Mr. Wallace's chapters on the 'Philosophy of Birds' Nests,' in his work
on 'Natural Selection.' This writer is inclined to suppose that birds do
not build their nests distinctive of their various species by the
teachings of hereditary instinct, but by the young birds intelligently
observing the construction of the nests in which they are hatched, and
purposely imitating this construction when in the following season they
have occasion to build nests of their own. With reference to this theory
it is only needful to say that it is antecedently improbable, and not
well substantiated by facts. It is antecedently improbable because, when
any habit has been continued for a number of generations--especially
when the habit is of a peculiar and detailed character--the probability
is that it has become instinctive; we should have almost as much reason
to anticipate that the nest of the little crustacean _Podocerus_, or the
cell of the hive-bee, is constructed by a process of conscious
imitation, as that this is the case with the nests of birds. And this
theory is not well substantiated by facts because, if the theory were
true, we should expect considerable differences to be usually presented
by nests of the same species. Unless the construction of the nest of any
given species were regulated by a common instinct, numberless
idiosyncratic peculiarities would necessarily require to arise, and
there would only be a very general uniformity of type presented by the
nests of the same species.
A more valuable contribution to the 'Philosophy of Birds' Nests' is
furnished by this able naturalist when he directs attention to a certain
general correlation between the form of the nest and the colour of the
female. For, on reviewing the birds of the world, he certainly makes
good the proposition that, as a general rule, liable however to frequent
exceptions, dull-coloured females sit on open nests, while those that
are conspicuously coloured sit in domed nests. But Mr. Darwin, in a
careful review of all the evidence, clearly shows that this interesting
fact is to be attributed, not, as Mr. Wallace supposed, to the colour of
the female having been determined through natural selection by the form
of the nest, but to the reverse process of the form of the nest having
been determined by the colour of the female.[170]
Another general fact of interest connected with nidification must not be
omitted. This is that the instincts of nidification, although not so
variable as the theory of Mr. Wallace would require, are nevertheless
highly plastic. The falcon, which usually builds on a cliff, has been
known to lay its eggs on the ground in a marsh; the golden eagle
sometimes builds in trees or on the ground, while the heron varies its
site between trees, cliffs, and open fen.[171] Again, Audubon, in his
'Ornithological Biography,' gives many cases of conspicuous local
variations in the nests of the same species in the northern and
southern United States; and, as Mr. Wallace truly observes,--
Many facts have already been given which show that
birds do adapt their nests to the situations in which
they place them; and the adoption of eaves, chimneys,
and boxes by swallows, wrens, and many other birds,
shows that they are always ready to take advantage of
changed conditions. It is probable, therefore, that a
permanent change of climate would cause many birds to
modify the form or materials of their abode, so as
better to protect their young.[172]
In America the change of habits in this respect undergone by the
house-swallow has been accomplished within the last three hundred years.
Closely connected, if not identical, with this fact is another, namely,
that in some species which have been watched closely for a sufficient
length of time, a steady improvement in the construction of nests has
been observed. Thus C. G. Leroy, who filled the post of Ranger of
Versailles about a century ago, and therefore had abundant opportunities
of studying the habits of animals, wrote an essay on 'The Intelligence
and Perfectibility of Animals from a Philosophical Point of View.' In
this essay he has anticipated the American observer Wilson in noticing
that the nests of young birds are distinctly inferior to those of older
ones, both as regards their situation and construction. As we have here
independent testimony of two good observers to a fact which in itself is
not improbable, I think we may conclude that the nest-making instinct
admits of being supplemented, at any rate in some birds, by the
experience and intelligence of the individual. M. Pouchet has also
recorded that he has found a decided improvement to have taken place in
the nests of the swallows at Rouen during his own lifetime; and this
accords with the anticipation of Leroy that if our observation extended
over a sufficient length of time, and in a manner sufficiently close, we
should find that the accumulation of intelligent improvements by
individuals of successive generations would begin to tell upon the
inherited instinct, so that all the nests in a given locality would
attain to a higher grade of excellence.
Leroy also says that when swallows are hatched out too late to migrate
with the older birds, the instinct of migration is not sufficiently
imperative to induce them to undertake the journey by themselves. 'They
perish, the victims of their ignorance, and of the tardy birth which
made them unable to follow their parents.'
_Cuckoo._
Perhaps the strangest of the special instincts manifested by birds is
that of the cuckoo laying its eggs in the nests of other birds. As the
subject is an important one from several points of view, I shall
consider it at some length.
It must first be observed that the parasitic habit in question is not
practised by all species of the genus--the American cuckoo, for
instance, being well known to build its nest and rear its young in the
ordinary manner. The Australian species, however, manifests the same
instinct as the European. The first observer of the habit practised by
the European cuckoo was the illustrious Jenner, who published his
account in the 'Philosophical Transactions.'[173] From this account the
following is an extract:--
The cuckoo makes choice of the nests of a great
variety of small birds. I have known its eggs
entrusted to the care of the hedge-sparrow,
water-wagtail, titlark, yellowhammer, green linnet,
and winchat. Among these it generally selects the
three former, but shows a much greater partiality to
the hedge-sparrow than to any of the rest; therefore,
for the purpose of avoiding confusion, this bird only,
in the following account, will be considered as the
foster-parent of the cuckoo, except in instances which
are particularly specified.
When the hedge-sparrow has sat her usual time, and
disengaged the young cuckoo and some of her own
offspring from the shell,[174] her own young ones, and
any of her eggs that remain unhatched, are soon turned
out, the young cuckoo remaining possessor of the
nest, and sole object of her future care. The young
birds are not previously killed, nor are the eggs
demolished, but all are left to perish together,
either entangled about the bush which contains the
nest, or lying on the ground under it.
On June 18, 1787, I examined the nest of a
hedge-sparrow, which then contained a cuckoo's and
three hedge-sparrow's eggs. On inspecting it the day
following, I found the bird had hatched, but that the
nest now contained a young cuckoo and only one young
hedge-sparrow. The nest was placed so near the
extremity of a hedge, that I could distinctly see what
was going forward in it; and, to my astonishment, saw
the young cuckoo, though so newly hatched, in the act
of turning out the young hedge-sparrow.
The mode of accomplishing this was very curious. The
little animal, with the assistance of its rump and
wings, contrived to get the bird upon its back, and
making a lodgment for the burden by elevating its
elbows, clambered backward with it up the side of the
nest till it reached the top, when, resting for a
moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite
disengaged it from the nest. It remained in this
situation a short time, feeling about with the
extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced
whether this business was properly executed, and then
dropped into the nest again. With these (the
extremities of its wings) I have often seen it
examine, as it were, an egg and nestling before it
began its operations; and the sensibility which these
parts appeared to possess seemed sufficiently to
compensate the want of sight, which as yet it was
destitute of. I afterwards put in an egg, and this by
a similar process was conveyed to the edge of the nest
and thrown out. These experiments I have since
repeated several times in different nests, and have
always found the young cuckoo disposed to act in the
same manner. In climbing up the nest it sometimes
drops its burden, and thus is foiled in its
endeavours; but after a little respite the work is
resumed, and goes on almost incessantly till it is
effected. It is wonderful to see the extraordinary
exertions of the young cuckoo, when it is two or three
days old, if a bird be put into the nest with it that
is too weighty for it to lift out. In this state it
seems ever restless and uneasy. But this disposition
for turning out its companions begins to decline from
the time it is two or three till it is about twelve
days old, when, as far as I have hitherto seen, it
ceases. Indeed, the disposition for throwing out the
egg appears to cease a few days sooner; for I have
frequently seen the young cuckoo, after it had been
hatched nine or ten days, remove a nestling that had
been placed in the nest with it, when it suffered an
egg, put there at the same time, to remain unmolested.
The singularity of its shape is well adapted to these
purposes; for, different from other newly hatched
birds, its back from the scapulæ downwards is very
broad, with a considerable depression in the middle.
This depression seems formed by nature for the design
of giving a more secure lodgment to the egg of the
hedge-sparrow, or its young one, when the young cuckoo
is employed in removing either of them from the nest.
When it is about twelve days old this cavity is quite
filled up, and then the back assumes the shape of
nestling birds in general. . . . The circumstance of the
young cuckoo being destined by nature to throw out the
young hedge-sparrows seems to account for the parent
cuckoo dropping her egg in the nests of birds so small
as those I have particularised. If she were to do this
in the nest of a bird which produced a large egg, and
consequently a large nestling, the young cuckoo would
probably find an insurmountable difficulty in solely
possessing the nest, as its exertions would be unequal
to the labour of turning out the young birds. (I have
known a case in which a hedge-sparrow sat upon a
cuckoo's egg and one of her own. Her own egg was
hatched five days before the cuckoo's, when the young
hedge-sparrow had gained such a superiority in size
that the young cuckoo had not powers sufficient to
lift it out of the nest till it was two days old, by
which time it had grown very considerably. This egg
was probably laid by the cuckoo several days after the
hedge-sparrow had begun to sit; and even in this case
it appears that its presence had created the
disturbance before alluded to, as all the
hedge-sparrow's eggs had gone except one.) . . . June
27, 1787.--Two cuckoos and a hedge-sparrow were
hatched in the same nest this morning; one hedge
sparrow's egg remained unhatched. In a few hours
after, a contest began between the cuckoos for the
possession of the nest, which continued undetermined
till the next afternoon; when one of them, which was
somewhat superior in size, turned out the other,
together with the young hedge-sparrow and the
unhatched egg. This contest was very remarkable. The
combatants alternately appeared to have the advantage,
as each carried the other several times nearly to the
top of the nest, and then sunk down again oppressed
with the weight of its burden; till at length, after
various efforts, the strongest prevailed, and was
afterwards brought up by the hedge-sparrows.
To what cause, then, may we attribute the
singularities of the cuckoo? May they not be owing to
the following circumstances,--the short residence this
bird is allowed to make in the country where it is
destined to propagate its species, and the call that
nature has upon it, during that short residence, to
produce a numerous progeny? The cuckoo's first
appearance here is about the middle of April, commonly
on the 17th. Its egg is not ready for incubation till
some weeks after its arrival, seldom before the middle
of May. A fortnight is taken up by the sitting bird in
hatching the egg. The young bird generally continues
three weeks in the nest before it flies, and the
foster-parents feed it more than five weeks after this
period; so that, if a cuckoo should be ready with an
egg much sooner than the time pointed out, not a
single nestling, even one of the earliest, would be
fit to provide for itself before its parent would be
instinctively directed to seek a new residence, and be
thus compelled to abandon its young one; for old
cuckoos take their final leave of this country the
first week in July.
Had nature allowed the cuckoo to have stayed here as
long as some other migrating birds, which produce a
single set of young ones (as the swift or nightingale,
for example), and had allowed her to have reared as
large a number as any bird is capable of bringing up
at one time, there might not have been sufficient to
have answered her purpose; but by sending the cuckoo
from one nest to another, she is reduced to the same
state as the bird whose nest we daily rob of an egg,
in which case the stimulus for incubation is
suspended.
A writer in 'Nature' (vol. v., p. 383; and vol. ix., p. 123), to whom
Mr. Darwin refers in the latest edition of 'The Origin of Species' as an
observer that Mr. Gould has found trustworthy, precisely confirms, from
observations of his own, the above description of Jenner. So far,
therefore, as the observations are common I shall not quote his
statements; but the following additional matter is worth rendering:--
But what struck me most was this: the cuckoo was
perfectly naked, without a vestige of a feather or
even a hint of future feathers; its eyes were not yet
opened, and its neck seemed too weak to support the
weight of its head. The pipits (in whose nest the
young cuckoo was parasitic) had well-developed quills
on the wings and back, and had bright eyes partially
open; yet they seemed quite helpless under the
manipulations of the cuckoo, which looked a much less
developed creature. The cuckoo's legs, however,
seemed very muscular, and it appeared to feel about
with its wings, which were absolutely featherless, as
with hands--the 'spurious wing' (unusually large in
proportion) looking like a spread-out thumb. The most
singular thing of all was the direct purpose with
which the blind little monster made for the open side
of the nest, the only part where it could throw its
burden down the bank. [The latter remark has reference
to the position of the nest below a heather bush, on
the declivity of a low abrupt bank, where the only
chance of dislodging the young birds was to eject them
over the side of the nest remote from its support upon
the bank.] As the young cuckoo was blind, it must have
known the part of the nest to choose by feeling from
the inside that that part was unsupported.
Such being the facts, we have next to ask how they are to be explained
on the principles of evolution. At first sight it seems that although
the habit saves the bird which practises it much time and trouble, and
so is clearly of benefit to the individual, it is not so clear how the
instinct is of benefit to the species; for as cuckoos are not social
birds, and therefore cannot in any way depend on mutual co-operation, it
is difficult to see that this saving of time and trouble to the
individual can be of any use to the species. But Jenner seems to have
hit the right cause in the concluding part of the above quotation. If it
is an advantage that the cuckoo should migrate early, it clearly becomes
an advantage, in order to admit of this, that the habit should be formed
of leaving her eggs for other birds to incubate. At any rate, we have
here a sufficiently probable explanation of the _raison d'être_ of this
curious instinct; and whether it is the true reason or the only reason,
we are justified in setting down the instinct to the creating influence
of natural selection.
Mr. Darwin, in his 'Origin of Species,' has some interesting remarks to
make on this subject. First, he is informed by Dr. Merrell that the
American cuckoo, although as a rule following the ordinary custom of
birds in incubating her own eggs, nevertheless occasionally deposits
them in the nests of other birds.
Now let us suppose that the ancient progenitor of our
European cuckoo had the habits of the American cuckoo,
and that she occasionally laid her egg in another
bird's nest. If the old bird profited by this
occasional habit through being able to migrate
earlier, or through any other cause; or if the young
were made more vigorous by advantage being taken of
the mistaken instinct of another species than when
reared by their own mother, encumbered as she could
hardly fail to be by having eggs and young at the same
time;[175] then the old birds or the fostered young
would gain an advantage.[176]
The instinct would seem to be a very old one, for there are two great
changes of structure in the European cuckoo which are manifestly
correlated with the instinct. Thus, the shape of the young bird's back
has already been noted; and not less remarkable than this is the small
size of the egg from which the young bird is hatched. For the egg of the
cuckoo is not any larger than that of the skylark, although an adult
cuckoo is four times the size of an adult skylark. And 'that the small
size of the egg is a real case of adaptation (in order to deceive the
small birds in whose nests it is laid), we may infer from the fact of
the non-parasitic American cuckoo laying full-sized eggs.' Yet, although
the instinct in question is doubtless of high antiquity, there have been
occasional instances observed in cuckoos of reversion to the ancestral
instinct of nidification; for, according to Adolf Müller, 'the cuckoo
occasionally lays her eggs on the bare ground, sits on them, and feeds
her young.'
In 'Nature' for November 18, 1869, Professor A. Newton, F.R.S., has
published an article on a somewhat obscure point connected with the
instincts of the cuckoo. He says that Dr. Baldamus has satisfied him, by
an exhibition of sixteen specimens of cuckoos' eggs found in the nests
of different species of birds, 'that the egg of the cuckoo is
approximately coloured and marked like those of the bird in whose nest
it is found,' for the purpose, no doubt, of deceiving the
foster-parents. Professor Newton adds, however:--
Having said this much, and believing as I do the
Doctor to be partly justified in the carefully worded
enunciation of what he calls a 'law of nature,' I must
now declare that it is only 'approximately,' and by no
means _universally_ true that the cuckoo's egg is
coloured like those of the victims of her imposition,
&c.
Still, when so great an authority as Professor Newton expresses himself
satisfied that there is a marked _tendency_ to such imitation, which in
some cases leads to extraordinary variations in the colouring of the
cuckoo's egg, the alleged fact becomes one which demands notice. The
question, of course, immediately arises, How is it conceivable that the
fact, if it is a fact, can be explained? We cannot imagine the cuckoo to
be able consciously to colour her egg during its formation in order to
imitate the eggs among which she is about to lay it; nor can we suppose
that having laid an egg and observed its colouring, she then carries it
to the nest of the bird whose eggs it most resembles. Professor Newton
suggests another theory, which he seems to think sufficient, but which I
confess seems to me little more satisfactory than the impossible
theories just stated. He says:--
Only one explanation of the process can, to my mind,
be offered. Every person who has studied the habits of
birds with sufficient attention will be conversant
with the tendency which certain of those habits have
to become hereditary. It is, I am sure, no violent
hypothesis to suppose that there is a very reasonable
probability of each cuckoo most commonly placing her
eggs in the nest of the same bird, and of this habit
being transmitted to her posterity.
Now it will be seen that it requires but only an
application to this case of the principle of 'natural
selection,' or 'survival of the fittest,' to show that
if my argument be sound, nothing can be more likely
than that, in the course of time, that principle
should operate so as to produce the facts asserted,
the eggs which best imitated those of particular
foster-parents having the best chance of duping the
latter, and so of being hatched out.
Now, granting to this hypothesis the assumption that individual cuckoos
have special predilections as to the species in whose nests they are to
lay their eggs, and that some of these species require to be deceived by
imitative colouring of the egg to prevent their tilting it out, there is
still an enormous difficulty to be met. Supposing that one cuckoo out of
a hundred happens to lay eggs sufficiently like those of the North
African magpies (a species alluded to by Professor Newton) to deceive
the latter into supposing the egg to be one of their own. This I cannot
think is too small a proportion to assume, seeing that, _ex hypothesi_,
the resemblance must be tolerably close, and that the egg of the magpie
does not resemble the great majority of eggs of the cuckoo. Now, in
order to sustain the theory, we must suppose that the particular cuckoo
which happens to have the peculiarity of laying eggs so closely
resembling those of the magpie, must also happen to have the peculiarity
of desiring to lay its eggs in the nest of a magpie. The conjunction of
these two peculiarities would, I should think, at a moderate estimate
reduce the chances of an approximately coloured egg being laid in the
appropriate nest to at least one thousand to one. But supposing the
happy accident to have taken place, we have next to suppose that the
peculiarity of laying these exceptionably coloured eggs is not only
constant for the same individual cuckoo, but is inherited by innumerable
generations of her progeny; and, what is much more difficult to grant,
that the fancy for laying eggs in the nest of a magpie is similarly
inherited. I think, therefore, notwithstanding Professor Newton's strong
opinion upon the subject, that the ingenious hypothesis must be
dismissed as too seriously encumbered by the difficulties which I have
mentioned. We may with philosophical safety invoke the influence of
natural selection to explain all cases of protective colouring when the
_modus operandi_ need only be supposed simple and direct; but in a case
such as this the number and complexity of the conditions that would
require to meet in order to give natural selection the possibility of
entrance, seem to me much too considerable to admit of our entertaining
the possibility of its action--at all events in the way that Professor
Newton suggests. Therefore, if the facts are facts, I cannot see how
they are to be explained.
Cuckoos are not the only birds which manifest the parasitic habit of
laying their eggs in other birds' nests.
Some species of _Melothrus_, a widely distinct genus
of American birds, allied to our starlings, have
parasitic habits like those of the cuckoo; and the
species present an interesting gradation in the
perfection of their instincts. The sexes of _Melothrus
cadius_ are stated by an excellent observer, Mr.
Hudson, sometimes to live promiscuously together in
flocks and sometimes to pair. They either build a nest
of their own, or seize on one belonging to some other
bird, occasionally throwing out the nestlings of the
stranger. They either lay their eggs in the nest thus
appropriated, or oddly enough build one for themselves
on the top of it. They usually sit on their own eggs
and rear their own young; but Mr. Hudson says it is
probable that they are occasionally parasitic, for he
has seen the young of this species feeding old birds
of a distinct kind and clamouring to be fed by them.
The parasitic habits of another species of
_Melothrus_, the _M. Canariensis_, are much more
highly developed than those of the last, but are still
far from perfect. This bird, as far as it is known,
invariably lays its eggs in the nests of strangers,
but it is remarkable that several together sometimes
commence to build an irregular untidy nest of their
own, placed in singularly ill-adapted situations, as
on the leaves of a large thistle. They must, however,
as far as Mr. Hudson has ascertained, complete a nest
for themselves. They often lay so many eggs, from
fifteen to twenty, in the same foster-nest, that few
or none can possibly be hatched. They have, moreover,
the extraordinary habit of pecking holes in the eggs,
whether of their own species or of their
foster-parents, which they find in the appropriated
nests. They drop also many eggs on the bare ground,
which are thus wasted. A third species, the _M.
precius_ of North America, has acquired instincts as
perfect as those of the cuckoo, for it never lays more
than an egg in a foster-nest, so that the young bird
is securely reared. Mr. Hudson is a strong disbeliever
in evolution, but he appears to have been so much
struck by the imperfect instincts of the _Melothrus
Canariensis_ that he quotes my words, and asks, 'Must
we consider these habits not as especially endowed or
created instincts, but as small consequences of one
general law, namely transition?'[177]
Such are all the facts and considerations which I have to present with
reference to the curious instinct in question. It will be seen
that--with one doubtful or not sufficiently investigated exception,
viz., that of cuckoos adapting the colour of their eggs to that of the
eggs of the foster-parents--there is nothing connected with these
instincts that presents any difficulty to the theory of evolution. We
may, perhaps, at first sight wonder why some counteracting instinct
should not have been developed by the same agency in the birds which are
liable to be thus duped; but here we must remember that the deposition
of a parasitic egg is, comparatively speaking, an exceedingly rare
event, and therefore not one that is likely to lead to the development
of a special instinct to meet it.
_General Intelligence._
Under this heading I shall here, as in the case of this heading
elsewhere, string together all the instances which I have met with, and
which I deem trustworthy, of the display of unusually high intelligence
in the class, family, order, or species of animals under
consideration--the object of this heading in all cases being that of
supplying, by the facts mentioned beneath it, a general idea of the
upper limit of intelligence which is distinctive of each group of
animals.
That birds recognise their own images in mirrors as birds there can be
no question. Houzeau, who records observations of his own in this
connection with parrots,[178] adds that dogs are more difficult to deceive
by mirrors in this way than birds, on account of their depending so
much upon smell for their information. No doubt individual differences
are to be met with in animals of both classes, and much depends on
previous experience. Young dogs, or dogs which have never seen a mirror
before, are not, as a rule, difficult to deceive, even though they have
good noses. I myself had a setter with an excellent nose, who on many
repeated occasions tried to fight his own image, till he found by
experience that it was of no use. As to birds, I have seen canaries
suppose their own images to be other canary birds, and also the
reflection of a room to be another room--the birds flying against a
large mirror and falling half stunned. I mention the latter circumstance
because it afforded evidence of the superior intelligence of a linnet,
which on the same occasion dashed itself against the mirror once, but
never a second time, while the canaries did so repeatedly.
Mrs. Frankland, in 'Nature' (xxi., p. 82), gives the following account
of a bullfinch paying more attention to a portrait of a bullfinch than
to his own image in a mirror, which is certainly remarkable; and as the
fact seems to have been observed repeatedly, it can scarcely be
discredited:
The following is a curious instance of discrimination
which I have observed in my bullfinch. He is in the
habit of coming out of his cage in my room in the
morning. In this room there is a mirror with a marble
slab before it, and also a very cleverly executed
water-colour drawing of a hen bullfinch, life size.
The first thing that my bullfinch does on leaving his
cage is to fly to the picture (perching on a vase just
below it) and pipe his tune in the most insinuating
manner, accompanied with much bowing to the portrait
of the hen bullfinch. After having duly paid his
addresses to it, he generally spends some time on the
marble slab in front of the looking-glass, but without
showing the slightest emotion at the sight of his own
reflection, or courting it with a song. Whether this
perfect coolness is due to the fact of the reflection
being that of a cock bird, or whether (since he shows
no desire to fight the reflected image) he is
perfectly well aware that he only sees himself, it is
difficult to say.
That birds possess considerable powers of imagination, or forming mental
pictures of absent objects, may be inferred from the fact of their
pining for absent mates, parrots calling for absent friends, &c. The
same fact is further proved by birds dreaming, a faculty which has been
noticed by Cuvier, Jerdon, Thompson, Bennet, Houzeau, Bechstein,
Lindsay, and Darwin.[179]
The facility with which birds lend themselves to the education of the
show-man is certain evidence of considerable docility, or the power of
forming novel associations of ideas. Thus, according to Bingley,--
Some years ago the Sieur Roman exhibited in this
country the wonderful performances of his birds. These
were goldfinches, linnets, and canary birds. 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, &c., &c.[180]
And many years ago there was exhibited a very puzzling automaton, which,
although of very small size and quite isolated from any possibly
mechanical connection with its designer, performed certain movements in
any order that the fancy of the observers might dictate. The explanation
turned out to be that within the mechanism of the figure there was a
canary bird which had been taught to run in different directions at
different words or tones of command, so by its weight starting the
mechanism to perform the particular movement required.
The rapidity with which birds learn not to fly against newly erected
telegraph wires, displays a large amount of observation and
intelligence. The fact has been repeatedly observed. For instance, Mr.
Holden says:--
About twelve years ago I was residing on the coast of
county Antrim, at the time the telegraph wires were
set up along that charming road which skirts the sea
between Larne and Cushendall. During the winter months
large flocks of starlings always migrated over from
Scotland, arriving in the early morning. The first
winter after the wires were stretched along the coast
I frequently found numbers of starlings lying dead or
wounded on the road-side, they having evidently in
their flight in the dusky morn struck against the
telegraph wires, not blown against them, as these
accidents often occurred when there was but little
wind. I found that the peasantry had come to the
conclusion that these unusual deaths were due to the
flash of the telegraph messages killing any starlings
that happened to be perched on the wires when working.
Strange to say that throughout the following and
succeeding winters hardly a death occurred among the
starlings on their arrival. It would thus appear that
the birds were deeply impressed, and understood the
cause of the fatal accidents among their
fellow-travellers the previous year, and hence
carefully avoided the telegraph wires; not only so,
but the young birds must also have acquired this
knowledge and perpetuated it, a knowledge which they
could not have acquired by experience or even
instinct, unless the instinct was really inherited
memory derived from the parents whose brains were
first impressed by it.[181]
Similar facts are given in Buckland's 'Curiosities of Natural
History,'[182] and I have myself known of a case in Scotland where a
telegraph was erected across a piece of moorland. During the first
season some of the grouse were injured by flying against the wires, but
never in any succeeding season. Why the young birds should avoid them
without having had individual experience may, I think, be explained by
the consideration that in birds which fly in flocks or coveys, it is the
older ones that lead the way. This explanation would not, of course,
apply to birds which fly singly; but I am not aware that any
observations have gone to show that the young of such birds avoid the
wires.
I quote the following exhibition of intelligence in an eagle from
Menault:--
The following account of the patience with which a
golden eagle submitted to surgical treatment, and the
care which it showed in the gradual use of the healing
limb, must suggest the idea that something very near
to prudence and reason existed in the bird. This eagle
was caught in a fox-trap set in the forest of
Fontainebleau, and its claw had been terribly torn. An
operation was performed on the limb by the
conservators of the Zoological Gardens at Paris, which
the noble bird bore with a rational patience. Though
his head was left loose, he made no attempts to
interfere with the agonising extraction of the
splinters, or to disturb the arrangements of the
annoying bandages. He seemed really to understand the
nature of the services rendered, and that they were
for his good.[183]
Speaking of the Urubu vultures, Mr. Bates says:--
They assemble in great numbers in the villages about
the end of the wet season, and are then ravenous with
hunger. My cook could not leave the open kitchen at
the back of the house for a moment whilst the dinner
was cooking, on account of their thievish
propensities. Some of them were always loitering
about, watching their opportunity, and the instant the
kitchen was left unguarded, the bold marauders marched
in and lifted the lids of the saucepans with their
beaks to rob them of their contents. The boys of the
village lie in wait, and shoot them with bow and
arrow; and vultures have consequently acquired such a
dread of these weapons, that they may be often kept
off by hanging a bow from the rafters of the
kitchen.[184]
Mrs. Lee, in her 'Anecdotes', says that one day her
gardener was struck by the strange conduct of a robin,
which the man had often fed. The bird fluttered about
him in so strange a manner--now coming close, then
hurrying away, always in the same direction--that the
gardener followed its retreating movements. The robin
stopped near a flower-pot, and fluttered over it in
great agitation. It was soon found that a nest had
been formed in the pot, and contained several young.
Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a
meal of the brood.
The following appeared in the 'Gardener's Chronicle' for Aug. 3, 1878,
under the initials 'T. G.' I wrote to the editor requesting him to
supply me with the name of his correspondent, and also to state whether
he knew him to be a trustworthy man. In reply the editor said that he
knew his correspondent to be trustworthy, and that his name is Thomas
Guring:--
About thirty years ago the small market town in which
I reside was skirted by an open common, upon which a
number of geese were kept by cottagers. The number of
the birds was very great. . . . Our corn market at that
time was held in the street in front of the principal
inn, and on the market day a good deal of corn was
scattered from sample bags by millers. Somehow the
geese found out about the spilling of corn, and they
appear to have held a consultation upon the
subject. . . . From this time they never missed their
opportunity, and the entry of the geese was always
looked for and invariably took place. On the morning
after the market, early, and always on the proper
morning, fortnightly, in they came cackling and
gobbling in merry mood, and they never came on the
wrong day. The corn, of course, was the attraction,
but in what manner did they mark the time? One might
have supposed that their perceptions were awakened on
the market day by the smell of corn, or perhaps by the
noise of the market traffic; but my story is not yet
finished, and its sequel is against this view. It
happened one year that a day of national humiliation
was kept, and the day appointed was that on which our
market should have been held. The market was
postponed, and the geese for once were baffled. There
was no corn to tickle their olfactory organs from
afar, no traffic to appeal to their sense of hearing.
I think our little town was as still as it usually is
on Sundays. . . . The geese should have stopped away;
but they knew their day, and came as usual. . . . I do
not pretend to remember under what precise
circumstances the habit of coming into the street was
acquired. It may have been formed by degrees, and
continued from year to year; but how the old birds, who
must have led the way, marked the time so as to come in
regularly and fortnightly, on a particular day of the
week, I am at a loss to conceive.
Livingstone's 'Expedition to the Zambesi, 1865,' p. 209, gives a
conclusive account of the bird called the honey-guide, which leads
persons to bees' nests. 'They are quite as anxious to lure the stranger
to the bees' hive as other birds are to draw him away from their own
nests.' The object of the bird is to obtain the pupæ of the bees which
are laid bare by the ravaging of the nest. The habits of this bird have
long been known and described in books on popular natural history; but
it is well that the facts have been observed by so trustworthy a man as
Livingstone. He adds, 'How is it that members of this family have
learned that all men, white and black, are fond of honey? 'We can only
answer, by intelligent observation in the first instance, passing into
individual and hereditary habit, and so eventually into a fixed
instinct.
Brehm relates an instance of cautious sagacity in a pewit. He had placed
some horsehair snares over its nest, but the bird seeing them, pushed
them aside with her bill. Next day he set them thickly round the nest;
but now the bird, instead of running as usual to the nest along the
ground, alighted directly upon it. This shows a considerable
appreciation of mechanical appliances, as does also the following.
Mrs. G. M. E. Campbell writes to me:--
At Ardglass, co. Down, Ireland, is a long tract of
turf coming to the edge of the rocks overhanging the
sea, where cattle and geese feed; at a barn on this
tract there was a low enclosure, with a door fastening
by a hook and staple to the side-post: when the hook
was out of the staple, the door fell open by its own
weight. I one day saw a goose with a large troop of
goslings coming off the turf to this door, which was
secured by the hook being in the staple. The goose
waited for a minute or two, as if for the door to be
opened, and then turned round as if to go away, but
what she did was to make a rush at the door, and
making a dart with her beak at the point of the hook
nearly threw it out of the staple; she repeated this
manoeuvre, and succeeded at the third attempt, the
door fell open, and the goose led her troop in with a
sound of triumphant chuckling. How had the goose
learned that the force of the rush was needful to give
the hook a sufficient toss?
Mrs. K. Addison sends me the following instance of the use of signs on
the part of an intelligent jackdaw. The bird was eighteen months old,
and lived in some bushes in Mrs. Addison's garden. She writes:--
I generally made a practice of filling a large basin
which stands under the trees every morning for Jack's
bath. A few days ago I forgot this duty, and was
reminded of the fact in a very singular manner.
Another of my daily occupations is to open my
dressing-room shutters about eleven o'clock of a
morning. Now these said shutters open almost on to the
trees where Jack lives. The day I forgot his bath,
when I opened the shutters I found my little friend
waiting just outside them, as though he knew that he
should see me there; and when he did he placed himself
immediately in front of me, and then shook himself and
spread out his wings just as he always does in his
bath. The action was so suggestive and so
unmistakable, that I spoke just as I would have done
to a child--'Oh yes, Jack, of course you shall have
some water.'
Mr. W. W. Nichols writes to 'Nature:'--
The Central Prison at Agra is the roosting-place of
great numbers of the common blue pigeon; they fly out
to the neighbouring country for food every morning,
and return in the evening, when they drink at a tank
just outside the prison walls. In this tank are a
large number of fresh-water turtles, which lie in wait
for the pigeons just under the surface of the water
and at the edge of it. Any bird alighting to drink
near one of these turtles has a good chance of having
its head bitten off and eaten; and the headless bodies
of pigeons have been picked up near the water, showing
the fate which has sometimes befallen the birds. The
pigeons, however, are aware of the danger, and have
hit on the following plan to escape it. A pigeon comes
in from its long flight, and, as it nears the tank,
instead of flying down at once to the water's edge,
will cross the tank at about twenty feet above its
surface, and then fly back to the side from which it
came, apparently selecting for alighting a safe spot
which it had remarked as it flew over the bank; but
even when such a spot has been selected the bird will
not alight at the edge of the water, but on the bank
about a yard from the water, and will then run down
quickly to the water, take two or three hurried gulps
of it, and then fly off to repeat the same process at
another part of the tank till its thirst is satisfied.
I had often watched the birds doing this, and could
not account for their strange mode of drinking till
told by my friend the superintendent of the prison, of
the turtles which lay in ambush for the pigeons.
As a still more remarkable instance of the display of intelligence by a
bird of this species, I shall quote the following observation of
Commander R. H. Napier, also published in 'Nature' (viii., p. 324):--
A number of them (pouters) were feeding on a few oats
that had been accidentally let fall while fixing the
nose-bag on a horse standing at bait. Having finished
all the grain at hand, a large 'pouter' rose, and
flapping its wings furiously, flew directly at the
horse's eyes, causing the animal to toss his head, and
in doing so, of course shake out more corn. I saw this
several times repeated--in fact, whenever the supply
on hand had been exhausted. . . . Was not this something
more than instinct?
The following display of intelligence on the part of swallows is
communicated to me by Mr. Charles Wilson. It can scarcely be attributed
to accident, and does not admit of mal-observation. My informant says:--
Two swallows were building a nest in the verandah of a
house in Victoria, but as their nest was resting
partly on a bell-wire, it was by this means twice
pulled down. They then began afresh, making a tunnel
through the lower part of the nest, through which the
wire was able to act without doing damage.
Another gentleman writes me of another use to which he has observed
swallows put the artifice of building tunnels. Being molested by
sparrows which desired to take forcible possession of their nest, a pair
of swallows modified the entrance of the latter, so that instead of
opening by a simple hole under the eaves of a house, it was carried on
in the form of a tunnel.
Linnæus says that the martin, when it builds under the eaves of houses,
sometimes is molested by sparrows taking possession of the nest. The
pair of martins to which the nest belongs are not strong enough to
dislodge the invaders; but they convoke their companions, some of whom
guard the captives, whilst others bring clay, close up the entrance of
the nest, and leave the sparrows to die miserably. This account has been
to a large extent independently confirmed by Jesse, who seems not to
have been acquainted with the statement of Linnæus. He writes:--
Swallows seem to entertain the recollection of injury,
and to resent it when an opportunity offers. A pair of
swallows built their nest under the ledge of a house
at Hampton Court. It was no sooner completed than a
couple of sparrows drove them from it, notwithstanding
the swallows kept up a good resistance, and even
brought others to assist them. The intruders were left
in peaceable possession of the nest, till the two old
birds were obliged to quit it to provide food for
their young. They had no sooner departed than several
swallows came and broke down the nest; and I saw the
young sparrows lying dead on the ground. As soon as
the nest was demolished, the swallows began to rebuild
it.[185]
The same author gives the following and somewhat similar case:--
A pair of swallows built their nest against one of the
first-floor windows of an uninhabited house in Merrion
Square, Dublin. A sparrow, however, took possession of
it, and the swallows were repeatedly seen clinging to
the nest, and endeavouring to gain an entrance to the
abode they had erected with so much labour. All their
efforts, however, were defeated by the sparrow, who
never once quitted the nest. The perseverance of the
swallows was at length exhausted: they took flight,
but shortly afterwards returned, accompanied by a
number of their congeners, each of them having a piece
of dirt in its bill. By this means they succeeded in
stopping up the hole, and the intruder was immured in
total darkness. Soon afterwards the nest was taken
down and exhibited to several persons, with the dead
sparrow in it. In this case there appears to have been
not only a reasoning faculty, but the birds must have
been possessed of the power of communicating their
resentment and their wishes to their friends, without
whose aid they could not thus have avenged the injury
they had sustained.[186]
That birds sometimes act in concert may also be gathered from the
following observations recorded by Mr. Buck:--
I have constantly seen a flock of pelicans, when on
the feed, form a line across a lake, and drive the
fish before them up its whole length, just as
fishermen would with a net.[187]
The following is extracted from Sir E. Tennent's 'Natural History of
Ceylon,' and displays remarkable intelligence on the part of the crows
in that island:--
One of these ingenious marauders, after vainly
attitudinising in front of a chained watch-dog, that
was lazily gnawing a bone, and after fruitlessly
endeavouring to divert his attention by dancing before
him, with head awry and eye askance, at length flew
away for a moment, and returned bringing a companion
which perched itself on a branch a few yards in the
rear. The crow's grimaces were now actively renewed,
but with no better success, till its confederate,
poising itself on its wings, descended with the utmost
velocity, striking the dog upon the spine with all the
force of its strong beak. The ruse was successful; the
dog started with surprise and pain, but not quickly
enough to seize his assailant, whilst the bone he had
been gnawing was snatched away by the first crow the
instant his head was turned. Two well-authenticated
instances of the recurrence of this device came within
my knowledge at Colombo, and attest the sagacity and
powers of communication and combination possessed by
these astute and courageous birds.
This account, which would be difficult of credence if narrated by a less
competent author, is strikingly confirmed by an independent observation
on the crows of Japan, which has recently been published by Miss Bird,
in whose words I shall render it. She writes:--
In the inn garden I saw a dog eating a piece of
carrion in the presence of several of these covetous
birds. They evidently said a great deal to each other
on the subject, and now and then, one or two of them
tried to pull the meat away from him, which he
resented. At last a big strong crow succeeded in
tearing off a piece, with which he returned to the
pine where the others were congregated, and after much
earnest speech they all surrounded the dog, and the
leading bird dexterously dropped the small piece of
meat within reach of his mouth, when he immediately
snapped at it, letting go the big piece unwisely for a
second, on which two of the crows flew away with it to
the pine, and with much fluttering and hilarity they
all ate, or rather gorged it, the deceived dog looking
vacant and bewildered for a moment, after which he sat
under the tree and barked at them inanely. A gentleman
told me that he saw a dog holding a piece of meat in
like manner in the presence of three crows, which also
vainly tried to tear it from him, and after a
consultation they separated, two going as near as they
dared to the meat, while the third gave the tail a
bite sharp enough to make the dog turn round with a
squeak, on which the other villains seized the meat,
and the three fed triumphantly upon it on the top of a
wall.[188]
These two independent statements by competent observers of such similar
exhibitions of intelligence by crows, justifies us in accepting the
fact, remarkable though it be. As further corroboration, however, I
shall quote still another independent and closely similar observation,
which I find in a letter to me from Sir J. Clarke Jervoise, who says,
while writing of rooks which he has observed in England:--
A pheasant used to come very boldly and run off with
large pieces of food, which he could only divide by
shaking, and he was closely watched by the rooks for
the pieces that flew out of his reach. He learned to
run off into the shrubs, followed by the rooks, who
pulled his tail to make him drop his food.
I shall next quote a highly interesting observation which seems to have
been well made, and which displays remarkable intelligence on the part
of the birds described. These are Turnstones, which, as their name
implies, turn over stones, &c., in order to obtain as food the sundry
small creatures concealed beneath. In this case the observer was Edward.
Being concealed in a hollow, and unnoticed by the birds, he saw a pair
trying to turn over the body of a stranded cod-fish, three and a half
feet long, and buried in the sand to a depth of several inches. He thus
describes what he saw:--
Having got fairly settled down in my pebbly
observatory, I turned my undivided attention to the
birds before me. They were boldly pushing at the fish
with their bills, and then with their breasts. Their
endeavours, however, were in vain: the object remained
immovable. On this they both went round to the
opposite side, and began to scrape away the sand from
beneath the fish. After removing a considerable
quantity, they again came back to the spot which they
had left, and went once more to work with their bills
and breasts, but with as little apparent success as
formerly. Nothing daunted, however, they ran round a
second time to the other side, and recommenced their
trenching operations with a seeming determination not
to be baffled in their object, which evidently was to
undermine the dead animal before them, in order that
it might be the more easily overturned.
While they were thus employed, and after they had
laboured in this manner at both sides alternately for
nearly half an hour, they were joined by another of
their own species, which came flying with rapidity
from the neighbouring rocks. Its timely arrival was
hailed with evident signs of joy. I was led to this
conclusion from the gestures which they exhibited, and
from a low but pleasant murmuring noise to which they
gave utterance so soon as the new-comer made his
appearance. Of their feelings he seemed to be
perfectly aware, and he made his reply to them in a
similar strain. Their mutual congratulations being
over, they all three set to work; and after labouring
vigorously for a few minutes in removing the sand,
they came round to the other side, and putting their
breasts simultaneously to the fish, they succeeded in
raising it some inches from the sand, but were unable
to turn it over. It went down again into its sandy
bed, to the manifest disappointment of the three.
Resting, however, for a space, and without leaving
their respective positions, which were a little apart
the one from the other, they resolved, it appears, to
give the work another trial. Lowering themselves, with
their breasts pressed close to the sand, they managed
to push their bills underneath the fish, which they
made to rise about the same height as before.
Afterwards, withdrawing their bills, but without
losing the advantage which they had gained, they
applied their breasts to the object. This they did
with such force, and to such purpose, that at length
it went over, and rolled several yards down a slight
declivity. It was followed to some distance by the
birds themselves before they could recover their
bearing.[189]
I shall now bring this chapter to a close by presenting all the evidence
that I have been able to collect with regard to the punishment of
malefactors among rooks.
Goldsmith, who used constantly to observe a rookery from his window,
says that the selection of a site for the building of a nest is a matter
of much anxious deliberation on the part of a young crow couple; the
male and female 'examining all the trees of a grove very attentively,
and when they have fixed upon a branch that seems fit for their purpose,
they continue to sit upon it, and observe it very sedulously for two or
three days longer:'--
It often happens that the young couple have made
choice of a place too near the mansion of an older
pair, who do not choose to be incommoded by such
troublesome neighbours; a quarrel, therefore,
instantly ensues, in which the old ones are always
victorious. The young couple, thus expelled, are
obliged again to go through their
fatigues--deliberating, examining, and choosing; and,
having taken care to keep their due distance, the nest
begins again, and their industry deserves
commendation. But their activity is often too great in
the beginning; they soon grow weary of bringing the
materials of their nests from distant places, and they
very early perceive that sticks may be provided nearer
home, with less honesty indeed, but some degree of
address. Away they go, therefore, to pilfer as fast as
they can, and, whenever they see a nest unguarded,
they take care to rob it of the very choicest sticks
of which it is composed. But these thefts never go
unpunished, and probably, upon complaint being made,
there is a general punishment inflicted. I have seen
eight or ten rooks come upon such occasions, and,
setting upon the new nest of the young couple, all at
once tear it to pieces in a moment.
At length, however, the young pair find the necessity
of going more regularly to work. While one flies to
fetch the materials, the other sits upon the tree to
guard it; and thus in the space of three or four days,
with a skirmish now and then between, the pair have
filled up a commodious nest, composed of sticks
without, and of fibrous roots and long grass within.
From the instant the female begins to lay, all
hostilities are at an end; not one of the whole grove,
that a little before treated her so rudely, will now
venture to molest her, so that she brings forth her
brood with perfect tranquillity. Such is the severity
with which even native rooks are treated by each
other; but if a foreign rook should attempt to make
himself a denizen of their society, he would meet with
no favour, the whole grove would at once be up in arms
against him, and expel him without mercy.
Couch says ('Illustrations of Instinct,' p. 334 _et seq._):--
The wrong-doers being discovered, the punishment is
appropriate to the offence; by the destruction of
their dishonest work they are taught that they who
build must find their own bricks or sticks, and not
their neighbours', and that if they wish to live in
the enjoyment of the advantages of the social
condition, they must endeavour to conform their
actions to the principles of the rookery of which they
have been made members.
It is not known what enormities led to the institution
of another tribunal of the same kind, called the Crow
Court, but according to Dr. Edmonson, in his 'View of
the Shetland Islands,' its proceedings are as
authoritative and regular, and it is remarkable as
occurring in a species (_Corvus Cornice_) so near akin
to the rook. The Crow Court is a sort of general
assembling of birds who, in their usual habits, are
accustomed to live in pairs, scattered at great
distances from each other; when they visit the south
or west of England, as they do in severe winters, they
are commonly solitary. In their summer haunts in the
Shetland Islands, numbers meet together from different
points on a particular hill or field; and on these
occasions the assembly is not complete, and does not
begin its business for a day or two, till, all the
deputies having arrived, a general clamour or
croaking ensues, and the whole of the court, judges,
barristers, ushers, audience, and all, fall upon the
two or three prisoners at the bar, and beat them till
they kill them. When this is accomplished the court
breaks up and quietly disperses.
In the northern parts of Scotland (says Dr. Edmonson),
and in the Faroe Islands, extraordinary meetings of
crows are occasionally known to occur. They collect in
great numbers, as if they had all been summoned for
the occasion; a few of the flock sit with drooping
heads, and others seem as grave as judges, while
others again are exceedingly active and noisy; in the
course of about one hour they disperse, and it is not
uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or
two left dead on the spot. These meetings will
sometimes continue for a day or two before the object,
whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to
arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon
as they have all arrived, a very general noise ensues;
and, shortly after, the whole fall upon one or two
individuals, and put them to death. When the execution
has been performed, they quietly disperse.
Similarly, the Bishop of Carlisle writes in the 'Nineteenth Century' for
July 1881:--
I have seen also a jackdaw in the midst of a
congregation of rooks, apparently being tried for some
misdemeanour. First Jack made a speech, which was
answered by a general cawing of the rooks; this
subsiding, Jack again took up his parable, and the
rooks in their turn replied in chorus. After a time
the business, whatever it was, appeared to be settled
satisfactorily: if Jack was on his trial, as he seemed
to be, he was honourably acquitted by acclamation; for
he went to his home in the towers of Ely Cathedral,
and the rooks also went their way.
Lastly, Major-General Sir George Le Grand Jacob, K.C.S.I., C.B., writes
to me that while sitting in a verandah in India, he saw three or four
crows come and perch on a neighbouring house. They then cawed
continuously with such peculiar sound and vigour as to attract his
attention. His account proceeds:--
Soon a gathering of crows from all quarters took
place, until the roof of the guard-house was blackened
by them. Thereupon a prodigious clatter ensued; it was
plain that a 'palaver' was going forward. Some of its
members, more eager than others, skipping about, I
became much interested, and narrowly watched the
proceedings, all within a dozen yards of me. After
much cawing and clamour, the whole group suddenly rose
into the air, and kept circling round half a dozen of
their fellows, one of whom had been clearly told off
for punishment, for the five repeatedly attacked it in
quick succession, allowing no opportunity for their
victim to escape, which he was trying to do, until
they had cast him fluttering on the ground about
thirty yards from my chair. Unfortunately I rushed
forward to pick up the bird, prostrate but fluttering
on the grass which was like a lawn before the
building. I succeeded only in touching it, for it
wriggled away from my grasp, and flew greatly crippled
and close to the ground into the neighbouring bushes,
where I lost sight of it. All the others, after
circling round me and chattering, angrily as I
thought, flew away, on my resuming my seat, in the
direction taken by their victim.
[Since going to press I have seen, through the
kindness of Mr. Seebohm, some specimens of cuckoo's
eggs coloured in imitation of those belonging to the
birds in the nests of which they are laid. There can
be no question about the imitation, and I add this
note to mitigate the criticism which I have passed
upon Professor Newton's theory of the cause. For Mr.
Seebohm has pointed out to me that the theory becomes
more probable if we consider that a cuckoo reared in
the nest of any particular bird is likely afterwards
to choose a similar nest for the deposition of its own
eggs. Whether or not the memory of a bird would thus
act could only, of course, be certainly proved by
experiment; but in view of the possibility that it
may, Professor Newton's theory becomes more probable
than it is if the selection of the appropriate nest is
supposed to depend only on inheritance.
I most also add that Dr. Sclater has been kind enough
to draw my attention to a remarkable description of a
species of Bower-bird, published by Dr. Beccari in the
_Gardener's Chronicle_ for March 16, 1879. This
species is called the Gardener Bower-bird (_Amblyornis
niornata_), and inhabits New Guinea. The animal is
about the size of a turtle-dove, and its bower--or
rather hut--is built round the stem of a tree in the
shape of a cone, with a space between the stem of the
tree and the walls of the hut. The latter are composed
of stems of an orchid with their leaves on--this
particular plant being chosen by the birds apparently
because its leaves remain long fresh. But the most
extraordinary structure is the garden, which is thus
described by Dr. Beccari:--'Before the cottage there
is a meadow of moss. This is brought to the spot and
left free from grass, stones, or anything which would
offend the eye. On this green turf flowers and fruits
of pretty colour are placed, so as to form an elegant
little garden. The greater part of the decoration is
collected round the entrance to the nest, and it would
appear that the husband offers these his daily gifts
to his wife. The objects are very various, but always
of a vivid colour. There were some fruits of a
Garcinia like a small-sized apple. Others were the
fruits of Gardencias of a deep yellow colour in the
interior. I saw also small rosy fruits, probably of a
Scitamineous plant, and beautiful rosy flowers of a
new Vaccinium. There were also fungi and mottled
insects placed on the turf. As soon as the objects are
faded they are moved to the back of the hut.' There is
a fine-coloured plate of this bird in its garden,
published in the _Birds of New Guinea_, by Mr. Gould
Part ix., 1879.]
FOOTNOTES:
[145] _Curiosities_, &c., p. 126. Wilson also, in his _American
Ornithology_, gives the following sufficiently credible account of the
memory of a crow:--'A gentleman who resided on the Delaware, a few miles
below Easton, had raised [reared] a crow, with whose tricks and society
he used frequently to amuse himself. This crow lived long in the family,
but at length disappeared, having, as was then supposed, been shot by
some vagrant gunner, or destroyed by accident. About eleven months after
this, as the gentleman one morning, in company with several others, was
standing on the river shore, a number of crows happened to pass by; one
of them left the flock, and flying directly towards the company,
alighted on the gentleman's shoulder, and began to gabble away with
great volubility, as one long-absent friend naturally enough does on
meeting another. On recovering from his surprise the gentleman instantly
recognised his old acquaintance, and endeavoured, by several civil but
sly manoeuvres, to lay hold of him; but the crow, not altogether
relishing quite so much familiarity, having now had a taste of the
sweets of liberty, cautiously eluded all his attempts; and suddenly
glancing his eye on his distant companions, mounted in the air after
them, soon overtook and mingled with them, and was never afterwards seen
to return.'
[146] _Journal of Mental Science_, July 1879.
[147] Couch, _Illustrations of Instinct_, p. 165.
[148] _Gleanings_, vol. i., pp. 112-13.
[149] Couch, _Illustrations of Instinct_, p. 232.
[150] See especially Bingley, _Animal Biography_, vol. ii., pp. 327-29.
[151] _Gleanings_, pp. 58-9.
[152] Smiles, _Life of Edward_, p. 240.
[153] _History of Mexico_, p. 220.
[154] _Zoologist_, vol. ii.
[155] Watson, _Reasoning Power of Animals_, pp. 375-76, where see also
some curious cases of male storks slaying their females upon the latter
hatching out eggs of other birds. He gives an exactly similar case as
having occurred with the domestic cock; and in Bingley (_loc. cit._,
vol. ii., p. 241) there is quoted from Dr. Percival another case of the
same kind, in which a cock killed his hen as soon as she had hatched out
a brood of young partridges from eggs which had been set to her.
[156] See Darwin. _Descent of Man_, pp. 92, 381, 406, 413.
[157] Gould, _Birds of Australia_, vol. i., pp. 442-45.
[158] Bingley, _Animal Biography_, vol. ii., p. 220.
[159] For full information, see Buckland, _Curiosities of Natural
History_, p. 183.
[160] Of the crow (carrion and hooded), Edward says: 'He goes aloft with
a crab, and lets it fall upon a stone or a rock chosen for the purpose.
If it does not break, he seizes it again, goes up higher, lets it fall,
and repeats his operation again and again until his object is
accomplished. When a convenient stone is once met with, the birds resort
to it for a long time. I myself know a pretty high rock, that has been
used by successive generations of crows for about twenty years!' Also,
as Handcock says, 'a friend of Dr. Darwin saw on the north coast of
Ireland above a hundred crows preying upon mussels, which is not their
natural food; each crow took a mussel up into the air, twenty or forty
yards high, and let it fall on the stones, and thus breaking the shell,
got possession of the animal. Ravens, we are told, often resort to the
same contrivance.'
[161] Couch, _Illustrations of Instinct_, pp. 192-93.
[162] _Gleanings_, &c., vol. i., p. 71.
[163] _Ibid._
[164] _Voyage of a Naturalist_, &c., p. 184.
[165] _Orn. Biog._, i., p. 276.
[166] Newton, _Encycl. Brit._, art. 'Birds.'
[167] _Catalogue of Birds_, &c., p. 16.
[168] Gould, _Birds of Australia_, vol. ii., p. 155, where see for
further description.
[169] _Animal Biography_, vol. ii., p. 204.
[170] See _Descent of Man_, p. 452 _et seq._
[171] See Newton, _Ency. Brit._, art. 'Birds.'
[172] _Natural Selection_, pp. 232-3.
[173] _Phil. Trans._, vol. lxxviii., p. 221 _et seq._
[174] The young cuckoo is generally hatched first.
[175] Allusion is here made to the fact that the cuckoo lays her eggs at
intervals of two or three days, and therefore that if all were incubated
by the mother, they would hatch out at different times--a state of
things which actually obtains in the case of the American cuckoo, whose
nest contains eggs and young at the same time.
[176] It is worth while to observe, as bearing on this theory of the
origin of this parasitic habit, that even non-parasitic birds
occasionally deposit their eggs in nests of other birds. Thus, Professor
A. Newton writes in his admirable essay on 'Birds' in the Encyclopædia
Britannica, 'Certain it is that some birds, whether by mistake or
stupidity, do not unfrequently lay their eggs in the nests of others. It
is within the knowledge of many that pheasants' eggs and partridges'
eggs are often laid in the same nest; and it is within the knowledge of
the writer that gulls' eggs have been found in the nests of eider-ducks,
and _vice versâ_; that a redstart and a pied flycatcher will lay their
eggs in the same convenient hole--the forest being rather deficient in
such accommodation; that an owl and a duck will resort to the same
nest-hole, set up by the scheming woodman for his own advantage; and
that the starling, which constantly dispossesses the green woodpecker,
sometimes discovers that the rightful heir of the domicile has to be
brought up by the intruding tenant.'
[177] _Origin of Species_, p. 215.
[178] Tom. i., p. 130.
[179] See _Birds of India_, i., p. 21; _Passions of Animals_, p. 60;
_Fac. Men. des Ani._, tom. ii., p. 183; _Mind in Lower Animals_, vol.
ii., p. 96; and _Descent of Man_, p. 74.
[180] _Animal Biography_, vol. ii., p. 173.
[181] _Nature_, xx., p. 266.
[182] Vol. i., p. 216. See also _Descent of Man_, p. 80.
[183] Menault, _Wonders of Instinct_, p. 132.
[184] _Nat. on Amazons_, p. 177; _Anecdotes_, p. 135.
[185] _Gleanings_, vol. ii., p. 96.
[186] _Ibid._, p. 99.
[187] _Nature_, vol. xiii., p. 303.
[188] _Unbeaten Tracks in Japan_, vol. ii, pp. 149-50.
[189] Smiles, _Life of Edward_, pp. 244-6.