Chapter IX: Part 9

In habits this bird closely resembles the Green Woodpecker. It is of less common occurrence, but by no means rare, especially in the wooded districts of the southern and midland counties. A writer in the _Zoologist_[19] is of opinion that it shows a decided partiality to fallen timber. 'In 1849', he says, 'a considerable number of trees were cut down in an open part of the country near Melbourne, which were eventually drawn together and piled in lots. These lay for some time, and were visited almost daily by Great Spotted Woodpeckers. Their habits and manners were very amusing, especially whilst searching for food. They alighted on the timber, placed the body in a particular position, generally with the head downward' [differing in this respect from the Green Woodpecker], 'and commenced pecking away at the bark. Piece by piece it fell under their bills, as chips from the axe of a woodman. Upon examining the bark, I found that the pieces were chipped away in order that the-bird might arrive at a small white grub which lay snugly embedded in the bark; and the adroitness of the bird in finding out those portions of it which contained the greatest number of grubs, was certainly very extraordinary. Where the birds were most at work on a particular tree, I shelled off the bark and found nearly thirty grubs in nine squares inches; but on shelling off another portion from the same tree, which remained untouched, no grub was visible. Yet how the bird could ascertain precisely where his food lay was singular, as in both cases the surface of the bark appeared the same and bore no traces of having been perforated by insects. During the day one bird chipped off a piece thirty inches long and twenty wide--a considerable day's work for so small a workman.' Another observer states that this bird rarely descends to the ground, and affects the upper branches of trees in preference to the lower. Its note is like that of the Green Woodpecker. Both species are charged with resorting to gardens and orchards during the fruit season, not in quest of insect food; but no instance of this has come under my own notice. It is said, too, that they eat nuts. This statement is most probably correct. I myself doubt whether there are many birds of any sort which can resist a walnut; and I would recommend any one who is hospitably disposed towards the birds which frequent his garden, to strew the ground with fragments of these nuts. To birds who are exclusively vegetarians, if indeed there be any such indigenous to Britain, they are a natural article of diet, and as from their oily nature they approximate to animal matter, they are most acceptable to insectivorous birds. They have an advantage over almost every other kind of food thus exposed, that they are not liable to be appropriated as scraps of meat and bread are, by prowling cats and dogs. A walnut, suspended from the bough of a tree by a string, will soon attract the notice of some inquisitive Tit, and, when once detected, will not fail to receive the visits of all birds of the same family which frequent the neighbourhood. A more amusing pendulum can scarcely be devised. To ensure the success of the experiment, a small portion of the shell should be removed.

[19] Vol. viii, p. 3115.

Wryneck [M] Greater Spotted Woodpecker [F]

Green Woodpecker [M] Lesser Spotted Woodpecker [M]

[_face p. 128._]]

Hoopoe [M]

Kingfisher [M]

Roller

Bee-eater [M]]

THE LESSER SPOTTED WOODPECKER
DEUDROCOPUS MINOR

Forehead and lower parts dirty white; crown bright red: nape,
back, and wings black, with white bars; tail black, the outer
feathers tipped with white and barred with black; iris red.
Length five inches and a half; breadth twelve inches. Eggs
glossy white.

This handsome little bird resembles its congeners so closely, both in structure and habits, that it scarcely needs a lengthened description. Resident in England but rare in Scotland and Ireland, owing to its fondness for high trees and its small size it often escapes notice. It lays its eggs on the rotten wood, which it has either pecked, or which has fallen, from the holes in trees; they are not to be distinguished from those of the Wryneck. Lately (1908) a Scottish newspaper recorded the shooting of "that rare species, the Spotted Woodpecker!" "The man with the gun" is incurable.

THE GREEN WOODPECKER
GÉCINUS VIRIDIS

Upper plumage green; under, greenish ash; crown, back of the
head, and moustaches crimson; face black. _Female_--less
crimson on the head; moustaches black. Length thirteen inches;
breadth twenty-one inches. Eggs glossy white.

One of the most interesting among the natural sounds of the country, is that of the

Woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree:

yet one may walk through the woods many times and hear no tapping at all, and even if such a sound be detected and traced to its origin, it will often be found to proceed from the Nuthatch, who has wedged a hazel-nut into the bark of an oak, than from the hammering of a Woodpecker. Yet often indeed it may be observed ascending, by a series of starts, the trunk of a tree, inclining now a little to the right, and now to the left, disappearing now and then on the side farthest from the spectator, and again coming into view somewhat higher up. Nor is its beak idle; this is employed sometimes in dislodging the insects which lurk in the rugged bark, and sometimes in tapping the trunk in order to find out whether the wood beneath is sound or otherwise. Just as a carpenter sounds a wall with his hammer in order to discover where the brickwork ends and where lath and plaster begin, so the Woodpecker sounds the wooden pillar to which it is clinging, in order to discover where the wood is impenetrable alike by insects and itself, and where the former have been beforehand with it in seeking food or shelter. Such a canker-spot found, it halts in its course, tears off piece-meal a portion of bark and excavates the rotten wood beneath, either as far as the fault extends or as long as it can find food. It is, then, by no means a mischievous bird, but the reverse; as it not only destroys a number of noxious insects, but points out to the woodman, if he would only observe aright, which trees are beginning to decay and consequently require his immediate attention. This aspect of the Woodpecker's operations is the right one and not the old idea that 'it is a great enemy of old trees in consequence of the holes which it digs in their trunks', as some old writer states.

But with all his digging and tapping, the sound by which the vicinity of a Woodpecker is most frequently detected, especially in spring and summer, is the unmistakable laughing note which has gained for him the name of 'Yaffle.' No more perhaps than the mournful cooing of the dove does this indicate merriment; it is harsh, too, in tone; yet it rings through the woods with such jovial earnestness that it is always welcome. On such occasions the bird is not generally, I think, feeding, for if the neighbourhood from which the sound proceeded be closely watched, the Yaffle may frequently be observed to fly away, with a somewhat heavy dipping flight, to another tree or grove, and thence, after another laugh, to proceed to a second. It is indeed oftener to be seen on the wing than hunting for food on the trunks of trees. Very frequently too it may be observed on the ground, especially in a meadow or common in which ants abound.

The admirable adaptation of the structure of the Woodpecker to its mode of life is well pointed out by Yarrell. Its sharp, hooked toes, pointing two each way, are eminently fitted for climbing and clinging. The keel of the breast-bone is remarkably shallow; hence, when ascending (its invariable mode of progress) a tree, it is enabled to bring its body close to the trunk without straining the muscles of the legs. Its tail is short, and composed of unusually stiff feathers, which in the process of climbing are pressed inwards against the tree, and contribute greatly to its support. The beak is strong and of considerable length, and thus fitted either for digging into an ant-hill or sounding the cavities of a tree; and the tongue, which is unusually long, is furnished with a curious but simple apparatus, by which it is extended so that it can be thrust into a hole far beyond the point of the bill, while its tip is barbed with small filaments, which, like the teeth of a rake, serve to pull up the larva or insect into its mouth. The Woodpecker builds no nest, but lays five or six glossy white eggs on the fragments of the decayed wood in which it has excavated its nest.

Other names by which this bird is known are Popinjay, Wood-sprite, Rain-bird, Hew-hole and Woodweele.

SUB-FAMILY IYNGINÆ

THE WRYNECK
IYNX TORQUILLA

Upper plumage reddish grey, irregularly spotted and lined with
brown and black; a broad black and brown band from the back of
the head to the back; throat and breast yellowish red, with
dusky transverse rays; rest of the under plumage whitish, with
arrow shaped black spots; outer web of the quills marked with
rectangular alternate black and yellowish red spots;
tail-feathers barred with black zigzag bands; beak and feet
olive brown. Length six inches and a half; breadth eleven
inches. Eggs glossy white.

The note of the Wryneck is so peculiar that it can be confounded with none of the natural sounds of the country; a loud, rapid, harsh cry of _pay-pay-pay_ from a bird about the size of a lark may be referred without hesitation to the Wryneck. Yet it is a pleasant sound after all--'the merry pee-bird' a poet calls it--and the untuneful minstrel is the same bird which is known by the name of 'Cuckoo's Mate', and so is associated with May-days, pleasant jaunts into the country, hayfields, the memory of past happy days and the hope of others to come. This name it derives not from any fondness it exhibits for the society of the cuckoo, as it is a bird of remarkably solitary habits, but because it arrives generally a few days before the cuckoo. Not less singular than its note is its plumage, which, though unmarked by gaudiness of colouring, is very beautiful, being richly embroidered as it were with brown and black on a reddish grey ground. In habits, it bears no marked resemblance to the Woodpeckers; it is not much given to climbing and never taps the trunks of trees; yet it does seek its food on decayed trees, and employs its long horny tongue in securing insects. It darts its tongue with inconceivable rapidity into an ant-hill and brings it out as rapidly, with the insects and their eggs adhering to its viscid point. These constitute its principal food, so that it is seen more frequently feeding on the ground than hunting on trees. But by far the strangest peculiarity of the Wryneck, stranger than its note and even than its worm-like tongue, is the wondrous pliancy of its neck, which one might almost imagine to be furnished with a ball and socket joint. A country boy who had caught one of these birds on its nest brought it to me on a speculation. As he held it in his hand, I raised my finger towards it as if about to touch its beak. The bird watched most eagerly the movement of my finger, with no semblance of fear, but rather with an apparent intention of resenting the offer of any injury. I moved my finger to the left; its beak followed the direction--the finger was now over its back, still the beak pointed to it. In short, as a magnetic needle follows a piece of steel, so the bird's beak followed my finger until it was again in front, the structure of the neck being such as to allow the head to make a complete revolution on its axis, and this without any painful effort. I purchased the bird and gave it its liberty, satisfied to have discovered the propriety of the name Torquilla.[20] I may here remark that the name Iynx,[21] is derived from its harsh cry. Besides this, the proper call-note of the bird, it utters, when disturbed in its nest, another which resembles a hiss; whence and partly, perhaps, on account of the peculiar structure of its neck, it is sometimes called the Snake-bird. Nest, properly speaking, it has none; it selects a hole in a decaying tree and lays its eggs on the rotten wood. Its powers of calculating seem to be of a very low order. Yarrell records an instance in which four sets of eggs, amounting to twenty-two, were successively taken before the nest was deserted; a harsh experiment, and scarcely to be justified except on the plea that they were taken by some one who gained his livelihood by selling eggs, or was reduced to a strait from want of food. A similar instance is recorded in the _Zoologist_, when the number of eggs taken was also twenty-two. The Wryneck is a common bird in the south-eastern counties of England and to the west as far as Somersetshire; but I have never heard its note in Devon or Cornwall; it is rare also in the northern counties.

[20] From the Latin _torqueo_, 'to twist.'

[21] Greek [Greek: iynx] from [Greek: iýzô], to 'shriek.'

FAMILY ALCEDINIDÆ

THE KINGFISHER
ALCÉDO ÍSPIDA

Back azure-blue; head and wing-coverts bluish green, spotted
with azure-blue; under and behind the eye a reddish band
passing into white, and beneath this a band of azure-green;
wings and tail greenish blue; throat white; under plumage rusty
orange-red. Length seven inches and a quarter; width ten
inches. Eggs glossy white, nearly round.

Halcyon days, every one knows, are days of peace and tranquillity, when all goes smoothly, and nothing occurs to ruffle the equanimity of the most irascible member of a household; but it may not be known to all my younger readers that a bird is said to be in any way concerned in bringing about this happy state of things. According to the ancient naturalists the Halcyon, our Kingfisher, being especially fond of the water and its products, chooses to have even a floating nest. Now the surface of the sea is an unfit place whereon to construct a vessel of any kind, so the Halcyon, as any other skilful artisan would, puts together on land first the framework, and then the supplementary portion of its nest, the materials being shelly matter and spines, whence derived is unknown; but the principal substance employed is fish-bones. During the progress of the work the careful bird several times tests its buoyancy by actual experiment, and when satisfied that all is safe, launches its future nursery on the ocean. However turbulent might have been the condition of the water previously to this event, thenceforth a calm ensued, which lasted during the period of incubation; and these were 'Halcyon days' (_Halcyonides dies_), which set in seven days before the winter solstice, and lasted as many days after. What became of the young after the lapse of this period is not stated, but the deserted nest itself, called halcyoneum, identical, perhaps, with what we consider the shell of the echinus, or sea-urchin, was deemed a valuable medicine.[22]

The real nest of the Kingfisher is a collection of small fish-bones, which have evidently been disgorged by the old birds. A portion of one which I have in my possession, and which was taken about twenty years since from a deep hole in an embankment at Deepdale, Norfolk, consists exclusively of small fish-bones and scraps of the shells of shrimps. A precisely similar one is preserved in the British Museum, which is well worthy the inspection of the curious. It was found by Mr. Gould in a hole three feet deep on the banks of the Thames; it was half an inch thick and about the size of a tea saucer, and weighed 700 grains. Mr. Gould was enabled to prove that this mass was deposited, as well as eight eggs laid, in the short space of twenty-one days. In neither case was there any attempt made by the bird to employ the bones as materials for a structure; they were simply spread on the soil in such a way as to protect the eggs from damp, possessing probably no properties which made them superior to bents or dry leaves, but serving the purpose as well as anything else, and being more readily available, by a bird that does not peck on the ground, than materials of any other kind.

The wanderer by the river's side on a bright sunny day, at any season, may have his attention suddenly arrested by the sight of a bird shooting past him, either up or down the stream, at so slight an elevation above the water, that he can look down on its back. Its flight is rapid, and the colour of the plumage so brilliant, that he can compare it to nothing less dazzlingly bright than the richest feathers of the peacock, or a newly dug specimen of copper ore. After an interval of a few seconds it will perhaps be followed by a second, its mate, arrayed in attire equally gorgeous with emerald, azure, and gold. Following the course of the bird, let him approach cautiously any pools where small fish are likely to abound, and he may chance to descry, perched motionless on the lower branch of an alder overhanging the stream, on some bending willow, or lichen-covered rail, the bird which but now glanced by him like a meteor. If exposed to the rays of the sun, the metallic green of its upper plumage is still most conspicuous; if in the shade, or surrounded by leaves, its chestnut red breast betrays its position. Not a step further in advance, or the fisherman, intent as he is on his sport, will take alarm and be off to another station. With beak pointed downwards it is watching until one among a shoal of minnows or bleaks comes within a fair aim; then with a twinkle of the wing it dashes head foremost from its post, plunges into the stream, disappears for a second, and emerges still head foremost with its struggling booty. A few pinches with its powerful beak, or a blow against its perch, deprives its prey of life, and the morsel is swallowed entire, head foremost. Occasionally, where convenient perches are rare, as is the case with the little pools left by the tide on the sea-shore (for the Kingfisher is common on the banks of tidal rivers as well as on inland streams and lakes), it hovers like a Kestrel, and plunges after small fish, shrimps, and marine insects. It once happened to me that I was angling by a river's side, quite concealed from view by a willow on either side of me, when a Kingfisher flew down the stream, and perched on my rod. I remained perfectly still, but was detected before an opportunity had been afforded me of taking a lesson from my brother sportsman.

The Kingfisher is a permanent resident in this country, and may be observed, at any season, wherever there is a river, canal, or lake, those streams being preferred the banks of which are lined with trees or bushes. Like most other birds of brilliant plumage, it is no vocalist; its only note being a wild piping cry, which it utters while on the wing. Happily the Kingfishers are again on the increase in our country.

[22] Plin. _Nat. Hist._ lib. x. cap. 32. xxxii. cap 8.

FAMILY CORACIIDÆ

THE ROLLER
CORÁCIAS GÁRRULUS

Head, neck, and under parts tinged with various shades of light
blue, varied with green; back and scapulars reddish brown; tail
blue, green, and black. Length twelve inches and a half. Eggs
smooth shining white.

About twenty specimens in all of this bird have been observed in England, the one of most recent occurrence being, I believe, one which was shot close to my garden, on the twentieth of September, 1852. The winter home of the Roller is Africa, and it is said to be particularly abundant in Algeria. About the middle of April it crosses the Mediterranean, and seems to prefer the north of Europe to the south as a summer residence, being more abundant in Germany and the south of Russia than in France, though many proceed no further than Sicily and Greece. Its food consists mainly of caterpillars and other insects. The name Roller, being derived directly from the French _Rollier_, should be pronounced so as to rhyme with 'dollar'.

FAMILY MEROPIDÆ

THE BEE-EATER
MÊROPS APIÁSTER

Forehead white, passing into bluish green; upper plumage
chestnut; throat golden yellow, bounded by a black line; wings
variegated with blue, brown, and green; tail greenish blue.
Length eleven inches. Eggs glossy white.

This bird, which in brilliancy of plumage vies with the Hummingbirds, possesses little claim to be ranked among soberly clad British birds. Stray instances are indeed met with from time to time, but at distant intervals. In the islands of the Mediterranean, and in the southern countries of Europe, they are common summer visitors, and in Asia Minor and the south of Russia they are yet more frequent. They are gregarious in habits, having been observed, both in Europe, their summer, and in Africa, their winter residence, to perch together on the branches of trees in small flocks. They also build their nests near each other. These are excavations in the banks of rivers, variously stated to be extended to the depth of from six inches to as many feet. Their flight is graceful and light, resembling that of the Swallows. Their food consists of winged insects, especially bees and wasps, which they not only catch when they are wandering at large through the air, but watch for near their nests. The inhabitants of Candia and Cyprus are said to catch them by the help of a light silk line, to which is attached by a fish-hook a wild bee. The latter in its endeavour to escape soars into the air, and the Bee-eater seizing it becomes the prey of the aërial fisherman.

FAMILY UPUPIDÆ

THE HOOPOE
UPUPA EPOPS

Crest orange-red tipped with black; head, neck, and breast pale
cinnamon; back, wings, and tail barred with black and white;
under parts white. Length twelve inches; width nineteen inches.
Eggs lavender grey, changing to greenish olive.

Little appears to be known of the habits of this very foreign-looking bird from observation in Great Britain. The season at which it is seen in this country is usually autumn, though a few instances have occurred of its having bred with us. In the south of Europe and north of Africa it is of common occurrence as a summer visitor, but migrates southwards in autumn. Its English name is evidently derived from the French _Huppe_, a word which also denotes 'a crest', the most striking characteristic of the bird. It is called also in France _Puput_, a word coined, perhaps, to denote the noise of disgust which one naturally makes at encountering an unpleasant odour, this, it is said, being the constant accompaniment of its nest, which is always found in a filthy condition, owing to the neglect of the parent birds in failing to remove offensive matter, in conformity with the laudable practise of most other birds. In spite of the martial appearance of its crest, it is said to be excessively timid, and to fly from an encounter with the smallest bird that opposes it. It lives principally on the ground, feeding on beetles and ants. On trees it sometimes perches but does not climb, and builds its nest in holes in trees and walls, rarely in clefts of rocks. It walks with a show of dignity when on the ground, erecting its crest from time to time. In spring the male utters a note not unlike the coo of a Wood-pigeon, which it repeats several times, and at other seasons it occasionally emits a sound something like the shrill note of the Greenfinch. But it is no musician and is as little anxious to be heard as seen. The nest is a simple structure composed of a few scraps of dried grass and feathers, and contains from four to six eggs. It would breed here annually if not always shot on arrival.

FAMILY CUCULIDÆ

THE CUCKOO
CÚCULUS CANÓRUS

Upper plumage bluish ash colour, darker on the wings, lighter
on the neck and chest; under parts whitish with transverse
dusky streaks; quills barred on the inner webs with oval white
spots; tail-feathers blackish, tipped and spotted with white;
bill dusky, edged with yellow; orbits and inside of the mouth
orange-yellow; iris and feet yellow. _Young_--ash-brown, barred
with reddish brown; tips of the feathers white; a white spot on
the back of the head. Length thirteen inches and a half,
breadth twenty-three inches. Eggs varying in colour and
markings.

No bird in a state of nature utters a note approaching so closely the sound of the human voice as the Cuckoo; on this account, perhaps, partially at least, it has at all times been regarded with especial interest. Its habits have been much investigated, and they are found to be unlike those of any other bird. The Cuckoo was a puzzle to the earlier naturalists, and there are points in its biography which are controverted still. From the days of Aristotle to those of Pliny, it was supposed to undergo a metamorphosis twice a year, appearing during the summer months as a Cuckoo, "a bird of the hawk kind, though destitute of curved talons and hooked beak, and having the bill of a Pigeon; should it chance to appear simultaneously with a Hawk it was devoured, being the sole example of a bird being killed by one of its own kind. In winter it actually changed into a Merlin, but reappeared in spring in its own form, but with an altered voice, laid a single egg, or rarely two, in the nest of some other bird, generally a Pigeon, declining to rear its own young, because it knew itself to be a common object of hostility among all birds, and that its brood would be in consequence unsafe, unless it practised a deception. The young Cuckoo being naturally greedy, monopolized the food brought to the nest by its foster parents; it thus grew fat and sleek, and so excited its dam with admiration of her lovely offspring, that she first neglected her own chicks, then suffered them to be devoured before her eyes, and finally fell a victim herself to his voracious appetite."[23]--A strange fiction, yet not more strange than the truth, a glimmering of which appears throughout. We know well enough now that the Cuckoo does not change into a Merlin, but migrates in autumn to the southern regions of Africa; but this neither Aristotle nor Pliny could have known, for the common belief in their days was, that a continued progress southwards would bring the traveller to a climate too fierce for the maintenance of animal life. Now the Merlin visits the south of Europe, just at the season when the Cuckoo disappears, and returns northwards to breed in spring, a fact in its history as little known as the migration of the Cuckoo. It bears a certain resemblance to the Cuckoo, particularly in its barred plumage, certainly a greater one than exists between a caterpillar and a butterfly, so that there were some grounds for the belief in a metamorphosis, strengthened not a little by the fact that the habits of the bird were peculiar in other respects. Even so late as the time of our own countrymen, Willughby and Ray (1676), it was a matter of doubt whether the Cuckoo lay torpid in a hollow tree, or migrated during winter. These authors, though they do not admit their belief of a story told by Aldrovandus of a certain Swiss peasant having heard the note of a Cuckoo proceed from a log of wood which he had thrown into a furnace, thought it highly probable that the Cuckoo did become torpid during winter, and were acquainted with instances of persons who had heard its note during unusually mild winter weather. A Cuckoo which had probably been hatched off too late to go away with the rest remained about the tennis ground of a relative of the present editor until the middle of November, getting very tame. Then, unfortunately, a cat got it. The assertion again of the older naturalists, that the Cuckoo is the object of hatred among birds generally, seems credible, though I should be inclined to consider its habit of laying its eggs in the nests of other birds as the cause rather than the consequence of its unpopularity. The contrary, however, is the fact, numerous anecdotes of the Cuckoo showing that it is regarded by many other birds with a respect which amounts to infatuation, rather than with apprehension. The statement that it lays but one egg is erroneous, so also is the assertion of Willughby that it invariably destroys the eggs found in a nest previously to depositing its own. Pliny's assertion that the young bird devours its foster brothers and sisters is nearer the truth, but his account of its crowning act of impiety in swallowing its nurse, is, I need not say, altogether unfounded in fact. Having disposed of these errors, some of which are entertained by the credulous or ill-informed at the present day, I will proceed to sketch in outline the biography of this singular bird, as the facts are now pretty generally admitted.

The Cuckoo arrives in this country about the middle of April; the time of its coming to different countries is adapted to the time of the foster-parents' breeding. During the whole of its stay it leads a wandering life, building no nest, and attaching itself to no particular locality. It shows no hostility towards birds of another kind, and little affection for those of its own. If two males meet in the course of their wandering they frequently fight with intense animosity. I was once witness of an encounter between two birds who chanced to meet in mid-air. Without alighting they attacked each other with fury, pecking at each other and changing places just as one sees two barn-door cocks fight for the supremacy of the dunghill. Feathers flew in profusion, and in their passion the angry birds heeded my presence so little that they came almost within arm's length of me. These single combats account for the belief formerly entertained that the Cuckoo was the only sort of Hawk that preyed on its own kind. The female does not pair or keep to one mate. It is, however, frequently accompanied by a small bird of another kind, said to be a Meadow Pipit.

The Cuckoo hunts for its food both in trees and on the ground. On its first arrival it lives principally on beetles, but when caterpillars become abundant it prefers them, especially the hairy sorts. In the months of May and June, the female Cuckoo lays her eggs (the number of which is variously estimated from five to twelve), choosing a separate locality for each, and that invariably the nest of some other bird. The nests in which the egg of a Cuckoo has been found in this country are those of the Hedge Sparrow, Robin, Redstart, Whitethroat, Willow Warbler, Sedge Warbler, Wagtail, Pipit, Skylark, Yellow Bunting, Chaffinch, Greenfinch, Linnet, Blackbird and Wren; the Pipit being the most frequent. It has now been ascertained that the nests of birds in which the Cuckoo lays its eggs in different countries number 145 species.[24] In some of these instances, the position and structure of the nests were such that a bird of so large a size could not possibly have laid an egg in the usual way. Hence, and from other evidence, it is pretty clear that the egg is in all cases laid at a distance from the nest and carried by the bird in her bill to its destination. The bird can have no difficulty in accomplishing this seemingly hard task; for the gape of the Cuckoo is wide, and the egg disproportionately small, no larger in fact than the egg of the Skylark, a bird only a fourth of its size. The period during which a nest is fit for the reception of a Cuckoo's egg is short; if a time were chosen between the completion of the nest and the laying of the first egg by the rightful owner, the Cuckoo could have no security that her egg would receive incubation in good time, and again if the hen were sitting there would be no possibility of introducing her egg surreptitiously. She accordingly searches for a nest in which one egg or more is laid, and in the absence of the owner lays down her burden and departs. There are certain grave suspicions that the intruder sometimes makes room for her own egg by destroying those already laid; but this, if it be true, is exceptional. If it were very much larger than the rest, it might excite suspicion, and be either turned out, or be the cause of the nest being deserted; it would require, moreover, a longer incubation than the rest, and would either fail to be hatched, or produce a young Cuckoo at a time when his foster-brothers had grown strong enough to thwart his evil designs. As it is, after fourteen days' incubation, the eggs are hatched simultaneously, or nearly so, the Cuckoo being generally the first. No sooner does the young bird see the day, than he proceeds to secure for himself the whole space of the nest and the sole attention of his foster-parents, by insinuating himself under the other young birds and any eggs which may remain unhatched, and hurling them over the edge of the nest, where they are left to perish. 'The singularity of its shape', says Dr. Jenner, 'is well adapted for these purposes; for, different from other newly-hatched birds, its back from the shoulders downwards is very broad, with a considerable depression in the middle. To the question which naturally suggests itself, 'Why does the young Cuckoo thus monopolize the nest and the attentions of its foster parents?' the solution is plain. The newly-hatched bird must of necessity be less in size than the egg from which it proceeded, but a full-grown Cuckoo exceeds the dimensions of a whole brood of Pipits; its growth therefore must be rapid and cannot be maintained without a large supply of food. But the old birds could not possibly with their utmost exertions feed a brood of their own kind and satisfy the demands made by the appetite of the voracious stranger as well. The latter consequently saves them from this impossible task, and, by appropriating to his single use the nourishment intended for a brood of four or five, not only makes provision for his own well-being, but helps them out of a difficulty. So assiduously is he taken care of that he soon becomes a portly bird and fills his nest; in about three weeks he is able to fly, but for a period of four or five weeks more his foster-parents continue to feed him. It is probable that the young Cuckoo actually exercises some fascination over other birds. There is a case on record in which a pair of Meadow Pipits were seen to throw out their own young ones to make room for the intruder. In another instance, a young Cuckoo which had been taken from the nest and was being reared by hand escaped from confinement. Having one of its wings cut, it could not fly, but was found again, at the expiration of a month, within a few fields of the house where it was reared, and several little wild birds were in the act of feeding it. The Bishop of Norwich[25] mentions two instances in which a young Cuckoo in captivity was fed by a young Thrush which had only just learnt to feed itself.

In the days when omens were observed, it was considered a matter of high import to hear the song of the Nightingale before that of the Cuckoo. Thus Chaucer says:

it was a commone tale
That it were gode to here the Nightingale,
Moche rathir[26] than the lewde[27] Cuckowe singe.

So, when on a certain occasion he heard the Cuckoo first, and was troubled in consequence, he represents the Nightingale as thus addressing him:

be thou not dismaied
For thou have herd the Cuckow erst than me,
For if I live it shall amendid be
The nexte Maie, if I be not afraied.

More recently Milton thus addresses the Nightingale:

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill,
Portend success in love.

Whether any traces of this popular belief yet linger in our rural districts, I do not know; but I can recall my childish days in the west of England (where there are no Nightingales), when I looked forward with implicit faith to the coming of the Cuckoo, to 'eat up the dirt', and make the Devonshire lanes passable for children's spring wanderings.

The song of the Cuckoo, I need scarcely remark, consists of but two notes, of which the upper is, I believe, invariably, E flat, the lower most frequently C natural, forming, however, not a perfect musical interval, but something between a minor and a major third. Occasionally two birds may be heard singing at once, one seemingly aiming at a minor, the other a major third; the effect is, of course, discordant. Sometimes the first note is pronounced two or three times, thus 'cuck-cuck-cuckoo', and I have heard it repeated rapidly many times in succession, so as to resemble the trilling note of the Nightingale, but in a lower key. The note of the nestling is a shrill plaintive chirp, which may best be imitated by twisting a glass stopper in a bottle. Even the human ear has no difficulty in understanding it as a cry for food, of which it is insatiable. Towards the end of June the Cuckoo, according to the old adage, 'alters its tune', which at first loses its musical character and soon ceases altogether. In July the old birds leave us, the males by themselves first, and the females not many days after; but the young birds remain until October.

Referring to the young cuckoo's manner of ejecting the eggs of its foster-parents, and the reason for this apparently cruel action, the editor refers our readers to Mr. W. H. Hudson's interesting chapter in _Idle Days in Hampshire_.

[23] Plin. _Nat. Hist._ lib. x. cap. ix.

[24] Mr. Wells Bladen, of Stone, wrote an interesting brochure
on this point.--J. A. O.

[25] _Familiar History of Birds._

[26] Earlier.

[27] Unskilful.

White Winged Crossbill [M] [F]

Crossbill, _imm._ [F] [M]

Cuckoo [M]

[_face p. 138._]]

Brown Owl.

Short-eared Owl [M]. Long-eared Owl [M] young.

Barn Owl and Egg.]

ORDER STRIGES

FAMILY STRIGIDÆ

SUB-FAMILY STRIGINÆ

THE BARN OWL
STRIX FLAMMEA

Beak yellowish white; upper parts light tawny yellow minutely
variegated with brown, grey, and white; face and lower plumage
white, the feathers of the margin tipped with brown. Length
fourteen inches; breadth nearly three feet. Eggs white.

Returning from our Summer-evening's walk at the pleasant time when twilight is deepening into night, when the Thrush has piped its last roundelay, and the Nightingale is gathering strength for a flesh flood of melody, a sudden exclamation from our companion 'What was that?' compels us to look in the direction pointed at just in time to catch a glimpse of a phantom-like body disappearing behind the hedgerow. But that the air is still, we might have imagined it to be a sheet of silver paper wafted along by the wind, so lightly and noiselessly did it pass on. We know, however, that a pair of Barn Owls have appropriated these hunting-grounds, and that this is their time of sallying forth; we are aware, too, how stealthily they fly along the lanes, dipping behind the trees, searching round the hay-stacks, skimming over the stubble, and all with an absence of sound that scarcely belongs to moving life. Yet, though by no means slow of flight, the Barn Owl can scarcely be said to _cleave_ the air; rather, it _fans_ its way onwards with its down-fringed wings, and the air, thus softly treated, quietly yields to the gentle force, and retires without murmur to allow it a passage. Not without meaning is this silence preserved. The nimble little animals that constitute the chase, are quick-sighted and sharp of hearing, but the pursuer gives no notice of his approach, and they know not their doom till they feel the inevitable talons in their sides. The victim secured, silence is no longer necessary. The successful hunter lifts up his voice in a sound of triumph, repairs to the nearest tree to regale himself on his prize, and, for a few minutes--that is, until the chase is resumed--utters his loud weird shriek again and again. In the morning, the Owl will retire to his private cell and will spend the day perched on end, dozing and digesting as long as the sunlight is too powerful for his large and sensitive eyes. Peep in on him in his privacy, and he will stretch out or move from side to side his grotesque head, ruffling his feathers, and hissing as though your performance were worthy of all condemnation. Yet he is a very handsome and most amusing bird, more worthy of being domesticated as a pet than many others held in high repute. Taken young from the nest, he is soon on familiar terms with his owner, recognizes him by a flapping of wings and a hiss whenever he approaches, clearing his premises of mice, and showing no signs of pining at the restriction placed on his liberty. Give him a bird, and he will soon show that, though contented with mice, he quite appreciates more refined fare. Grasping the body with his talons, he deliberately plucks off all the large feathers with his beak, tears off the head, and swallows it at one gulp, and then proceeds to devour the rest piece-meal. In a wild state his food consists mainly of mice, which he swallows whole, beetles, and sometimes fish, which he catches by pouncing on them in the water.

The service which the Barn Owl renders to the agriculturist, by its consumption of rats and mice, must be exceedingly great, yet it is little appreciated. "When it has young", says Mr. Waterton, "it will bring a mouse to the nest every twelve or fifteen minutes. But in order to have a proper idea of the enormous quantity of mice which this bird destroys, we must examine the pellets which it ejects from its stomach in the place of its retreat. Every pellet contains from four to seven skeletons of mice. In sixteen months from the time that the apartment of the Owl on the old gateway was cleared out, there has been a deposit of above a bushel of pellets."

The plumage of the Barn Owl is remarkable for its softness, its delicacy of pencilling on the upper parts and its snowy whiteness below. Its face is perfectly heart-shaped during life, but when the animal is dead becomes circular. The female is slightly larger than her mate, and her colours are somewhat darker. The nest of the Barn Owl is a rude structure placed in the bird's daily haunt. The eggs vary in number, and the bird lays them at different periods, each egg after the first being hatched (partially at least) by the heat of the young birds already in being. That this is always the case it would not be safe to assert, but that it is so sometimes there can be no doubt. The young birds are ravenous eaters and proverbially ugly; when craving food they make a noise resembling a snore. The Barn or White Owl is said to be the most generally diffused of all the tribe, being found in almost all latitudes of both hemispheres, and it appears to be everywhere an object of terror to the ignorant. A bird of the night, the time when evil deeds are done, it bespeaks for itself an evil reputation; making ruins and hollow trees its resort, it becomes associated with the gloomiest legends; uttering its discordant note during the hours of darkness, it is rarely heard save by the benighted traveller, or by the weary watcher at the bed of the sick and dying; and who more susceptible of alarming impressions than these? It is therefore scarcely surprising that the common incident of a Screech-Owl being attracted by a solitary midnight taper to flutter against the window of a sick room, and there to utter its melancholy wail, should for a time shake the faith of the watcher, and, when repeated with the customary exaggerations, should obtain for the poor harmless mouser the unmerited title of 'harbinger of death'.

SUB-FAMILY SYRNIINÆ

LONG-EARED OWL
ASIO ÓTUS

Beak black; iris orange yellow; egrets very long, composed of
eight or ten black feathers, edged with yellow and white; upper
parts reddish yellow, mottled with brown and grey; lower parts
lighter, with oblong streaks of deep brown. Length fifteen
inches; breadth thirty-eight inches. Eggs white.

Though not among the most frequent of the English Owls, this species occurs in most of the wooded parts of England and Ireland, as indeed it does in nearly all parts of the world where woods are to be found. It is more common than is usually supposed in France, where it unites in its own person all the malpractises which have been popularly ascribed to the whole tribe of Owls. It is there said to be held in great detestation by all the rest of the feathered tribe; a fact which is turned to good account by the bird-catcher, who, having set his traps and limed twigs, conceals himself in the neighbourhood and imitates the note of this Owl. The little birds, impelled by rage or fear, or a silly combination of both, assemble for the purpose of mobbing the common enemy. In their anxiety to discern the object of their abhorrence, they fall one after another into the snare, and become the prey of the fowler. The Long-eared Owl is not altogether undeserving of the persecution which is thus intended for her, her principal food being field-mice, but also such little birds as she can surprise when asleep. In fact, she respects neither the person nor the property of her neighbours, making her home in the old nests of large birds and squirrels, and appropriating, as food for herself and her voracious young, the carcases of any that she finds herself strong enough to master and kill.

The cry of this bird is only occasionally uttered--a sort of barking noise. The note of the young bird is a loud mewing and seems to be intended as a petition to its parents for a supply of food. A writer in the _Zoologist_[28] who has had many opportunities of observing this species in its native haunts, says that it does not confine its flight entirely to the darker hours, as he has met with it in the woods sailing quickly along, as if hawking, on a bright summer day. It is curious to observe, he says, how flat they invariably make their nests, so much so, that it is difficult to conceive how the eggs retain their position, even in a slight wind, when the parent bird leaves them. The eggs are four to six in number, and there are grounds for supposing that the female bird begins to sit as soon as she has laid her first egg.

[28] Vol. ii. p. 562.

THE SHORT-EARED OWL
ASIO ACCIPITRÍNUS

Face whitish; beak black; iris yellow; egrets inconspicuous, of
a few black feathers; eyes encircled by brownish black; upper
plumage dusky brown, edged with yellow; lower pale orange,
streaked with brown. Length sixteen inches; breadth
thirty-eight. Eggs white.

From the name, Hawk-Owl, sometimes given to this species, we should expect to find this bird not so decidedly nocturnal in its habits as the preceding; and such is the case; for, though it does not habitually hunt by day, it has been known to catch up chickens from the farmyard, and has been seen in chase of pigeons. If attacked during daylight, it does not evince the powerless dismay of the last species, but effects a masterly retreat by soaring in a spiral direction until it has attained an elevation to which its adversary does not care to follow it. Unlike its allies, it frequents neither mountains nor forests, but is found breeding in a few marshy or moorland districts; later in the year it is met with in turnip fields and stubbles. As many as twenty-eight were once seen in a single turnip-field in England; from whence it has been inferred that in autumn the Short-eared Owls are gregarious, and establish themselves for a time in any place they fall in with, where field-mice or other small quadrupeds are abundant. In England this bird is not uncommonly started by sportsmen when in pursuit of game. It then flies with a quick zigzag motion for about a hundred yards, and alights on the ground, never on a tree. By some it is called the Woodcock-Owl, from its arriving and departing at about the same time with that bird; it is not, however, invariably a bird of passage, since many instances are on record of its breeding in this country, making a rude nest in a thick bush, either on the ground, or close to it, and feeding its young on mice, small birds, and even the larger game, as Moor-fowl, a bird more than double its own weight. The Short-eared Owl affords a beautiful illustration of a fact not generally known, that the nocturnal birds of prey have the right and left ear differently formed, one ear being so made as to hear sounds from above, and the other from below. The opening into the channel for conveying sound is in the _right_ ear, placed _beneath_ the transverse fold, and directed _upwards_, while in the _left_ ear the same opening is placed _above_ the channel for conveying sound, and is directed _downwards_.

In the severe weather of January, 1861, I had the gratification of seeing three or four of these Owls among the sand-hills of the coast of Norfolk, near Holkham. I imagined them to be in pursuit of the Redwings and other small birds which had been driven by the intense cold to the sea-coast, since they flew about as Hawks do when hunting for prey, and occasionally alighted among the sand-hills. I even fell in with several heaps of feathers, showing where some unhappy bird had been picked and eaten. A few days afterwards, however, I inquired at another part of the coast whether there were any Owls there, and received for an answer, 'No, because there are no Rabbits'; from which I inferred that these birds have the reputation of hunting larger game than Thrushes, a charge which the size and power of their hooked talons seem to justify.

THE TAWNY OWL
SYRNIUM ALÚCO

Beak greyish yellow; irides bluish dusky; upper parts reddish
brown, variously marked and spotted with dark brown, black, and
grey; large white spots on the scapulars and wing coverts;
primaries and tail feathers barred alternately with dark and
reddish brown; lower parts reddish white, with transverse brown
bars and longitudinal dusky streaks; legs feathered to the
claws. Length sixteen inches; breadth three feet. Eggs dull
white.

This bird, the Ulula of the ancients, took its name from the Latin _ululare_; the word used to denote, and partially to imitate, the cry of the wolf; it enjoys also the doubtful honour of giving name to the whole tribe of 'Owls', whether they howl, hoot, or screech. This species is much more common than the Barn Owl in many districts, although it is decreasing in others. Owing to its nocturnal habits, and dusky colour, it is not so often seen as heard. It has many a time been my amusement to repair, towards the close of a summer evening, to a wood which I knew to be the resort of these birds, and to challenge them to an exchange of greetings, and I rarely failed to succeed. Their note may be imitated so exactly as to deceive even the birds themselves, by forming a hollow with the fingers and palms of the two hands, leaving an opening only between the second joints of the two thumbs, and then by blowing with considerable force down upon the opening thus made, so as to produce the sound hoo-hoo-hoo-o-o-o. I have thus induced a bird to follow me for some distance, echoing my defiance or greeting, or whatever he may have deemed it; but I do not recollect that I ever caught sight of the bird.