Transcriber's Note
Italicized text has been surrounded by _underscores_. Bold text has been
surrounded by =equal signs=. Some minor punctuation and spelling errors
have been corrected. Inconsistent spelling and punctuation has been
retained.
_INMATES OF MY HOUSE AND GARDEN_
_BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
=WILD NATURE WON BY KINDNESS.= Illustrated. School Edition, limp cloth,
1s. 6d. Presentation Edition, imitation leather, in box, 5s.
“A charming collection.... Will be found a pleasant companion to young
people in their holiday haunts.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._
--------------
=MORE ABOUT WILD NATURE.= Illustrated. Paper, 1s.; cloth, 2s.
“No better book can be given to juvenile naturalists.”—_Graphic._
--------------
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
[Illustration: THE GROVE (SOUTH FRONT).]
[_Frontispiece._
INMATES OF MY
HOUSE AND GARDEN
BY
MRS. BRIGHTWEN
_Author of “Wild Nature Won by Kindness”_
ILLUSTRATED BY THEO. CARRERAS
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1895
_All rights reserved._
To
MISS ELEANOR ORMEROD
_Consulting Entomologist to the Royal Agricultural Society, and
Fellow of the Meteorological Society._
DEAR MISS ORMEROD,—
For thirty years you have been a pioneer in the fields of
agricultural zoology and chemistry, and it may most truly be said that
no woman has ever done so much as you have to protect agriculture
against its natural enemies. In the special departments to which you
have devoted your life, it is universally admitted that you are without
a rival.
My little volumes do not compete with work so serious as yours, yet you
have gratified me with your commendation of their truthfulness, and you
have permitted me the pleasure of dedicating to you this one, in some
chapters of which I deal with the classes which are most familiar to
yourself.
Believe me to be
Yours very sincerely,
ELIZA BRIGHTWEN.
THE GROVE, GREAT STANMORE.
_June, 1895._
PREFACE.
ENCOURAGED by the extremely kind reception which has been awarded to my
previous books, and by the assurances, which have reached me from the
most unexpected sources, that they have been found pleasant and
profitable, I am venturing to offer to the same indulgent public a third
collection of personal studies of natural history.
I recognise clearly that my little volumes have been received with so
much favour, because, in spite of their simplicity and their lack of
scientific importance, they are, so far as they go, original. That is to
say, I have not much to give, but what I have is of my own gathering. I
have not borrowed from other and cleverer writers, but have set down as
plainly as I could what I have myself observed and experienced.
It is my privilege to be unusually well placed for the minute study of
living creatures, and in that study I find a pleasure so intense that I
long to attract others to the same well-spring of pleasure. Unpretending
as are the chronicles of the inmates of my house and garden, they are
scrupulously true, and every fact that a veracious observer records is a
contribution, however small, to our general sum of knowledge.
It only remains to say that a few of these chapters have appeared in
_Nature Notes_ and in _The Girl’s Own Paper_. The rest are now printed
for the first time.
ELIZA BRIGHTWEN.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
LEMURS 15
TOMMY AND PEARLIE 27
MUNGO 39
SQUIRRELS 51
FAIRY 57
ASNAPPER 73
WILLOW-WRENS 83
TAME DOVES 91
FEEDING BIRDS 103
STARVING TORTOISES 115
TEACHING CHILDREN 127
STUDYING NATURE 139
INSECT OBSERVATION 153
SOLITARY BEES AND WASPS 165
DRONE FLIES 191
THE PRAYING MANTIS 201
THE CORK MOTH 211
THE CLOTHES MOTH 219
THE DEATH-WATCH 231
CHEESE-MITES AND FLIES 237
LEPISMÆ 245
POT-POURRI 255
A WATER BOUQUET 265
ARTISTIC PITHWORK 271
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
THE GROVE (SOUTH FRONT) _Frontispiece_
TOMMY 31
PEARLIE BASKING BEFORE THE FIRE 35
FAIRY SINGING 65
YOUNG BROWN OWL (ASNAPPER) 79
ASNAPPER 81
MY WINDOW VISITORS 106
FIR-TREE IN WINTER 109
YEW-TREE SEAT AND WEEPING BIRCH 111
VARIEGATED DEODAR 177
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LEMURS.
“In consecrated earth
And on the holy hearth
The Lars and Lemurs moan with midnight plaint.”
MILTON.
LEMURS.
AMONGST the many curious animals I had kept and studied, there had
never, so far, been a specimen of the monkey tribe. I had always feared
that I could not meet their requirements in the way of food and
temperature, and that a proper place for such creatures did not exist at
the Grove.
However, the offer of a pair of lemurs tempted me into many
consultations and much searching amongst the books in the library, in
order to find out all that could be learned about the nature of these
animals, until I found myself speculating as to whether it would not,
after all, be possible to make them happy.
Lemurs are inhabitants of the island of Madagascar, where they live in
the woods, feeding on fruits. All accounts agree in describing them as
quiet, gentle creatures, very agile in their movements and nocturnal in
their habits.
The word _lemur_ was employed by the ancients to describe the unbodied
spirits of men, whether beneficent or malignant; the festivals called
_lemuria_ were appointed for the appeasing and “laying” of ghosts. The
animals received their name from their almost noiseless movements; they
must, I suppose, look very ghastly and uncanny as they flit about on the
tree-branches at night.
The more I read about them the more it appeared to me that I must not
lightly pass by such an opportunity of obtaining rare subjects for
naturalistic study. So the lemurs were accepted, and I sent a man to the
other side of London to bring them, cage and all, with great care to
their new home.
Until I knew their size and something about their requirements I could
not very well prepare a place for them, and I reckoned on their living
in the cage that they came in for a few days at least after their
arrival. What, then, was my dismay when the lemurs arrived to find that
they were packed in a small hamper, and that no cage had come with them,
as it had been found too large to be conveyed by any cab or other sort
of carriage.
Plainly the poor animals could not stay in the hamper, and I had nothing
large enough to hold them. They were so timid that I was afraid to let
them loose in the conservatory; they might have sprung up to the roof
and remained there, where it would be cold, and as I had been very
specially warned to guard them against draughts, I was puzzled indeed to
know what to do with them. At last a large circular linen-basket was
found, which made a temporary home until we could think of some better
place in which to keep them.
When the hamper was opened the poor frightened creatures were seen,
locked in each other’s arms, gazing at us with round glassy eyes. It was
some days before we could really see what beautiful animals they were,
since their timidity was so great that, though they would eat bananas
out of my hand gently enough, nothing would induce them to come out of
their hiding-place and be friendly.
As soon as possible, a bay at one end of the conservatory was wired in,
some tree-branches were fixed for the lemurs to climb upon, and a large
plant-case, with glass sides and top, and soft hay within, made a cosy
retreat when they wished for complete retirement.
It was very enjoyable to let the new pets into their pleasant home. They
instantly and fully approved of it, climbing at once to the highest
branch, and gazing down at us with a far happier expression in their
great eyes than they had hitherto shown. And now for the first time we
could appreciate the beauty of their silky-white fur and wonderful
tails.
I found out that these were specimens of the Ruffed Lemur, the most
beautiful of the ten species found in Madagascar. I will try and
describe them, though it will not be easy to give a very clear idea of
creatures which vary so much in aspect according to the position they
adopt.
Sitting on the top of their glass house, side by side, with their long
furry tails coiled around them, they looked like two huge Persian cats,
but standing or climbing they showed themselves to be true monkeys,
although far exceeding the ordinary monkey in gracefulness.
Round the head was a full ruff of long white hairs, setting off the
gentle, fox-like face, which was mostly black, as were the small,
well-shaped hands and feet. Lemurs have four fingers and a thumb on the
hands, and the great toe and four smaller ones, as well as the fingers,
have perfect nails, which makes the creatures look very human.
The thick woolly fur was white, with large patches of black, and the
tail, three-quarters of a yard in length, was precisely like a lady’s
black fur boa, and was used much in the same way, either laid gracefully
across the back or over the feet, or wherever else warmth might be
required.
When I offered food to these lemurs they had a curious way of obtaining
it when not quite within their reach. The little black hand was
stretched out and took a firm but very gentle grasp of my fingers,
drawing them nearer until the coveted fruit could be reached, and even
if the banana could have been taken direct they preferred to hold my
hand, and did it so prettily that I was tempted always to make them
reach out for it.
Considering the ghost-like character associated with these animals, we
thought that “Spectre” and “Phantom” would be appropriate names; they do
not, however, respond to any endearing epithets, and only manifest
emotion when a banana is offered for their acceptance.
I fancy they are somewhat unintelligent; they differ greatly from the
ordinary type of monkey, in that they sit still by the hour together,
and have no idea of mischief or of helping themselves in any way; for
instance, a monkey, if feeling cold, will accept a shawl and wrap it
round him, finding the comfort of it; but these creatures would sit and
shiver and die of cold before the idea of covering themselves would
enter their dull brains.
They are masters of the art of expressing surprise and contempt. If
something is offered to them that they do not like, they bridle up and
turn away their heads as much as to say, “Dear me, no! nothing earthly
would induce me to touch a thing like that; remove it at once!”
My greatest surprise in connection with the lemurs took place about two
months after their arrival. I had carried Mungo[1] to see them, and
carefully holding him by his string, I allowed him to stand and gaze up
at them through the wires.
He had often done this before, and beyond a few angry snorts and their
usual grunting sounds they had taken no notice, but on this occasion
they both at the same moment set up the most terrific roar that I ever
heard. I do not exaggerate when I declare that it really seemed as loud
as the roar of a lion at the Zoo. I was close to them, and it was so
utterly unexpected I don’t think I was ever quite so astonished in all
my life. The sound was truly awful, and it lasted for half a minute or
more, till I felt completely stunned, and was glad enough to retreat to
a quiet room where my nerves could recover from the shock.
I think the Madagascar woods where these animals dwell must be most
gruesome places at night, with these black and white creatures flitting
about in the branches, abruptly uttering their terrific roars at
intervals.
A family quarrel among lemurs must be a thing to remember. Besides this,
they also give a loud groan now and then, which irresistibly reminds one
of _Punch’s_ “moaning gipsy in the back garden.” Such a groan must sound
additionally weird at night in the dark woods.
When I gave my friends an account of the scare I had had, one of them
returned with me to the conservatory to be favoured with a special
performance of “Ghosts.” Mungo was brought in once more, and up rose the
awful sound, with such effect that my friend turned and fled, even
though she had been forewarned. Fear is quite irresistibly awakened by
the strange quality of the sound given forth by these animals. Having
very slight means of defending themselves, I imagine this roaring power
has been bestowed upon them to enable them to scare their foes, and
drive away through fear such enemies as their soft hands could never
overcome in fair fight.
After keeping these lemurs about a year, I found that by no amount of
kindness or coaxing could I get them to be really friendly, and I feared
they were not over-happy without companions of their own kind. They were
doubtless caught too old to be tamed. It was therefore deemed best to
present them to the Zoo, where, under the kind and skilful treatment
they receive, they are, I believe, in splendid health and spirits.
Visitors to the monkey-house can identify them from the description I
have here given, and cannot fail to admire the agile movements and furry
beauty of my quondam pets.
TOMMY AND PEARLIE.
“So abundant, indeed, are lemurs in Madagascar, that, according to M.
Grandidier, who has done so much to increase our knowledge of this
group, at least one individual is almost sure to be found in every
little copse throughout the island.”
TOMMY AND PEARLIE.
ALTHOUGH I was unsuccessful in taming my handsome ruffed lemurs, Spectre
and Phantom, I felt that lemurs were delightful animals to keep as pets,
and I resolved that if an opportunity offered for obtaining other and
more tameable specimens of the same kind I would certainly try again,
and with my past experience I hoped to attain good results.
One day I heard that a young specimen of a Ruffed Lemur had been seen in
a cage at the top of a cart full of birds and curious animals, a sort of
small travelling menagerie which was stopping for a few days at a town
five miles off. A mounted messenger was sent off at once with a basket,
and full directions about the purchase of the little lemur, and, to my
great delight, when the man returned with it, it proved to be all I
could desire, quite young and healthy and very tame.
It must have been a pleasant change from the cold, draughty cage it had
been used to, to the large wired-in recess in my conservatory, which was
always kept at a genial temperature, and where, leaping from branch to
branch, the agile little creature could play its graceful frolics from
morning till night, hanging head downwards, swinging on a trapeze like a
born acrobat, and evidently enjoying its life as much as if it had been
in its native woods. The showman had always called the lemur Tommy, so
we supposed that was an indication of its sex, and retained the name to
which it had been accustomed.
[Illustration: TOMMY.]
One day in summer I had one of my large parties of poor people in the
garden, and Tommy was led about with a long string, greatly to the
delight of my visitors. The lemur was in no way frightened by the crowd;
he made friends with everybody, and hopped about from one group to
another quite at his ease. After a time a harp and violin began to
sound, and then Tommy’s love of music became apparent, for he seated
himself close to the players, and there he remained quite riveted by the
unusual sounds, gazing intently at the harpist as if spellbound.
They were but village musicians, and I was not a little surprised when,
on my remarking how music was appreciated by the lemur, one of the men
remarked, “It keeps reminding me of King Robert of Sicily and his
'solemn ape.’” One hardly expected such a knowledge of Longfellow’s
poetry in a country rustic!
It is not the first time I have been scared by the display of
unlooked-for intelligence, as the following anecdote will show.
Many years ago I was talking to my cook on culinary matters in the
dining-room, when she suddenly looked up at a majolica plate over the
doorway, and said, “That’s a mythological subject isn’t it, ma’am?” I
replied that it was. She then said, “Is that Pan in the foreground?” I
said, “No, but it is a Satyr.” “Well,” replied Cookie, “I was saying the
other day to the butler, if there were creatures of that sort to be seen
nowadays it would go far to prove the Darwinian theory—wouldn’t it,
ma’am?” History does not record my reply! I gazed at the creature
depicted on the plate, half man and half animal, and felt there was much
acumen in my learned servant’s remark, but, the question of that day’s
dinner being once settled, I thought it best to leave the Darwinian
theory alone, lest I might not prove equal to the occasion.
This, however, is a digression. I have now to record the advent of
Tommy’s companion, Pearlie. It seemed well that the lemur should have a
playmate, and I often endeavoured to provide one, but was unsuccessful,
until one day, on visiting the Bedford Conservatories in Covent Garden,
I saw some pretty grey creature curled up in a cage, and on inquiry I
found that it was a specimen of another species, the Ring-Tailed Lemur,
quite young and very tame. It was just what I wanted, so the little
animal was carefully packed in a hamper, and I brought it home with me.
I feared to place this little lemur at once with Tommy, lest they might
not agree, so, for the night, the new pet was placed in a large basket,
and covered with a railway rug. Next morning it was discovered on the
top of the highest picture frame, having forced its way out of the
basket. A banana soon tempted it to come down, and in the most friendly
manner it sat upon my shoulder and seemed delighted to be caressed and
played with. Before long, when the two lemurs had become accustomed to
each other, they were allowed to meet, and quickly became the greatest
friends, playing together for hours and affording us constant amusement
in watching their graceful gambols.
[Illustration: PEARLIE BASKING BEFORE THE FIRE.]
These lemurs are always giving me surprises. I was quite unprepared for
the remarkable power the ring-tailed lemur possesses of running swiftly
up the flat surface of a door, but this Pearlie did with the greatest
ease, and then sat calmly looking down at me from the top as if enjoying
my amazement. I was led to examine his paws, and found they were
provided with elastic pads somewhat like a fly’s foot with its suckers,
and then reading about this particular species I learned that it
inhabits a rocky tableland without trees, so that it is not arboreal in
its habits, but is formed with leather-like palms to its hands to enable
it to keep a firm footing on wet and slippery rocks, where it is not
possible for human beings, although barefooted, to follow it. When he is
brought into a sitting-room it is very needful to have a leading-string
attached to Pearlie’s waistband, else he darts away and is at the top of
a picture frame out of reach in a moment. His agility is only second to
that of the Gibbon—the wonderful spider-like monkey one may sometimes
see at the Zoological Gardens performing marvels of agility in swinging,
by means of his attenuated arms and legs.
During the summer months my lemurs much enjoy being in the open air, and
on fine days they are tethered on the lawn, where they amuse my visitors
with their graceful frolics. The entire absence of odour, their cleanly
habits, and their delicate tastes as to diet render these animals
especially desirable as pets; they enjoy fruit of all kinds—lettuces,
clover-blossoms, and rose-petals, while dates, raisins, and bread and
milk supply solid items of food. Thus fed and warmly housed these
creatures can be kept in splendid health with very little trouble.
Pearlie was so named from his fur being of a soft pearl-grey colour, the
long tail being banded with alternate rings of black and white. His face
and chest are also curiously marked in black and white, the eyes bright
orange, and the general expression is as gentle as that of a little cat.
We found out in the course of time that Tommy was of the gentler sex!
Her name must therefore be considered the diminutive for Thomasina—at
least I see no other way out of the difficulty, as a new name would not
be responded to or understood.
Pearlie’s portrait requires a word of explanation. His great delight in
cold weather is to be allowed to sit on a hassock before the
drawing-room fire and bask in its warmth. The instant he is seated
before the cheerful blaze, up go his little arms in a worshipping
attitude like a veritable Parsee. Thus he will remain for hours content
and happy as long as I am in the room, but if left alone he makes a
pitiful cry and starts off in search of some of his friends, as though
life were not endurable without human companionship. I think this is
always the case where animals are treated with uniform kindness; they
must be able to trust those who feed and care for them, and when that
perfect trust is established they yield a love that is often quite
touching in its intensity. These two lemurs are very different in
character. Tommy is absolutely selfish and strongly self-willed, timid
and cautious. Pearlie shines by contrast, and is ready to give up,
gentle, affectionate, and confiding. It is true they are of different
species, and that may in a measure account for the differing characters
they exhibit, but seeing they were both obtained when quite young, and
treated alike with unvarying kindness, one would have thought that
original tendencies would have become more thoroughly effaced. Allowing
for Tommy’s moral failings, one must own that he and Pearlie are
delightful specimens of the monkey tribe. They keep their lovely fur
spotlessly clean, are quite inodorous, always ready to be caressed, and
add greatly to the interest of my conservatory by their lively movements
and graceful antics.
MUNGO.
MUNGO.
A STUDY CONTINUED.
MUNGO, the Ichneumon, whose early life was chronicled in “More about
Wild Nature,” has now been a household pet for nearly four years, and
must be nearly six years old.
I do not know how long these animals generally live, but as yet Mungo
shows no signs of age or infirmity. He is as full of fun and as
inquisitive as ever, but not so bent upon mischief as in his youthful
days. He now has the range of house and garden, and goes wherever he
likes without even a collar to remind him of captivity.
The chief trouble is in connection with my visitors—those at least who
have a strong objection to “wild animals about the house”; nothing,
however, can possibly be less “wild” than Mungo, for he is just like a
tame cat. He does not dream of biting or scratching, and is never so
happy as when curled up in the lap of some indulgent friend; yet, as he
unfortunately looks like a ferret, many people find it very hard to
believe that he can be perfectly harmless.
Mungo delights to spend his mornings basking in the sun on the
window-sill of my bedroom, where he is sufficiently elevated to watch
all that goes on in the garden. He is scarcely ever asleep; as Mr.
Rudyard Kipling says so truly, in the delightful account he gives of an
Indian Mongoose in the _Jungle Book_, “He is eaten up from nose to tail
with curiosity,” and whilst seeming to slumber, the active little
cinnamon-coloured nose is ever on the work sniffing out the varied
movements of the household.
As summer comes on we naturally let the fire die out; and Mungo strongly
disapproves of this custom, for he dearly loves to bask on a little wool
mat before a hot fire. Now, however, he adopts another plan—when he
finds the fire is out he quietly climbs over the wire-guard, goes under
the grate and there lies down amongst the warm ashes. He has even done
this whilst there remained some fire in the grate, and I much fear he
may make an _auto-da-fe_ of himself some day by setting his long hair
alight, which would be a terrible fate indeed for our cherished pet.
Mungo’s love of warmth leads to another undesirable habit. He will steal
into the bedrooms and hide himself under the duvets, and—low be it
spoken!—he has been found cosily rolled up in a nightdress!
It may naturally be asked, “Why is he not kept in a suitable wired-in
place where he can do no harm?” Simply because he makes himself
perfectly miserable in confinement; he tears at the wirework till his
paws are bleeding, and foams at the mouth with misery and rage. No one
could keep an amiable little animal in such purgatory; it would be
kinder to end its life at once, and such a fate cannot even be thought
of.
Mungo is a diplomatist! Liberty he has schemed to obtain, and after
years of astute planning, and almost reasoning, he has reached his end,
and we must acknowledge ourselves beaten, for to all intents and
purposes he is now master of the situation and may do pretty much what
he pleases.
There is, however, still a crumpled roseleaf in his lot; the softest bed
and the sunniest nook to bask in will not satisfy Mungo without human
society, and as we cannot give up all other occupations in order to sit
with him, he is often to be seen wandering about like an unquiet spirit
until he finds some friendly lap where he can curl himself up and enjoy
all those conditions of warmth, ease, and society which form his idea of
perfect bliss.
I am sure Mungo is a staunch Conservative as to his political views! He
hates changes of any kind, since they interfere with his personal
comfort and methodical habits. He likes to have a morning sleep in a
sunny spot, and then his profound interest in a certain rhododendron
bed, where rabbit-holes and mole-tracks are to be found, leads him to
steal across the lawn and disappear amongst the bushes. I rather fancy
he has grand times there, for if I attempt to coax him to come with me,
his pert little nose will appear amidst the leaves, and with a frisk and
a leap of absolute disobedience and fun he will return to his playground
and remain there till it pleases him to come indoors again. His next
desire is to enjoy a quiet afternoon under a warm duvet, and as he
behaves with absolute propriety and only covets warmth and quietness, I
am indulgent enough to allow him the luxury of being in my room until
evening, when he is fed, wrapped up in a wool mat and a piece of baize
and placed safely in his cage for the night.
Although Mungo would often absent himself for hours at a time, we were
so sure to see him trotting quietly home when his frolics were ended,
that somehow the possibility of an accident happening to him never
crossed our minds. When, however, one day he did not return by evening,
and night came on and no one had seen or heard anything of my pet, I
felt certain he had met with some sad fate—most probably had been caught
in a snare or trap set by the poachers on the common. Next day,
gardeners and farm-men were sent out in all directions to look for him.
The search went on for many hours, and at last I heard the welcome cry,
“Mungo is found!” Poor little fellow! but how my heart ached to see him
in torturing pain with a wild, scared look in his eyes. He had, as we
suspected, strayed across the boundary on to the common, and there he
had been caught in a spring-trap, which had completely crushed one of
his fore-paws.
I had only a few minutes in which to decide whether the poor little
animal must be put out of his misery at once or if there might be hope,
by skilful amputation, of ultimate recovery. I am sure that all lovers
of animals will understand the keen distress I felt at having to make
such a decision, but something must be done, and as I found I _could
not_ give the death warrant, Mungo was taken to the veterinary doctor,
with injunctions to spare no pains in trying to save the patient all
needless suffering. Two surgeons attended to the case, and whilst under
chloroform the little animal was relieved of the injured paw, and must
have been remarkably well treated, for I was soon informed that Mungo
was doing well and would take some “bird” for his dinner! In about a
fortnight he was brought home and looked very pitiful, limping about on
three legs. It was long before I could become accustomed to see him
thus, but so well did the wound heal that now the limp can hardly be
observed, and the little creature is as merry as ever, scampering about
and playing with his own tail as lively as any kitten.
It has been an interest to me to make a study of the character of my
mongoose, for a wild creature rendered perfectly tame by unvarying kind
treatment gives one an excellent opportunity of observing the real
nature of the animal.
I fear I must own that Mungo is absolutely selfish, his one idea is to
enjoy perfect liberty and have his own way in everything. After four
years’ petting he knows me well as his friend and purveyor, but he has
not an atom of affection; he has, apparently, no mode of manifesting
regard, the expression of his face never alters, he does not try to lick
my hand or make any greeting sound. He likes to jump into my lap simply
because it is a comfortable place, and, as he is very timid at any
unwonted noise, he will run to me for protection, but I am afraid he
views me as a means of attaining physical comfort, food, and warmth, and
nothing more!
All this does not prevent my liking the curious little animal, but one
cannot but be struck by the immense difference between its nature and
that of the faithful dog, whose devotion to his master will lead him to
refuse his food, to take long, toilsome journeys, to wait patiently for
weary hours in cold wind and biting frost when bidden to guard his
owner’s flock, aye, and even to yield up his life, if necessary, to do
his master service.
All this shows, what I have often remarked before, that, to those who
are observant of the fact, there is as much difference between the
characters of various animals, and even between those of individuals of
the same species, as may be found in human beings.
Possibly Mungo may be a selfish specimen of his race, and there may
exist brilliant exceptions abounding in affection and other noble
qualities. I can only describe him as he is, and, judging by his small
cranium and its peculiarly flattened formation, I should imagine he is
formed to be, not a pattern of all the virtues, but a creature of one
idea, and that—snake-killing! To be proficient in that art all the
characteristics I have noted in this animal are specially needed, such
as lynx-like watchfulness, undaunted courage in fight, persistent
curiosity and determination to care for himself under all circumstances.
We must therefore wink at his failure in moral goodness, and admire the
way in which he carries out the purpose for which he was made. He
worthily adorns his own special niche in Creation.
SQUIRRELS WON BY KINDNESS.
“Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm,
That age or injury has hollowed deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth
To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun,
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play:
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,
Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush,
And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud.”
COWPER.
SQUIRRELS WON BY KINDNESS.
ABOUT ten years ago we began taming the wild squirrels which exist in
great numbers in the woods around this house. We put Barcelona nuts in a
small basket outside the dining-room window, and every day a handful
thrown on the ground served to attract the notice of the little animals.
In a very short time the squirrels ventured to approach, timidly at
first, picking up their favourite food; they would scratch up the nuts
and rush away to some quiet spot out of sight.
Generations of the graceful little rodents have been trained to come
nearer and nearer to the window, until they are now so delightfully tame
that I feel induced to suggest to others the means of enjoying the
pleasure we find in watching our daily visitors from the woods.
My first act before breakfast is to place a handful of nuts on a small
table which stands in the room close to a bay window. Hardly have I done
so when in come the squirrels, sliding up to the window and leaping on
to the table to enjoy the nuts. They will take nuts gently from our
hands, and sitting up in the graceful position a squirrel adopts when
quite at ease—its tail curved over its back, and its tiny paws holding
the nut—they crack them and fling away the shells in careless fashion. A
scrimmage sometimes takes place when several come in together; one
bolder spirit will chase another round the room until both spring out at
the window and dart across the lawn. At length the nuts on the table
being eaten or carried away, the squirrels, well knowing where the
supply is kept, descend to the floor and hop leisurely to a cupboard,
where on the first shelf is a box full of Barcelonas. The little animals
spring on to the shelf and help themselves. This they are allowed to do
for a little while, as we like to watch their proceedings; but I make a
protest presently, and close the cupboard door when I find my entire
stock of nuts being transferred to the garden and planted all over the
lawn, for the squirrels bury nuts for future use, although I am very
doubtful whether they do really dig them up again.
On cold mornings when the windows cannot be opened, it is touching to
see the little furry heads peep through the pane, waiting patiently for
their daily meal. This they eventually share with several very tame
nuthatches; these birds seeming very glad of nuts as well as fat during
the winter months.
The only drawback to having wild squirrels tamed is the distraction they
cause when a class of village children is being taught in the
dining-room! Sydney Smith says: “A sparrow fluttering about the church
is an antagonist which the most profound theologian in Europe is wholly
unable to overcome,” and certainly the apparition of a bright-eyed
squirrel popping up at each window in succession is enough to drive a
teacher to despair. Nothing less than an abundant shower of nuts will
bribe the little intruders to keep quiet for a time.
I have given these simple details because I think that possibly many of
my readers may like to encourage those charming little animals when they
learn how easily, by a little patient kindness, they may be attracted
from the woods to become household pets of their own free will, which
is, to my mind, so much more enjoyable than keeping captive animals or
birds. It should, perhaps, be added that great quietness and calm are
needed while the first advances are being made, and that a loud voice or
a quick gesture will undo a week’s work in taming.
A “FAIRY” STORY.
“I joyed to hear her own peculiar note
Through all the music float;
But when the gentle song, that streamed away,
Like some enamoured rivulet that flows
Under a night of leaves and flowering may,
Died on the stress of its own lovely pain,
Even as it died away,
It seemed as if no influence could restrain
The notes from welling in the whitethroat’s brain.”
EDMUND GOSSE.
A “FAIRY” STORY.
I AM often envied as the possessor of one of the most charming bird-pets
it is possible to imagine.
“Fairy” is a tiny whitethroat, a sleek, delicate, grey-coloured bird
with a white breast, lovely in form, swift in flight, and of most
engaging disposition.
I met with it in this wise. A plaintive little cheeping sound attracted
my attention one morning at breakfast-time, and looking outside the
window, I saw a tiny, half-fledged bird sitting on the ground, looking
pitifully up at me; it pleaded its hungry condition with open beak, and
seemed to have no fear at my approach. Of course such a poor little
motherless waif must be cared for, so I brought it in, and it received
very readily the provender I offered it.
I never saw such a tiny, quaint-looking piece of bird-life. Its little
throat-feathers were beginning to show on either side like a small white
cravat; it had about half an inch of tail, and minute quills all over
its body gave token of coming feathers. The delightful thing about it
was its exceeding tameness; it would sit on my finger and gaze at me
with a contemplative expression; no noise frightened it; it was quite
content with life in a basket, or on the table, and therefore it became
my constant companion, and has grown to be very dear to me and to a wide
circle of friends.
Fairy’s advent was in July, and for the first month the early morning
feeding was no small care; but love makes all things easy, and at last
my small charge could feed itself, and had learnt the use of its wings.
Daily baths were taken in my soap-dish, which was amply large enough at
first, but now Fairy is promoted to the sponge basin, in which she
flutters to her heart’s content and dries herself afterwards by swift
flights about the room. The bath over, the next thing is to search for
flies on the window-panes or on the floor; these are snapped up as great
dainties, and in this way Fairy greatly promoted my comfort all through
the heat of August and September, 1893, by keeping my room free of
winged insects.
I have only to take Fairy on my finger and direct her attention to a fly
on the ceiling, when off she darts, like a hawk after its quarry, and
the fly disappears like magic.
I was once much amused to watch her day after day eyeing a large spider
in the corner of the room. She evidently considered very deeply whether
she could tackle it; it was large and she was small, and for three days
she hesitated; but at last her courage was equal to the enterprise, and
the spider was seized, minced up, and eaten. My tiny pet lives on
grapes, lettuce, flies, meal-worms, and, as great indulgences, cream and
sugar; a tin of special bird-food supplies other items of diet. Fairy is
in and out of her cage all day, and but for fear of accidents she might
have the range of the house, so confident am I that she would not wish
to stray from her happy home. Still, she loves an expedition, and once,
having flown after me into the hall, I did not see her again for an hour
or more; a hunt was needful, and after searching every room she was at
last discovered cheerfully investigating the boxes in a lumber-room at
the very top of the house.
I never knew such a clever, fearless little bird. She will put her small
body into every corner in search of information; she visits all my
friends in turn as they sit at luncheon, pulls their hair, sits on their
fingers, tugs their dresses, and is, of course, universally beloved.
I was curious to note whether Fairy would grow restless when the
migrating season began, but her abnormal life indoors has so altered her
natural instincts that she makes herself quite happy throughout the
autumn, and we are truly glad that we are not called to bid adieu to
such a lovable companion.
Very naturally some readers may ask, “How can they obtain a tame, happy
little pet bird such as my whitethroat now is?” I can only reply, such a
thing is not to be bought (or very rarely) for any amount of money, but
can be attained by any one who will bring up a young fledgling from its
earliest youth, with never-failing love and gentleness. There is no
secret about it; it is not a gift bestowed on some and withheld from
others, as many seem to suppose, judging from the number of times I have
been told, “Oh, you have the gift of taming creatures.” I always
disclaim the assertion and tell the simple truth, that just as you seek
to win the heart of a child by invariable and patient kindness, so these
innocent dumb brethren of ours yield us their devoted love if they meet
with similar treatment at our hands.
We must not begin the task of bringing up a young bird without counting
the cost beforehand. It means rising every morning between four and
five, and having little sleep afterwards, for we must imitate the
self-denying industry of the mother-bird in providing food for her young
ones. If we look out over the dewy lawns at daybreak in spring and
summer, we shall see thrushes, blackbirds, robins, and many other birds
all actively engaged in searching for worms and insects to supply the
needs of their respective families. All through the day we must think of
the tender creature we have undertaken to rear, giving it every
half-hour as much food as it desires, and keeping it warmly covered from
cold and draughts, lest its limbs should be attacked by cramp.
This ailment seems incurable, and is the cruel fate of most fledglings
that are brought away from their parents, because people forget that the
warmth of the mother-bird is essential to the life of the callow brood,
and I, for one, never promote the rearing of young wild birds unless, as
in the case of a motherless waif like my Fairy, we try to save a little
innocent life by doing what we can to imitate its natural bringing up.
Absolute tameness can only be attained by unvarying gentle treatment.
Never has Fairy heard a harsh word, or, as far as I know, has she had a
fright of any kind.
[Illustration: FAIRY SINGING.]
A single grip of Mungo’s cruel little jaws would end her life in a
moment, but Fairy does not know it, and she sings on fearlessly as he
passes her cage. I believe she would act as a certain much-petted little
dog used to do when his mistress pretended to scold him severely; he
would look about eagerly to see where the wicked animal addressed could
be that he might fly at him. I tried to speak seriously to my small bird
one day when she was particularly in my way, but she only gave me
several hard pecks, and to my great amusement fought me with her tiny
claws much as a gamecock would use his spurs. Fairy has the curious
habit, which I have noticed in many small birds, of turning rapid
somersaults by way of exercise, springing from a perch on one side of
the cage up to the roof, turning over and coming down on her feet like a
born acrobat.
It is curious to be able to see human passions manifested in such a tiny
creature as my whitethroat, and it can rarely _be seen_, because it is
very seldom that a bird is so absolutely tame as to feel free to show
itself as it is in reality—fear being the dominant feeling in most
captive birds—and that leads to the incessant fluttering and effort to
escape, which hinders character from being shown.
When Fairy is out of her cage, if I open a drawer she is certain to show
_curiosity_, and flies into it, hops about in her perky way, pecking at
one thing and another to find out what each is, her beak being
equivalent to a hand, and the only instrument with which she can do
anything. I put some delicacy on my finger, and then she comes, and by
her actions and low chirping she shows _pleasure_.
Before long, her sweet warbling song expresses _contentment_, her little
sky is serene and clear, all her wants are provided for, she has no
cares for the morrow, and her happy little nature comes out in cheery
songs.
She picks a scarlet flower petal, and I am not sure but it may be
poisonous and bad for her, so, like a careful mother, I take it out of
her beak. Then comes unmistakable _anger_; she scolds and pecks at my
fingers, and wilfully tries to get the flower petal back again.
All this is wonderfully human, and all to be found in a creature not two
inches in length! If Fairy could be seen minus her feathers she would be
about the size of a walnut! I do think in all respects a _bird_ is one
of the principal marvels of creation, most lovely and lovable. See the
little creature taking a bath, reducing itself to a disreputable tuft of
draggled feathers for the sake of cleanliness, and then fluttering and
shaking itself dry again, and by means of its wonderful beak pluming its
feathers into order, applying oil to them from its little gland just
above the tail, and after infinite pains ending by looking soft and
sleek as a piece of satin.
Instinct teaches it to do all this which we could no more imitate than
we could fly. Then how touching is the motherhood of a bird. Many a
human mother is put to shame by the example of a little feathered thing
which has only instinct to guide her in preparing her soft, warm
nursery, to which love ties her closely for two or three weeks. Bright
days come and go, but she denies herself all the pleasures she sees
other birds enjoying, and barely takes time to get her needful food,
that she may keep warm those two little snowy eggs which are all the
world to her even now, and when young creatures begin to stir beneath
her faithful breast then she exchanges the quiescent life for one of
incessant toil that her callow brood may not call to her in vain for the
insect diet which she has to provide.
By the time the young ones can feed themselves the parents are quite
thin and worn with their incessant toil, and yet in favourable seasons
some kinds of birds rear a second or even a third family before the
summer is over.
Although the Whitethroat is plentiful in the southern counties, I do not
find that people, as a rule, are at all familiar with its appearance,
and I imagine this arises from the shy habits of the bird. It flits
nimbly out of sight when alarmed, and being of an inconspicuous grey
colour, it requires a keen eye to distinguish it when hopping
noiselessly about in weedy hedgerows, where it is so often found that it
has obtained the provincial name of Nettle Creeper.
With reference to the migration of the Whitethroat, I learn from one of
Canon Tristram’s delightful books on birds, that Algeria is its winter
retreat. He says:—
“Each portion of the Sahara—the rocky ridges, the sand drifts, the
plains—has its peculiar ornithological characteristics. But by far the
most interesting localities are, as might have been anticipated, the
dayats and the oases. Here are the winter quarters of many of our
familiar summer visitants. The chiff-chaff, willow-wren, and whitethroat
hop on every twig in the gardens shadowed by the never-failing palm; the
swallow and the window martin thread the lanes and sport over the mouths
of the wells in pursuit of the swarming mosquitoes.”
When spring returns, these smaller birds are led by instinct to re-cross
the Mediterranean and seek their European haunts where the temperature
has again become sufficiently mild to enable them to find insect food
and rear their families of nestlings.
The sharp clicking note, like two stones jarred together, which this
bird makes when excited, we constantly hear in our furze-bushes and
hedges, proving that the whitethroat exists in some numbers in
Middlesex; and now that my “Fairy” has begun to sing, I find it is a
strain with which I am quite familiar. My curiosity had often been
excited by hearing low, soft warbles from unseen singers on the common
or in the woods; I vainly tried to see what bird it could be, but it
always seemed to remain out of sight. My small pet has solved the
mystery by performing for my private benefit the sweet music of her wild
brethren out of doors.
I am constantly reminded of the lines in Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner”:—
“A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.”
As I sit at my writing, the delicate soft warbling goes on hour after
hour, and is a source of real pleasure to me, so manifestly is it the
outcome of a perfectly happy little spirit telling out its inward joy in
its own sweet fashion.
Captivity has no terrors for Fairy; she loves her cage, and will hardly
leave it except when she occasionally takes a swift flight to and fro,
and then alights on my notepaper to give a peck at my pen. She delights
in sitting on the fender, fluffing up her feathers to revel in the
warmth, which, in winter, is her substitute for sunshine, and before
long she returns to her own little home, where she may be seen
gracefully sipping the sweet juice of a grape before recommencing her
song.
I often wonder how long this, my latest pet, may be spared to me! A
bird’s life is such a tender thing—a moment’s carelessness may rob one
of a cherished pet, and the greatest care will not always guard such a
tiny swift-flying bird from injury.
May the sorrowful day be far distant that shall see me bereft of my
little ray of home sunshine, my Fairy Whitethroat!
ASNAPPER.
“Heard ye the Owl
Hoot to her mate responsive? 'Twas not she
Whom, floating on white pinions near his barn,
The farmer views well-pleased, and bids his boy
Forbear her nest; but she who, cloth’d in robe
Of unobtrusive brown, regardless flies
Mouse-haunted corn-stacks and the thresher’s floor,
And prowls for plunder in the lonely wood.”
ASNAPPER.
THE BROWN OWL.