(_Concluded from page 247._)
What a lesson may art learn from contemplating scenes of nature.
_The Thrush._
"Thrushes feed very much on snails, looking for them in mossy banks.
Having frequently observed some broken snail-shells near two projecting
pebbles on a gravel walk, which had a hollow between them, I endeavoured
to discover the occasion of their being brought to that situation. At
last I saw a thrush fly to the spot with a snail-shell in his mouth,
which he placed between the two stones, and hammered at it with his beak
till he had broken it, and was then able to feed on its contents. The
bird must have discovered that he could not apply his beak with
sufficient force to break the shell while it was rolling about, and he
therefore found out and made use of a spot which would keep the shell in
one position. I do not know whether Mr. M'Adam has ever observed the
same circumstance, but his ingenious contrivance (if it is his) of
confining stones in a sort of hoop while they are being broken, is
somewhat similar to that of the thrush."
_The Pike_ it seems, is a formidable foe to _tackle_.
"The boldness of a pike is very extraordinary. I have seen one follow a
bait within a foot of the spot where I have been standing; and the head
keeper of Richmond Park assured me that he was once washing his hand at
the side of a boat in the great pond in that Park, when a pike made a
dart at it, and he had but just time to withdraw it. A gentleman now
residing at Weybridge, in Surrey, informed me that, walking one day by
the side of the river Wey, near that town, he saw a large pike in a
shallow creek. He immediately pulled off his coat, tucked up his shirt
sleeves, and went into the water to intercept the return of the fish to
the river, and to endeavour to throw it upon the bank by getting his
hands under it. During this attempt, the pike, finding he could not make
his escape, seized one of the arms of the gentleman, and lacerated it so
much that the wound is still very visible.
"A friend of mine caught a pike a few minutes after breaking his tackle,
and found it in the pike, a part of the gimp hanging out of his mouth.
He also caught another, in high condition, with a piece of strong
twisted wire projecting from its side. On opening it a double eel-hook
was found at the end of the wire, much corroded. This may account for so
few pike being found dead after they have broken away with a gorge-hook
in them. An account will be found, in 'Salmonia,' of a pike taking a
bait, with a set of hooks in his mouth, which he had just before broken
from a line."
_Affection of Animals._
"Animals are so capable of showing gratitude and affection to those who
have been kind to them, that I never see them subjected to ill treatment
without feeling the utmost abhorrence of those who are inflicting it. I
know many persons who, like myself, take a pleasure in seeing all the
animals about them appear happy and contented. Cows will show their
pleasure at seeing those who have been kind to them, by moving their
ears gently, and putting out their wet noses. My old horse rests his
head on the gate with great complacency when he sees me coming,
expecting to receive an apple or a piece of bread. I should even be
sorry to see my poultry and pigs get out of my way with any symptoms of
fear."
_The Moor-hen._
One of Mr. Haydon's new pictures is _the first start in life_--a mother
teaching her infant to walk--it is a clever sketch, but, bearing in mind
the beautiful comparison of Solomon and the lily of the valley, here is
a counterpart.
"Fishing the other day in Hampton Court Park, I disturbed a moor-hen who
had just hatched, and watched her anxiety and manoeuvres to draw away
her young. She would go a short distance, utter a cry, return, and
seemed to lead the way for her brood to follow. Having driven her away,
that I might have a better opportunity of watching her young ones, she
never ceased calling to them, and they made towards her, skulking
amongst the rushes, till they got to the other side of the pond. They
had only just left the shell, and had probably never heard the cry of
their mother before."
There is true benevolence in these remarks. How much is conveyed in the
homely expression, that such a man "would not tread upon a worm:" we
should learn to covet such men as friends.
_The Cardinal Spider._
"There is a large breed of spiders which are found very generally in the
palace of Hampton-Court. They are called there 'cardinals,' having I
suppose been first seen in Cardinal Wolsey's hall. They are full an inch
in length, and many of them of the thickness of a finger. Their legs are
about two inches long, and their body covered with a thick hair. They
feed chiefly on moths as appears from the wings of that insect being
found in great abundance under and amongst their webs. In running across
the carpet in an evening, with the shade cast from their large bodies by
the light of the lamp or candle, they have been mistaken for mice, and
have occasioned no little alarm to some of the more nervous inhabitants
of the palace. A doubt has even been raised whether the name of cardinal
has not been given to this creature from an ancient supposition that the
ghost of Wolsey haunts the place of his former glory under this shape.
Be this as it may, the spider is considered as a curiosity, and
Hampton-Court is the only place in which I have met with it."
Did Wolsey, arrayed in all his glory, ever regard a spider, or think
that his proud name would be coupled with so minute a member of the
creation?
_Rook-shooting._
"Rooks are not easily induced to forsake the trees on which they have
been bred, and which they frequently revisit after the breeding season
is over. This is shown in Hampton-Court Park, where there is an
extensive rookery amongst the fine lime-trees, and where a barbarous and
unnecessary custom prevails of shooting the young rooks. As many as a
hundred dozen of them have been killed in one season, and yet the rooks
build in the avenue, though there is a corresponding avenue close by, in
Bushy Park, which they never frequent, notwithstanding the trees are
equally high and equally secure. I never hear the guns go off during
this annual slaughter without execrating the practice, and pitying the
poor rooks, whose melancholy cries may be heard to a great distance, and
some of whom may be seen, exhausted by their fruitless exertions,
sitting melancholy on a solitary tree waiting till the _sport_ is over,
that they may return and see whether any of the offspring which they
have reared with so much care and anxiety are left to them; or, what is
more probable, the call for assistance of their young having ceased,
they are aware of their fate, and are sitting in mournful contemplation
of their loss. This may appear romantic, but it is nevertheless true."
Who can read the above without a shudder at the brutal taste of the
lords of the lower world.
_The Emu._
"The only instance I have met with in which the hen bird has not the
chief care in hatching and bringing up the young is in the case of the
emus at the farm belonging to the Zoological Society near Kingston. A
pair of these birds have now five young ones: the female at different
times dropped nine eggs in various places in the pen in which she was
confined. These were collected in one place by the male, who rolled them
gently and carefully along with his beak. He then sat upon them himself,
and continued to do so with the utmost assiduity for nine weeks, during
which time the female never took his place, nor was he ever observed to
leave the nest. When the young were hatched,[4] he alone took charge of
them, and has continued to do so ever since, the female not appearing to
notice them in any way. On reading this anecdote, many persons would
suppose that the female emu was not possessed of that natural affection
for its young which other birds have. In order to rescue it from this
supposition, I will mention that a female emu belonging to the Duke of
Devonshire at Cheswick lately laid some eggs; and as there was no male
bird, she collected them together herself and sat upon them."
[4] There are now (June) five young emus alive, and appearing
perfectly healthy.
_The Toad._
"It is a curious fact that toads are so numerous in the island of
Jersey, that they have become a term of reproach for its inhabitants,
the word 'Crapaud' being frequently applied to them; while in the
neighbouring island of Guernsey not a toad is to be found, though they
have frequently been imported. Indeed, certain other islands have always
been privileged in this respect. Ireland is free from venomous animals,
of course by the aid of St. Patrick. The same was affirmed of Crete in
olden times, being the birthplace of Jupiter. The Isle of Man is said
also to be free from venomous creatures. The Mauritius, and I believe
one of the Balearic islands, enjoys the same immunity."
The following anecdote is as pretty as the writer conceives it to be:
"His present Majesty, when residing in Bushy Park, had a part of the
foremast of the Victory, against which Lord Nelson was standing when he
received his fatal wound, deposited in a small temple in the grounds of
Bushy House, from which it was afterwards removed, and placed at the
upper end of the dining-room, with a bust of Lord Nelson upon it. A
large shot had passed completely through this part of the mast, and
while it was in the temple a pair of robins had built their nest in the
shot-hole, and reared a brood of young ones. It was impossible to
witness this little occurrence without reflecting on the scene of blood,
and strife of war, which had occurred to produce so snug and peaceable a
retreat for a nest of harmless robins. If that delightful poet of the
lakes, Mr. Wordsworth, should ever condescend to read this little
anecdote, it might supply him with no bad subject for one of his
charming sonnets."