequents has
changed owners, and all do not enter into the spirit of
practical natural history.

Here is another haunt of the otter — a reach of
sluggish river-water flowing through meadows that
are almost level with the river itself. On one side are
high banks, copse growth, and fine old trees : some of
these have fallen. On their grey trunks the yaffle
shins about, yells, laughs, and yikes to his heart's
content. Now and again he pokes his head over the
side of a limb as he clings to the bark, makes a dive
off to the next tree, taps, and peeps again. Here, also,
come the greater and lesser spotted woodpeckers to
play their side-drum solos in their playing time.
Here, too, in their season, great masses of cream-
coloured meadow-sweet spring from the lush-grass,
small thickets of it scenting the air far and wide with
their fragance. Mingled with these are clumps of
purple loosestrife ; the warm brown stems of the
meadow-sweet and its rich creamy blossoms har-
monising well with the rich colouring of the loose-
strife and the golden-green grass. In spring the lilac
spots of the cuckoo-flower — the lady's smock — are in

MORE ABOUT THE OTTER 127

patches at intervals ; great rushes, yellow king-cups,
and irises too.

This is the home of the moor-hen, but not of the
otter, only his haunt. All amphibious animals seek
the land, either to rear their young or for the purpose
of procuring food. If their mode of life compels them
to be in or on the water, or paddling about the mar-
gins, it is imperatively necessary that they should
have warm and dry sleeping and resting places. Very
adverse circumstances will drown the otter, the water-
rat, and that little diver the dabchick, if they do not
clear out in time. When I have threshed the branches
of a low oak with my ash staff, to find out what crea-
tures had sought shelter there, I have known water-
rats plunge from boughs seven or eight feet above my
head into the water below. At times they are flooded
out like ourselves ; yet they must live, and it is a
matter for constant wonder, the way they can adapt
themselves to circumstances.

Our otter is an adept at this. I have been by the
river-side all the morning without having my float
once moved. That does not trouble me, for plenty of
busy life is to be seen in this particular spot. Birds
and insects are enjoying themselves to the full. Pre-
sently the cause of the fish not biting is explained.
As my eyes rest on the far side of the water, I note

128 MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

what looks at first sight like a bit of the low bank
crumbling before falling into the water. A second look
tells me, however, that it is something different ; earth
falls down into the water, whereas this supposed clod of
earth has tumbled up so to speak, on to the meadow.
So closely did his fur fall in with the tone of the bank
that if he had remained there stretched out he would
certainly have escaped notice. He is only a very few
moments in sight and, as is too often the case when
something worth seeing is to the front, I have left my
glasses at home. An instinctive dive of the hands to
both pockets, and words are muttered that would not
look pretty in print. Light flashes from his fur catch
my eye as he moves through the meadow in a direc-
tion that is very familiar to me ; then I lose sight of
him. He is making for a faggot-stack belonging to
one of the cottagers on the estate — one whose cottage
is unpleasantly near the river at flood times. The
stacks of faggots and cord-wood, as a rule, are at
some distance from the dwellings. Cord-wood is the
smaller limbs of oak, the lop and top of the branches
when the trees are felled. The largest pieces are
placed on the ground crossways ; on these the faggots
are laid lengthways, and upon this foundation the
stack is built. Then it is very roughly thatched with
spray stuff. Air can get through it and it is soon

MORE ABOUT THE OTTER 129

in first-rate condition for burning, being strong and
clean.

When flooded out of his home last winter, driven
by the swirling torrent, he was making his way to the
copse, saw the stack was high and dry, and went under
it to find one or two rabbits comfortably settled there,
snug and warm. As he does not feed on fish alone,
he killed the rabbits, and so provided food for himself
to last a considerable time. Cottagers rarely keep
dogs ; in fact, they are not allowed to do so on large
estates unless they are shepherds. So no dog was
there to whine and scratch round about our otter's
hold. The spot is away from the game-covers, too,
so he is safe — a fact the intelligent old fellow is per-
fectly well aware of. Only those who have a real
regard for wild creatures will find him out, and they
can be very safely relied on for not speaking about
him to those who would do him harm.

All manner of excuses, more or less plausible, are
made for killing the few wild animals that are left to
us. The otter and his relative the badger, ' gallant
beasts ' as they have been called by those who are
most intimately acquainted with them, can never be
classed among vermin. The poor creatures are simply
trapped or shot to be set up in glass cases. * He
has just been killed, been got out of the drain ; here

K

130 MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

you can look him over quick ; master says I've got
to put him in a basket and to send him off for stuff-
ing.' Before the local boards for sanitary measures
existed, gentlemen's houses near the river had large
drains leading from the kitchen buildings, the brewery
included — and, like old Simon the Cellarer, many
were brewing all the year round — down to the river.
These drains only led from the offices mentioned.
As nearly all of them were three feet in circumfer-
ence, having a good fall, they were always clean ; in
fact, it would have been difficult for small matters to
have stopped there. Refuse food from dish-washing
was continually coming down into the river ; this the
fish found out, and consequently they were wont to
gather there in numbers — good-sized ones. The otter
found the fish out at the drain mouth ; and when the
river was low he ventured up the drain. It was warm
there, and, moreover, a lot of plump frogs regaled
themselves in it. After sampling a few of these he
ventured further, until he saw daylight. Places were
not barred up in those days as they are now. He
just poked his head out, then turned round and
scuttled down the drain into the river, much faster
than he went up. One day he went up and did not
return. A fowl or two had been missed — these
creatures have a habit of gallivanting ''round such

MORE ABOUT THE OTTER 131

places. Our otter was shot in the very act of secur-
ing a bird for himself.

This sort of thing he is guilty of now and again,
not often ; he is driven to it by force of circum-
stances, for which due allowance ought to be made.
No such thing as an unmixed blessing has come under
my notice as yet ; and that the otter is in his proper
sphere and beneficial to the waters he frequents, I have
not the least doubt. Of course, I am not writing
from the trout-preserver's point of view, but simply as
a naturalist.

Various local arrangements, and I believe notably
the food supply, affect the variety in the colour of the
otter's fur. Some, I am aware, hardly agree with
me as to this. It is a very easy matter for him to
get a rabbit at certain seasons. I have drifted down
a narrow woodland river, with high banks on either
side, in hard, frosty weather, when a fringe of ragged
ice was hanging to the edge of the shore, and seen the
rabbits sitting close to the edge half asleep. They
did not move, although I was not more than two
yards away from them. Nothing more easy than for
the otter to glide down the bank right down on to the
rabbit and to grip him. There is no reasoning with
an empty stomach. The moor-hen at such times
clucks and paddles a few yards away from the water's

1 32 MORE ABOUT THE OTTER

edge, picks at a bit of dead sedge just out of the
water, flirts up her tail, clucks, and is returning to the
bank again. She never reaches it, for she goes under
the water most mysteriously — seized, in fact, from
below by the otter.

Babbits and rats tunnel through the river banks,
right down to the edge of the water ; and rabbits can
well be spared for the otter when he needs them.
That is my opinion of the matter at least.

One more sketch of our friend before leaving him.
I am standing idly by the side of a deep and narrow
lagoon, formed by a river flowing up over a water
meadow. A narrow inlet direct from the river sup-
plied this bit of deep water. Three feet at the most
in width the inlet is. At one end of this small lagoon
water-lilies and bullrushes flourish luxuriantly. Good
pike and eels are known to have their home here, but
for some reason or other I have always failed to catch
one. All at once, as I stand there, one of the lily-
leaves dips under the water. I fancy a water-rat has
gone over it ; but other leaves follow, the long stems
writhe and sway to and fro, and the yellow flowers
dip and nod. Something invisible causes a splashing
on the surface ; then a moor-hen squatters up, and runs
over the meadows, clucking loudly, evidently flustered
by the commotion below. The leaves are agitated

MORE ABOUT THE OTTER 133

more violently than before, and a rippling furrow, low
down, shoots towards the narrow inlet. The furrow
breaks, up shoots the head of a pike, and beneath it
a brown head shows, fast gripped on to the other. All
is done much more quickly than I can write it

As I walked away I heard a shot, and, passing on
the opposite bank, was hailed by a man of my ac-
quaintance, who shouted to me that he ' had got him.'
By the tail he held the otter. Its love for pike had
cost the brave creature its life.

134

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

No animal has had more enemies, perhaps, amongst
all sections of society, than the common brown rat.
Farmers, gamekeepers, sportsmen, ratcatchers, sol-
diers, sailors, and sewermen, and last, but by no
means least, our household cooks — all have their
grievance with regard to him, and he suffers under
their undying persecution.

Here he is, however, and like the typical Jew he
seems to flourish in spite of all, and to be about as
universally distributed. The hand of every man,
woman, and child is against him, and added to these
he has his natural enemies in his own animal world,
who, if man would only leave them to their appointed
task of thinning the ranks of these depredators, would
do it to perfection. Unfortunately, man supposes
himself to be a wiser orderer of creation than He who
called all creatures into being, and so the balance of
nature has been upset.

A strange mixture of courage, caution, audacity,

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS 135

and perseverance ; all these qualities being brought
into play by him as the moment demands. I have
never yet seen either a poorly conditioned rat or a
lean sparrow ; both these creatures have the wisdom
and the pluck to attach themselves closely to man
and his fortunes. The rat is so intelligent, too, that
were it not for that unlucky long tail of his, he would
be made a domestic pet of more frequently than he is.
That very useful appendage tells against him, however.
One thing can certainly be said in his favour, and
that is, that he acts, with a host of other creatures,
some of them equally depised with himself, the part o f
scavenger. A first-class scavenger, also, he is, and a
good swimmer ; he can climb, too, anywhere. I like
to see him best out in the country, to which he
resorts — as the favoured classes of townsfolk do — in
the latter part of the summer. Hosts of rats quit the
towns and villages for an annual holiday at that time,
coming back when their season is over to the parts
more inhabited by humans. All who go do not
return, for, being most expert and confirmed egg and
chicken stealers, they receive no mercy at the hands
of the rustics. The very choicest products of the
country they have a knack of appropriating. In the
course of a recent twelve miles walk my way led
down a hillside, on the outskirts of some covers.

I36 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

There were only a few thorn trees growing there*
with now and again a clump or two of furze, some
thin ash trees, and low tangle. As I find it a good
rule never to get over a stile before making sure
what is on the other side, I looked over and saw
two magpies at work, before their keen eyes had dis-
covered me. They ranged that hill from top to
bottom, one flying over and the other keeping watery
alternating in these duties. The thorns and furze
clumps were minutely inspected ; with their nimble
movements it did not take long to range the hillside.
A magpie will kill a half-grown rat if he has the
chance, a creature that would do infinitely more
mischief than himself. I have known a rat or rats
take a dozen eggs from a wild duck's nest and bury
them in the soft, peaty bottom of a moorland runnel,
close to the nest. I traced the whole proceeding, and
dug the eggs out with my fingers. They were
deposited at distances ranging from a foot up to
eighteen inches apart. The work had been done in
the most skilful manner, for the down that had covered
the eggs so beautifully in the nest remained undis-
turbed. There was a faint trace where the eggs had
been pushed forward by the creature's breast up to the
edge of the runnel, and there were the prints of feet
in the soft peaty soil. The arrangement of the eggs

SMALL DEER-OUR RODENTS 137

had been accomplished after the whole had been
taken. A cruel foe to young water-fowl is the rat ;
a far more formidable one than any not familiar with
his ways could imagine. I have seen him stalk the
birds through the herbage like a cat would ; whether
his quarry is in the water or out it matters not to so
accomplished a swimmer and diver.

If there happens to be a kennel of sporting dogs
kept near their country haunts, all the rats for miles
round will congregate there to share the food of the
dogs. Their impudence is amazing ; they seem to fear
neither ferrets, terriers, nor traps, and the cry is ' still
they come.' Heartily cursed by all, they thrive more
and more.

The rat certainly provides sport for boys and
men ; it is curious how if the former are seen making
for certain localities, with terriers at heel, men are sure
to follow ; and when the fun grows warm all are boys
together. At the war cry ' A rat ! A rat ! ' both men
and boys become as excited as if their lives depended
on their killing the long-tailed freebooters.

But this is getting altered like everything else, and
in some places rat-hunting is not now viewed with
any favour. Formerly, amateur ratcatchers were re-
ceived with open arms ; now they are regarded some-
what suspiciously. A farmer told two of my free

138 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

and independent ratcatching friends lately, in no
pleasant terms, that he did not want his rats caught.
The once admired song ' The ratcatcher's pretty little
daughter ' is also a thing of the past, sharing the fate
of another once familiar to some of us, ' Her roses
and lilies all turned to tan, When she fell in love
with the dogs'-meat man.'

That much more pleasing animal, the black rat,
is nearly exterminated, his species having given way
to the far more powerful and ferocious brown rat.
Now and again a solitary specimen is recorded, one
of the last remnants of the so-called old-English
black rat ; though, from what I have been able to
gather, he is no more English than French or Irish.
Rats can accommodate themselves to any circum-
stance and every climate. They traverse the globe,
paying nothing for their passage, and they land at
our very antipodes without ceremony, to increase and
multiply exceedingly in the land of their adoption,
verifying truly the adage that ' Vermin breed fast'

In the West Indies, notably, the brown rat has
located himself in the fields of sugar-cane ; but so
also has that deadly foe of his, that poisonous reptile,
frequently of large size, called the fer-de-lance — the
horrible craspedo-cephalus — that feeds on rats. If it
only killed these, all would go well ; unfortunately, it

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS 139

also bites the cane-cutters, and when one of the latter
has been bitten, ' Quashy ' does not play the banjo any
more.

*' Ye little vulgar mouse,' as old Topsel calls him,,
may be dismissed with a few words. Though a very
pretty creature, he is so mischievous inside a house in
various ways, that in numbers mice become a perfect
pest ; in fact, no mistress of a home will suffer the
presence of a mouse in it if she can possibly help it.
The gentlest beings I have ever known will act in a
somewhat vicious manner towards rats and mice.
And yet it is truly wonderful to what a point the
education of a mouse has been carried. I have often
wondered where mouse university is located.

The water-vole, or, as it is more commonly but
improperly called, the water-rat, is a happy, innocent
creature, that has its habitat by the water-side,
gaining its living thereby. I look on him at times as
a miniature beaver ; whenever I have seen him his
actions have been so very beaver-like. Many an
hour have I watched him by the edges of various
waters. Go where the angler will, he will see three
different creatures at varying times, close to him
throughout the day — the water-vole, the moor-hen,
and the kingfisher. The latter beautiful bird will
even settle on one's rod now and again, and that is

140 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

surely close quarters enough for observation. As to
the voles, I have had them at my very feet. It is
necessary, however, to swim if you wish to see some
of their playing places. This I have often done, and
I once had a very unpleasant experience connected
with that form of research. Having turned over on
my back in order the better to see something that
was above me, I struck out with my legs, so shifting
myself without altering my position. Under the bank
I shot in among submerged tree roots, and into dark-
ness, until the soil above touched the tip of my nose.
I got out again somehow, dressed, and went home.

Some days elapsed before I fully realised all the
features of that lucky escape from what would have
been certain death if I had hung, caught in that
network of roots. It gives me the creeps now when
I think of it. The pursuit of wild things does not
lead on in smooth ways by any means. One goes
also alone as a rule, and I have had some very near
' squeaks ' at times, and shall have again no doubt, in
spite of advancing years.

I have never yet seen the water-vole eat any
animal substance ; though I will not assert that the
creature never does this. As a rule, little Dot Beaver
feeds only on vegetable productions, so far as my
personal knowledge goes. You may watch him cut

SMALL DEER-OUR RODENTS J4r

his provender and swim with it in his mouth towards
his burrow. I have quietly drawn back at times, lest
he should be startled and let go his mouthful, for I
admire the industrious little chap ; and one of the
prettiest sights I have ever seen was his cutting the
seed-vessel of a water-lily from its stem, and sitting
on one of the broad leaves to eat it, holding it in his
forefeet in the same manner as a squirrel would.
Just above in the stream was a good dace swim, so
that the current, as it ran into the lily pond, swayed
the leaves ; in fact, the leaf our vole rested on was
gently moved first on one side and then on the other,
to the full stretch of its pliant leaf stem. It was a
small but very beautiful little picture ; and one which
I hope some day to place on canvas ; the warm
brown fur was brought out well by the waxen green
of the leaf he sat on, which showed its dull crimson
side as it was moved by the current from below. A
few flower buds not yet opened, with their leaves, and
just a peep of a bend in the river, made the thing
perfect in its way.

I know a pool, having a sweep of flags and rushes
at one end of it, which is a favourite haunt of our little
friend ; fine oaks line both sides of this long, deep
home of the pike. When the youngsters are able to
get about, it is most amusing to see how closely they

1 42 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

are kept to the very shallowest parts. Here they
receive their first lessons in aquatic life. Any little
hollow where the tree-roots form a sort of cage for
them is frequented ; any shallow where a dead limb
has fallen and half rotted as it lay, will give another
opportunity for them to exercise themselves in their
various movements. For the young of all creatures
would, like those of so-called humans, come to dire
misfortune if they were not properly looked after.
The wild instincts of all domesticated animals, also,
are called into play again when the maternal passions
are roused, and the exigencies of the case demand it.
When you see the voles swim from one side of the
pool to the other, you can keep your rod in its case.
For depend upon it the pike are then in the sedge
and rush roots, or at least just outside of them ;
and the young of birds as well as the voles are out.
This is in the lush-green summer-time ; but autumn
follows, and the rushes and sedges are brown, and the
foliage of the oak has become a rich tawny orange in
colour, As the wind rustles through the branches
the acorns fall from their cups, points downwards,
with a hissing swish, swish, swish, like so many
conical rifle-bullets. These go to the bottom of the
pool, where they lie hidden from view, but not lost,
for wild ducks will come and dive for them, after

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS 143

they have picked up all they can find on dry land.
The acorns all fall on the edges of the pool, so that
the ducks can easily get them without too much
exertion on their part ; the thicker ends stick straight
up in the soft leaf-ooze.

But when the acorns fall, and a breeze curls the
surface of the pool, our little swimmer and diver,
the water-vole, keeps inshore ; for at that time a
strip from a white pocket handkerchief on a pike
trace will land one or two fish. Not many yards
would our vole go before there would be a vicious
snap from below, and he would be dead and crushed
as flat as a pancake in less time than it takes
to write about it. In fact, my pretty, harmless
friend has many enemies both above and below.
The heron is one of these ; he lets drive at him
on the back of the head with that bayonet-like
bill of his, and then swallows him whole. Stoats,
weasels, and the now rare polecat, all interview him
when they get the chance, not to speak of the pike
and the otter. I have good reasons for believing that
the water-vole forms part of the otter's prey at times,
just as the kestrel or windfanner — a true falcon — is
chased, killed and eaten by the peregrine, one of the
falcon princes ; which proves that the old saying that
' hawks do not pick out other hawks' eyes ' will not

I44 SMALL DEER-OUR RODENTS

always hold good. But in spite of all drawbacks,
this vole prospers and is merry ; man has no grudge
against him — not in the southern counties at least. It
is different in the fen lands, where he makes holes in
the dyke-banks. The harm he unwittingly works here
has, of course, to be stopped as speedily as may be,
for a broken bank means drowned lands and cattle.

One of the anglers' most entertaining companions
would be missing if the water-vole were not by the
river's side, for fish will not always bite. Happily>
other creatures have their habitat in and near the
water. The black water-vole is a beautiful species,
or it may be he is only a well-marked variety of the
common water-rat so called. This is a smaller animal
than its far commoner relative, a little fellow that looks
like a velvet ball as it sits bundled up. He frequents
the sides of clear, slow-moving brooks. The last one
I saw was sitting on some blossoms of meadow-sweet
and loosestrife, which had been trampled down by
cattle coming to drink. Doubts have been expressed
by some I know as to the existence of these creatures
in a locality ' within an hour of London town,' but
there they are for all that, and within ten minutes'
walk of my own door ; and there they will be safe
from all collectors, or those who pt)se as such. I
always have done my utmost to protect small deer

SMALL DEER-OUR RODENTS 145

when they are not injurious to others in any way, in
order that if I or a brother field naturalist wish to see
it in its own home, it may be there to be looked at.
This little velvety-ball variety of the water-vole is
scarce, even in the undisturbed haunt I know of, and
it would be very easy to exterminate it. I found it
out after long and patient waiting and watching.

From the latter species it is an easy drop to the
two species of water-shrews, for they have their
habitat in the same quiet places as the black voles ;
only these are on a much smaller scale, as they fre-
quent the runnels and little dykes that run from the
clear but sluggish brooks. The brooks are nothing to
look at, having at intervals small brick drains where
the cart tracks went over. I like them, though, for
there are associations connected with them relating
to a time when I could range there freely, whereas I
can only visit them now by permission.

A few days ago I was standing looking over an
old bridge, when an old labourer, who used to work
on an estate I often roamed over, came up and said :
' What are ye sidderin' on now ? Allus up to summut ;
ye looks full on it at times.'

' Why, things are so altered,' I replied ; ' one must
go so far to see so little.'

' And what do ye want now— owlets ?'

L

I46 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

1 No, some bubble-mice I am looking out for.'
1 Well, they ain't gone yet ; you go up the meadow,
and if ye looks over the foot-bridge where the old
master tumbled in that there day, if ye looks over
deedy (carefully) like, you'll see some on 'em.

' Massy sakes ! do ye 'member that there time ?
It was a most 'menjous wet and desprit hayin' time,'
an' the crap so thick too. Day arter day we hed
some on it ready fur cartin', an' then 'twould come
down agin as ef it hadn't rained for months ; a real
losin' game it was, so much on it lay fairly rotten in
the water-meadows. Master didn't say one word
a-grumblin' on it to me, but we worked as hard as iver
we could ; he was a rum 'un, desprit self-willed an'
high-handed. One arternoon it rained wuss than ever,
an' he looks roun' dreadful, as ef he'd kill the fust
thing in his way, and he hollers out, " Shut in, go to
the stables, an' leave the lot on it to rot ! " I was just
behind him, an' I sees him go to one o' the haycocks,
shove his hand into the middle, pull out a bit an' put
it in his pocket. Then he hollers out, " I will have
one bit of dry hay out of this crop ; if I don't I'm
damned ! " An' then he rushed on to the bridge. His
foot slipped, an' he went head fust into the sheep-
dippin' hole, right under. I dunno' what a divil looks
like, I niver see one ; but I should reckin he'd look

SMALL DEER-OUR RODENTS 147

summut like the old master did arter he cum out o'
that 'ere sheep-dippin' hole.'

The modern system of drainage, although it con-
fers untold benefits on all classes of society, is destruc-
tion to the water-shrews ; they can only exist under
certain conditions ; and it is only on and about more
or less decayed vegetation, as a rule, that their food
can be found. It is true, I have found them in the
pure rills of a moorland district, and have watched
them nose and poke all along the margins, shoot over
the sandy bottoms, come out to run over the rootlets,
plunge in again to poke about as before ; they must
have the minute forms of insect life, either mature or
immature, to feed on. But the proper place to look for
them is where the water dribbles from some old dis-
used culvert or drain in the water-meadows, where
a small pool of a few gallons of water has formed.
The spot ' where the old master pitched in ' is larger
than what I have described, for although the sheep-
dipping hole has been filled up since the course of
the water was altered to make a new fish-pond, there
is enough left still to fill an ordinary water-butt, just
where it trickles down from the old drain. There is
a continual trickle, the run of some small springs.
The brick wall is going to decay, and the whole will
cave in before long.

148 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

Water-shrews are very capricious in their move-
ments ; sometimes they follow the edge of the rill,
where the vegetation hangs over ; at another time
they will come out in the open and swim about.
Timid creatures they are : not a movement if you can
help it, please, not even a shadow, or they are off to
their burrows.

This morning I have been fortunate, for a couple
came wriggling out from some cranny, and played
about on the surface of the small pool, just below the
drain. They appear to dart, but it is really a rapid
wriggling motion they make. As they swim they are
curiously flattened out. As to their snouts, they are
those of moles in miniature, and never still for one
moment, but twisting about in every direction. It
seems to me, indeed, that what his trunk is to the ele-
phant the long snout is to this little animal. When
they dive, they look like mice covered with quick-
silver. This is caused by the air-bubbles that com-
pletely cover the fur when they are in the act of diving ;
the fur being compressed close to the body causes the
air that is forced out to show like bubbles of silver on
the creature. There are two varieties of water-shrews,
which differ in size, as do the two water-voles, one
being larger than the other. Quiet, out-of-the-way
places, where sticklebacks live, suit them ; they are

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS 149

very particular in their choice in this matter. Min-
nows could not live where they do. A most extra-
ordinary mixture of timidity and ferocity they are.
I tried to pick up one that was making a little over-
land journey, and he jumped, shrieked, and bit in a
most determined manner. Taking its size into con-
sideration, it was the most desperate fighter I have
seen. Battles often are fought between all the crea-
tures here described, in which the weakest get killed.
Anyone wishing to observe them need only go to the
places they are known to frequent. Some who have
read those of our articles in which the exact localities
have been given, have spoken or written quite feel-
ingly because they did not see, in one hasty day's
rush, what it had perhaps taken years to record.
Now and again intermittent calls for 'cold Irish' have
taken up time during that single day's outing, and
drinks taken injudiciously are apt to make the vision
somewhat unobservant.

The little land-shrew, the peak-nosed mouse of
country children, is a very nimble little fellow. He
helps to keep down the numerous insect pests that
would, unless held in check, cause very serious incon-
venience. Much has been written about the mortality
that affects land-shrews at times ; but there is nothing
extraordinary about it. I have known other creatures

150 SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

thinned down in the same way. Sometimes I go for
several months, regularly, through the very heart of
the country without seeing a shrew, alive or dead.
The cruel, superstitious folk lore attached to this little
animal which still obtains I cannot deal with in the
limits of this paper. Prejudice is a stubborn foe
to fight, but superstition is the devil's favourite child,
and he plays strange pranks. Even now, in this nine-
teenth century, I know of strange rites being practised,
and ones that are by no means harmless. The
black cat is still in its place in some localities as the
old ' familiar.' If things are lost in such places folks
do not go to the constable, but to a wise woman, and
dire at times are the results of her insight into utter
darkness. I have known whole families become
bitter foes through life in consequence of it. Some
time or other I feel I must write about the folk-lore
and superstitions of the woodlands, for, in spite
of churches and the little Bethels of the elect, not to
mention the advanced schools of the present day,
superstition still holds its own.

Oberon's long-tailed cattle, the white and fawn-
coloured woodmice, with their large dark eyes, are
charming creatures. It is a pity they do not keep to
the woods ; they visit the gardens, and being vege-
table feeders with very discriminating palates, like

SMALL DEER-OVR RODENTS 151

some other pretty creatures, they have to be dealt
summarily with. I feel sorry when I find them in
the roads, where they have been flung after having
been flattened out by a tile trap. It must be done,
though ; choice peas cost money, and the cottage
gardener cannot stand his rows being thinned by
them.

The harvest mouse, with his grass nest, has been
so much written about that he need only be men-
tioned here.

The field-vole is very like the lemmings in its
movements. In Surrey it is called the dog-mouse,
to distinguish it from all the others. As large as a
half-grown rat it is. I have known this species
become a great nuisance in some seasons. They can
climb like the others, and in flower gardens they
prove very troublesome. The flowers with fleshy
stems especially they favour and carry away into
their holes. For some time they gave the gardeners
much trouble, but the creatures departed in numbers
just as suddenly as they came. Whither they betook
themselves remained a mystery. A gentleman had
asked me to procure a couple of the large species
for him : I thought this would be easily done ; but
this season (1892) not a single one has been seen
about here.

SMALL DEER— OUR RODENTS

The meadow-vole resembles the field-vole in form,
but it is smaller. There is as much difference
between the two as there is between a half-grown rat
and one that has reached its full size. With the
dormouse, or, as our rustics call it, the sleep-mouse, my
sketches of small deer must close. Dormice are not
nearly so numerous as they were. I have not seen
one this year, although I have done a lot of hedge-
poking. The town market absorbs them, I fear, for
in the country they are now very uncommon. No
sleep-mice, in fact, can I hear of, although I have
asked about them all round. Folks tell me they see
none about where there used to be plenty ; and some
small birds are disappearing also. I believe many
creatures that we can ill spare are sent out of the
country, and we shall find out the folly of this pre-
sently. The natural course of events has, of course,
done much to banish some for ever ; the felling of
large woods, and draining, for instance. But there
ought to be a fine on the shooting of owls ; also all
the members of the weasel family, as I have said
before, should be kept here and not sent to the
colonies. Then things might improve somewhat, for,
although only small deer, our rodents are capable of
much mischief if not kept under.

'53

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

CHAPTER I

IN a hollow on the side of one of the hills of a south-
•ern county, twety-five years ago, there nestled a sub-
stantial building. Half farm-house, half cottage it was,
-as to style, but a massive structure, having thick oak
doors and window-frames, with stout shutters to guard
the narrow lights. It gave one the idea that the man
who had built it, whatever he might have been, desired
safety and privacy in his home. It was grey with age
and covered with lichens when I knew it first ; and
the thinly scattered rustic population in the country
round could give me no information as to who built
it or the character of its inhabitants.

Local tradition, however, hinted that a great man,
who once owned most of the property about, had
caused it to be built for a very beautiful lady to live
in. At the time I first knew the place it was not in-
habited ; and, with the exception of a shepherd or a
woodman, who at rare intervals passed that way, very

154 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

few knew that such a house was in existence. The
hill-side faced the south, and the only approach was
a very narrow path leading from the moor which
bordered on the hill-side.

The hollow was wide and deep, and its sides were
covered with trees from top to bottom, and tangled
thicket growth. A spring of the purest water rose
close to the house and trickled along the side of the
green stripe which came down from the moor. If you
stood on the hill immediately above, you might pos-
sibly catch sight of a large stack of chimneys, but
nothing more. The manor farm was the nearest
dwelling to it, and that was a mile and a half distant.

Though a lonely spot, yet it was warm and shel-
tered. The venturesome urchins from the hamlet
knew that the first primroses and bluebells, to say
nothing of the blue eggs of the hedge-sparrow and
the larger speckled treasures of the thrush and the
blackbird, were to be found in the hollow, and they
would sometimes dare to go there in company in the
bright sunshine ; but they always shunned the spot
when the sun was sinking, for they would whisper to
one another that ' a summut ' in the shape of ' a furrin
lady ' was to be seen ' walkin' roun' that 'ere old house
a-cryinV

When wintry winds swept over the hills and

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 155.

moorlands, driving the snow up in wreaths and deep
drifts, then would the shepherd make his way to
Smoky Hollow, sure of finding his flock of South
Downs there, safe from harm. The spot answered
the purpose of a barometer for miles round, for in
winter if a change of milder weather was coming you
would see the hollow filled with clouds of rising
vapour as if the place were on fire. After rain and
before rain it rose. That was why the rustics named it
Smoky Hollow. In fine settled weather it was per-
fectly clear and bright there.

"Twud be as well if folks kep' away from that
'ere place,' the people told me : but often I loitered
round about it ; the hollow had a great attraction for
me. It was, and is still, a birds' paradise, and their
song just before spring made way for summer was
worth going miles to hear. After a warm shower I
liked to watch the various tones of colour the vapour
took as the sun flashed through it, while cuckoo !
cuckoo ! cuckoo ! was shouted everywhere, and the
scent of hawthorn, primrose, and violet, together with
the notes of the other birds in full song, made you
feel it was a good thing to live. In "all the country
round no spot could be found where the nightingale
was heard to such perfection as in and around Smoky
Hollow.

156 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

I confess that sometimes, if I lingered long about
the old house, indulging in fancies and speculations
as to its inhabitants and the purpose for which it
might have been built, a kind of eerie feeling would
take possession of me in spite of myself, it was a
place so utterly lonely and mysterious-looking.

One day, as I rested on the hill above, a grey old
gaffer, bent nearly double, chanced to come in sight.
He lived at a cottage situated in a dip of the moor.
I thought he ought to know something about the
house. His poor dim eyes winked and blinked with
pleasant expectancy when I asked first if he smoked.

' Sure I does, when I kin git a bit,' he answered ;
' but 'tain't often, and when I does it ain't up to
nothin' like.'

His hands, knotted and wrinkled with the toil of
more than seventy summers and winters, trembled
with eagerness when I asked him to share with me
the contents of a pouch filled with genuine old
Virginia. Sniffing at it several times, he said :

' Ye wun't mind me hevin' a whiff now, will ye ?
I can't keep from this 'ere bit o' 'baccer nohow,' at
the same time producing a black pipe about an inch
long from some portion of his garments where it was
coddled up. Next he fished up a regular tortoise-
shaped steel tobacco-box, which he filled carefully,

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 157

anxious not to lose one shred. Then he filled his
precious nose-warmer of a pipe, very lovingly patted
it on the top, and began to fumble for a lucifer.

' Thank 'ee, 'tis real kind on ye,' he said, as I held
him one ready lighted ; and, dropping his stick, he
seated himself on the bank beside me, for the day
was warm and dry, and began whiffing away in the
peculiar manner of a hardened old smoker ; not
hastily, but making the very most of every whiff. It
would have been positive cruelty to have disturbed
the feeling of supreme content which his countenance
expressed. Presently he informed me that he 'ain't
had a bit o' baccer like this 'ere, never in his martal
life afore.' When I told him I had been down in the
hollow by the old house, he said he had heard ' as
how the inside o' that 'ere place was kep zackly as
'twas when the furrin lady died. There be martal
strange tales 'bout that place,' he added. By degrees
I got from his lips the following story, which I found
aftenvards was correct in the main points. I give it
in his own dialect.

* The squire as owned the land about here was
'bliged to marry somebody as he didn't care a rap
fur. 'Twas a matter o' jining two properties, so far
as I could mek out. He was a fine feller, so I've
heard, an1 the lady as he did marry raly was fond o'

158 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

him, though he cared nought fur she. He'd bin
travellin' in furrin parts, an' fell in love like wi' a lady,
and wud ha' married she, but the old squire, his
father, swore a most desprit wicked oath that if he
did it he would cut him off with a shillin' to buy a
rope fur to hang himself with ; he should niver darken
his doors agin as long as ever he lived. Well, he wus
'bliged ter du it, an' he married the lady 'as his father
wanted him tu. But he waunt happy ; no more wus
she when she found as she'd no chance o' makin' him
fond o' her. An' what duse she du, mad with temper
like, but tell him 'twas a real pity his lady love over
the sea waunt thear tu see how happy he wus. 'Tis
said he said summut back to she as made her shrike
out like a mad critter, an' when her maid run tu her
she found her in a dead faint, an' her husband gone.

'Where he went tu waunt known about here.
Arter a time he came back, an' 'twas whispered very
quiet like, as he had somebody cum with him. His
wife had left these parts then, an' gone tu her gran'
house in Lunnon ; but I hev heerd tell as she'd walk
about her gran' rooms many a time cryin' most pitta-
ble. They niver had no children, but the lady as
lived here had. Arter a time she tuk ill an' died.
He carried on dreadful then, 'twas feared fur a time
as he wud lose his senses. Arter the wust part o'

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 159

the blow had left smartin', he used come an' wander
roun' that 'ere house in the holler fur days, an' nights
too sometimes, an' then he said as he'd travel, there
waunt nothin' tu hold him here now ; an' he give the
most strict orders as no one wus tu live thear, only
an old critter tu see as nothin' went wrong inside like,
an' the room as she wus fond o' sittin' in wus tu be
locked up, an' iverythin' wus to be left as she'd left
it ; nobody wus tu lay a finger on it. He took the
children with him when he went to furrin parts. He
niver cum back, fur he died thear, an' then his wife
she fretted an' troubled so, that 'twaunt long afore
she went off; fur she wus martal fond o' he.

' 'Twus said not so werry long ago as some o' that
'ere furrin lady's family wus livin' ; an' some of the
folks 'bout here, older than I be, say as they reckons
as they old chimbleys ull hev smoke cum out of 'em
afore long. An' that is all I knows on, fur tu hev
any sense like.'

CHAPTER II

IN the spring of the following year my business took
me again into the neighbourhood of Smoky Hollow,
to stay for some time. The birds sang their loudest

160 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

as they made their nests, and the boldest of the chil-
dren again ventured within the hollow ; but, to their
terror, two of them, on getting there before the others,
caught sight of a woman standing close to the house,
the door of which stood wide open. Making a sign
of warning to their companions, they crept through
the thicket and wood again, on to the moor, where,
with one look at each other, they scampered off like
hunted rabbits, their hearts in their mouths, but no
word on their lips. These forest children are peculiar
in one thing, they are more silent when on the hunt.
Each one made tracks for his own home without
speaking. Once safely there, the tongues began to
wag again, and they told their parents that ' niver
agin wud they go to that 'ere place, fur 'twus hanted ;
'twus right, ivery word on it what folks said, fur the
ghost o' that ere furrin woman, as folks talken on,
stood thear now.'

They were cross-questioned, but all told the same
tale. The father of the biggest urchin was hard of
belief, and, much to* the boy's disgust, he rubbed a
dose of ash-plant oil into his back and shoulders,
telling him between each application that he'd ' larn
him better than tu give his mind to lyin'.'

'Go, an' see fur yurself !' yelled young Hopeful,
' an leave off quiltin' me.'

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 161

His persistency impressed the father, so that he
made his way to the spot on the crest of the hill
overlooking the hollow. There he saw the smoke
unmistakably rising from the great stack of chim-
neys. Muttering to himself, ' Where there's smoke
there's fire, an' where there's fire there's some one to
light it,' he started back again quicker than he had
come.

The same evening he was the hero at the public-
house, where he repeated the story, saying over and
over again, ' The thing hed cum tu pass, as I allus
sed they wud, whoever lived long enuf tu see it.
Wut is tu be wull be, in coorse o' natur, an' nuthin'
ken stan' agin it, nor yet perwent it ; fur mark my
wurds, if summut hain't cum back agin, an' I've sin it.'
For the latter fact he drew on his imagination, as
he forgot he was indebted to his son for the infor-
mation concerning the lady. The company were
edified, and asked him to ' hev a wet,' over and over
again.

A few days later his story was confirmed. A bad
accident happened to one of a party of woodmen
who were felling trees in the neighbourhood of the
old house. A mate's axe, glancing off from the
trunk of a tree, struck him on the arm, cutting it
badly. The pain and loss of blood being great, they

M

1 62 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

made a rough litter and hurried home with him, after
binding up the wound to the best of their ability.
As they passed the entrance to the hollow with their
burden, they saw a strange woman standing near the
house. She came to meet them, and in excellent
English, but with a slightly foreign accent, questioned
them about the accident, and bade them rest, as their
injured mate had fainted. Going indoors, she re-
turned in the space of a few minutes with bandages,
and followed by another woman, who looked like a
servant, carrying restoratives.

The wound was quickly and skilfully dressed ;
then she made the poor fellow swallow something
which she gave him, in a small phial, and told his
companions they could now carry him further without
undue haste, for he would not take any harm. Before
the astonished woodmen could thank her for her kind-
ness she had vanished. As soon as the man reached
home the village doctor was sent for. When he saw
the bandages he asked a few questions ; did not
remove them at all, but told the man that the lady
who had put them on must have had great experience
in such matters. Then he cross-questioned the other
men as to the strange lady's appearance. The de-
scription they gave was, ' not a young un, tall an'
handsome, with dark hair an' eyes, leastways her

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 163

hair was grey, a bit ; an' she'd a nice voice an' way
o' speakin'.'

Whatever the doctor thought, he said nothing. In
the evening when they went to the public, as they
generally did after any unusual occurrence, they found
the hero of the night before giving a most minute
description of the lady's dress and features, over
copious drinks. After listening to this they told him
that he was ' a paltry lyin' varmint, and if he waunt
out of the place in a jiff, he should make acquaintance
with some shoe-leather.' Sneaking home, where he
found his son had not yet gone to bed, he gave the
poor lad another dose of ash-plant oil, telling him ' the
next mare's nest as he found he'd best keep his mouth
shet tight about it, an' not git grown-up people inter
trouble.'

By degrees the simple country folks lost the vague
feeling of fear they had at first, and if they met the
lady near or about her home, would lift their hands
to their heads in token of respect ; for many an act
of kindness did she show them in the most quiet
manner.

At last the nearest resident clergyman paid her a
visit ; he was courteously received, and every mark of
respect shown him, but his visit was never repeated.
A small farm near supplied almost all the house

164 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

required, and the farmer's only daughter — fair-haired,
blue-eyed Annie — carried the produce to Smoky
Hollow. The lonely woman always gave her a warm
welcome, and soon won Annie's confidence, so that
she told the lady all her little private affairs, and
used to look fonvard to the day when she paid her
weekly visit, the refined and gentle conversation of
the stranger being a great treat to the country girl.

A poor young girl, who had been what is termed
unfortunate, whose little one was ill, and had been
given up by the doctor, went one day to the farm to
ask if Annie would get the lady of the hollow to see
her babe, as she had heard she was good and wise
and could cure complaints. Annie bade her go to her
at once herself, and take the child ; she was so kind
she would turn no one away.

On the way there the girl met her and told her of
her trouble. Lifting the light covering off the child's
face, the lady looked intently at it for some time, and
then said :

' He will not live. It is better so, for he will go
to our Father. Before the week is over he will be
with Him who said, " Suffer the little children to come
unto me/' '

Crying bitterly, the poor mother, who was only a
girl in years, turned to go ; but the lady stopped her,

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 165

and placed something in her hand, saying, ' The dying
and the dead are beyond our aid, but it is our duty to
comfort and assist those who live and suffer ; is it not
written, Much is forgiven her, for she loved much ? '

The child died, as she said it would ; and the old
crones about said the lady must be a witch, ' but a
rale good-hearted one ' ; for she had given the poor
girl far more than enough to pay for the funeral. The
babe's little blue coffin was ornamented too ; those
who live in country villages know how dearly they
love to pay this last mark of respect to the dead,
and to be able to do without the aid of the parish
authorities in that matter.

After that the lady was named the Witch of Smoky
Hollow. Her real name was never known by the rustics.

Near the family vault of the old squire there was
a flat slab of red granite ; on it no name or date was
inscribed, only a simple cross had been cut in the hard
stone. One Sunday the villagers gathered round
it with wondering eyes ; for a large and beautiful
cross of white marble had been placed at the head of
the granite slab. Passion flowers and leaves, most
beautifully chiselled, adorned it, and at the foot of
the cross were the words, ' Jesu, mercy.' Who had
placed it there was not known.

Annie presently found a true friend and comforter

166 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

in the mysterious lady, to whom she had already told
her simple love-story. William, the lover, was a
smart-looking young fellow, second gamekeeper to
the squire at the Hall. Latterly Annie had looked
pale and lost her brightness, and her friend, noticing
it, soon drew from her the cause of this. There had
been much company at the Hall, and some of the
' ladies' ladies ' were very good-looking and smart
young women, and William, who had often to go up
to the Hall, was noticed by them as being a very
well-built, fine young fellow. So they made much
of him when they had the opportunity, and poor
William rather lost his head over it ; so that if things
did not alter there was great danger of Annie being
made very miserable, for she and William were really
engaged to be married. She told her story at Smoky
Hollow with a tearful face, and asked the lady what
she ought to do.

' Cheer up, little one,' said her friend ; ' if he is
worth having, he will come back to you gladly before
long. I have heard they call me the Witch of Smoky
Hollow. Well, I will give you a charm that will
bring him to you again. Come, let me see you smile
a little, then I will go and prepare for you my charm.'

The charm was a sealed packet, which she bade
Annie place under her pillow, and not open until the

THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLO IV 167

morning. The girl religiously observed these instruc-
tions. In the morning she unfolded the paper and
found only these words written : —

' A fickle lover will prove a faithless husband. '

' Lightly won is little valued.'

' That which is always to be seen is little looked for. '

Annie had enough woman's wit to understand the
meaning her friend sought to convey to her ; and she
asked her father to let her go and pay a visit to some
relatives at a little distance.

' Ay, do, lass ; fur mother an' I ha' noticed you
hain't so peart as you used to be. Have a month on
it ; ye niver mind fur money, have whativer ye like.
'Twill all be yours some day, ye knows.'

Next morning Annie was gone.

Soon William found that the ladies' ladies grew
tired of his company ; he had not the refined and
aristocratic airs of those superb creatures Jeames and
Henery from Berkeley Square, and, as one of his
admirers confided to her friend, he was ' gawky, in
fact, my dear, he is nervous in our society ' ; and it
then dawned on the young man's slow perceptions
that he had been a fool. His conscience smote him
too, for he was good at heart. Dejectedly he made
his way to the farm and asked for Annie, but learned
to his dismay that she had gone away.

168 THE WITCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW

1 We ain't sin much of ye lately, William,' said her
father ; ' no more ain't Annie. Have ye bin night-
watchin', or what ? '

Weeks passed and no tidings of Annie reached
the penitent lover. Then a note came to her in the
same handwriting as that on her ' charm,' stating that
William had given notice to leave his situation, and
intended going as a soldier.

Before his time of service expired, however, going
on his rounds one day near the hollow, he met
Annie. That evening he returned to the farm with
her, and the kind farmer asked for no explanations,
but greeted him with a pleasant speech of welcome :

' I be glad to see ye, son William, that I be,' and
the mother echoed his words.

On their wedding-day, when they returned to
the farm from church, Annie was told that a lady
wished to see her alone for a few minutes. To her
surprise there stood the lady of the hollow dressed in
the black garb of a Sister of Mercy, and from her
neck, suspended by a golden chain, hung a large
crucifix. Taking the blushing girl by the hand, she
said, ' We may not meet again on earth, little one, for
I have not long to tarry here. Accept this packet
for a wedding present ; and this coral and amber
necklace place round the neck of your first-born.

THE IVJTCH OF SMOKY HOLLOW 169

The clasp of it is said to be a charm against witches ;
-and when you and your husband see your little ones
.growing up round you, remember the Witch of
Smoky Hollow.'

Before Annie could compose her feelings enough
to thank her, the lady was gone.

That same day the vicar of the parish was sum-
moned to go to Smoky Hollow. What passed there
was never known, but from that day the poor received
benefits twice a year regularly that they had not had
before ; and to this day the beautiful marble cross is
religiously cared for, and the poor folks round bless
the memory of the Witch of Smoky Hollow.

The lady was never seen again ; she departed
as mysteriously as she came.

One Sunday morning the congregation at the
parish church noticed that their vicar was deeply
moved, as he spoke of ' one who had gone before.'
A letter had reached him with a foreign post-mark
on its black-edged envelope. It came from the 'Lady
.Superior of a convent in Italy, to tell him that 'Sister
Mary ' was dead.

170

LITTLE JAKE

ON a glorious afternoon in September I stood on the
old Roman camp-ground, looking on a scene not to
be surpassed in England. With the exception of
the crests of two near hills which break the line of
sight, the view is almost uninterrupted, and extends
over the weald of Surrey; Sussex, with parts of
Kent and Hampshire, are in the distance, lost in a
blue haze.

Hills and valleys, woods and waters, cornfields
and farm-houses, with slender church spires here and
there pointing heavenward, satisfy the eye. In the
foreground the purple heather in full bloom is mingled
with the golden flowers of the furze. The whortle-
berry bushes are getting orange and crimson tints
mixed with their myrtle-green leaves ; the dewberry
and blackberry sprays are gorgeous in colouring of
gold, crimson, pale grey green and warm olive ; and
the whole is framed in a setting of dark encircling
firs. A few strips of land quite near are bare ;

LITTLE JAKE i;r

there the great forest fire left its mark, but even here
the grass is springing up fresh and green, and the
fern fronds are showing their curled tips ; vegetation
springs up like magic from the warm earth moistened
by a few showers. The heather makes a good couch,
and, as I lie resting here for a while, the sound of a
sweet chime of bells comes up from far below me.
The day was drawing to a close when I reached the
churchyard in a valley. I was looking for a little
grave, that of a child who had been a favourite with
me in the woodlands some years ago.

' That is the one, sir, with the flowers all over it,' a
little girl replied to my question. She was passing
through on her way home from school. Looking
shyly up at me, she added, ' Did you know him ? he
used to come to our school.'

' Yes, my dear, I did know him, and I have come
from a distance to look at his grave.'

She surveyed me in an artless, pretty fashion, as
only a child can ; then, bidding me good-bye, passed
on, leaving me to muse beside the flowers. The
place was quiet and full 'of repose, as befitted a last
resting-place ; and I stood there for some time
dreaming of the past, and living over again scenes
which had left good pleasant memories behind.

' Ay, 'tis the best we can do for him,' says a voice

LITTLE JAKE

close to me. I had not heard any footsteps over the
soft green turf, and I started, turned, and saw the
father of my friend little Jake close to me. Shaking
him by the hand, I tell him it is the best, and he has
done it well. This little lad was barely ten years old,
the flower of the home.

' Little Lucy, our neighbour's child, told us some
one had come to look at Jake's grave, and from what
she said about his having come a long distance I
made sure 'twas you. Times and again I've wished
I could see ye once more. I'm glad you've come.'

* Would you mind telling me about him ? Or
would it hurt you to talk about him ? If it would, let
it be just now.'

' I can speak of him now without smartin', the
time has bided by for that.'

' Come up a piece of the valley with me, then, and
tell me what you can.'

' Well, ye see, he just faded away like — faded
clean away ; there ain't no other words for it. He used
to come reg'lar to meet me comin' home when work
was done. Pleased as possible he'd be to carry the
basket or something ; and he'd chirrup away about
what he'd bin doin' at school, and other little bits o'
things, an' he'd ask me where I'd bin, and what jobs
I'd bin at. One night I missed him, an' when I got

LITTLE JAKE 173

indoors he was there sittin' in a chair. Mother said
he was poorly like, an' he was very quiet : we
missed his little chatter. The next day he was no
better, an' then we had the doctor. Things went on
for a week or two the same way, sometimes a little
better, sometimes worse. When I asked him how he
felt, he used to look up at me an' say, " Tired, dad, so
tired ! " I tell ye somethin' used rise up in my throat
when he'd speak like that, all chokey like. He'd talk
to his bullfinch a good deal ; an' the creetur knowed
him like a human. It was from you he had it, you'll
remember. Ay, he did think a lot o' that bird, an' the
creetur was fond of him as possible. 'Twas a cruel sight
to me for to see his poor thin fingers play with it ; for
he'd begun to waste. The doctor was good an' kind to
him ; uncommon good he was, an' he'd chat to him
cheery like whenever he come. One day I see him
get up from where he'd bin talkin', an' walk away to
the winder ; an' he bides there a bit. It warn't a
fly as he wiped off his face there. May he be
rewarded for all his kindness, in a different place to
this!

' At last he took to his bed reg'lar ; he was so
weak. We had to take the bird up where he could
see Jake, for it pined an' mourned so when it missed
him. Directly we took him up an' he caught sight

174 LITTLE JAKE

of Jake, he trimmed his feathers an' was peart as
possible, and never pined a bit. It took the heart
clean out of me, for I could see he'd be goin' before
long. I used to go to work an' come home agin like
as if I was in a dream. The end on it come quicker
than we reckoned for. One evenin', a bit before the
sun went down, we was up in the room, mother an
me, talkin' to him. Twas bright as gold, the sun
was, an' the tops of the firs was peaked out clear agin
the sky ; when he says, weak, an' low like, " Dad, lift
me up, an' let me look out of the winder."

' I lifted him up, an' took him to the winder. He
laid there for a time — ah ! so quiet — lookin' out.
Then he looks up in my face, an' he says, quite peart
an' lively like : " Dad ! it's gettin' lighter, and — / —

see " They were the last words of my poor little

Jake, for he died with them on his lips : yes, he lay
dead in my arms. Whatever he had a sight on, it
made him happy ; he had a smile on his face, an' he
kept the same look on him when he laid in his coffin.

' Mother thought for the minnit he'd gone to
sleep ; he went so gentle like. It broke us both clean
down for a time — right clean down, it did ; but that
has passed, and the smart is gone, and we hope for
the best, though 'twas hard to think so then. We
did all we knowed for his bird for his sake, 'cause

LITTLE JAKE 175

Jake was so fond of it ; but it never cheered up, it
missed him so.

4 One night I come home feelin' dreary like, and
there was a hankercher over the cage. Mother was
cryin' ! It don't take much at such times to upset ye.
I went and took it off, and what do ye think I see ?
The bird was dead, with his breast agin the bars of
the cage, just in the same way as when he used to
watch for Jake.

' 'Twas only a bird, I know, but it did hurt me at
the time. . . . Things comes clear to ye at times.
When you first bided about here, before we knowed
anything about ye, times an' agin have we sin ye
lookin' at the sun settin' over they firs. Since Jake's
bin gone, mother an' me have thought on it, an'
spoke of it to one another, that perhaps some one as
you once knowed faded away westward, as the sun
went down.'

176

IN FLIGHT TIME

SUMMER has gone so very gently that the only
visible signs that the time of the falling leaf has come
are the changes in the foliage of the woodlands, the
gathering in of the crops, and the flight time of the
birds.

A rolling sea of mist ascends from the valleys,
creeping up the sides of the hills to melt away as it
reaches the uplands, where the sun is shining brightly
above. Those who have not made the flight of birds
a particular study might fancy these wood-covered
hills, great stretches of uplands covered with the finest
turf and sandy heaths, would not be the localities
about which to watch for them at this time ; yet
these are the very parts they pass over, and where
some of them rest for a time, year after year. Divers*
swimmers, and waders pass over from the north-east
to the south-west and south, in the morning, at mid-
day, and in the night-time. The birds that break
their journey find in this line of country all they

IN FLIGHT TIME 177

require — rivers, brooks, swamps, pools, and ponds,
mile upon mile of broken ground and rough cover
and, above all, solitude.

Come with me to the woods that cover the tops
of the hills as far as the eye can reach. Great open
downs break the masses of woodlands ; but look
where you will, around or in front, in the valleys
below or in the far distance, there are the woods
which, in past times, reached, almost unbroken, from
London to the south coast. Wanderers from the
beaten tracks who are familiar with this country can
travel over old bridle paths, still open, leading from
one county to another. Breaks occur here and there,
but they can be picked up again ; and only in this
way can the real beauty of the district be rightly
seen and understood.

Some of my critics have observed that if the
exact names of localities referred to had been given,
our readers would have been better pleased. So, for
the benefit of such, let me map out one day's good
walk, supposing the would-be naturalist to take the
first train down from London, which reaches Dorking
at seven in the morning. From the railway station a
path leads up the hill to Ranmore Common, over
which a good road runs to the edge of the wooded
downs which stretch as far as Guildford ; and if the

N

i;8 IN FLIGHT TIME

track through the woods be followed, Newlands
Corner will be reached, from which point a view will
be seen that I could not here do justice to. From
this a path leads down to Shere, to beautiful Aldbury
and Chil worth.

When the line is crossed at Chilworth station, a
green lane leads to Black Heath and Farleigh Heath.
Then, if my reader cares to travel by a track through
the wild land, which runs about the centre of it, he
will have Ewhurst Hill, Holmbury, and Leith Hill on
the right, St. Martha's chapel-crowned hill and the
high downs leading to Box Hill on the left ; and so will
arrive at Dorking station again, after a day amongst
one of the many beautiful hunting grounds that the
naturalist may find amongst our Surrey hills. But,
unless he be a good walker let him not attempt such
an excursion.

Nearly all the birds that live in and about the
woods and uplands have now — late in September —
completed their moulting, and their young ones, in
their first plumage, accompany their parents.

By many species the large stubble fields, with
their high old hedges, which border the uplands, are
frequented. All wild fruits and berries are ripe now ;
in fact, that universal favourite, the mountain ash, will
be found completely rifled of its crimson clusters and

/A FLIGHT TIME 179

having only the stems left ; even the berries that
have fallen are eagerly sought for. Great emmet
heaps are numerous round the dry, sloping edges of
the fields ; so are old blackthorns. The yaffle, or
green woodpecker, is by no means scarce here ; you
may put up one or two families of them as you walk
along — old birds and their young. These latter are
so much speckled that, with only a casual glimpse,
they might be mistaken for young missel-thrushes.
Only for a moment, though, for the yells of the parent
birds and the half-choked cackle of the others speak
for themselves. If you could take one in your hand
to examine it, you would find it in rare good con-
dition ; grubs, caterpillars, beetles, and ant-eggs, with
other matters, have made all the family right plump.

Hawfinches are in full force just now ; they do
not harass that afore-mentioned old friend of mine,
grinding up his precious marrow-fats, since the
season of these is long past. They are prospecting
about with their keen eyes to find out which crop of
berries or fruit will be ready for them first

Under the wild cherry trees they will search for
the stones of fallen fruit ; then the damson trees will
be visited in every cottage garden. So they jerk
from one place to another, continually on the lookout
for something wherewith to please and satisfy palate

i 80 IN FLIGHT TIME

and stomach. The birds of the year resemble small
parrots, for their plumage, which is very like that of a
dull-coloured greenfinch, is now broken into by some
of the markings of the old birds. As the winter draws
near, they will form small families of ten or a dozen,
as the case may be, and three or four families in a
bunch, to range for miles over all the rough as well
as the cultivated parts of the land, returning to their
resting-places in the evening. To a certain extent
this bird is local ; this being influenced, no doubt, by
the food supply. Wild fruits and berries are their
portion.

The corn-bunting I have only met with twice in
this district during a period of twenty-five years. I
put it up then from some rough ' torey ' grass which
was dotted over with thorn bushes.

Linnets frequent the fields in flocks, so do yellow-
hammers. If you stand perfectly still you can watch
them feed. A great quantity of grain, both wheat and
oats, is scattered about over the ground after the
crops have been carried ; but these grains, while they
last, only form a portion of their daily food. The seeds
of weeds, which are the pests of the farmer, are what
they subsist on mainly ; which diet is varied by cer-
tain insects, on which they prey in all stages of their
life. It is a fact well known to naturalists that all

IN FLIGHT TIME 181

birds, from the raptores down to the swimmers and
waders, feed more or less on insects, according to the
seasons. Some of the larger beetles are eagerly
sought for when flying or resting, and, of course,
during the nesting season the young of the greater
portion of our British birds are fed exclusively on in-
sects. Look only in the mouth of any common bird
when it has young to feed — some rook, starling,
blackbird, thrush, or sparrow, that may have been
wantonly shot — and you will never allow another to
be shot when nesting, if you can prevent it. Of
course, as I have said before, the birds will, when their
time comes, take their share of the garden fruits and
vegetables ; that will, however, be when they have
done nesting.

But birds are now flighting to and fro in numbers ;
some of them migrating in earnest, others indulging
in those restless movements which are peculiar to
some before they take their final flight. The stone-
curlew, the great plover or thick-knee, is one of these.
He frequents the great flint-cumbered fallow-fields
bordering on the uplands. From these he flits, as the
dusk comes on, to the close-cropped sheep-walks on
the downs, where he startles the shepherd's boy with
his mournful cry ; the note is peculiar, so is the bird's
flight.

1 82 IN FLIGHT TIME

' Have thee heard the stone-curlew lately, Tom ? ' I
ask one of my friends.

' Do ye mean that queer bird what hollers out so
o' nights, an' skims along the ship-walk when the
dims come on ? I've heerd un, and sin both on 'em
'long with the young uns lots o' times since I sin ye
up here. Why, they hed their nest out in that 'ere
flinty faller-field.'

' I told you they were nesting there.'

' How did you know ? You ain't up here same as I
be. They hed young uns in that field ; old Jack, our
ship-dog, picked one on 'em up. Two on 'em with the
old uns there was ; the bird warn't hurt, fur old Jack's
middlin' tender-mouthed when he's on ship-ground.
He's bin larrupped when he wus young for breakin'
the skin o' the ship, an', bless ye, he don't do it now,
cept rabbuts an' varmin. He grips them right through,
I can tell ye. So thet outlandish-lookin' critter didn't
hev a feather pulled out on it. It hed eyes like them
yeller-eyed owls. I put un down arter lookin' at it,
an' it could run most 'mazin'. If I'd ha' known where
to find ye, I'd ha' kep it for ye. But 'twas best to
let it go ; them 'ere queer old birds would holler at me
o' nights when I come over the ship-walk if I didn't.
They sounds wheesht like o' nights.'

I tell him they will soon be gone, that their rest-

IN FLIGHT TIME

less flappings and wild cries tell of their early flight
to other lands. A few remain in England, but the
great body of stone-curlews leaves us.

From Tom's 'ship-walk ' there is one of the fairest
sights in England. Great stripes of velvety green
turf from half a mile to a mile in length, and of
widths varying from fifty yards to two or three hun-
dred, all dotted with sheep. From these stripes you
dip down into green hollows, sheltered from all the
winds that blow, and studded over with fine clumps
of juniper trees, heather, and furze in full bloom even
yet, though it is late autumn. Where the ground,
has been broken in past times for stone-getting, the
stone-bramble, as some call it, or dewberry droops
down with its large refreshing fruit. I have seen some
of them in pits and hollows that were quite as large
as ordinary mulberries. Mushrooms stud the turf of
the sheep-walk, but as our business is with the birds
only, we leave these for Tom to pick up. The badger,
too, roams along the sheep-walks in quest of mush-
rooms, slugs, snails, and other small matters. Here
one might wander for weeks, and yet find fresh
beauties every day.

So still is it to-day that the thistle-down hardly
floats clear of the dog that stands near the plant it
fell from, and old Jack actually pants with the heat.

1 84 IN FLIGHT TIME

At long intervals a shivering sigh passes over the
woodlands, dying away as quickly as it came. The
first sigh of a declining year is this ; only at one
season is that mysterious sound heard, and it is that
of the falling leaf. Some may not have noticed this,
but to many of us it is one of the unmistakable
warnings that summer has flown, and that the begin-
ning of the year's end is near.

But our musings are put an end to by Tom, who
shouts, ' Massy alive ! what be these 'ere things
a-comin' Mister ? Look at 'em with that 'ere tool o'
yourn ! '

I look in the direction indicated, and see nine
large birds coming at top speed, their wings full
spread — their best migrating rate this is. They are
herring gulls, all of them pure grey and white. As I
hand Tom the glass they are right overhead. After
a moment's silence he yells out, ' As big as geese ! I
ken see the feathers in their wings, an' their beaks an'
eyes ! Why ye ken a'most touch things with this ! '

Those who know the ways of the herring gull
know well that they visit the cornfields at times.
Although this place is full thirty miles from the tide
' as the crow flies,' and the gulls were making direct
for the south coast, it is possible they may have
rested on some of the large sheets of water that so

IN FLIGHT TIME 185

plentifully dot this line of country. Round the edges
of the lonely pools in upland hollows the print-marks
of webbed feet have certainly been found, and now
and again the birds that left these have been fired at.
From a minute description given me of some such by
one man who fired but missed, one who was not well
up in bird life, I believe them to have been young
birds of the lesser black-backed gull species.

Wild geese, to my certain knowledge, visit the
stubble fields after the corn is cut ; so do the ducks.
I am quite inclined to believe, from what I have
heard and seen, that gulls break their flight to rest
in some lonely swamp, or on some sheltered wood-
land pool.

Flight time gives one much to ponder over. The
birds come and go, but there are no set rules for
them. To a certain extent they must be the crea-
tures of circumstances over which they have little
control. Food and shelter are needful to the well-
being of all wild creatures, whether they be high or
low in the scale.

Some who rarely move out without a gun in their
hands, mourn over the decreasing numbers of wild
things. To these I would say, ' Put the gun in its
case, and take out a good field-glass in place of it ;
there is far more pleasure in watching the life in a

186 IN FLIGHT TIME

creature than in knocking the life out of it. The gua
may, however, in some cases be a necessity ; that is,,
of course, a different matter. But I can honestly say
that any real insight I may have into Nature and her
ways began when I made that exchange myself.

Herons are moving now, young birds chiefly ; any
pond or pool that is on waste ground, and the
rougher the better, will be visited by them. Most of
these ponds have fish, small carp as a rule. How they
got there is a puzzle which I will try later on to make
clear. One heron, passing over some fields, was.
mobbed by a lot of rooks that were about to settle
there. They went for him with one accord, darting,,
cuffing, and striking in all directions, and cawing and
quarking at a fearful rate. The heron wobbled and
tumbled at first like a lump of feathers gone wild.
Presently he cleared himself; then he circled in the
air, the rooks following. Again and again he circled,
higher and higher above his persecutors, and these
tried to reach him, cawing their loudest. When the
heron had mounted so high that he looked the size of
a rook, he became stationary, and flapped his wings
like a large hawk. Then he changed his tactics, and
there was a transformation. The rooks became
aware of it, and with loud cries of alarm they dived
and tumbled in all directions, darting down low over

IN FLIGHT TIME 187

the ground, and then up into the trees like rockets ;
there they hid themselves in perfect silence. I watched
the incident through my glasses from the start to the
finish, and was able to see some fine flights on the
part of the heron, as well as by the rooks.

The latest detachments of swallows are preparing
for flight. For six successive mornings I have been
taking note of them near one of their favourite
gathering places, which is visited by the sunlight
directly the sun rises over a neighbouring hill. An
interesting sight it is as they sit in long lines, tier
after tier, on the postal-telegraph wires. With very
few exceptions these are all young birds ; they do not
move as we walk gently beneath them, only twitter
as they preen their feathers.

All are swallows, and yet no two of them are
exactly alike. The parent birds dash down to feed
some of the smallest, without, however, settling.
These companies are composed of first and second
broods ; the weaklings will be the latest to leave — that
is, if they live. A sudden change of temperature, such
as we so frequently have, from heat to frost, kills them
in numbers. Some half-dozen old birds we note, dis-
tributed at long intervals among several hundreds of
birds, apparently just to maintain order ; for I notice
that when one of the stronger young fellows flies from

;i 88 IN FLIGHT TIME

his perch and tries to hustle a weaker one from its
place, he is quickly brought to book by one of those
older ones, so that, on the whole, it is a very orderly
gathering. The coming and the going of swallows is
certainly a very remarkable matter for consideration,
for they come and go by twos and threes, in small
companies and in large ones, to fill their accustomed
haunts by degrees ; quitting them in the same
gradual fashion.

My daily avocation compelling me to be about
all over the country in every sort of weather, foul as
well as fair, I see many an incident which might
otherwise have escaped observation. In the early
part of April, this present year, 1892, business took
me through some fine park-lands just then lit up by
the sun. When I reached the centre of these a mob
of swallows, some fifty or sixty of them there were,
dropped down from their migrating flight to settle on
the park railings. They were in splendid plumage,
and apparently right glad that their journey was over,
for they twittered, broke out into full song, caressed
each other, and preened their feathers, fluttering over
across the road and back to the rails again. So tired
were the beautiful, innocent creatures that they allowed
me to walk along the whole length of their line, and to
look at them at a distance of barely six feet from this

IN FLIGHT TIME 189

their first resting-place. When birds that are on mi-
grating flight settle, there is no preliminary inspection
of localities or surroundings. They simply drop down
evidently dead beat, just as we should, under similar
circumstances, rest on the first seat that presented
itself. On the following day the swallows were to
be seen in their accustomed haunts, darting over the
village green, shooting under the grey arches of the
bridge which spans the Mole, above the water-
meadows, and again circling round the elms that
surround the old farm.

190

LONGSHORE MEMORIES

NEARLY all the fauna of England were represented
fully in our fens or marshes — the red deer and the
roe deer excepted. Foxes, badgers, otters, martens,
polecats, stoats, weasels, rats, mice, voles, shrews,
and moles were all gathered together in one district.
Fish, of course, and reptiles and insects were there also,
in abundance. In all the fens or marshlands where
the water is free from salt, rank lush-vegetation will
be seen in its perfection. About those spots where
the salt water mingles with the fresh at times, owing
to high tides and the natural creeks that run up to
meet the inland streams, the tangle will not be quite
so rank. You may get through it, with considerable
pains, in certain places. No wonder that such local-
ities, before they were drained, should have been a
refuge for all wild creatures.

Here the birds of prey literally held high revels ;
and, in what was their paradise, the bittern boomed
or bumped, the herons quarked harshly, and rails,

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 191

•coots, grebes, and snipes sent forth their voices to
mingle with the croaking of the frog. To many of
us this was the music of the marshes and a delight to
the ear. Hundreds of birds, rare ones many of them
would be considered now, though common enough
then, were shot without exciting the least notice or
comment — bitterns, herons, avocets, ruffs, and reeves,
as well as all the waders, swimmers, and divers. As
to the peculiar sounds heard at certain seasons, it
would be difficult to give any adequate idea of these.
It was only natural that men who were shaken by
ague, and half delirious with the marsh-fever, that
comes in winter time as well as in summer, fancied
that supernatural creatures were abroad. One saw
the wrecks of what once were strong men and fine
healthy women, prematurely aged by ague, fever,
and the large quantities of laudanum and brandy
by which they sought to keep the former foes in
check.

Although countless larks soared and sang in the
bright sunlight, strange unearthly cries sounded
through the long nights. Many places that had evil
reputations were literally death-traps to the man who
placed his foot on one of them, fair though they were
for the eye to rest on.

The only literature to be met with in our smaller

192 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

dwellings, if the owners of these could read at all,,
would be a large-lettered Bible and an almanac of the
plainest form. If this predicted future events, or
pretended to do it, so much the more was it appreci-
ated. In lonely homes, often cut off for weeks and
months together from their nearest neighbours, when
the waters were out and the land was drowned,
their position was at times an unenviable one, and
under the most favourable circumstances their lot, in
the light of the present day, would appear unendurable
to many Yet these served God and did their duty,
deriving as much, and perhaps more satisfaction there-
from than do the more highly-favoured ones of their
class to-day.

The simple arts of reading and writing were
highly valued ; those mothers and fathers who could
read and write taught their own children and those
of their less gifted neighbours during the long winter
evenings. A man or woman who could read a six-
weeks-old newspaper to the neighbours, and write a
letter for them at intervals, few and far between, was
much looked up to and respected. A book, especially
if it was illustrated, would be lent for miles round ;
and when, through constant wear and tear, it be-
gan to go, it was stitched and pasted in wonderful
fashion.

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 193

Little in the way of fine art reached us, beyond
the gay pictures on the top of the pretty fruit and
glove boxes brought for their mothers or sweethearts
by those young sailors who had visited France or
Holland. But though our folks had small book know-
ledge, they learned much from nature direct. The
four seasons brought to them little variation ; one
year was to them the same as another. In spring
the waders wakened up the flats to life, again, when
they nested in their wonted grounds. The pewits
ran about, taking little heed of man, woman, or child.
One of their favourite breeding stations, I remember,
was close to the most frequented track of the flats.

The boys would give you the action of the snipe
in breeding-time, as he mounts up piping, or, as they
termed it, ' whinnying,' as well as the humming
sound he makes in his descent. The action of the
bird's wings they would make with the hands, as they
imitated the bleat and the hum to the life. All
the various cries and motions of the wildfowl they
were familiar with ; from the quick, rocket-like spring
of the teal to the heavy flap of the wild swan rising
from the water, from the little grebe to the great
sprat diver, they knew them all.

The number of churches along the shore was re-
markable, considering the thinly scattered population,

O

194 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

but I fear the number of the orthodox faithful
was very small. My own people were attached to
the ' Hew Agag in pieces ' school, and, as a rule, I
was taken to hear their favourite preachers. I re-
member well the fervour with which these depicted
the horrors of the infernal regions, to the edification
of such as had scapegoats, as they always called the
scapegraces of their families — possibly with more
truth than they imagined. As a boy, I have shivered
with fear and perspired in real agony under some
of these discourses. And yet there was another side
also to this, and in the annals of our fishing village
I have told how the influence of some of those uncon-
ventional Christians affected us at times in a more
healthy manner. On Sunday you would see a few
figures moving across the marshes, patiently trudging
for miles on their way to church or chapel ; grave
men and sedate women, and the plovers crying and
flapping, unheeded, about them as they walked.

The beautiful grey and white gulls, resting in and
around the clear shallow splashes, barely drew their
attention from the path they were travelling by.
These were so mixed up in their daily lives that
they would only have noticed their absence. When
the gulls rested like that, and the pewits ran and
flapped all around, they knew it would be settled

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 195

weather for a time. If they hovered and cried over-
head, and made for the upland fields, foul weather
was certainly coming, and they must prepare for it.
When some strange sea-fowl, one that was an unusual
visitant to our shores, was found in the fields, there
would be much shaking of wise heads, and mutterings
about storms that were brewing somewhere away, and
of high tides ; and the safety of the banks had to be
seen to. Birds were the weather omens, for good or
for ill, and our folks were rarely or never misled in
heeding them. Light-heartedness was a rare quality
on our shores, heredity and the force of circum-
stances made the natives grave and solemn of de-
meanour.

If they detested one thing more than another, it
was having a case of any kind brought before ' the
justices.' Matters were usually fought out between
man and man, and the system worked well. Tena-
cious enough they were, each one for what he knew
belonged to him, such as fur, fin, and feather ; also
concerning their various boundary marks. As a rule,
all made common cause, helping one another when
danger threatened or help was needed. News spread
quickly over the flats, for the graziers had good
horses ; no better of their sort were to be had.

One marshland farm I often visited stood by itself

196 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

in the marsh, full five miles away from any other
dwelling. You reached it by a marshland road, by no
means an easy one to travel over, or you could branch
off down to it from the upland hard main road, that
overlooked nothing but marsh and water for miles
upon miles, by a narrow track just wide enough for
one waggon to go up or down it. The farm-house
and buildings, with one or two substantial cottages for
the farm ' lookers,' as they were called, stood on the
end of a slope, one of those long strips of solid ground
that here and there rise gently up from the swamp-
lands and join on to the uplands.

The main house was a large square brick build-
ing, of two stories, having huge chimney-stacks ;
solid it was throughout. The upper windows were
lead lights, so were most of the lower ones, on strong
iron casements ; all the woodwork was of oak, dark
with age, but sound as a bell. The windows of the
large parlour and living room, where the master and
his family enjoyed the small leisure they could allow
themselves, had very strong window-sashes with
numerous small squares of glass, all being protected
by inside as well as outside shutters. These windows
opened on to the large walled-in garden, where figs,
peaches, and nectarines ripened to perfection after the
burning marshland summers. In the latter part of

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 197

autumn, just before the first frosts came, the trees
were covered up for the winter by stout reed screens ;
great sedge litter covered their roots. When the
winter had fairly set in, and the marshes were covered
with snow, the farm was a beacon by night and a
landmark by day for those who were compelled to
travel over them.

A noted stock-breeder was the master. Horned
cattle and sheep he turned his attention to, and with
great success. Where beasts range through sedges
and willow-scrub thickets, and are out night and day
from the late spring till early autumn, they are apt to
get into very primitive ways, and the ' lookers ' required
all the assistance their strong intelligent dogs could
give them, as well as to use freely their leaping-poles.
These were of ash-wood, and they had a circular piece
at one end to prevent the pole from bending, when a
leap over the wide dykes was taken. Some of these
dykes the dogs — grey, rough-coated, bob-tailed sheep-
dogs with great brown eyes — had to swim across. In
gadfly time it was a fine sight to see a herd of cattle
charging along, bellowing, tails up and heads down,
their horns rattling against each other like great
sticks. A fine sight, at least, if you happened to
be in the adjoining marsh, with a broad dyke between
you and that herd. Otherwise you did well to climb

ig8 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

on to the top of a big pollard willow, if one was
within reach.

I was exploring a dyke one day that was fringed
with the very finest marsh tangle I had ever seen.
There were high plumed grasses, great burdocks with
prickly burs that fasten tenaciously on to your cloth-
ing, rankly growing to the height of a man's head.
Water-docks with great leaves made rare cool cover
for all the creatures that were about. I was in search
of the rarer kinds of rails, but had to abandon the
quest as I came on something that turned the current
of my thoughts very effectually. One of our very
active marsh cows had conducted her calf hither, as
a refuge from the heat, and, by gently pressing her
broad muzzle over the young thing, had given it to
understand that it should lie down there. Down lay
the calf, out of sight under the cool large leaves, and
the cow, fully convinced that her offspring was com-
fortable and in safe quarters, had gone a few yards
further to feed on some delicate grass-tops.

Somehow or other, I managed to stumble on that
hidden calf, which forthwith jumped up, blaring out
its terror. There was a bellow, and a crash ensued ;
then some large red and white object flashed through
the tangle before my eyes. A very confused idea of
the scene remained in my memory : a kind of cow

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 199

earthquake — a bellowing, pounding and tearing up of
turf, with loud snortings. For a moment I was spell-
bound ; then a strong arm hurled me on one side,
whilst a voice roared out ' Git back ! ' That I did, and
quickly too. Domestic animals, when left to their own
devices in large extents of pasture, use instinctively
the same methods for the protection of their young
or their own welfare that they would in a wild
state.

Sometimes, where the grazier's grounds were very
large, as many as three, or even four, ' lookers ' would
be employed to watch over them. Their office was
no sinecure, for by turns these men acted as farm
bailiffs, keepers, stock-tenders, fishers, boatmen, and
wildfowlers, as the varying seasons demanded. Broad-
shouldered, deep-chested men they were as a rule, of
dark complexion and determined mien ; a weakly
' looker ' would have been worse than useless. I said
they acted as keepers ; it was not because game
needed looking after ; that kept to the rising ground
miles away. But in dry seasons rare covers of par-
tridges would come whirring down into the marshes
for emmets, as the ants were always called, and the
grasshoppers that swarmed in every direction. They
did not stay till the shooting season, though ; after
they had enjoyed a plentiful course of emmets and

LONGSHORE MEMORIES

'jumpers/ the birds whirred back again whence they
came. A ' sou'-wester ' covered the looker's head,
one like that of a coalheaver, but smaller ; fisher-
men's boots reached up to the thigh, and a good
guernsey down over the boot tops when these were
drawn up.

Very anxious times those were for our graziers
when high tides might be expected, especially in the
night-time. The banks and sluices had all to be care-
fully inspected by the ' lookers,' each farmer having to
keep in good condition the banks that protected his
own grazing grounds. Where cattle can feed, hares
will be found, rabbits also, in the drier parts of
marshes especially. Huge warrens are the links or
dunes in some counties, having a lagoon or fleet on
the marsh side, and the open sea, or a wide creek
where the salt water runs up, on the other. Unless
the hares and rabbits can be confined to such places,
they are killed as quickly as they are met with, and
necessarily so, for the banks, or walls where the sluices
are, protect thousands of cattle and their owners. A
rabbit-burrow or two in a bank would effect more
harm than could be remedied for years afterwards.

When the mushroom season was in, one man I
knew well gave some of the ' lookers ' plenty of exer-
cise. It was a curious sight to see three of these run,

LONGSHORE MEMORIES

then leap up in the air on their poles, as they came
upon a dyke in pursuit of my agile friend the tres-
passer. This was the style of thing you heard : ' I
say, " Flighter," look here ! You'll cum onest too
often, an' you knows it.' Or, ' You needn't take that
'ere pole by the middle ; I ain't fool enough fur you
tu ketch me flyin' over, where you've got out o" my
ma'shes ; but you'll git it ; you've been out o' bounds
agin.'

' I knows I hev', but I ain't got all the mushe-
rooms, you didn't give me time to fill this 'ere baskit.
Now jest you go anuther track when I cums.'

' Sha'n't do nuthin' o' the sort. Dooty is dooty ;
an' ef you an' me does hev' a little ager medicine when
I ain't on dooty, 'taint tu say as you are tu cum here
musheroomin' ; an' you wun't. I'll leather ye, or you'll
leather me, if we does fall foul o' one anuther, when
I'm on dooty.'

' I sha'n't be asleep when ye takes that 'ere job
on ; but I reckins I may git my musherooms out o'
somebody else's ma'sh to-day, old Srimper ! '

The afterglow of evening is on the marshes and
lights up the waters of a winding lagoon which is
fringed with reeds. The reed tassels look like dark
feathers in the foreground ; behind them the sky is a
soft rose colour, streaked with bands of richest purple.

LONGSHORE MEMORIES

One great pole in the mid distance, which serves as a
guide for those at sea, towers up, clear from all. All
is quiet ; only a few bats skim over the reeds, just
touching the water now and again with their leathery
wings, and making small circles of light in the shadowy
portions of it. A pair of marsh owls skim over, shoot
up in the air, dart over the reeds, and vanish again
with hawk-like speed.

From out of one of the dykes that lead into the
long watercourse a fowling punt glides like a shadow.
' Flappers ' are about, and this is their time for com-
ing out of the reeds on to the water. Two young
fowlers are in the punt ; one is in front with the long
gun, the other paddles her noiselessly along, the
ripples in her wake showing like dull red waves of
colour. The punt glides on, and, with the exception
of a coot that clanks now and again, or the croaking
of a rail as he slips into the reeds and sedges, all is
still. A few owls on the hunt sweep along over the
water, and into the marsh and back again ; but as yet
no ducks show themselves, so the punt steals on. Just
before it reaches a bend, the soft spattering sound of
ducks nozzling in soppy weed is faintly heard. Very
gently the punt is brought over to the other side, into
deep shadow ; then her head is turned towards the
point whence the sound comes, and there are visible

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 203

a nice lot of flappers with a few old ducks, all busily
feeding.

A report rings out which shakes the reeds, and
most of the fowl lie dead on the water. Swiftly the
punt is paddled to get the cripples, and all are
gathered save one which flutters to a spot which
appears from the punt to offer firm footing. In his
eagerness the fowler forgets to try the bottom with
his pole before he springs towards his bird. With
horror, his companion sees him go down, not in water
but in quake bog, where he is smothered, buried out
of sight in a few instants. As in a dream, the friend
got home to tell the story. The body was recovered,
but to this day the spot is shunned as though accursed.

Ay, more than these sad memories haunt one.
How well I remember that bright summer morning
when a party of our young fellows left the village for
a swim. The tide was up ; the bright water glittered
in the sunlight, and the larks sang loudly all over the
flats — the air seemed full of them. Like so many
water spaniels, the boys took the water, and one,
bolder than the rest, made for mid-channel, breasting
it bravely. Sharp and loud over the water comes a
cry for help ; cramp has seized the brave swimmer.
At their utmost speed his companions make for him.
' Tear through it, boys, or he's done for ! '

204 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

A boat is put out from the side of a ship at anchor.
' Give way, lads, smart ! ' and the boat shoots through
the water at racing pace, the oars going like clock-
work. ' Bend to it, lads ; he's down for the second
time ! ' No need to urge them, they are pulling for
life.

The swimmers know that the boat will reach him
first, but, with their hearts in their mouths, on they
swim.

He shows for the last time. ' Pull, lads, we shall
have him ! one more spurt for the love of God ! ' Too
late. ' Well rowed, lads ! Try the grapples ! ' shouts
one of the swimmers. But the tide has carried him
no one knows where now. And the seaman's practised
eye telling him the swimmers are well-nigh exhausted,
he bids them get into the boat quick. On reaching
the shore they put on their clothes with heavy hearts,
and ask who will carry the tidings to his mother. The
ringleader in all their mad freaks and pranks — the
boldest and most venturesome of the party — is asked
to do it ; but, with hot tears in his eyes, he refuses.
She got the news quickly enough, poor soul, for a
little lad who had been minding our clothes ran home
in a fit of terror, telling everyone he met on his way
up the street that poor Ned was drowned. ' Ah,'
says one of the old fishermen, ' I knows where the

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 205

tide 'ull take him to when it turns — to the big sluice
it 'ull take him, see if it don't.'

We shudder as we think of the place, with its
massive piles and gates covered with sea-weeds and
tangle ; a place you would not want to look at twice,
when the tide was out. Imagine a gully twelve feet
deep, reaching to the base of the sea-wall, the sides
of it for a long distance lined with great piles — trees
pointed at one end and driven down into the ooze
thirty feet or more. Even with these you could see
the rush and wear of the tide : a grim place to look
at ! likely to give you the nightmare. At low-water
you could see great eels twisting about, and crabs,
those useful but ferocious scavengers, scuttling about
sideways, in search of food. A gruesome place,
shunned by all of us lads, especially at night, bold
though we were ; for we knew what had been found
there more than once.

About two hours after the tide had gone down the
heavy tread of fishermen in their great boots rang on
the pavement. They had found him in the big sluice.
From that time we avoided the spot more than ever.
To this day memory brings the picture of it all often
vividly before my eyes.

A curious thing happened when I was a boy, which
I have never seen mentioned anywhere. Hundreds

206 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

of French partridges came to our shore from seawards,
and there dropped and lay exhausted. Some of our
folks filled baskets full with them before they could re-
cover sufficiently to get inland. They were in prime
condition. That was in the afternoon ; the next day
not a single bird of that species could be found.
Some way or other they had certainly made a mis-
take in their reckonings. A calm day it was, too,
without any wind. That summer was a glorious one ;
many of the migrating birds stayed very late. Some
bitterns were shot — the ' yaller French herns ' — so
called because they were rather common on the Essex
coast and some portions of the Kentish flats at the
time we were at war with France, or, as our folks
said, ' that year we fit Old Boney.'

Spots such as that called ' the Marsh Fleet ' are
fast vanishing day by day. It lay in Kent, close to
the Essex shore.

As we near the Fleet, or lagoon, for such it really
is, the sun floods the whole extent of marsh and dis-
tant shore in a soft golden light. The cattle and the
sheep look almost twice their natural size as they
stand or lie half hidden in the long lush vegetation.
Sails of vessels show in fine contrast to the green of
the flats — some a flash of warm yellow, others gleam-
ing red in the sun. The craft make their way slowly

LONGSHORE MEMORIES 207

along, shadow after shadow falling on their broad
sails as they pass or near each other. Most of them
are barges making for the mouth of the Thames or
the Medway. This lagoon is fringed with a belt of
high reeds and rushes for some distance out. By
careful management it is possible to squeeze into
them without getting fast in the mud ; but you must
step on the matted roots — break through them, and
there is no saying where you will go.

We have only made our way a few yards when
the birds let us know that we are trespassing. Reed
sparrows, or wrens, as they are called, chide and
chatter, running up the reed stems in a most dis-
tracted manner, for close to my face are one or two
of their nests. How deep that mud is we have no
means of knowing. Once I made a practical guess at
it to my sorrow. Decayed water-plants have left their
remains there year after year ; matter has been de-
posited from the water itself — all forming a light
flooring of unknown depth. The reed-cutters will
drop their long ash poles which they use to work
their punts with, and show you how far down they
will go with a simple pressure of the hands.

But changes have come over our flats, and time
has made a difference to all our longshore dwellers.
One place, once a celebrated resort of wildfowl, is

208 LONGSHORE MEMORIES

now a fruit orchard ; and a part of the shore fre-
quented by sanderlings and dotterels, each in their
season, is now covered with fine houses, forming a
marine parade.

And so our longshore shooter's occupation is gone,
and, if he would earn a living, he must often take to
very different work, to wit, the drainage of his much1-
loved marshes.

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Company Manners— The Well of Pen-Morphia— The Heart of John Middleton— Traits
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