THE GOLDFINCH.
The Goldfinch, which is cousin to the Linnet, is wonderfully clever and
docile, as I shall show you presently. In the first place, however, let
me say a word or two about bird cleverness in general, which I copy
from Jules Michelet’s interesting work, “The Bird.” Speaking of the
great, cruel, and rapacious family of the _Raptores_, or Birds of Prey,
he expresses satisfaction in the idea that this race of destroyers is
decreasing, and that there may come a time when they no longer exist
on the earth. He has no admiration for them, though they may be the
swiftest of the swift, and the strongest of the strong, because they
put forth none of the higher qualities of courage, address, or patient
endurance in taking their prey, which are all weak and powerless in
comparison with themselves; their poor unoffending victims. “All these
cruel tyrants of the air,” he says, “like the serpents, have flattened
skulls, which show the want of intellect and intelligence. These birds
of prey, with their small brains, offer a striking contrast to the
amiable and intelligent species which we find amongst the smaller
birds. The head of the former is only a beak, that of the latter is a
face.” Afterwards, to prove this more strongly, he gives a table to
show the proportion of brain to the size of the body in these different
species of birds. Thus the chaffinch, the sparrow, and the goldfinch,
have more than six times as much brain as the eagle in proportion to
the size of the body. We may look, therefore, for no less than six
times his intelligence and docile ability. Whilst in the case of the
little tomtit it is thirteen times as much.
But now for the goldfinch, of which our cut—which is both faithful
and beautiful—shows us a pair, evidently contemplating with much
satisfaction the nest which they have just finished on one of the
topmost boughs of a blossomy apple-tree. This nest is a wonderful
little fabric, built of moss, dry grass, and slender roots, lined with
hair, wool, and thistle-down; but the true wonder of the nest is the
exact manner in which the outside is made to imitate the bough upon
which it is placed. All its little ruggednesses and lichen growths
are represented, whilst the colouring is so exactly that of the old
apple-tree that it is almost impossible to know it from the branch
itself. Wonderful ingenuity of instinct, which human skill would find
it almost impossible to imitate!
The bird lays mostly five eggs, which are of a bluish-grey, spotted
with greyish-purple or brown, and sometimes with a dark streak or two.
The goldfinch is one of the most beautiful of our English birds, with
its scarlet forehead, and quaint little black velvet-like cap brought
down over its white cheeks; its back is cinnamon brown, and its breast
white; its wings are beautifully varied in black and white, as are also
its tail feathers. In the midland counties it is known as “The Proud
Tailor,” probably because its attire looks so bright and fresh, and it
has a lively air as if conscious of being well dressed.
[Illustration:
GOLDFINCHES AND NEST. [Page 16.
]
[Sidenote: _Daily Life of this Bird._]
Like its relation, the linnet, it congregates in flocks as soon as
its young can take wing, when they may be seen wheeling round in
the pleasant late summer and autumn fields, full of life, and in
the enjoyment of the plenty that surrounds them, in the ripened
thistle-down, and all such winged seeds as are then floating in the air.
How often have I said it is worth while to go out into the woods and
fields, and, bringing yourself into a state of quietness, watch the
little birds in their life’s employment, building their nests, feeding
their young, or pursuing their innocent diversions! So now, on this
pleasant, still autumn afternoon, if you will go into the old pasture
fields where the thistles have not been stubbed up for generations, or
on the margin of the old lane where ragwort, and groundsel, and burdock
flourish abundantly, “let us,” as the author of “British Birds” says,
“stand still to observe a flock of goldfinches. They flutter over the
plants, cling to the stalks, bend in various attitudes, disperse the
down, already dry and winged, like themselves, for flight, pick them
out one by one and swallow them. Then comes a stray cow followed by a
herd boy. At once the birds cease their labour, pause for a moment,
and fly off in succession. You observe how lightly and buoyantly
they cleave the air, each fluttering its little wings, descending in
a curved line, mounting again, and speeding along. Anon they alight
in a little thicket of dried weeds, and, in settling, display to the
delighted eye the beautiful tints of their plumage, as with fluttering
wings and expanded tail, they hover for a moment to select a landing
place amid the prickly points of the stout thistles whose heads are now
bursting with downy-winged seeds.”
[Sidenote: _The Goldfinch._]
The song of the goldfinch, which begins about the end of March, is
very sweet, unassuming, and low—similar to that of the linnet, but
singularly varied and pleasant.
Now, however, we must give a few instances of this bird’s teachable
sagacity, which, indeed, are so numerous that it is difficult to make a
selection.
Mr. Syme, in his “British Song Birds,” says, “The goldfinch is easily
tamed and taught, and its capacity for learning the notes of other
birds is well known. A few years ago the Sieur Roman exhibited a number
of trained birds: they were goldfinches, linnets, and canaries. One
appeared dead, and was held up by the tail or claw without exhibiting
any signs of life; a second stood on its head with its claws in the
air; a third imitated a Dutch milkmaid going to market with pails on
its shoulders; a fourth mimicked a Venetian girl looking out at a
window; a fifth appeared as a soldier, and mounted guard as a sentinel;
whilst a sixth acted as a cannonier, with a cap on its head, a firelock
on its shoulder, and a match in its claw, and discharged a small
cannon. The same bird also acted as if it had been wounded. It was
wheeled in a barrow as if to convey it to the hospital, after which
it flew away before the whole company. The seventh turned a kind of
windmill; and the last bird stood in the midst of some fireworks which
were discharged all round it, and this without showing the least sign
of fear.”
Others, as I have said, may be taught to draw up their food and water,
as from a well, in little buckets. All this is very wonderful, and
shows great docility in the bird; but I cannot greatly admire it, from
the secret fear that cruelty or harshness may have been used to teach
them these arts so contrary to their nature. At all events it proves
what teachable and clever little creatures they are, how readily they
may be made to understand the will of their master, and how obediently
and faithfully they act according to it.
Man, however, should always stand as a human Providence to the
animal world. In him the creatures should ever find their friend and
protector; and were it so we should then see many an astonishing
faculty displayed; and birds would then, instead of being the most
timid of animals, gladden and beautify our daily life by their sweet
songs, their affectionate regard, and their amusing and imitative
little arts.
[Sidenote: _Introduced into Pictures._]
The early Italian and German painters introduce a goldfinch into their
beautiful sacred pictures—generally on the ground—hopping at the feet
of some martyred saint or love-commissioned angel, perhaps from an old
legend of the bird’s sympathy with the suffering Saviour, or from an
intuitive sense that the divine spirit of Christianity extends to bird
and beast as well as to man.
[Illustration]