Then comes a ruthless May, with Winter in her train, who, with his
frosty edge, unpitying shears away all the expectancies, the beautiful
promise of the year; and we have to await returning seasons, and patient
hope for better things. A garden pining and prostrate from the effects
of a churlish, frosty May, leaves crisp and blackened, flowers withered,
torn, and scattered around, are a melancholy sight—the vernal hectic
that consumes the fairest offspring of the nursery. There is a plant,
however, the white thorn (mespilus oxycanthus), the May of our rustics,
common in all places and situations, that affords a good example of
general steadiness to time, uninfluenced by partial effects. An
observation of above twenty years upon this plant has proved how little
it deviates in its blossoming in one season from another; and, under all
the importunities and blandishments of the most seductive Aprils, I have
in all that period never but twice seen more than a partial blossom by
the first of May. We hail our first-seen swallow as a harbinger of
milder days and summer enjoyments; but the appearance of our birds of
passage is not greatly to be depended upon, as I have reason to
apprehend from much observation. They will be accelerated or retarded in
the time of their departure by the state of the wind in the country
whence they take their flight; they travel much by night, requiring in
many instances the light of the moon to direct them; and the actual time
of their arrival is difficult to ascertain, as they steal into our
hedges and copses unperceived. If the weather be bright or warm, their
voices are heard; if gloomy and cold, they will lie secreted till the
call of hunger or of love intimates their presence. Though we rarely see
these birds in their transits, yet I have at times, on a calm bright
evening in November, heard high in the air the redwing and the
fieldfare, on progress to a destined settlement, manifested by the
signal-notes of some leading birds to their scattered followers. These
conductors of their flocks are certainly birds acquainted with the
country over which they travel, their settlements here being no
promiscuous dispersion: it being obvious that many pairs of birds return
to their ancient haunts, either old ones which had bred there, or their
offspring. The butcher-bird successively returns to a hedge in one of my
fields, influenced by some advantage it derives from that situation, or
from a preference to the spot where hatched; but we have perhaps no bird
more attached to peculiar situations than the gray flycatcher (muscicapa
grisola), one pair, or their descendants, frequenting year after year
the same hole in the wall, or the same branch on the vine or the plum.
Being perfectly harmless, and hence never molested, they become
“Enamor’d with their ancient haunts,
——and hover round.”
I once knew a pair of these birds bring off two broods in one season
from the same nest. This flycatcher delights in eminences. The naked
spray of a tree, or projecting stone in a building, or even a tall stick
in the very middle of the grass-plot, is sure to attract its attention,
as affording an uninterrupted view of its winged prey; and from this it
will be in constant activity a whole summer’s day, capturing its food
and returning to swallow it. The digestion of some birds must be
remarkably rapid, to enable them to receive such constant replenishments
of food. The swift and the swallow are feeding from the earliest light
in the morning till the obscurity of evening; the quantities of cherries
and raspberries that the blackcap and pettichaps will eat are
surprising, as they are unremittingly consuming from morning till night;
and this flycatcher seems to require a proportion of food equal to any
bird, being in constant progress, capturing one moment, and resting the
next. But fruit and insects are with us only for a short season; and
their privations, when these no longer afford a supply, indicate, that
they possess the power of abstinence, as well as that of consumption.
We observed this summer two common thrushes frequenting the shrubs on
the green in our garden. From the slenderness of their forms, and the
freshness of their plumage, we pronounced them to be birds of the
preceding summer. There was an association and friendship between them,
that called our attention to their actions: one of them seemed ailing,
or feeble from some bodily accident; for though it hopped about, yet it
appeared unable to obtain sufficiency of food; its companion, an active
sprightly bird, would frequently bring it worms, or bruised snails, when
they mutually partook of the banquet; and the ailing bird would wait
patiently, understand the actions, expect the assistance of the other,
and advance from his asylum upon its approach. This procedure was
continued for some days, but after a time we missed the fostered bird,
which probably died, or by reason of its weakness met with some fatal
accident. We have many relations of the natural affection of animals;
and whoever has attended to the actions of the various creatures we are
accustomed to domesticate about us can probably add many other instances
from their own observation. Actions which are in any way analogous to
the above, when they are performed by mankind, arise most commonly from
duty, affection, pity, interest, pride; but we are not generally
disposed to allow the inferior orders of creation the possession of any
of these feelings, except perhaps the last: yet when we have so many
instances of attachment existing between creatures similar and
dissimilar in their natures, which are obvious to all, and where no
interest can possibly arise as a motive; when we mark the varieties of
disposition which they manifest under uniform treatment, their various
aptitudes and comprehensions, sensibility or inattention to sounds, &c.,
it seems but reasonable to consider them as gifted with latent passions;
though being devoid of mind to stimulate or call them into action by any
principle of volition or virtue, how excited to performance we know no
more than we do the motives of many of their bodily actions! The
kindnesses and attentions which the maternal creature manifests in
rearing its young, and the assistance occasionally afforded by the
paternal animal, during the same period, appears to be a natural
inherent principle universally diffused throughout creation; but when we
see a sick or maimed animal supplied and attended by another, which we
suppose gifted with none of the stimuli to exertion that actuate our
conduct, we endow them by this denial with motives with which we
ourselves are unacquainted; and at last we can only relate the fact,
without defining the cause.
The throstle is a bird of great utility in a garden where wall fruit is
grown, by reason of the peculiar inclination which it has for feeding
upon snails, and very many of them he does dislodge in the course of the
day. When the female is sitting, the male bird seems to be particularly
assiduous in searching them out, and I believe he feeds his mate during
that period, having frequently seen him flying to the nest with food,
long before the eggs were hatched; after this time the united labors of
the pair destroy numbers of these injurious creatures. That he will
regale himself frequently with a tempting gooseberry, or bunch of
currants, is well known, but his services entitle him to a very ample
reward. The blackbird associates with these thrushes in our gardens, but
makes no compensation for our indulgences after his song ceases, as he
does not feed upon the snail; but the thrush benefits us through the
year by his propensities for this particular food, and every grove
resounds with his harmony in the season; and probably if this race
suffered less from the gun of the Christmas popper, the gardener might
find much benefit in his ensuing crop of fruit, from the forbearance.
We have no bird, I believe, more generally known, thought of, or
mentioned with greater indifference, perhaps contempt, than the common
sparrow (fringilla domestica), “that sitteth alone on the house-top;”
yet it is an animal that nature seems to have endowed with peculiar
characteristics, having ordained for it a very marked provision,
manifested in its increase and maintenance, notwithstanding the hostile
attacks to which it is exposed. A dispensation that exists throughout
creation is brought more immediately to our notice by the domestic
habits of this bird. The natural tendency that the sparrow has to
increase will often enable one pair of birds to bring up fourteen or
more young ones in the season. They build in places of perfect security
from the plunder of larger birds and vermin. Their art and ingenuity in
commonly attaching their nests beneath that of the rook, high in the
elm, a bird whose habits are perfectly dissimilar, and with which they
have no association whatever, making use of their structure only for a
defence to which no other bird resorts, manifest their anxiety and
contrivance for the safety of their broods. With peculiar perseverance
and boldness, they forage and provide for themselves and their
offspring; will filch grain from the trough of the pig, or contend for
its food with the gigantic turkey; and, if scared away, their fears are
those of a moment, as they quickly return to their plunder; and they
roost protected from all the injuries of weather. These circumstances
tend greatly to increase the race, and in some seasons their numbers in
our corn-fields towards autumn are prodigious; and did not events
counteract the increase of this army of plunderers, the larger portion
of our bread corn would be consumed by them. But their reduction is as
rapidly accomplished as their increase, their love of association
bringing upon them a destruction, which a contrary habit would not
tempt. They roost in troops in our ricks, in the ivy on the wall, &c.,
and are captured by the net: they cluster on the bush, or crowd on the
chaff by the barn-door, and are shot by dozens at a time, or will rush
in numbers, one following another, into the trap. These and various
other engines of destruction so reduce them in the winter season, that
the swarms of autumn gradually diminish, till their numbers in spring
are in no way remarkable. I have called them plunderers, and they are
so; they are benefactors likewise, seeming to be appointed by nature as
one of the agents for keeping from undue increase another race of
creatures, and by their prolificacy they accomplish it. In spring and
the early part of the summer, before the corn becomes ripe, they are
insectivorous, and their constantly increasing families require an
unceasing supply of food. We see them every minute of the day in
continual progress, flying from the nest for a supply, and returning on
rapid wing with a grub, a caterpillar, or some reptile; and the numbers
captured by them in the course of these travels are incredibly numerous,
keeping under the increase of these races, and making ample restitution
for their plunderings and thefts. When the insect race becomes scarce,
the corn and seeds of various kinds are ready; their appetite changes,
and they feed on these with undiminished enjoyment.
We have scarcely another bird, the appetite of which is so accommodating
in all respects as that of the house-sparrow. It is, I believe, the only
bird that is a voluntary inhabitant with man, lives in his society, and
is his constant attendant, following him wherever he fixes his
residence. It becomes immediately an inhabitant of the new farm-house,
in a lonely place or recent inclosure, or even in an island, will
accompany him into the crowded city, and build and feed there in
content, unmindful of the noise, the smoke of the furnace, or the steam-
engine, where even the swallow and the marten, that flock around him in
the country, are scared by the tumult, and leave him: but the sparrow,
though begrimed with soot, does not forsake him; feeds on his food,
rice, potatoes, or almost any other extraneous substance he may find in
the street; looks to him for his support, and is maintained almost
entirely by the industry and providence of man. It is not known in a
solitary and independent state.
Though I remember no bird so peculiarly associated with the human race
as this is, yet there are other animals that seem dependent on man for
support, or at least that find his means subservient to their comforts,
and domesticate themselves with him. The meadow and the long-tailed
mouse occasionally become foragers in our gardens and domains, when a
natural supply of food becomes difficult of attainment, yet they are not
wholly settlers with us; but the common mouse (mus domesticus) resorts
entirely to our premises, and seems to exist wholly on food of our
providing. In towns it accommodates its appetite to the variety of
sustenance it finds there; and will enjoy the preserve in the pot, the
cheese in the rack, or the pie in the pantry. In the country it will
ransack the cupboard, live in the barn, or colonize in our ricks. Still,
in all these cases, the store and provision of man are its delight, and
its only resource; and it will even quit a residence which is abandoned
by its provider. It is true it maintains the same love of liberty as its
celebrated ancestor is reported to have done; but the simplicity of
manners and taste of the sage, the “hollow tree, the oaten straw,” have
been abandoned; it has become pleased with household comforts, and a
luxurious citizen in its appetite.
The rat (mus rattus), too, perhaps, may be united with these companions
of mankind. Not knowing it in an independent state, we cannot say what
its resources might be, but so sagacious and powerfully endowed an
animal could always provide for its own necessities; yet it prefers our
provision to any precarious supply from its own industry. In summer it
partially quits our dwellings, the heat and dryness of our buildings
becoming irksome to it, and the occasional difficulty of obtaining
water, in which it delights, prompts it to resort to hedges and banks
for a certain period; but it always returns when our barns are filled,
and ready for it.
The house fly (musca carnaria)[50] is another creature that appears
domesticated with us; in some seasons a very numerous, and always a very
dirty inmate. It associates in our windows at times with a similar
insect (stomoxys calcitrans), that loves to bask on stones and posts,
and which is now biting my legs with the most teasing perseverance. But
this phlebotomist has not the same attachment to our habitations, is a
more solitary insect, and does not unite in those little social parties,
that circle for hours in a sober uniformity of flight below the ceilings
of our chambers. Wherever man appears, this house fly is generally to be
seen too: and instances are known, when islands have been taken
possession of very far removed from the main land, that for a time no
flies were visible, yet ere long these little domestic insects have made
their appearance; neither natives of the isle, nor can we reasonably
suppose them to have taken flight from a distant shore; but probably the
offspring of parents that came with the stores in the vessel of the
party.
We may have some few other instances of these apparent dependences of
animals on man; yet, if we consider the relative situations of both, we
shall find them existing, with very few exceptions, independent of him,
and that he is more indebted to them for their services, than they are
for his protection and support. Man from the earliest periods began to
subject the animal world to his dominion, and avail himself of its
properties and powers to improve his own condition. As his wants or
propensities occurred, he compelled to his aid such animals as he could
subdue, or were adapted to his purposes. The chief objects for which we
require the aid of animals are for food, clothing, vigilance, and
strength. Though the two former are highly essential to our comforts,
they are not indispensable; the vegetable world supplies them in
abundance to large portions of the inhabitants of the globe, and the
companionable qualities, watchfulness, and swiftness of the dog might be
dispensed with. It is the strength of animals that makes us sensible of
our own weakness. By their power we build our dwellings, effect an
intercourse with distant places, obtain much of our food, and the fuel
of our hearths: a state of civilization requires, as an indispensable
requisite, these things and others, rendering most manifest our
obligations to the animal world. Animals were created before man; but
some of them were apparently endowed with their useful and valuable
properties for his comfort and assistance; for he had the dominion of
them consigned to him, and was commissioned to subdue them. Having used
their products for food and clothing, conjointly with the fruits and
seeds of the vegetable world, and their bodies for the carriage of his
burdens, after a long age of abstinence he began to feed on their flesh;
and they have continued his faithful and assiduous servants, contented
with their destiny, and submissive to his desires. He gives them food
and shelter in payment of service, attending them with diligence and
care: all this may be for his own emolument and pleasure, yet the well-
being of the creature, had it continued wild, would not have required
it: most of them live longer, and have more enjoyment in a wild and
unreclaimed state, than when domesticated with him. By art, and for
profit, he has in many instances altered the very nature of the animal,
and created ailments, rendering his cares and attentions necessary,
which in a state of nature are not required. The lives of many of them,
even when subjected to the best of treatment, are consumed with labor
and fatigue; and when their unhappy destiny consigns them to the power
of poverty and evil passions, what an accumulation of misery and
suffering do these wretched creatures undergo! If these arguments have
any foundation in truth, it will appear, that animals are not
necessarily dependent on man, and generally derive no benefit from their
intercourse and association with him; but that, in conformity with
original appointment, they aid him to acquire the enjoyments and
accomplish the necessities of civilized life. Yet there is one creature,
that seems designed by its natural habits to be the servant and
dependant of man; and of all that fall under his dominion, not one
receives an equal portion of his care, or is more exempt from a life of
exhaustion in his service. The dog is fed with him, housed, and
caressed; associates with him in his pleasures, is identified with and
enjoys them with his master; living with him, he acquires the high
bearing and freedom of his lord; feels he is the companion and the
friend; deports himself as a partaker of the importance and superiority,
we might almost say of the sorrows and pleasures of the man; is elated
with praise, and abased by rebuke; submissive when corrected, and
grateful when caressed: his anxiety and tremor when he has lost his
master, and with him himself, is pitiable; when deserted by his lord, he
becomes the most forlorn of animals, a never-failing victim to misery,
famine, disease, and death. His ardor may excite him at times until
overpowered by fatigue; but he is not generally stimulated by pain or
menace to attempts beyond his natural powers: view him in all his
progress, his life will be found to be an easy, and frequently an
enjoyable one; and though not exempt from the afflictions of age, yet
his death, if anticipated, becomes a momentary evil. When in a native
state, he is a wretched creature, a common beast of the wild, with no
innate magnanimity, no acquired virtues; has no elevation, no character
to maintain, but passes his days in contention and want, is base in
disposition, meager in body, a fugitive, and a coward.
The wheatear (sylvia œnanthe) frequents annually our open commons and
stone quarries, and breeds there. I have seen it with nesting materials
in its bill, and have had its eggs, though rarely, brought me. This bird
visits England early in the spring, and continues with us till nearly
the end of September, that is, during the entire breeding season. Yet it
is remarkable, notwithstanding its numbers, and the little concealment
which its haunts afford, how rarely its nests are found. Its principal
place of resort is the South Downs in Sussex; and it appears from the
accounts of the most experienced and credible persons of that county,
from whom I have my information, that the females are performing their
duties of incubation during the month of March; as at that time scarcely
any but male birds are visible, of which hundreds are then flying about;
while the females with their families appear early in May, and are
captured afterwards in great numbers; yet the oldest shepherds have
seldom seen their nest! When found, it has been concealed beneath a
large stone, or some hollow of the rugged chalk hills, containing six
pale blue eggs. With us the wheatear stays only to hatch her brood. When
this is effected, and the young sufficiently matured, it leaves us
entirely, and by the middle of September not a bird is found on their
summer stations. They probably retire to the uplands on the seacoasts,
as we hear of them as late as November in these places, where it is
supposed they find some peculiar insect food, required by them in an
adult state, and not found, or only sparingly, in their breeding
stations, in which the appropriate food of their young is probably more
abundant. Thus united on the coasts, they can take their flight, when
the wind or other circumstances favor their passage, all of them
departing upon the approach of winter.
Partial as I am to the habits and all the concerns of the country, I
regret to say that rural amusements, connected as they commonly are with
the creatures about us, are frequently cruel; and that we often most
inconsiderately, in our sports, are the cause of misery and suffering to
such as nestle around our dwellings, or frequent our fields, which, from
some particular cause or motive, become the object of pursuit. I say
nothing of the birds known as game, as perhaps we cannot obtain them by
less painful means than we are accustomed to inflict, and the pursuit is
frequently conducive to recreation and health; but the sportsman’s
essaying his skill on the swallow race, that “skim the dimpled pool,” or
harmless glide along the flowery mead, when, if successful, he consigns
whole nests of infant broods to famine and to death, is pitiable indeed!
No injury, no meditated crime, was ever imputed to these birds; they
free our dwellings from multitudes of insects; their unsuspicious
confidence and familiarity with men merit protection not punishment from
him. The sufferings of their broods, when the parents are destroyed,
should excite humanity, and demand our forbearance. But the wheatear, in
an unfortunate hour, has been called the English ortolan, and is pursued
as a delicate morsel through all its inland haunts, when hatching and
feeding its young, the only period in which it frequents our heaths. I
execrate the practice as most cruel: their death evinces no skill in the
gunner; their wretched bodies, when obtained, are useless, being
embittered by the bruises of the shot, and unskilful operations of the
picker and dresser. No, let the parental duties cease, and when the bird
retires to its maritime downs, if doomed to suffer, the individual dies
alone, and no starving broods perish with it. I supplicate from the
youthful sportsman his consideration for these most innocent creatures,
the summer wheatear and the swallow.