_Uncle Philip tells the Boys how Hats are made; and then talks
to them about Animals that can make Felt like the Hatter._
"Boys, do you remember my telling you of a remarkable bird, called the
tailor-bird, which sews very neatly?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Philip; it is not easy to forget such an excellent little
workman; but why do you ask--have you any thing more to tell us about
that bird?"
"No, boys, not any thing of that bird; but I was thinking last night
of the work done by several other kinds of birds, some of them quite
as good workmen as our little tailor; and I thought that, perhaps, you
might like to hear of them."
"We would, Uncle Philip, be very happy to hear of them, if you will have
the kindness to tell us about them. But what kind of work is it they do?"
"Various kinds, boys. There are some which make what is called _felt_,
just as the hat-maker does; and some are weavers, others basket-makers;
some build platforms to live on; and I assure you some birds' nests are
as curious as any of the things of which I have yet told you."
"Pray let us hear of them, Uncle Philip."
"Very well, you shall. I will begin with birds that make felt like the
hatter. Do you know how a hat is made?"
"Not exactly, Uncle Philip; but we know what it is made of."
"What is it, boys?"
"Of sheep's wool, and the hair of other animals: is it not?"
"Yes, commonly of these things; and to understand what I am going to
tell you, I think it will be necessary first to say something about the
hatter's trade. The business of the man who makes a hat is to mix up
wool or hair in such a way that it will stick together and make felt;
or something like a piece of thick, strong cloth. To do this, he does
not weave the hairs together, for they are of different kinds, and of
different lengths, and it would be endless work to weave every one in;
besides the cloth or felt would not be thick enough when it was done."
"How do they stick together then, Uncle Philip?"
"Why, boys, their sticking together is owing to something in the hairs
themselves. I will show you. Pull a hair out of your head; now hold it
just between the ends of your two fore-fingers, and rub the fingers
gently against each other."
"Why, Uncle Philip! see, the hair is moving towards my body."
"Very true; and if you will turn it with the other end towards you, and
rub your fingers as before, you will see it move from your body."
"This is very strange, Uncle Philip: the hair is smooth; how can my
fingers make it move so?"
"No, that is a mistake, boys, the hair is not smooth. If some kinds of
coarse hair are seen through the microscope, each one will seem to be,
not one hair, but ten or twelve smaller ones, which are joined at the
root, and form a hollow tube, like a straw; and sometimes it will have
joints just like some kinds of grass or straw. In some sorts of finer
hair you cannot see this even with the microscope; but you can feel it,
as you did just now when you moved your fingers. These joints overlap
one another, just as if you should take several pieces of straw and
stick them into each other. I will show you some pictures of hairs as
seen through the microscope, and then these joints will be plain enough."
[Illustration: Hairs of (_a_) the Bat, (_b_) the Mole, and (_c_) the
Mouse.]
"These are strange-looking hairs, Uncle Philip."
"Yes, they are curious; but now you may see why, when hairs are worked
together, they may be made to stick to each other. These rough parts
catch into each other, and hook themselves; and the more you press them
or move them, the more closely you work them into one solid mass, which
you cannot easily pull to pieces. Besides, you must remember that the
hairs will work only one way, as you found out just now when your finger
ends caught upon the little joints and moved them along. Now, suppose
that a very large heap of hairs, or wool, or fur, after it is made
ready, should be put upon a table, and covered with a linen cloth, and
pressed down in different directions. Each hair would begin to move in
the direction of its root, just as it did between your fingers, and so
all would be joined together at last into one solid piece."
"We understand you, Uncle Philip."
"Then you understand, boys, the way in which a hat is made. These hairs
are all worked together by the hands of the hat-maker, and to make them
work more easily (for curled hair, such as wool, does not move easily)
the hatter uses hot water, and dips his hat in it while he is working
it. After it is done, it is died, and then put upon a wooden block to
give it shape, and is ironed smooth."
"And this is the way, then, Uncle Philip, to make hats: it is curious,
is it not?"
"Yes, boys; but plain enough when you come to examine into it. And the
best stuff for the hatters is such hair as has most joints ready to
catch into each other: the rabbit's hair is very good, and for that
reason."
"And is it possible, Uncle Philip, that any bird can do such work as
this?"
"Not only possible, boys, but true. There are several birds very expert
at making felt, and their nest appears like a piece of hatter's felt, or
double-milled woollen cloth. I do not mean to say that it is as close
and solid as the hat or cloth; it would feel in your fingers looser than
either, still it is quite close; and when you examine it, you will find
it put together in the same way; it is all carded into one mass, and not
woven together thread by thread, or hair by hair."
"And are there many birds able to do such work, Uncle Philip?"
"I told you, boys, that there were several. The chief article which
they use is wool, but with this many other things will be found
mixed--sometimes, upon the outside, fine moss--sometimes pieces of a
spider's web rolled up into a little bundle--sometimes, when cotton can
be had, they will use small bunches of cotton-wool; but sheep's wool
they must have, and by means of that, they contrive to make, with the
other things I have mentioned, a felt wonderfully smooth."
"Is it smooth on the outside, Uncle Philip?"
"Sometimes quite so; but always as smooth on the inside, when it is
first made, as if it had been felted together by the hat-maker. There
is another thing curious enough in some of these nests. The hatter, you
know, binds the rim of his hat to make it stronger; and some of these
felt-making birds will make their nests stronger by a binding all around
them of dry grass stems, and sometimes of slender roots, and they take
care to cover these grass stems, or roots, with their felt-work of moss
and wool. But there is something else not less strange, I think, than
the binding. It is this: they will build their nests in the fork of a
shrub or tree; and to keep them from falling, they will work bands of
this felt round all the branches which touch the nest, both below and at
the sides. And those parts of the nest which touch the large branches
are always thinner than the other parts, which have no support; in those
parts the nest is nothing but a thin wall of felt, fixed around to
fit the shape of the branch, and that is enough to make that part of
the nest warm and soft. Here is a picture of one of these felt-nests,
fastened in the way of which I have been telling you."
[Illustration: Chaffinch's Nest on an Elder-tree.]
"This, boys, is the nest of the chaffinch. The goldfinch makes a nest
of the same kind, only rather neater and smoother than that of the
chaffinch; for it takes pains to show nothing but the wool, and covers
up all the other materials which it uses."
"Uncle Philip, do these birds all use the same things to make their
nests?"
"All use wool, boys; but the truth is, that birds will commonly take
for their nests that article which they can get most easily, if it will
suit. A gentleman, named Bolton, tried this with some goldfinches. He
saw a pair of these birds beginning to build in his garden; they had
laid the foundation of their nest with moss, and grass, and such things,
as they commonly use: he scattered some wool about in different parts of
the garden; the birds took the wool: afterward he scattered cotton; they
took the cotton: on the next day he gave them some very fine down; they
took that, and finished the nest with it, and a very handsome nest it
was."
"How long were they in making it, Uncle Philip?"
"Three days. The canary-bird, boys, which you sometimes see in cages,
when free, builds a nest of the same kind. But the most curious
felt-makers among the birds, are in Africa. There is the Cape-tit,
a bird in the southern part of Africa, which builds a very strange
nest: it is shaped like a bottle of India-rubber, as thick as a coarse
worsted stocking, and made of cotton, and down, and other things felted
together. On one side of the nest there is something like a pocket, and
here is a picture of it."
[Illustration: Nest of the Cape-tit, from Sonnerat.]
"Uncle Philip, what is that pocket for?"
"Why, boys, some have supposed that it was for the male bird to sit on
and keep watch, while the female was inside of the nest sitting on the
eggs; but I think this is a mistake. And some have said, that when the
female leaves the nest, and the male wishes to go too, he sits in this
pocket, and beats against the side of the nest with his wing until he
has made the edges of the top meet, and thus shuts up the mouth of the
nest, and keeps off insects and other animals that would eat the young
ones; but I do not believe this story."
"Then what do you think the pocket is for. Uncle Philip?"
"I think, boys, that it is nothing but a perch, or place for the bird
to sit on before going into the nest. If the bird had no such place for
stopping, it might be troubled to get into its nest. The mouth is small,
and the bird could not enter it with its wings spread; and if it should
alight on the edge of the nest constantly, it would injure it, for it is
but slightly made. And I will tell you another reason why I think this
is the use of the pocket. There is another bird in South Africa, called
the pinc-pinc, which is the same species of bird as the Cape-tit; and
this bird we know uses its little nest built upon the side of the other
merely as a resting-place before going into the nest."
"Uncle Philip, does the pinc-pinc build its nest like a bottle, as the
Cape-tit does?"
"No, boys, not so smooth, but felted in the same way. The nest is
made mostly of the down of plants, and is either snowy white or
brownish, according to the colour of the down. On the outside it is a
clumsy-looking thing, but fastened, like the nest of the chaffinch,
very firmly to the branches near it, so that you cannot take it away
without breaking it to pieces. But rough as the outside is, you would be
astonished, if you were to look at the inside, and see how a bird, and a
small one too, with nothing but its wings, and tail, and feet, and bill
for tools, could ever have worked the down of plants together, so as to
make of it a piece of fine cloth. It has a narrow neck, something like
a chimney, at the top of it. This is the entrance; and at the lower end
of it there is a lump, which appears something like a small nest stuck
on to the larger one; sometimes there will be three or four of these
small-looking nests, and sometimes when there is a branch near the mouth
of the nest which makes a good resting-place, there will be none. Here
is a picture, boys, of the outside of one of these nests.
[Illustration: Nest of the Pinc-pinc.]
These birds are easily watched; and a French gentleman, who has written
the best account of the birds of Africa,[11] says that he has found
at least a hundred of these nests, and watched the birds for a whole
morning together, and never saw one sitting on the small nest as a
watch-bird; but has seen both the male and female arrive at the nest
together, perch upon the nearest branch, hop from this upon the edge of
the little nest, and then putting their heads into the hole, dart into
the large nest. And now, boys, what do you think about the use of these
little pockets?"
"Oh, Uncle Philip, we think that what you tell us is always right,
because you know a great deal more than we do."
"But, boys, you do not understand me. I may be mistaken, though I do
know more than you. I have been telling you my reasons for thinking
these little pockets are nothing but perches. Do you think the reasons
are good ones?"
"Why, yes, Uncle Philip, we do. The French gentleman who watched the
birds so much would have seen some of them using the pockets for a place
to keep watch in, if they were made for that."
"Right, boys. What I wish to teach you is to think for yourselves.
Whenever any one gives you a reason for a thing, just ask yourselves,
'Is this a good reason?'"
"But, Uncle Philip, how did it happen that the other people who saw
these birds should have said that these pockets were for the male bird
to sit in and watch?"
"I suppose, boys, that they really thought so; but then they had not
noticed the birds enough to find out the truth. It requires a great
deal of time and patience to find out the truth about animals: and this
is the reason why so many mistakes have been printed about them. It is
a pity that such mistakes have been made; for really there is enough
that is very curious about them, without men's making stories to appear
strange. But I think that there will be fewer mistakes made in future."
"Why so, Uncle Philip?"
"Because, boys, men are taking more pains to see for themselves. There
are more naturalists now than there were formerly; and I hope there
will be more still, especially in our own large and beautiful country,
where there have not yet been many. I hope that natural history will be
studied in all our schools before a great while. But let us go back to
our African birds.
"There is another kind which Mr. Vaillant speaks of, and I will tell you
of that. He calls it the capocier, and he had a very fine opportunity to
watch two of them. It is a bird easily made gentle, and he had managed
by feeding two of them to make them so tame that they would come into
his tent and hop about several times in a day, though he never had them
in a cage. When it became time for them to build a nest, they staid away
for some time, and would come to the tent once only in four or five
days. At last they began to come regularly, as before, and Mr. Vaillant
soon found out what they came for. They had seen upon his table cotton
and moss and flax, which he used to stuff the skins of birds, and which
were always lying there; and the capociers had come for these things,
to build their nest of them. They would take up large bunches of them
in their bills and fly away. Mr. Vaillant followed and watched them to
see the nest built, and found them at work in the corner of a garden, by
the side of a spring, in a large plant which grew under the shade of a
tree. They were building in the fork of the branches, and had laid the
foundation, which was about four inches high and six inches across. This
part was made of moss and flax, mixed with grass and tufts of cotton.
The next day this gentleman never left the side of the nest: the female
was at work building, and the male brought the materials. In the morning
the male bird made twenty-nine journeys to Mr. Vaillant's table for flax
and cotton and moss; and in the afternoon he made seventeen. He would
help his mate to trample down and press the cotton with his body, so
as to make it into felt. Whenever he came with a load, he would put it
either upon the edge of the nest or upon some branch within reach of the
female.
"After he began to help the female at her work, he would often break
off, and begin to play; and sometimes, as if in mischief, he would pull
down a little of her work. She would get angry, and peck him with her
bill: but he still continued to vex her, until at last, to save her work
from being pulled down, she would stop working, and fly off from bush
to bush, to tease him. They would then make up the quarrel, and she
set about her work, while he would sing most delightfully for several
minutes. After his song was finished, he would go to work again, until
he got into a new fit of mischief and frolic, and then he would torment
her as before.
"On the third day the birds began to build the walls, after having
repeatedly pressed the bottom, and turned themselves round upon it in
all directions, to make the nest solid. They first made a plain border
all around; this they trimmed, and on it they piled up tufts of cotton,
which they felted in by beating and pressing with their breasts and
wings; and if any part stuck out, they worked it in with their bills,
so as to make all perfectly smooth and firm. And they worked their nest
round the branches near it, just as the chaffinch does.
"In seven days they finished it. It was as white as snow, and on the
outside it was nine inches high, and not smooth or regular in its shape;
but in the inside it was shaped exactly like a hen's egg, with the small
end up: the hollow was five inches high, and between four and five
inches across; and it was so neatly felted together that it might have
been taken for a piece of fine cloth a little worn; and so close that
you could not take away any part without tearing the nest in pieces.
Here is a picture of the nest, boys, and it is wonderful work for a
small bird."
[Illustration: Nest of the Capocier, from Vaillant's figure.]
"Oh, Uncle Philip! we like the capociers very much. When they were tired
of working, they were ready to play; and when they had played enough,
they went back to work. Do not you think there was good sense in that?"
"Yes, boys, I do: it will not do, either to work all the time or to play
all the time. All that we have to do is to take care that we do not
spend more time than we should at either. But there is a sweet little
bird, boys, quite common in our own country, which makes felt: would you
like to hear of it?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Philip. What bird is it?"
[Illustration: Nest of the Humming-bird.]
"It is the humming-bird. Here is a drawing of its nest. It is about an
inch deep, and an inch across; and from a little distance, appears more
like a small knot upon the branch than like a bird's nest. The outside
of the nest from which this picture is made, was covered with a kind of
bluish-gray lichen, that grows in scales upon old trees and fences: this
seemed to be glued on by the bird in some way or other. The inside was
the felt, and was made of the fine down from seeds that float about in
the air, mixed with the down from mullein-weed and stalks of fine grass.
This, boys, is the smallest nest made by a bird, I believe; and some
insects make larger houses for themselves than this bird does.
"But I have not time at present to talk with you any longer, as I have
letters to write; and therefore I must bid you good morning."
"Farewell, Uncle Philip."