trying to worry their cats. On one of these occasions, when he had made
a dreadful confusion at the door of a cottage containing children,
upsetting a tub of soap-suds, dirtying the clean sanded floor, and
frightening an old woman nearly out of her wits, by his reckless
endeavour to seize on the cat; a man had come angrily out of the
cottage, and coming close up to the carriage, declared with a clenched
fist, and a furious countenance, that if Tawney ever approached his
door again, he would kill him. Papa, who happened to be with us, said
that if he would give Tawney a good beating, it would punish the dog
without punishing us; and as he was a great favourite, he begged that
he would not think of killing him. Then we drove on, leaving the man
standing sulkily in the road.
Whether Tawney had gone alone to this cottage for the purpose of
worrying the cat, or whether the man had taken his revenge for the
first offence, or whether he had done any thing in the matter, we shall
never know; but we could not help suspecting him when the following sad
affair happened.
It was a very sultry day, too much so to run or to do anything but lie
on the grass, which we did during the whole morning. Papa sat reading
on a bench placed in the shady side of the house, and we were on the
grass beside him; Tawney lay roasting in the sun, and, now and then,
panting with heat, came to us in the shade, or even went into the
dining-room window and flung himself down under the table; some steps
led into the garden from the window, and as the window-sill was not
level with the dining-room floor, but raised about two feet above it,
we had a stool or sort of step inside the window, as well as outside;
Tawney generally sprang through, without troubling himself about the
steps.
Soon after Tawney had entered the house, apparently for the purpose of
cooling himself, we heard a tumble, then another, and I got up to see
what he was doing. "Why Papa," I cried, "what can be the matter with
Tawney, he is trying to jump out of the window and cannot reach the
sill, and falls back again." Papa came to see, and again the dog made
an ineffectual spring at the low window-sill. Papa lifted him out into
the garden, saying he supposed he had half blinded himself with lying
so long in the hot sunshine. But we continued to watch him, and
presently we saw his limbs twitching in a sort of fit, and he ran
wildly about us. Papa called to the gardener, and they took him into
the stable, forbidding us to approach him, as they feared he was going
mad; they dashed water over him as he lay exhausted on the straw in the
stable; but soon the fits became more and more violent, and our poor
dog in a few hours was dead.
A man that examined him by Papa's desire, said there was no doubt that
he had been poisoned by strychnine. He might have picked up something
so poisoned while running in the roads, or it might have been purposely
done by the angry man to whom I alluded. We never found out the manner
in which it had been administered, and could only regret most heartily
the loss of our dear playfellow. We had not another dog for a very long
time, and never shall love one so well as Tawney.
PUFFER, THE PIGEON.
What pretty things are pigeons, how happy and nice they look sitting on
the house-top, and walking up and down the sloping roof with their
pretty pink feet and slender legs; and then how they flutter up into
the air, making circles round the house, and now and then darting off
on a straight flight across the fields. Soon after we came to live at
our country house, my sister had a present of a pair of fantail
pigeons, quite white. They were beauties, not the slightest speck of
any colour was on their feathers; and when they walked about with their
tails spread out in a fan, and their necks pulled up so proudly, we
thought them the prettiest creatures we had ever seen. Our Papa allowed
us to have a nice place made for them in the roof of the stables, with
some holes for them to go in at, and a board before the holes for them
to alight on; inside there were some niches for nests, and as the
fantails were quite young, we soon ventured to put them in there. At
first we spread a net over their holes, so that they could only walk
about on the board outside; and when we thought they knew the look of
the place well, we let them have their entire liberty, and they never
left us.
Next we obtained a pair of tumblers, these were small dumpy little
birds, of a burnished sort of copper colour, and such queer short
little bills; when they were flying, they turned head over heels in the
air, without in the least interrupting their flight. Then we had some
capuchins, they were very curious-looking creatures, white and pale
reddish brown, with a sort of a frill sticking up round their necks,
and the back of their heads. We called them our Queen Elizabeths, for
their ruffs were much more like her's than like a monk's hood, from
which resemblance they are named. Besides these, we had several common
pigeons, some pretty bluish and white. We fed them regularly in the
yard, and when they saw us run out of the house, with our wooden bowl
full of grain, they came fluttering down and took it out of our hands,
and strutted about close to us so tamely and nicely; and then they
would whirl up again in the air.
We lived quite close to a railway station, and at one time of the
autumn, a great number of sacks of grain were brought there for
carriage to distant parts of the country; for the corn fields were very
numerous about us. In the process of unloading these sacks from the
carts, and again packing them on the railway trucks, a quantity of corn
was spilt about, and our pigeons were not slow to find this out; we
noticed they were constantly flying over into the station-yards; and
sometimes when we went to feed them in the morning, they did not come
for our breakfast at all, having already made a great meal at the
station. There was an old pigeon-house in the roof of the luggage
store, which formed part of the station buildings; and our ungrateful
pigeons actually went and built some of their nests in this pigeon
house in preference to our own. At least, they laid their eggs there;
as for building a nest they never did, they trod an untidy sort of
hollow in the straw and wool we placed for them, and there laid their
eggs.
We often wondered why it was they did not build beautiful compact and
smooth nests like the little hedge birds. That was the only thing about
the pigeons that we did not like--their dirty untidy nests, and the
frightful ugliness of the newly-hatched pigeons. The first nest they
had, was made by the white fantails, and we had anxiously watched for
the hatching, expecting that we should have two beautiful little soft
white downy pigeons, something like young chickens, or, still better,
young goslings. And how disappointed we were when we saw the little
frights, with their bare great heads and lumps of eyes, and their ugly
red-skinned bodies, stuck full of bluish quills. After that we did not
much trouble ourselves about the young pigeons, until they came out
with some feathers, and tried to fly; but for all that, it was very
provoking to see them go off to another house.
Our favourite of all, was a large handsome pouter or cropper. He was of
a kind of dove colour, mixed with green and bluish feathers, and when
he stood upright, and swelled out his breast, he was quite beautiful.
He became tamer than any one of the pigeons; he would come to the
window when we were breakfasting, and take crumbs of bread from our
fingers, he would perch on our shoulders when we called to him in the
yard, and liked to strut about at the back door, and to come into the
kitchen and to peck about beneath the table; we called him Puffer. But
he too was very fond of going to the station, and sitting on the
store-house roof; and at last, really half our pigeons had their nests
in the station house instead of in ours. We went and fetched them out,
nests and eggs altogether, several times; and then we persuaded the
station men to block up the door of the old pigeon-house, which
prevented them from laying their eggs there, but they still greedily
preferred that yard to our own. Then came the harvest time. There were
many fields of corn within sight of our house, and we perceived that
our naughty pigeons took to flying out to these fields, instead of
going so much to the station. How beautiful they looked with Puffer at
their head, darting along in the sunshine, till they were almost out of
sight; and in about an hour they would come back again, spreading
themselves all over the house-top, and lying down to bask in the sun,
and to rest after their long flight, and the good meal they had made in
the corn-fields. Puffer would always come down to us, however tired,
and let us stroke him and kiss his glossy head and neck.
One day after they had all flown far out all over the fields, we heard
a shot at a distance; we were not noticing it much, beyond saying to
each other, "There is some one shooting;" but the gardener who was with
us observed, "I wish it may not be some one firing at your pigeons. The
farmers can't bear their coming after the grain; I am sorry they have
taken to flying away to them corn-fields." This alarmed us, and we
watched eagerly for the return of the pigeons. "Here they come," I
exclaimed, and presently they were all settling as usual about the
house top, Puffer in the midst quite safe. "Count them, Sir," said the
gardener. So we set to work to number the fantails, tumblers, Queen
Elizabeths, and dear old Puffer; all right, but surely there were not
so many of the common pigeons; no, two were missing! "They've been shot
then, sure as fate," said the gardener, "we shall lose them all I
fear." Next morning we gave them a double breakfast, hoping that not
feeling hungry, they would not again go to the fields; but off they
went as usual about mid-day, and very anxiously we watched for their
returning flight; we could always see Puffer a long way off, he was so
much larger than the others, and we longed for the time when all the
corn would be reaped and carried away, out of the reach of our
favourites.
One by one our pigeons diminished; we begged the gardener to speak to
the farmers about, and ask them not to shoot our pigeons; but he said
that it must be very annoying to the farmers to see a tribe of birds
devouring the produce of their hard labour and anxiety; and that he did
not wonder at their endeavouring to destroy the thieves. He said that
if he spoke about it, the farmer would say, "Shut up your birds, and if
they don't meddle with us, we shan't meddle with them." Then we
consulted whether we could cage our pigeons; but they had always had
their liberty, and we were sure that they would not thrive if shut up.
So we must take our chance, and the naughty things persisted in flying
over the fields to the distant corn. One day, no Puffer returned to us;
and in despair we gave away all our remaining pigeons.
DR. BATTIUS--THE BAT.
I now come to rather a singular pet. Every one--or rather every
child--has a dog, or a cat, or rabbits, or thrushes; little birds in
cages are dreadfully common, and so are parrots; so are jackdaws; and,
as for ponies and donkeys, what country-house is without them.
But I think that many people have not had a tame bat. It is not
generally a tempting-looking creature; and I should never have thought
of taking any trouble to procure one with the intention of petting it.
Our bat put itself into my possession by coming or falling down the
chimney of my bed-room.
The room was dark; and I heard a scratching and fluttering in the
chimney for some time. Then I heard the flapping of wings about the
room; and thought that a robin or a martin had perhaps fallen into the
chimney and had been unable to make its way again to the top.
I got up, and was seeking a match to light my candle, when the little
creature came against me, and I caught it with both hands spread over
it.
I felt directly that it was not a bird; there is something so
peculiarly soft and strange in the feel of a bat; and I was nearly
throwing it down with a sort of disgust.
Second thoughts, which are generally best, came in time to prevent my
hurting the poor little creature; and I lighted the candle, and took a
good look at my prize.
It was about the size of a small mouse; it kept its wings closely
folded, and I placed it in a drawer, and shut it up till morning, when
I and my sister had a long inspection of my prize.
I do not know of what variety it was; for there are, I believe, a great
many different kinds. He had not long ears; his eyes were very small
indeed, though bright.
We had never handled a bat before, and were not soon weary of examining
his curious blackish wings; the little hooks, where his fore-feet,
apparently, should have been; his strangely-deformed hind feet; and his
mouse-like body and fur.
We wrapped him up and shut him in a basket, and during the day, I
caught a handful of flies, of all sizes, and put them into the basket.
When it grew dusk, we opened the basket, and he soon came out and
fluttered about the room for a time; we found that he had eaten all the
flies, but not the wings of the larger ones.
When he had been at liberty for some time, we easily caught him again,
and shut him up; and when he became a little more used to me, I left
him out all night, being careful to close the opening into the chimney;
and he used to have the range of mine and the adjoining room during the
night.
We tried him with a variety of food. I had fancied that bats ate leaves
and fruit; but he never touched anything of that kind. He would eat
meat, preferring raw to cooked; and would drink milk, sucking it up,
more than lapping.
He evidently did not like the light; but sometimes would make flights
about the room when candles were burning; and, occasionally, I took him
about in my jacket pocket in the day-time. If I took him out to show
him to any one in the broad day-light, he never unfolded his wings to
fly, but remained quietly in my hand with his wings folded.
We had been reading a book in which one of the characters, a strange
old man, was named Dr. Battius; so we called our bat after him; and I
do think the little creature learnt to know me. He never fluttered or
tried to get away from me; and would always let me take hold of him
without manifesting any fear.
He went several long journeys in my pocket; once I had him with me in a
lodging by the sea-side, and amused myself much with him. He would sit
on the table in the evening, lap his milk at my supper-time, and would
vary his exercise by crawling or progressing along the floor, darting
about the room, or hanging himself up to something by his hooks, and
letting his body swing about.
He cleaned himself carefully, used to rub his nose against the soft
part of his wing, or rather his black skin, for it was not much like a
wing, and would scratch and clean his body with his hind feet.
People used to say, "How can you keep such a repulsive sort of animal?"
But, in fact he was not a dirty creature; he spent as much time rubbing
and scraping himself, as any cat would do; and he ate nothing dirty,
raw beef and flies being his chief food, with a very little milk.
We had heard and read that bats have some extraordinary way of seeing
in the total darkness, or else that their touch is so delicate, that
they can feel when approaching any wall or hard thing; and it was so
with Dr. Battius, excepting on one occasion--the night when I first
caught him; then he struck against my chest; so that I secured him
easily, by clasping both hands over him.
But I never after saw him strike against anything; he used to fly about
my room at night, and I never heard the least tap against any object;
he even would come inside my bed curtains, and fly to and fro; but I
could not detect the slightest sound of touching them.
The black skin that formed his wings was so wonderfully soft to the
touch, that perhaps he felt with that, when the wings were spread out.
I cannot imagine that his crushed-up little eyes could see in the dark;
they appeared scarcely good enough to see at all in any light.
This poor little creature lived in my care for many months.
I went to visit some friends who were not fond of any animal in the
house; and I knew that this dusky little creature would inspire
disgust, if not terror, among some of the party. So, unwillingly, I
left him at home.
But my sister being away too, the servant, perhaps gave him too much
food, or he missed his exercise about the room. One morning he was
found dead in his drawer.
I have no idea whether bats are long-lived animals; or whether they
would, for any time, flourish in solitude. Had I kept the poor little
doctor with me, I might have found out more about him.
THE CHOUGH.
I think I may here describe a bird, which, although he was not our
property, was watched with much interest by us, and which we never met
with but once.
It was a Chough.
It belonged to an officer who was living in the same barracks; and we
first saw it perched on the window-sill of his kitchen.
"Is that a crow?" asked my sister, pointing to it, as we stopped to
examine it.
"That cannot be a crow," I answered; "its legs are yellow, as well as
its beak; and it is more slender, and a more bluish sort of black."
When we approached and offered to touch it; it did not draw back or
appear shy, but allowed us to stroke its back and look at it quite
closely.
It was a very handsome bird; its plumage beautifully glossy; its claws
hooked and black; and its tongue very long. It was pecking at a plate
of food that was near it; but did not appear very hungry.
Presently, the officer's servant came to the window, and we enquired
what it was.
"A Cornish Chough," was the answer.
We had never seen one before; indeed, knew nothing about that sort of
bird. We had, indeed, heard its name in an old song or glee, called the
"Chough and Crow;" or that begins with those words.
So we asked Mamma about it when we went in, and she showed us an
account of it, in which we found that it is not at all common
everywhere, like a crow; but that it only lives in the cliffs of
Cornwall, Devonshire, and Wales; and has sometimes, but rarely, been
seen about Beachy Head, and in no other part of Europe, excepting the
Alps. So that it is really a very uncommon bird.
The same account said that they could be taught to speak like a
jackdaw.
But we never heard this one say anything, or make any noise, except a
sort of call or croak, with which he answered the servant who attended
to him.
We always stopped to stroke and pat him when we went out to walk; and
he was a great pet with the soldiers, and went about some years with
the regiment.
He showed his intelligence and quickness in a very curious way.
During the time that the regiment was quartered in Scotland he was
lost; he had either wandered out of the barrack-gate, and had failed to
find his way back again; or he had been picked up and carried away by
some thief. He was, however, never seen or heard of for many months,
and was given up as lost.
The regiment then removed to Edinburgh; and two or three soldiers went
to visit a sort of zoological garden in the outskirts. There were a
great number of cages, among other things; and the attention of the men
was attracted to one of these cages by the violent fluttering and
exertion made by the inhabitant to get out.
On coming closer to the cage, they perceived that the prisoner was the
old Cornish Chough; and they asked the keeper if it was lately that
they had confined it, since it seemed so uneasy.
The man said that it had been in that cage for a long time, and never
had been otherwise than perfectly quiet and satisfied.
They wished to take it away, saying they knew the bird's former master;
but the owner refused to part with it, and the soldiers passed on.
On their way back, the keeper was still standing watching the bird;
who, as soon as the soldiers came again in sight, fluttered and dashed
itself violently against the bars.
The man said that losing sight of them, it became quiet, and sat
dolefully on its perch; but the moment it again saw them, it exerted
all its strength to reach them.
There is no doubt that the poor bird recognised the red-coats, among
which it had formerly lived, and wished to go to his old friends.
The soldiers told the officer how they had discovered his old pet; and
he purchased it from the keeper of the garden.
The poor Chough manifested great pleasure at being again in the barrack
kitchen, and followed the fortunes of the regiment until his master's
death, when we lost sight of the yellow-billed yellow-legged Cornish
Chough.
THE KITTENS--BLACKY AND SNOWDROP.
"Guess what we have, Mamma! Guess!" cried I and my sister, as we ran
into the dining-room, with something wrapped up in each of our
pinafores. So Mamma felt, and found that we had something alive; then
she guessed guinea-pigs, then rabbits; at last we rolled out on the
carpet two little kittens.
They were such soft, pretty little things; one was black and the other
white. I chose the black one, and my sister had the white. They lived
chiefly in the nursery, and were soon very familiar, and quite at home.
My black one, however, was pleased to be much fonder of my sister than
of me; it particularly insisted on sleeping on my sister's bed; and we
sometimes changed beds to see if it would follow her. Blacky would jump
on the bed, come and look at my face, waving his tail about in the air,
and seeing that it was his own master, he would bound off the bed and
go and look in the other, and being satisfied that my sister was there,
he would curl himself up at her back. In consequence of some illness in
the nursery, my sister was sent to another room, and Blacky not finding
her in the nursery, went and looked into all the bed-rooms until he
found her. Snowdrop, as we called the white cat, used to sleep in a
large wardrobe, rolled up upon some of the clothes. They were both very
fond of getting into cupboards and drawers, and often startled us, and
others, by springing out, when drawers and closet-doors were opened in
different rooms; we were obliged to forbid them the drawing-room,
because they would get on the chimney-piece, and on the top of a
book-case where there was a good deal of china, and we thought they
would certainly throw down and break it all in their rough games.
At the time we had these cats, we had also the jackdaw and hawk; and
Blacky and Snowdrop often went to have a game with Jacky, who liked
them; they used to run after him round his bush, and amuse themselves
with whisking their tails about, and seeing him peck at them. But when
they tried the same game with the hawk, they found a very different
creature to deal with; for the savage bird darted at the playful little
creatures, and very nearly bit off Blacky's tail; and afterwards, if he
saw them in the garden, although they did not offer to approach his
stump, he would slyly steal among the shrubs and bushes, till he got
near enough to them to make a dart at their tails, and many a savage
bite he gave them.
We did not keep these cats long. Blacky disappeared entirely; whether
some one stole him for the luck of having a black cat, or what became
of the poor little fellow we did not know. Snowdrop was fond of running
on the top of the garden-walls, and of hunting little birds about the
roads; and it seems strange that so active an animal as a cat should
allow itself to be run over, but Snowdrop, in hunting a bird across the
railway, which ran on the other side of our garden wall, was actually
killed by the train.
BLUEBEARD, THE SHETLAND PONY.
Our donkey, Neddy, was never replaced; but instead of him we had a far
better pet, a beautiful little Shetland pony! We had left Ireland, and
went to live in England; we had a nice garden, a paddock and some
fields, and a stable; and when we saw all this, we ran to Papa and
begged that we might now have another donkey, as there was plenty of
room for him. But Papa said we might now very well ride a pony, and
that he would look out for a nice one. Shortly after this he went to a
large horse-fair at Doncaster, and almost before he could have arrived
there, we began to look out and watch for his return with the pony.