The following year our choughs were once again observed building a nest
in the same tower, and in due course our eyes were gladdened by the
sight of eggs lying peacefully in the nest, at which we used to peer
through a trap-door which could be opened without arousing the choughs’
alarm. At last came the happy day when one little fledgling actually
made its appearance; at last we seemed certain of being able to announce
that we had achieved an ornithological record. From time to time,
however, further peeps at the new arrival began to disconcert and puzzle
us, for its plumage of the most unchoughlike character did not at all
accord with that of its parents; and one fine day, alas, the dreadful
truth was at last forced upon us—the choughs had hatched out a little
starling!
In the end everything was explained, for, on investigation, it was
discovered that our pair of choughs were both of them hens—the reason
that the two eggs had never produced offspring! The two poor birds,
evidently realising that their only hope of a family lay in adoption,
had the next year annexed the eggs of some unfortunate starling, and
then hatched out the little alien, whose arrival in the world was the
cause of our disappointment and disgust.
At our place in Sussex, just on the borders of Hampshire, I had a very
large garden, and here, besides greenhouses, was an aviary in which were
kept many different kinds of birds. I do not know, however, that
aviaries are ever a great success; it is far more pleasant, indeed, to
see birds at liberty like my choughs, who used to stalk about the
grounds as if the whole place belonged to them, as did also the poor
storks; these latter, however, always looked melancholy, owing, I
suppose, to the permanent state of indigestion produced by their
partiality for dining off broken crockery. I was very proud of my
garden, in which most of the distinguished botanists and biologists of
that day, including Sir Joseph Hooker and Charles Darwin, took a great
interest.
In my greenhouses I had at one time a large collection of insectivorous
plants, specimens of which I used occasionally to send to Mr. Darwin,
who carried on a correspondence with me about these curious things, in
which he was very much interested. I went once to pay him a visit at his
house at Down, in Kent, but unluckily found him suffering from one of
those attacks from which he perpetually suffered, he having never
perfectly recovered from the terrible sea-sickness which tortured him
during his voyage on the _Beagle_. In consequence of his indisposition I
was only able to talk to him for a short while, but, nevertheless, he
told me a great deal about the digestive powers of the secretion of the
_drosera_ or sun-dew, which, as he had actually proved by experiment,
acted upon albuminous compounds in exactly the same manner as does the
gastric juice of mammals.
One or two of our greenhouses were entirely devoted to rare plants and
orchids, which were sent to me by my friends from every part of the
world. The late Lord Sherbrooke, then Mr. Lowe, and Mr. Bernal Osborne,
I remember, used rather to laugh at my partiality for horticulture—the
latter especially used to declare that ladies liked taking in scientific
men by pretending an interest in the subjects which were their especial
study. Mr. Cobden, however, took the warmest interest in my gardening
experiments, and wrote to me often on the subject. In 1861, when in
Algiers, which in those days was, of course, not nearly so well known as
at present, he sent me the following letter:—
ALGIERS,
_19th January 1861_.
MY DEAR LADY DOROTHY—It was, indeed, very kind of you to think
of me when in another quarter of the globe. I will not lose a
post in replying to your kind inquiries. The weather here is
delightful. It is an English summer. I suspect from the
admission of the natives that we have an exceptional fine
season. However, I have derived great benefit from the change.
There is really no excuse for coughs or asthmas here, for we
have generally a blue sky, and never any fogs or white frosts. I
have been annoyed for many months with a sort of stiff neck. It
is precisely the same as if I had sat in a draught and caught
cold yesterday. I have a difficulty in turning my head without
turning my body. You know I have been (all my life) rather
stiff-necked in a moral sense, but this permanent muscular
affection is rather novel and puzzling. However, I hope it will
yield to the warm weather and other remedies. You would be
delighted to see the fields and the gardens covered with roses
and flowers. In walking in the country the other day I plucked a
little wild flower like a larkspur, with leaves somewhat
resembling parsley, and I remarked to my wife, “If we had found
this in Lady Dorothy’s conservatory, how we should have admired
it!” The hedges are generally made of cactus and aloes, and they
would puzzle the fox-hunters to go through them. The country is
generally very uncultivated, and is covered with dwarf palms.
The date-palm does not bear fruit here, though the trees grow
very tall. You must penetrate some hundreds of miles into the
interior to find the best dates. The city of Algiers, which
stands on the steep slope of a hill, presents a strange aspect
to the European visitor. There is a greater variety of costume
than even at Cairo. You see Arabs, Turks, Jews, and Greeks mixed
up with every variety of military French uniforms. There are a
great many soldiers here, and I confess I should not feel quite
so safe among the Arabs (who in their heart have no love for the
infidel) if we had not a strong garrison of the _pantalons
rouges_. The Moorish women walk about with their figures
enveloped in white muslin, leaving only holes for the eyes. If
one of these were seen walking near Dangstein the country people
would be frightened, and would think that a newly buried corpse
had escaped from the churchyard. There is a Jardin d’Essai, or
experimental nursery garden, near Algiers, kept up by
Government, which affords pleasant walks. A great number of the
shrubs which you have under glass are flourishing here. The
custard-apple flourishes. What surprises one is the rapidity
with which the trees grow. There are some which in fifteen years
have grown as large as they would have grown in forty or fifty
in England. They have very little idle time, for there is no
winter, and, if they get plenty of water, they grow rapidly in
the summer. The orange tree is very fine in Algeria, but they
are cultivated more extensively at Blidah, thirty miles in the
interior, than here. They require a great deal of water at their
roots. In fact, all the fruit, whether dates or other things,
depends on irrigation. “Their feet in water and their heads in
the fire” is the phrase used by the natives to show the
treatment that agrees with them. If the climate did not make
people idle, what an immense production there might be where
there is no winter and the land of waters requires no rest! The
vegetable market in Algiers at eight in the morning is a sight
to see, such piles of cauliflowers, beans, peas, and new
potatoes. I cannot say a word about politics; I am busy with
_Adam Bede_, _The Woman in White_, and other equally amusing
volumes. I spend as much time as possible out of doors. There
are forty or fifty English visitors here for their health,
besides a few residents, and there is a staff of engineers and
navvies employed by Peto and Co. on a railway and a boulevard,
for which they have a contract. The hotels are good, but not
cheap. Many people find lodgings a little way in the country.
There—I am afraid I have exhausted nearly all my Algerian news.
Pray give my kind regards to Mr. Nevill. I hope the severe
weather has not interfered with his farming operations. I hear a
good account of my lambs. I shall remain here till I get quite
strong, and my return home will depend on the weather in
England. I shall not attempt to be in the House at the opening
of Parliament. I was working in Paris the whole of last summer
and autumn, and can therefore take a little holiday with a clear
conscience. My wife joins me in kind regards to you and
family.—Very truly yours,