bird, but I could wish there were fewer of them at these times when one
wishes to befriend the rarer kinds of the birds, and, if it were
possible, reserve the food mainly for them instead of the plebeian
sparrows.
The kind of provision I find best and most suitable for all tastes is
coarsely ground oatmeal, Indian corn, hemp-seed, sultana raisins,
chopped-up fat of any kind, and boiled liver cut up finely.
The raisins attract the wild pheasants, and it is a truly beautiful
sight to watch these birds feeding quietly near the window, with the
morning sun glancing upon their lovely sleek plumage until they look as
if made of bronze and gold. During the autumn I have sacks of acorns and
beech-mast collected and laid by until the birds are distressed for
food, and then a large basketful is scattered daily beneath the
tulip-tree upon the lawn, to the great delight of rooks, jackdaws,
pheasants, and wood-pigeons. Even two moorhens from my lake have come up
through the fields and remained for the last two months, not only
feeding with other birds on the lawn, but visiting the poultry yard,
picking up grain with the fowls, and several times they have also
roosted in the henhouse. The lovely grey and orange nuthatches haunt the
dining-room windows, where they share the nuts which are daily bestowed
upon the squirrels.
This place, with its surrounding woods and gardens, where all birds have
been protected and encouraged for the last twenty years, naturally
abounds with feathered fowl of many kinds, but in most gardens, even
somewhat near a town or city, birds may be coaxed to come by constantly
placing attractive food where they can pick it up without danger from
cats. This is best arranged either in a basket hung at a window or in a
box fastened to a high pole. Any one may find pleasure in watching the
various kinds of birds flying to and fro, and, for an invalid, it would
be adding a charm to daily life, besides doing a kindness to a useful
tribe of creatures which are too often persecuted rather than jealously
protected, as they ought to be, in return for the valuable services they
render to the gardener and agriculturist.
STARVING TORTOISES.
“Where’er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure;
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he finds one, only feeds
The faster.”
VINCENT BOURNE.
STARVING TORTOISES.
I CANNOT refrain from drawing attention to the cruelty with which these
inoffensive creatures are often treated with regard to their food. One
constantly hears the remark, “We had a tortoise for a few months, but it
died.” Either from carelessness or ignorance the poor tortoise is hardly
ever properly fed, and, though it can endure privation for a longer time
than most creatures, yet unless food is supplied it must die miserably
of starvation at last. The ordinary land-tortoise feeds on cabbage,
sow-thistle, lettuce-leaves, and dandelion flowers, while some specimens
will enjoy bread and milk as well. I have been carefully watching a tame
one in my conservatory, and find that, day after day, he eats a lettuce
nearly half his own size. If, then, he requires so much food to keep him
in health and vigour, how pitiable must be the condition of those kept
without food, or those that are perhaps offered a dandelion flower once
a week!
The water-tortoises are equally ill-used, for often from lack of
knowledge they are constantly offered vegetable diet which they cannot
eat, their proper food being the live creatures they find in the water
they exist in. They are best fed in captivity by supplying them with
little portions of raw meat, or remains of boiled cod or turbot. They
are easily distinguished from the land-tortoises by their livelier
movements, and by their being able to swim in water. Still even they do
not care to be always afloat, so there should be a piece of cork or some
small island upon which they can rest when they are tired of swimming.
One day I saw on a shelf in a village shop a handsomely marked
tortoise-shell, which I rather desired to purchase for my museum. Upon
inquiry I found it had been bought for a few shillings from a man who
was going through the village with a truck-load of these poor creatures
for sale. The shopkeeper knew nothing about the requirements of his new
acquisition, and thought it would be quite happy in the water-butt,
where he placed it for the night. It being a land-tortoise, it was of
course found dead in the morning—one of the many victims of well
intentioned ignorance. Those who sell tortoises in the streets know
nothing about their habits, they only want to get rid of their stock as
quickly as possible. The purchasers may never even have seen a tortoise
before, and have not, as a rule, the vaguest idea of how it should be
treated, so that the unfortunate creatures are almost sure sooner or
later to perish miserably of mismanagement and starvation.
They are entirely vegetable feeders, so that the idea that a tortoise
will clear the kitchen of black-beetles is an absurd fiction, though it
is, I believe, urged by street sellers of tortoises as an inducement for
the householder to purchase his stock.
One day a tortoise was brought to me by a man who said he had picked it
up in one of my fields. I felt sure it must have strayed from its
rightful owner, and we therefore made every inquiry amongst our
neighbours round about in order to discover, if possible, its previous
home. As no one would own the tortoise, we placed it in the conservatory
that we might be able to observe its ways and habits, as it happened to
be the first specimen of the kind that had been enrolled amongst my
pets. When placed on the lawn for exercise the creature would greedily
snap off every hawkweed flower he came to, and as these abounded in the
turf he had happy times feasting on flowers and basking in the sun.
After keeping the tortoise about a year, it happened that a policeman
living in a neighbouring village called here to see a friend of his, and
this comrade (one of my gardeners) took him to see the flowers in the
conservatory. After a few minutes the policeman exclaimed, “Why, there’s
our Jack!” An explanation ensued, and it turned out that the tortoise
had really belonged to him, as he proved by showing a little hole he had
bored through the shell in order to tether Master Jack and prevent his
straying away. The tortoise had been the gift of a dear friend, and the
loss of this pet had been quite a sorrow in the family. “My missus will
cry for joy at seeing Jack again,” said the man; and very glad was I to
restore the truant to his rightful owner, whose pet he had been for four
years.
Although somewhat slow and inert, a tortoise is quite worth keeping, and
when well cared for, properly fed, and taken notice of, it has a good
deal of a quaint sort of intelligence. The one I now possess will feed
from my hand, gives an angry hiss when offended, will put on double
quick speed, when the door is opened, in order to elope into the garden,
and what mind he has is greatly exercised about the lemurs. I judge this
because I so often find him gazing at them through the wirework, his
shell tilted at an angle as if he would fain climb up to satisfy his
curiosity.
To the poor people who often visit my place in summer, many of whom have
never seen such a creature before, the tortoise is an object of
surprise, not unmixed with fear, for one woman asked if he would “fly at
her,” and others seem to suppose him a creature of ferocious tendencies,
judging by the way they keep at a distance and eye him askance.
I happened to be at the Zoological Gardens one autumn day when some of
the large Galapagos tortoises were fairly active, and was fortunate
enough to see one digging a hole in a rather hard gravel path. The
excavation was carried on entirely by the hind legs; first one and then
the other went down and grasped a few stones with the claws on the foot;
these stones were dropped on the surface of the ground, and down went
the other leg, and slowly it brought up a little soil, and this process
went steadily on for ten minutes or more, and the hole became about
eight or nine inches deep. The sturdy tail of the tortoise is used as a
sort of boring instrument in first beginning the hole, and when deep
enough the tortoise cautiously deposits her eggs at the bottom of the
cavity, and when all are laid the hole is filled up with earth, well
pressed down, and the mother leaves her precious deposits to be hatched
by the heat of the sun.
Gilbert White has remarked upon the tortoise as a weather prophet. He
says, “As sure as it walks elate, and as it were on tiptoe, feeding with
great earnestness in the morning, so sure will it rain before night.” I
can confirm this statement from my own observation, and when my tortoise
walks in a weak sort of fashion, as if his limbs had no strength, it is
a sure presage of fine weather. I frequently see another habit in my pet
which is noticed in White’s “Selborne”: “He inclines his shell, by
tilting it against the wall, to collect and admit every feeble ray.” The
sun shines upon the floor of my conservatory in different places
according to the time of day, and my tortoise “improves the shining
hour” by seeking these pleasant sunny spots and basking in them in
rotation as the day goes on.
A young dove that is allowed to fly about in my conservatory is
remarkably fond of the tortoise, and may often be seen sitting on its
back and pluming itself; it stays there whilst the tortoise walks about,
apparently quite unaware that it is carrying an “outside passenger.”
In the Japanese islands these creatures grow to an enormous size. I
possess a shell which is highly polished and ornamented with gold
lacquer work; the measurement of it is three feet one inch by three feet
four inches across, and, as these animals live to an immense age, this
specimen may probably be several hundred years old.
As each year appears to be marked by a ring round each plate of the
tortoise-shell, much as one sees them in a section of tree stem, it
might have been possible to reckon the age of my huge shell, but in
polishing the surface the rings have been effaced, so its age can only
be conjectured.
Let it not be forgotten that a tortoise is a thirsty creature, and needs
to have access to water in some very shallow pan out of which it can
drink. My own specimen knows well the sound of falling water, and goes
beneath the hanging baskets in the conservatory after the gardeners have
soaked them, and there enjoys the dripping moisture, drinking from the
pools upon the tiled floor.
The shell of a tortoise should be well oiled every few weeks, as it is
apt to grow too dry, and might be liable to crack or peel off, the
artificial life the creature leads in confinement tending to have a
desiccating effect upon the shell.
If each reader of this book would kindly tell those who possess
tortoises the kind of food they require it would greatly tend to reduce
unintentional cruelty.
TEACHING VILLAGE CHILDREN TO BE HUMANE.
“Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich man’s tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine.”
EMERSON.
“Else they are all—the meanest things that are,
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,
As God was free to form them at the first
Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all.
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too.”
COWPER.
“A man who is kind to the animals belonging to him will be thoughtful of
the feelings and wishes of his family. A woman who, with patience and
tenderness, cares for the domestic creatures around her home, can but be
loving to her little ones; for she must observe how strong is the
mother-love in the humblest thing that lives.”
MRS. F. A. F. WOOD-WHITE.
TEACHING VILLAGE CHILDREN TO BE HUMANE.
SO much preventable cruelty in this world arises from ignorance that it
seems the duty of every one to try and pass on to others any useful
knowledge they may happen to have acquired, and thus increase the
general sum of happiness in the hearts and lives of those who live
around them. This general axiom is, I think, especially true with
reference to information about animals and birds: we can prevent a great
deal of cruelty being unintentionally shown towards the useful creatures
that serve us in so many ways by using our influence wisely in the
village schools and in the houses of the children’s parents.
If some one in each country village would but gather the children
together as often as possible, and talk to them pleasantly and kindly
about the right treatment of horses, asses, dogs, cats, birds, &c., the
little lads who will grow up to be grooms, ostlers, and carters, would
be likely to remember the teaching they receive, and carry it out in
humane treatment of the animals under their charge. I dare not repeat
what I know of the cruelties practised by young boys upon birds and
their nestlings in the breeding season, but will at any rate try and
show some of the motives that lead young people to persecute birds and
destroy their eggs. I would classify these motives thus: first, wanton
mischief; secondly, ignorance; and thirdly, collecting mania. The two
first mostly influence the poor, and the last the richer classes. I will
endeavour to suggest remedies for each.
Mischievous country lads may in some measure be restrained by bills
freely posted about in their village stating clearly the penalties for
taking nests and eggs, with a list of protected birds. The notices
should be couched in simple words, that children can understand, and not
after the style of a notice board, which was placed to protect a spring
of pure water for village use, and which ran thus: “Persons are
requested to refrain from polluting or contaminating this water.” I am
afraid the rustic Tommy would not be much enlightened by these
formidable words. Much more to the point is the warning to be met with
in one Surrey village, “Children, let Well alone.”
Any proved case of pure mischief or cruelty shown towards any living
creature should be made a serious offence, rebuked openly in the village
school, and spoken about to the parents by the clergy and others. In
this way public opinion may by degrees be created, and any child so
offending may learn that he or she is in disfavour for such acts.
It may be that only a few children out of a whole school have the
disposition which delights in cruelty, but all are more or less ignorant
and thoughtless, and need to be carefully and patiently taught the duty
of kindness to all living creatures.
What constantly happens is this. A boy sees something unusual flitting
about in a tree; he wonders what it is, and, wishing to find out, he
naturally flings a stone at the object; when the coveted thing lies
gasping at his feet he looks at it a moment, and flings it aside. He
knows nothing about the harm he has done—has no idea that he has killed
a bird that perhaps very rarely visits our shores, and that may not be
seen again for years. Why, then, if we wish such rare visitants to
increase, do we not systematically teach our boys and girls to watch and
study the ways of wild creatures, and feel some rational interest in
them, so that in consequence they may be drawn to do what they can to
aid in their preservation? The children need to be instructed about the
life-history of one bird after another; information should be given
about its mode of life, its usefulness in destroying insects, its
nesting habits, the tender love between the mated birds, and their care
of their young—defending them even at the risk of their own lives if
needful. Surely the impressible hearts of children might be led to pity
and protect our feathered songsters if once they were made thoroughly
acquainted with facts such as these.
Leaflets on natural history and kindness to animals and birds can be had
very cheaply from the R.S.P.C.A., the Society for the Protection of
Birds, and the Dickybird Society, and these should be scattered
broadcast throughout our land, where they cannot fail to do beneficent
work. If coloured lithographs of our common birds were hung up in
village schools, and simple explanatory lessons were given upon them, it
would surely be more useful to our country children than that they
should be taught to know the exact difference between the Indian and
African elephant! And yet one often sees large prints of foreign animals
in schools, and but seldom anything so simple as pictures of the animals
and birds the children meet with in everyday life.
Again, small prizes might be offered for the best papers written upon
our English birds, describing their habits and uses, and all the facts
about them which the children are able to comprehend.
I was delighted to receive from a dear unknown child a capital drawing
of a brambling which I could recognise at once, so truthful was the pose
and colouring, and, though the young artist was only eleven, his drawing
and letter revealed a born naturalist. Now this kind of effort might be
largely promoted amongst young people with excellent effect. We should
make a rule I have myself observed all my life most carefully, “Never to
have a bird killed wantonly, even for drawing or study purposes.” There
are admirable pictures to be obtained of all our English birds, and,
with an occasional find of a dead bird, and the glimpses we may obtain
of them in life, these will furnish enough to guide young artists in
their first attempts. Suppose the children of a village school awakened
to this kind of competition, and a “tea” given to those who have sent in
papers, I can see the way to a delightful evening when the papers should
be read, comments kindly offered, mistakes corrected, information given,
and some fresh subjects set for the next time. The whole village would
be full of chat about this gathering, and each child would naturally
bring much of the knowledge gained into his own home, and thus the
parents would indirectly become enlightened upon natural history
subjects, on which they are usually deplorably ignorant.
These humble suggestions are offered as being the best means I can at
present bring forward in order to attain the end we have in view, and in
a measure they apply equally to young people in a higher position in
life, who would, I believe, welcome little informal meetings for the
reading of the papers they may have written, and the attainment from
their elders of further information on the life-histories of animals and
birds. I earnestly hope that still better plans may be evoked from
others as a result of bringing this subject prominently forward.
I must draw attention to an excellent idea borrowed from Miss
Carrington’s book on “The Extermination of Birds,” and it is that our
young people who desire to possess collections of birds’ eggs should be
encouraged to model them in wax and colour them precisely according to
nature. Even the one egg used as a model need only be borrowed from a
nest and returned when the model is cast and coloured; or one may be
lent for the purpose from the collection of a friend. The young artist
would be able to enjoy the thought that his specimens were of a
permanent nature, and that there had been no rifling of the nests of
valuable birds, without whose incessant labours we should have endless
insect plagues. For the _modus operandi_ of this last idea I would refer
my readers to Miss Carrington’s little book.[2]
In trying to discourage the collecting mania I know I am treading upon
delicate ground, and I must define my meaning clearly, else I may convey
wrong ideas and provoke needless discussion of vexed questions. I do not
think very young children should be allowed to kill any living creature
in order to make a collection—it must tend to make them hard-hearted;
far better is it to lead them to watch and admire every bird and insect
they come across. As they are taught to know the ways and habits of
living things, and year by year they grow up with kindly feelings
towards them, I think they will hardly be amongst those who would
destroy perhaps fifty lovely butterflies in order to complete a circle
of colour in some case of insects. _That_ is the kind of collecting I
wholly condemn as both useless and cruel. So much study can be carried
on without taking life, that it seems undesirable to adopt in early life
any line of investigation which involves the death of the objects being
studied—at any rate until the student is old enough to avoid any
possible cruelty in the matter. It appears to me that if we bring up
young people with a reverent love for all, even the lowliest of God’s
handiwork, that feeling will tend to restrain them from exercising the
instinct of destruction which we may often trace in children’s early
years.
There must be a certain amount of slaying for necessary food, and
animals and birds prey upon each other by the very laws of their
existence. Specimens, too, are required for museums, else how could
students learn to know the various orders of animal and bird creation;
but outside all these unavoidable uses, the indiscriminate slaughter of
innocent life that is carried on year by year, fills me with distress,
and I, for one, shall never cease to protest against it with voice and
pen. I can but hope that by the multiplication of our Selborne branches
and kindred societies we may in time see some diminution of this selfish
warfare against all creatures in fur and feathers.
STUDYING NATURE.
“If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills!—no tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.”
LONGFELLOW.
STUDYING NATURE.
I HAPPEN to live in the country, in the midst of lovely scenery,
abounding in all the elements of beauty, such as wide-spreading heaths,
sheets of water, distant views, and grand old trees and woods.
There are many varieties of birds and insects to be seen, plenty of wild
flowers, mosses, and lichens in the lanes, and in my own grounds all
kinds of cultivated flowers.
Numbers of young people come to stay with me in the course of the year,
and naturally, when I am taking walks with them, and we are admiring
trees and flowers, or a sweet-voiced bird begins to sing, questions
arise about the names of various plants and songsters. I confess I am
often surprised to discover the very limited knowledge of elementary
natural history or botany that is possessed by young girls who in other
branches of study are intelligent and well-informed. It grieves me to
think that the instructive book of Nature is thus disregarded, and its
lessons left unlearned, by thousands who would be much happier, and have
many more resources to fill up leisure moments, if they knew more about
the everyday things which surround them in the country.
Even if it is the lot of many young people to live in towns, still, when
they pay visits to their friends at the seaside, or in the country,
there are ample opportunities for natural history studies, and by means
of books these studies can be carried on when they return home.
I will try and describe one of the subjects which my young visitors
always discover to be full of interest, namely, the study of trees.
Such a book as “The Forest Trees of Britain”[3] will supply the names of
all our ordinary trees; and, when taking a ramble in a country lane or
garden, if a perfect leaf of each species of tree is gathered, well
pressed, and dried between sheets of blotting paper under a heavy
weight, there will be found pleasant occupation for some wet day spent
indoors in arranging these specimen leaves in a large blank book.
Space should be left to write the English and Latin name of each tree,
whence it was imported, and some of its chief uses. If, later on, the
autumn-tinted leaf of each species can be obtained, and a coloured
drawing made of its catkin flower, then in time a really charming and
valuable book will be formed, which a girl will feel pleasure in showing
to her young friends, and thus others will be led to fill up their
leisure time with instructive pursuits of this kind.