When Brush gave an account of all that he had seen to his partner, who
was of a much more cautious disposition than himself, he was rather
vexed that she still seemed not quite convinced that these water-rats
were such peaceable, good-tempered animals as he believed them to be.
It was very tiresome, to be sure, but she _would_ keep on relating
all the foolish old tales she had ever heard about their killing other
animals, and even their own children. We all know how disagreeable it
is when we have been taking a great deal of trouble to persuade other
people to think like ourselves on any subject, to find at last, after
half-an-hour's talking, that they are just as much attached to their
own opinions as ever. Now our squirrel was really a very good-tempered
fellow in general, but I must confess that he was rather cross on this
occasion; and though he did not say much about it, he showed that he
was "a little out of sorts," as people say, by curling himself up for
the night fully half an hour before his usual time of going to sleep.
But the next morning he awoke in a very good-humoured mood indeed, and
worked hard all day with his companion, to complete the nest. He seemed
to have forgotten the subject of their dispute, till towards evening,
when, as he was sitting alone on a branch of the oak, on the side
nearest the pond, a _bat_ suddenly fluttered by, skimming with zigzag
flight over the still water.
"There goes old Leatherwing, I declare!" exclaimed Brush: "the very
person I was wishing to see! I'll call out to him to stop the next time
he passes, and ask him to set me right about those water-rats. He is a
very learned old fellow, and I believe knows something about every
animal in the woods. To be sure, old Leatherwing is often rather
tiresome and prosy, and he _will_ talk a great deal about his own
affairs; but then he is a very clever old gentleman for all that, and
has seen a great deal of the world."
For some time Leatherwing continued flying backwards and forwards, over
the upper end of the pond, and seemed determined not to approach the
oak-tree. The truth is, that his game, which consisted of gnats and
other small insects, was abundant just at that spot, and a very hearty
supper he made that evening. I suppose he found the legs and wings of
these insects rather dry food, for sometimes, as he skimmed over the
water, he would dip in like a swallow, and drink a few drops as he
passed, in order to wash them down.
While he is eating his supper, I intend to give you a short, and I hope
not a very uninteresting description of his curious wings. As for his
habits and manner of passing his time, I dare say that he will take
care to say something upon that subject himself, when he gets into
conversation with Brush, who has just informed us that "old Leatherwing
_will_ talk a great deal about his own affairs."
Almost every person, whether living in the town or country, must often
have observed the bat flitting about trees and houses in a calm summer
evening, but many have never taken the trouble to examine him more
closely, or have not had an opportunity of doing so. To form a proper
idea of the structure of the bat's wings you must understand, that his
fore-legs, or his _arms_, as I will call them, are almost as long as
his body, and that all the four fingers of his hands are _quite as
long as his arms_. Between these immensely long and slender fingers,
is stretched, (like the silk on the framework of an umbrella,) a very
thin elastic skin, or membrane,[4] which is continued from the tips of
the little fingers to the ankles of the hind-legs, and then very nearly
to the end of the tail, which is almost as long as his body. So that
the animal, when spread out in the flying position, is entirely
surrounded with the membrane, except at the head and neck. The toes of
the hind-foot, and the thumb of the hand, are not attached to the skin,
and are not longer than those of other animals. These are furnished
with sharp and hooked claws, so that the bat can cling very firmly to
walls and perpendicular rocks.
[4] The membrane of the bat's wing appears to possess a most
exquisite and inconceivable sensibility. Cruel experiments have
proved that this animal, when deprived of the senses of seeing,
hearing, and smelling, will still fly about a room, without ever
coming into contact with the walls, or with threads stretched
across in all directions. Cuvier supposes, that "the propinquity
of solid bodies is perceived by the manner in which the air
re-acts upon the surface of the wings." This astonishing faculty,
which almost indicates the possession of a sixth sense unknown to
us, is no doubt of great use to the bat, as it enables him to
pursue his rapid zigzag flight in the dark, without fear of
striking against the boughs of trees, or other obstacles.
The animal introduced in the tale is the common bat, _Vespertilio
pipistrellus_ of modern naturalists. It is now ascertained that
no less than seventeen species of this singular family are
natives of this country. Some of them are very much larger than
the common bat, measuring fifteen inches in the extent of their
wings.
It has been said, that the bat is nothing more than a _mouse with
wings_. Nonsense! except in its size, it has no more resemblance to the
_mouse_, than it has to the _lion_; and those who think that the two
animals are at all alike can never have examined them attentively.
However, in some parts of the country the bat is still called by its
old English name, "_the flittermouse_," that is, the mouse that
_flitters_, or _flutters_ about.
When Leatherwing had caught most of the insects at the upper end of the
pond, he thought he would try what success he could meet with lower
down; and then he came so near the oak-tree that Brush managed to make
him hear at last. So the bat, who happened to be in rather a talkative
mood, left off insect-hunting for the present, for the sake of enjoying
a little gossip with his old acquaintance. He settled on a branch close
by, but instead of sitting down like other animals, the queer little
creature chose to hang himself up by his hind-claws, with his head
downwards, and his wings closely folded round him. In this strange,
and, as most people would think, extremely uncomfortable position, old
Leatherwing began the following conversation:--
LEATHERWING.
Well, Master Brush, what do you want with me now? Just made such a
glorious supper! Do you know, I fancy that the insects about this pond
of yours are fatter and better tasted than any others, and that's the
reason I come so far after them. For _'tis_ a good way off, you know,
to the old church-tower where I live. Well, but as I was saying, what
do you want with me this evening?
BRUSH.
Why, I want to ask you a question, for to tell you the truth, yesterday
evening Mrs. B. and I had a little----
LEATHERWING.
What! a little addition to your family? you don't say so! Well, I
thought it was almost time, for we are nearly in the middle of summer.
Now do you know Mrs. Leatherwing was confined several days ago, and
that's the reason she is not with me this evening. I left her flying up
and down a shady lane nearer home, carrying her baby about with her, as
she always does, you know, till it grows pretty strong. She had only
one this time. And so Mrs. Brush is confined, is she? Well, I
congratulate you. How many has she got? Five or six, I'll be bound!
BRUSH.
She hasn't got any at all yet, Mr. Leatherwing, though what may happen
in the course of a few days I cannot possibly tell. But I want to ask
you a question about something that has puzzled us very much lately.
LEATHERWING.
To be sure, I dare say I shall be able to answer it; for though I say
it myself, I _am_ able to give you an answer to almost any question.
For you see, friend Brush, I have lived all my life in towns and
villages, and so I have heard and seen a good deal of what passes in
the world. Then I am not like you sleepy animals, who hardly ever wake
up more than once or twice during the whole winter. To be sure, I take
a little nap myself, of about a couple of months, in the very coldest
weather, when there are no insects stirring. We bats, you know, can't
eat nuts, and such sort of trash; and so when there is no wholesome
food to be met with, we are obliged to sleep a little, just to pass
away the time. Now, if I could contrive to keep a winter stock of
_gnats_, as easily as you can of _nuts_, I declare I would not sleep
much more in winter than in summer. For I don't mind a little frost,
not I! only in cold weather, instead of flying about in the evening, as
I do at this time of the year, I choose the sunshine in the middle of
the day, because then I have the best chance of meeting with some game.
And yet ignorant people say that I cannot bear the light of the sun! I
can tell you, that I picked up a pretty good meal of insects one bright
day last winter, when the ground was frozen hard, and I heard some of
the stupid boys in our village call out, as I passed them, 'Why!
there's a bat! Throw thy cap at him, Jem! What business has _he_ got to
be flying about now, I wonder?' And then another said, 'Throw at him!
Well done! Once get him down on the ground, and he can neither run nor
fly. These fellows can't raise themselves off the ground, dost know!'
"Great fools! I might easily have shown them that I can both run very
well on the ground, and fly up from it when I choose; but I did _not_
choose to try it just then. But let me see, what were we talking about?
You were going to ask me a question, I think."
As Brush had now an opportunity of speaking at last, he related to
Leatherwing all the tales he had heard about the evil doings of the
water-rats, and also what he had himself observed of their habits. Then
he asked the bat for his opinion upon this puzzling question, and the
old fellow gave it as follows:--
LEATHERWING.
The longer I live in the world, my good friend Brush, and the more I
see of the world, the more I am astonished at the stupidity and amazing
ignorance of the people I meet with! To be sure, everybody has not had
such good opportunities as myself of obtaining information, or has not
made such good use of them. But let that pass. Now for these water-rats.
In the first place, then, they _are_ a very quiet, inoffensive people,
and would no more think of killing a mouse, or a young bird, or any
other small animal, than you would. The only mischief they ever do is
by boring their holes through the embankments of canals and ponds, and
in this manner the meadows have sometimes been flooded. In the second
place, all the other wicked deeds that they have been accused of should
be laid to the charge of the _common brown rat_, a ferocious,
savage-tempered creature, which often lives in the banks of ditches,
and is then supposed by silly people to be the same animal as the
water-rat.
BRUSH.
Capital! so I was right after all about the character of these
good-tempered neighbours of ours. Ho, ho! Mrs. Brush, I shall have
something to tell you presently! Then it must have been one of these
common brown rascal that killed little Gotobed's relation.
LEATHERWING.
To be sure it was, for as I tell you, they are fierce, savage
creatures, and are so voracious that they will eat anything. They
destroy young birds and other animals; and if no other food could be
found, I dare say they would be wicked and unnatural enough to make a
meal of their own young ones. And yet, let me tell you, they are very
clever, sensible creatures, if they would but make a better use of
their abilities. The worst of it all is that they are _foreigners_, and
have no business in this country at all, though from what part of the
world they came I cannot tell you.[5] And if I cannot answer this
question, you may be sure, friend Brush, that there are not many people
living who can. However, here the rascals are; and what do you think
they have been endeavouring to do ever since they came? Why, they have
been trying to destroy all the rats that had possession of the country
before their arrival; and as these old English black rats, as they are
called from their colour, are smaller and weaker than themselves, I
dare say that they will at last succeed in their wicked designs. So as
this vile foreign brown rat is fond of living in the banks of ditches
and of ponds, near mills and stables, he is often thought to be the
same as the quiet respectable water-rat. For, as I say, the stupidity
and ignorance of people is really amazing! Why, the two animals are no
more alike than you and I are, I was going to say; certainly not nearly
so much alike, except in size, as yourself and the little Gotobeds down
below, there. No! these water friends of yours should never acknowledge
the common rat as a cousin; but they are not very distantly related to
a much more noble animal--to the _beaver_,[6] friend Brush, though
perhaps you have never heard of such a creature.
[5] The common brown rat, which has now been an inhabitant of
this island for about one hundred years, is often improperly
called the "Norway rat," as if it came originally from that
country; whereas, it was quite unknown there when it first
received that name. Pennant believes that it was brought over in
merchant-vessels from the East Indies.
It is even supposed, that the old English black rat, as it is
called, is not originally a native of this island, as no mention
is made of it in any author earlier than the middle of the
sixteenth century.
[6] The characters of the teeth, the form of the body, and the
habits of the water-rat, fully justify its removal from the genus
_mus_, to which the common rat belongs, and indicate a pretty
close affinity to the beaver. Linnæus himself appears struck
with this, for though in his _Systema Naturæ_ he has placed the
water-rat in the genus _mus_, in a subsequent work he has removed
it to that of _castor_.
Well, well, we must not expect too much from people who have never had
an opportunity of learning. I could tell you a good deal about this
relation of the water-rat, this clever fellow called the beaver, and
about the famous wooden houses he makes of the trunks and branches of
trees. But I declare I must fly home, and see how Mrs. Leatherwing is
getting on. Oh! stop a minute, though; I forgot one thing. Perhaps
_you_ don't believe that I can run on a level surface, or raise myself
from it, as you may never have seen me do it. Look here, then!
So saying, the funny little creature made what he called a _run_, along
the large branch upon which Brush was seated, and at the end of this
_run_ of two or three feet in length, he gave a sort of a little spring
into the air, and instantly spreading his beautiful wings, he sailed
away from the tree, saying, "Good bye, Brush! what d'ye think of that,
eh?"
But the squirrel did not return the farewell, for when he saw the very
ridiculous manner in which his friend shuffled along, while he
performed the feat which he called _running_, he was seized with such a
fit of laughter that he could make no reply, and he was even obliged to
hold fast, lest he should fall off the branch. When he had recovered
from his merriment, he began to talk to himself, in an unusually grave
and moralizing strain.
"Well, Mr. Leatherwing," said he, "you are an odd fellow, a very odd
little fellow indeed! But I have learned something from you this
evening, besides the information you gave me about those rats. I have
learned that every animal has a different part to perform in the world,
and that we all should be content with our situations, and not attempt
to do things for which we were never intended. Now I suppose nobody
will deny that I can run and leap famously, so that I am quite at home
among the boughs of this beautiful oak; but I cannot fly at all, and I
believe I should be a very poor swimmer. Then there is my neighbour,
the water-rat, who can both dive and swim like a fish, but he can no
more fly than myself, and I am sure he cannot leap half so well. As for
old Leatherwing, the _air_ is for him, and most delightful it must be
to fly and sail about as he does. But then he must be content with
_flying only_, for I think he would be much worse off in the water than
I should, and when he attempts to run or to leap--Ha! ha! what fun! I
must go and tell Mrs. Brush all about that."