Chapter IV: Part 4

Let us go on the moors again, and watch the coots and water-hens in the reedy pools near the aqueduct. Do you see that great tit on a branch of this poplar? He is actually at work doing a bit of butchery on a small warbler. See how he is beating the poor little fellow on the head; he wants to get at his brains. "Are there not birds called butcher-birds?" asked Willy, "that fix their victims on thorns, and then peck off their flesh? Shall we see any of them?" There are three kinds of butcher-birds that have been known to come to this country. Two kinds are very uncommon, and we are not likely to meet with any of them in our walks. I may as well, however, tell you something about them; but, as I have no personal knowledge of the habits of any of the species, I must get my information from other sources. The great grey shrike, the red-backed shrike, and the woodchat shrike, are the three species of the family occurring in Great Britain; the red-backed shrike is the only tolerably common one, arriving in this country late in April, and quitting it in September. Mr. John Shaw tells me this bird visits the quarry grounds at Shrewsbury every spring, and an early riser, if he goes there, can see these birds readily. Mr. Yarrell says that the great grey shrike is only an occasional visitor to this country, and is generally obtained between autumn and spring. Its food consists of mice, shrews, small birds, frogs, lizards, and large insects. "After having killed its prey, it fixes the body in a forked branch, or upon a sharp thorn, the more readily to pull off small pieces from it." The following remarks are by a gentleman who had one of these birds in confinement:--"An old bird of this species," he says, "taken near Norwich in October, 1835, lived in my possession twelve months. It became very tame, and would readily take its food from my hands. When a bird was given it, it invariably broke the skull, and generally ate the head first. It sometimes held the bird in its claws, and pulled it to pieces in the manner of hawks, but seemed to prefer forcing part of it through the wires, then pulling at it. It always hung what it could not eat up on the sides of the cage. It would often eat three small birds in a day. In the spring it was very noisy, one of its notes a little resembling the cry of the kestrel." It is a cunning as well as a bold bird. It is said that by imitating the notes of some of the smaller birds it calls them near it, and then pounces upon some deluded victim. The shrike is used by falconers abroad for trapping falcons; "it is fastened to the ground, and by screaming loudly gives notice to the falconer, who is concealed, of the approach of a hawk." You will notice in any picture of a shrike how admirably adapted is its curved beak for butchering purposes. The red-backed shrike "frequents the sides of woods and high hedgerows, generally in pairs, and may frequently be seen perched on the uppermost branch of an isolated bush, on the look out for prey. The males occasionally make a chirping noise, not unlike the note of the sparrow." It also imitates the voice of small birds. Mr. Yarrell says "the food of the red-backed shrike is mice, and probably shrews, small birds, and various insects, particularly the common May-chaffer. Its inclination to attack and its power to destroy little birds has been doubted; but it has been seen to kill a bird as large as a finch, and is not unfrequently caught in the clap-nets of London bird-catchers, having struck at their decoy-birds;" and Mr. Hewitson says--"Seeing a red-backed shrike busy in a hedge, I found, upon approaching it, a small bird, upon which it had been operating, firmly fixed upon a blunt thorn; its head was torn off, and the body entirely plucked."

"What an amazing quantity of little lady-bird beetles there are on this hedge-bank," said May. "The ground is almost red with them." Yes, it is a very common, but very pretty species. You see there are seven black spots on its red wing-covers, three on each, arranged triangularly, and one at the top of the wing-covers, just at the point where they meet. "Are these insects injurious, papa?" asked Willy; "you say there are so many insects that are. I do hope the little lady-birds do no mischief." I am happy, then, to tell you that they are as useful as they are pretty. You all know what are called plant-lice, those nasty green or black flies called Aphides, which cover the leaves or branches of so many trees and flowers, and do most terrible mischief. Well, the lady-birds, both when they are larvæ and when they are beetles, eat these pests, and help to keep their devastating swarms in check. I have frequently seen an aphis in the mouth of a lady-bird; and the larva, a curious six-footed grub, about the third of an inch long, which you may often see late in the summer and the autumn, is still more fond of aphis food. Mr. Curtis says two lady-birds cleared two geranium plants of aphides in twenty-four hours. The species we are looking at is the "seven-spotted lady-bird;" there is another very common kind, whose scarlet wing-cases have one black spot on the centre of each. This species is subject to considerable variety; it is called the "two-spotted lady-bird." There is another you may often find; it is small and yellow, with eleven spots on each wing-cover. This is called the "twenty-two-spotted lady-bird;" it is an elegant little creature. It is interesting to note how the observation of some particular animal has led naturalists to the choice of their favorite study. Mr. Gould tells us that his first inclination to the study of birds arose from his father having once lifted him up to peep into a hedge-warbler's nest. His admiration for the beautiful blue eggs led him to devote his time to ornithology, or the study of birds. If I remember rightly, Kirby's mind was directed to the study of insects by noticing the wonderful vitality shown by a little lady-bird beetle, which, after having been immersed twenty-four hours in spirits of wine, on being taken out actually flew away. "What is the meaning," asked Mary, "of the nursery rhyme about the lady-bird?

Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, and your children will burn?"

Indeed, I cannot tell you. There are different versions of the old song. One runs thus:

Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home;
Your house is on fire, your children at home,
All but one that lives under the stone,--
Fly thee home, lady-bird, ere it be gone.

In Yorkshire and Lancashire it is--

Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly thy way home,
Thy house is on fire, thy children all roam,
Except little Nan, who sits in her pan,
Weaving gold laces as fast as she can.

The names of Lady-bird, Lady-cow, no doubt originated from the general reverence for this insect and its dedication to the Virgin Mary. In Scandinavia this little beetle is called "Our Lady's Key-maid," in Sweden "The Virgin Mary's Golden Hen." Similar reverence is paid in Germany, France, England, and Scotland. In Norfolk it is called Bishop Barnabee, and the young girls have the following rhyme, which they continue to recite to it placed on the palm of the hand, till it takes wing and flies away.

"Bishop, Bishop Barnabee,
Tell me when my wedding be;
If if be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away!
Fly to the East, fly to the West,
Fly to him that I love best."

The word barnabee or burnabee, or, as Southey writes it, burnie-bee, no doubt has reference to the burnished or polished wing cases of the insect.

Let us now look out for the coots and water-hens, which love to dabble amongst the weeds of these pools, and to hide amongst the hedges and bulrushes that so thickly skirt them. See how rapidly the swifts or "Jack-squealers," as the country folks call them, are gliding by; you remember when we were noticing the swallows and martins that we thought of the swifts. Look at the beautiful scythe-like form of the wings; the tail, you see, is slightly forked; but the bird has the power of bringing the feathers together, so that sometimes you cannot see its cleft form. I generally notice swifts in the neighbourhood about the 5th of May; this year Mr. John Shaw tells me he saw some in Shrewsbury as early as the 23rd of April. Although they come to us the last of the swallow family, they leave us the soonest. By the middle of August most of the swifts will have left us.

This bird has remarkably short legs; and I remember more than once taking one off the ground when I was a boy at school, for unless it is raised a little above the level of the ground, it finds it very difficult to mount upwards by reason of its extremely short legs and long wings. If we had a swift in our hands, I could point out how it differed from the rest of the swallow family in the structure of its feet; in the other members the four toes are arranged three before and one behind; in the swift all the four toes are directed forwards. There is another kind of swift, the "white-bellied swift," which has, on a few occasions, been noticed in this country. It is rather larger than the common swift, and has wings of greater length, and can fly even more rapidly. Hark! I hear the noise of a coot proceeding from the reeds of a pond. I dare say if we keep quite still we shall get a glimpse of her. There she comes; and do look, a lot of young ones with her; little black downy things they are, as we should see were we near enough to examine them. The old birds have a naked white patch on the forehead, and are therefore called bald-coots. You can see the white patch now she faces us and the sun is shining; the body is a dingy black tinged with dark grey; you notice a little white about the wings. The feet of the coot are curiously formed, each of the four toes is partly webbed, having a membrane forming rounded lobes; the claws are very sharp, and the bird does not hesitate to make use of them if you catch hold of it carelessly; so Col. Hawker gives the following caution to young sportsmen--"Beware of a winged coot, or he will scratch you like a cat."

I never saw a coot dive; and think it seldom does; water-hens, every one knows, are frequent divers.

The old bird is pulling up some of the weeds of the pool for the young ones; how carefully she attends to them; the heads of the little ones are nearly naked, and of a bright orange colour mixed with blue; but this brilliant colouring lasts only a few days. The nest is made of broken reeds and flags, and hidden amongst the tall rushes and edges in the water.

Bewick mentions the case of a coot having built her nest among some rushes, which were afterwards loosened by the wind, and of course the nest was driven about and floated upon the surface of the water in every direction; notwithstanding which, the female continued to sit as usual, and brought out her young upon her movable habitation. See, now they have all gone away to hide amongst the reeds; they like to come out into the open water late in the evening, and it is not often easy to observe them in the day-time. There are plenty of moor-hens or water-hens in these reedy pools. They are not so peaceful as the coots, for they have been known to attack young ducklings. There one swims, jerking up its tail, which is whitish underneath, and nodding its head; the moor-hen is a smaller bird than the coot, though resembling it both in form and habits. The feet, however, are very different, for, instead of the toes being furnished with a lobed membrane, they have a continuous narrow one down each. Moor-hens have been known to remove their eggs from the nest, in order to add to it, and to replace them again. Mr. Selby relates the following interesting account:

"During the early part of the summer of 1835 a pair of water-hens built their nest by the margin of the ornamental pond at Bell's Hill, a piece of water of considerable extent, and ordinarily fed by a spring from the height above, but into which the contents of another large pond can occasionally be admitted. This was done while the female was sitting; and as the nest had been built when the water-level stood low, the sudden influx of this large body of water from the second pond caused a rise of several inches, so as to threaten the speedy immersion and consequent destruction of the eggs. This the birds seem to have been aware of, and immediately took precaution against so imminent a danger; for when the gardener, upon whose veracity I can safely rely, seeing the sudden rise of the water, went to look after the nest, expecting to find it covered and the eggs destroyed, or at least forsaken by the hen, he observed, while at a distance, both birds busily engaged about the brink where the nest was placed; and when near enough, he clearly perceived that they were adding, with all possible dispatch, fresh materials to raise the fabric beyond the level of the increased contents of the pond, and that the eggs had by some means been removed from the nest by the birds, and were then deposited upon the grass, about a foot or more from the margin of the water. He watched them for some time, and saw the nest rapidly increase in height; but I regret to add that he did not remain long enough, fearing he might create alarm, to witness the interesting act of the replacing of the eggs, which must have been effected shortly afterwards; for upon his return in less than an hour, he found the hen quietly sitting upon them in the newly raised nest. In a few days afterwards the young were hatched, and, as usual, soon quitted the nest and took to the water with the parent. The nest was shown to me _in situ_ very soon afterwards, and I could then plainly discern the formation of the new with the old part of the fabric."

"What is that little bird in the water?" asked Jack. "Oh! he is suddenly gone; do you see the curl in the water where it dived?" It was no doubt a dabchick, then, from your description, though I was not in time to see it before it dived; if we keep quite still and silent I dare say it will appear again. There it is, dabbling in the water in search of water insects that are found amongst the weeds. Another name of this bird is the little grebe; several species of grebes have been found in this county; the great-crested grebe is a very handsome bird and frequents lakes and rivers; but of the five British grebes, the little dabchick is by far the most common. The feet of these birds are peculiar, the toes are not connected together by a web, as you see in ducks and geese; they are, however, united at the base, and each of the three front toes is surrounded by a broad continuous membrane; the lower part of the leg is also very flat; the legs are placed very far backwards, so that these birds stand almost upright; the wings are short and seldom used for flight; however, they are admirable swimmers and divers, and pretty, lively little birds. The plumage of this little grebe varies according to the time of year. Now, in the summer weather, the head, neck and back are a very dark brown; the cheeks and front of the neck a rich chestnut; chin jet black; in the winter they lose this chestnut colour, and are then of a light olive-grey colour and white underneath. Formerly the two different states of the plumage were thought to mark two different species.

The nest, as Mr. Gould tells us, is a raft of weeds and aquatic plants carefully heaped together in a rounded form. The young ones have delicate rose-coloured bills and harlequin-like markings on the body, and rosy-white breasts. "So active and truly aquatic is the dabchick, even when only one or two days old, that it is almost impossible to see it in a state of nature; for immediately after the young birds are hatched, they either take to the water of their own accord, or cling when not more than an hour old to the backs of their parents, who dive away with them out of harm's way." Mr. Gould mentions that a friend of his, when out on a fishing excursion with him, once shot a dabchick as it dived across a shallow stream; on emerging wounded, on the surface, two young ones clinging to the back were caught by Mr. Gould in his landing net.

So rapid is their diving that they can often avoid the charge of a gun; they then rise again "with only the tips of their bill above water, and even these generally concealed amongst some patch of weeds or grass." The grebes have a peculiar habit of plucking off the soft feathers from the under side of the body and swallowing them. Why they do so is not known.

"What is this pretty pink flower," asked May, "with long trailing stems and leaves broadly arrow-shaped? From its resemblance to that beautiful convolvulus in the garden I should think it must be a smaller kind of that plant." You are quite right, it is a convolvulus, and its English name of Field Bindweed is expressive of the clinging habits of this plant; see how tightly it has wrapped itself round this tall blade of grass. Although a very pretty plant; with its pink flowers and darker plaits, its arrow-shaped leaves, and its fragrant smell, it is a troublesome weed to the farmer. Then there is the greater bindweed, with its large bell-blossoms sometimes white as snow, sometimes striped with pink, sometimes almost rose-colour, so often seen growing profusely over the tallest bushes. Both kinds of bindweed, however, are mischievous weeds; the large kind you may find in flower as late as September. Some of the bindweed family, I ought to say, are valuable in medicine. There is for instance the _Convolvulus jalapa_ and _Convolvulus scammonia_, both of which are extensively used in medicine; the former a South American plant and the latter a Syrian one. Then there is the so-called sweet-potato, which is the root of _Convolvulus batatas_ used in China, Japan, and other tropical countries as a wholesome food. Strange it seems that plants so closely related should differ so much in their properties.

The accompanying vignette may be supposed to represent Master Willy watching the movements of a snail.

WALK VIII.

JULY.

Let us have another stroll on the moors. We pass over a small brook on our way, and of course stop on the bridge and gaze into the little rivulet. What do I see about four yards off in the shade? A number of small dark-coloured patches which I recognise at once as one of our most beautiful fresh-water algæ. We will gather some from the bottom. There! the little tufts are attached to the upper sides of stones. When taken out of the water, the plant looks and feels like a mass of very dark jelly. I will float a piece out in this bottle of water. Did you ever see anything more beautiful? It consists of a number of delicate branches, each arranged in a bead-like row, and from a certain resemblance which these beaded rows bear to frog-spawn, as well as from their jelly-like consistency, this alga has received the name of _Batrachospermum_, which means "frogs' spawn." If we take a bit home and spread it out carefully on a piece of drying paper, separating the numerous beaded branches one from the other with the point of a needle, and leave it to dry gradually, we shall get a very pretty object indeed. As you may suppose, the plant is a most charming object for the microscope. "Do you think," asked Willy, "it would do in my aquarium?" I have several times tried it in an aquarium; it would live for a few days, then gradually lose colour and break to pieces. The fact is that, as Dr. Hassall says, these plants "inhabit mostly pure and running waters, being usually met with in fountains, wells, and streams, the force of which is not considerable." The frog-spawn alga, therefore, will not thrive in any but the purest water, and a gentle flow is necessary to its growth and health. "These plants are so exceedingly flexible," Dr. Hassall continues, "that they obey the slightest motion of the fluid which surrounds them, and would seem almost to be endowed with vitality; nothing can surpass the ease and grace of their movements. When removed from the water they lose all form, and appear like pieces of jelly without trace of organization. On immersion, however, the branches again quickly resume their former disposition. They adhere strongly to paper, and in drying frequently change to some other tint usually much deeper; on being moistened after long intervals they recover much of their original freshness; and it is even asserted that, after having lain in the herbarium for some years, when they are replaced in water in a suitable locality, they will vegetate as before." This last assertion I must say I do not credit. I shall never forget the delight I felt when I first made the acquaintance of this curious and graceful alga. From the eyes of how many people are its charms hidden! It is only those that look closely that would notice the little jelly-like tufts growing modestly in shaded places for the most part. This species, however, is common enough in gently flowing and shallow streams, and we may often come across it in our rambles if we take the trouble to use our eyes. There are other extremely beautiful forms of fresh-water algæ.

Here in this same stream are the long green threads of _Cladophora glomerata_. I use as few hard words as possible, but I cannot help using them sometimes, as many objects have no English names. This alga is also attached to stones and floats out with the current sometimes two feet in length; and, like the frog-spawn alga, is fond of pure water, but I have often kept the _Cladophora_ alive in perfect health in an aquarium for weeks together. Its deep refreshing green colour and graceful form make it a very desirable acquisition for the aquarium. I break off a small bit. Now see its beautifully branched form. Do you remember a round green ball about the size of a small apple which I have at home? Well, that ball, which came from Ellesmere, is nothing else than a mass of this same _Cladophora_. Dr. Hassall is no doubt correct in his explanation of the formation of these balls. He says, "This state of _Cladophora glomerata_ I believe to be formed as follows: A specimen by the force of some mountain stream swollen by recent rains becomes forced from its attachment; as it is carried along by the current, it is made to revolve repeatedly upon itself, until at last a compact ball is formed of it, which finally becomes deposited in some basin or reservoir in which the stream loses itself, and in which these balls are usually found." Here are some specimens in the water of a rich brown colour instead of green. This is caused by the growth of other algæ over its long branches. See! I shake a bit in my bottle, and you see a quantity of brown deposit comes off, showing the green threads of the _Cladophora_ underneath. This brown deposit looks to you, I dare say, very uninteresting. I will show you some under the microscope when we get home, and you will see many extremely beautiful forms. These are known by the name of _Diatomaceæ_ and _Desmidiæ_. I will not tell you more of them at present; but a picture which I will show you will give you the forms of some of these microscopic plants.

All highly magnified.

1.--Staurastrum.
2.--Trigonocystis.
3.--Euastrum.
4.--Closterium.
5.--Diatoma.
6, 7.--Meridion.
8.--Eunotia.
9.--Exilaria.]

Here we are once more on the wild moors. There is really nothing very "wild" about them now; cultivation has turned them into excellent pasturage; the epithet, too, is a corruption of weald, signifying a wood. But this whole district, extending from Longdon-upon-Tern to Aqualate, was once, there can be no doubt, covered with water. Perhaps it was the bed of a large lake a great many years ago; the soil, you see, is composed of peat varying in thickness in different parts, and below the peat is often found sand and pebbles, which looks as if it was once the bottom of a vast lake ten miles or more long, and three broad. The village of Kinnersly was evidently once an island, and you can now see the moors extending all around it. Once, then, the whole district was covered with water, but about 200 years ago it was covered with wood.

"Oh! papa, did you see that?" said Jack. "A hawk pounced upon a small bird and has taken him to that fir tree, where he is eating him." It is a kestril; one of the commonest of the British hawks, and which we may often see in this district; though I am afraid those destructive animals called gamekeepers will in time succeed in destroying every hawk in the neighbourhood. "Well, but, papa," said Willy, "do they not do a great deal of harm to young partridges and pheasants, and of course the gamekeeper will not stand that?" I dare say; indeed I have no doubt that a kestril will occasionally seize upon a young partridge, but it is also certain that mice form the principal part of its food. Remains of mice, shrews, beetles, lizards, have been found in the kestril's stomach, and I am sure it would be a great pity to seek to exterminate this handsome and attractive bird. "Is this the hawk that you very often see hovering steadily in the air over one spot?" asked May. Yes, it is, and from this habit it has got the name of windhover; the outspread tail is suspended and the head always points in the direction of the wind. The sparrow-hawk I occasionally see, and now and then the merlin, a beautiful little fellow and of great courage; the sparrow-hawk is a much greater enemy to young birds than the kestril, and ought not to be allowed to increase where game or poultry are reared, for so bold are these birds that they will not unfrequently skim over a poultry yard, seize a young chicken and carry it off. Have you never heard the cry of terror an old hen utters when a hawk is seen in the air near her little brood?

Mr. Gould gives us the following anecdote of a sparrow-hawk as related to him by a friend:--

"Three or four years since I was driving towards Dover, when suddenly a sparrow-hawk, with a stoop like a falcon's, struck a lark close to my horse's head. The lark fell as a grouse or a partridge will fall to a falcon or tiercel, and the sparrow-hawk did not attempt to carry, but held on his way. I jumped down and picked up the body of the lark and the head; the two being entirely disunited. The velocity and force of the stoop must have been tremendous. I have often seen grouse and partridges ripped up the back and neck, and the skull laid bare, but I never saw a head taken clean off before." A sparrow-hawk has been known to pursue a finch between the legs of a man, and to dash through a window-pane with the intention of seizing some cage-bird.

"What was that very large bird, papa," said Willy, "that you noticed near Eyton last November? It was one of the hawk family, was it not?" Yes; I have no doubt it was the common buzzard, though it would not allow me to get very near it; but I watched it at a distance for some time. It would remain on a tree for some time, and then take a slow flight away, returning again to some tree. Buzzards are not nearly such active fliers and bold birds as the smaller kinds of hawks. Though I said it was the common buzzard, you must not suppose that this bird is really common; it is called common as being the species most frequently seen in this country. Mr. Yarrell, in his book on 'British Birds,' has given the figure of a buzzard nursing and feeding a brood of young chickens. Is not that a curious thing?

He says, "The extreme partiality of the common buzzard to the seasonal task of incubation and rearing young birds has been exemplified in various instances. A few years back, a female buzzard, kept in the garden of the Chequers Inn, at Uxbridge, showed an inclination to sit by collecting and bending all the loose sticks she could gain possession of. Her owner, noticing her actions, supplied her with materials. She completed her nest and sat on two hens' eggs, which she hatched, and afterwards reared the young. Since then she has hatched and brought up a brood of chickens every year.

"She indicates her desire to sit by scratching holes in the ground, and breaking and tearing everything within her reach. One summer, in order to save her the fatigue of sitting, some young chickens just hatched were put down to her, but she destroyed the whole. Her family, in June, 1839, consisted of nine, the original number was ten, but one had been lost. When flesh was given to her, she was very assiduous in tearing and offering it as food to her nurselings, and appeared uneasy if, after taking small portions from her, they turned away to pick up grain."

What is this little mouse-like thing in the grass? how quickly it runs. Now I have got him. No! off again; burrowing under the grass-roots. Now I have him safe enough; he cannot bite me with this glove on. Look at the little rogue, with his soft short silky fur and long nose. See how flexible that pointed nose is; how useful in grubbing amongst the closest herbage, or under the surface of the soil. How sharp are the little creature's teeth. With them he eats worms and the larvæ of various kinds of insects. Well, what is its name? It is the common shrew, and though the form of the body is mouse-shaped, it is, properly speaking, not a mouse at all, being much more nearly related to the mole. It is said that shrews are very fond of fighting, and that if two be confined together in a box, the stronger will conquer the weaker and then eat him. Moles are said to eat their small relatives, but I have never had any evidence of the fact, though it is probable enough. May wanted to know whether cats eat shrews. I have often tried cats with dead shrews, and have always found they will not touch them. I dare say, however, they would kill them. The smell of the shrew is certainly unpleasant, as you may find out from this little fellow I hold in my hand. Mind he does not bite your nose. Now we have examined him I shall let him go. It is no pleasure to take an animal's life, and as this little shrew does no harm but good by destroying insect larvæ, it would be a shame to hurt him. Where injurious creatures must be killed, let us always be careful to take away life so as to cause the least possible pain. Now, would any of you have ever thought that the little shrew I have just released had ever been supposed to be one of the most dangerous enemies to cattle? This was really once believed by our ancestors, who thought that a shrew, by running over the backs of cattle, made them weak in the loins, and that its bite made a beast swell at the heart and die. Absurd as was the belief, the supposed cure for the injury was, if possible, still more ridiculous. It consisted in passing over the cow's back the twigs of a shrew ash. "Now a shrew ash," says Gilbert White, "is an ash whose twigs or branches when applied to the limbs of cattle will immediately relieve the pains which a beast suffers from the running of a shrew-mouse over the part affected, for it is supposed that a shrew-mouse is of so baneful and deleterious a nature, that wherever it creeps over a beast, be it horse, cow, or sheep, the suffering animal is afflicted with cruel anguish and threatened with the loss of the use of the limb. Against this accident, to which they were continually liable, our provident forefathers always kept a shrew ash at hand which, when once medicated, would maintain its virtue for ever. A shrew ash was made thus: into the body of the tree a deep hole was bored with an auger, and a poor devoted shrew-mouse was thrust in alive, and plugged in, no doubt with several quaint incantations long since forgotten." It is marvellous how people could ever have believed such stuff; but equal absurdities are still accepted by many people to this very day; so strong a hold on men's minds have the kindred vices of superstition and ignorance.

Look at these spiders' webs on this hawthorn hedge, they are formed of delicate silken threads, and are of a long funnel shape; the spider occupies the bottom part and soon rushes up should any insect get into the trap, and quickly rushes down and escapes at the back door if your hand enters the front. The top of the funnel is spread out into large broad sheets, and the whole snare is attached by silken cords to the twigs of the bushes. This is the snare and residence of a good-sized species, the _Agelena labyrinthica_. Such webs are common on hedges, on grass, heath, and gorse. Now you must distinguish between spiders' nests and spiders' snares. The very common wheel-like webs, which you see abundantly on hedges, are snares or traps for insects, and beautiful they look on a dewy morning all strung with liquid pearls. Here under this oak are a number of old acorn-cups of last autumn's produce; the acorns have fallen out and the black cups remain. Do you see a delicate spider's web filling this cup; inside are a quantity of tiny round eggs, and a small spider is keeping guard within; this is a spider's nest. Many spiders spin cocoons for their little round eggs, place them in various situations, and leave them; others show the greatest care for them and carry them about wherever they go. The cocoons of the species whose web or trap we are now looking at are made of strong white silk, each cocoon containing perhaps 100 round eggs, rather yellowish in colour. They are fastened to the inside of a web the spider spins by means of silken pillars formed by a number of threads closely glued together. The sac containing the cocoons is fastened to stems of grass or other objects, and partially hidden by a few withered leaves. "For the purpose of securing their prey," says Mr. Blackwall, the author of a splendid work on 'British Spiders,' "spiders have recourse to divers expedients. Numerous species run rapidly about in quest of those objects which constitute their food; others, approaching their victims with great circumspection, spring upon them from a distance; some lie concealed in flowers or among leaves, seizing such insects as come within their reach; and many species procure a supply of nutriment by means of complicated snares of their own fabrication." Of these snares the most beautiful, as I said, are the "wheel within wheel" nets of the various species of the family _Epëiridæ_. "What are those spider-like things," asked Willy, "with long thin bodies, you often see skating along the water? they are something like the spiders." They are not spiders at all, but insects called "water-measurers," from their peculiar habit of taking a short skate on the surface of the water and then stopping; having measured that distance, off they go again. However, many spiders do run along on the surface of the water, and you know there is one, the great water-spider, that lives habitually in it. Some years ago I had one of these water-spiders in a glass vessel of water, and saw it spin its curious dome-shaped web which it attached to the sides of the glass and some weeds. These domes are formed of closely woven white silk, in the form of a diving bell or half a pigeon's egg, as De Geer has said, with the opening below. It looks like a half-ball of silver; this appearance is due to a quantity of air. It is, in fact, a huge air-bubble surrounded by a covering of white silk, and, as you may suppose, a very interesting and pretty object. Within this silver dome the spider places her eggs, perhaps a hundred or more in number, which are enveloped in a cocoon, this being attached to the inner side of the dome. "But how," said Jack, "is the bubble formed? Where does the air come from?" You have asked a very interesting question, and one which can be answered; for the question was set at rest by Mr. Bell, an excellent observer and well-known naturalist, about twelve years ago, if I remember rightly. He found that the old spider actually took the air down with her from the surface of the water, and deposited it in her domed house. I shall now quote Mr. Bell's words: "The manner in which the animal possesses itself of the bubble of air is very curious, and, as far as I know, has never been exactly described. It ascends to the surface slowly, assisted by a thread attached to a leaf or other support below and to the surface of the water. As soon as it comes near the surface it turns with the extremity of the abdomen upwards, and exposes a portion of the body to the air for an instant, then with a jerk it snatches, as it were, a bubble of air, which is not only attached to the hairs which cover the abdomen, but is held on by the two hinder legs, which are crossed at an acute angle near their extremity; this crossing of the legs taking place at the instant the bubble is seized. The little creature then descends more rapidly and regains its cell, always by the same route, turns the abdomen within it, and disengages the bubble." Spiders have strong jaws; at the bottom of each hooked jaw there is a small sac which contains a poisonous fluid; this fluid is conveyed by a narrow channel from the sac along the jaw, and is pressed out at an opening or slit at the tip of the fang into the wound inflicted on its victim. The feet of spiders are generally terminated by two or more claws furnished with teeth; by means of these combs the animal is enabled to manage the threads of its web with great dexterity and efficiency.

WALK IX.

JULY.

Let us be off to the fields once more; the sun is very hot, but we can find refreshing shade under the trees when we are tired. What is this beautiful little plant with bright scarlet flowers fully expanded? It is the scarlet pimpernel, or "poor man's weather-glass;" for on rainy days, and even before the showers are coming, the little plant, conscious of their approach, closes up its flowers. Other wild flowers, such as the convolvulus, close before rain. The little pimpernel, however, is supposed to be the best barometer. There is another thing about the pimpernel; you will not often see its blossoms expanded after three o'clock in the afternoon. In other countries, also, the regular closing of the flowers has been noticed. Dr. Seeman, who went as naturalist on one of the Arctic Expeditions, noticed the flowers to close during the long day of an arctic summer. "Although," he says, "the sun never sets while it lasts, the plants make no mistake about the time, when if it be not night it ought to be, but regularly as the evening hours approach, and when a midnight sun is several degrees above the horizon, they droop their leaves, and sleep even as they do at sunset in more favoured climes." Look at the bright scarlet flower, with its small purple eye. Excepting poppies, with their dazzling brightness, I do not think there is another wild flower that has scarlet petals. However, the blossoms are not always scarlet; there is a white variety with a purple eye, and another having a dark blue blossom.

Well, Jack, you have found something, have you? Ah! this is a queer plant, it has queer habits, and a queer name; it is called "Jack-go-to-bed at noon." We sometimes call you after the name of another plant, "Jack-by-the-hedge." May, of course, is "May," or hawthorn blossom, and Robin at home, from his often tearing his clothes, is "Ragged Robin." Another name for the plant you hold in your hand is goat's beard; the leaves are long and grass-like, the flowers bright yellow; it is not yet quite eleven o'clock, and the blossoms are expanded; they generally close about noon. Look at the colour of the stem, it has a kind of sea-green bloom upon it. Well, you would never find this plant with blossom expanded in the afternoon; so "Jack-go-to-bed at noon" is really not a bad name for it.

"And goodly now the noon-tide hour
When from his high meridian tower
The sun looks down in majesty.
What time about the grassy lea
The goat's-beard prompt his rise to hail
With broad expanded disc, in veil
Close mantling wraps its yellow head,
And goes, as peasants say, to bed."

Here we are at a stream; do you see those things at the bottom slowly moving? They seem to be bits of stick. "I know what they are," said Jack, "there is a good fat maggot in each of these cases; they are caddis-worms." Quite right, and in time they will change to insects. Here is another kind; the house is made of small bits of gravel, and it is attached to this smooth stone. I will break open the case; do you see inside is a long cylindrical case, with a thin covering; I slit this open with my penknife, and now you see the creature inside. There are a great variety of these caddis-worms, and most interesting it is to notice the different kind of houses they build. Some of the larvæ live in movable cases, as we have seen, some in fixed habitations; the materials, too, out of which the different cases are constructed, are different, sometimes they are bits of gravel, or sand, wood, leaves, grass, the empty shells of various fresh-water molluscs. The fragments of stick and the small bits of gravel are held together by a kind of cement which the larva spins from his mouth. Sometimes we may meet with cases made of sand, having on either side long slender bits of rush or stick. A lady once took a number of the larvæ out of their cases, and placed them in a vessel of water with various materials, such as coloured glass, cornelian, agate, onyx, brass filings, coralline, tortoiseshell; and these little maggoty things made use of and built their houses out of them. The perfect insect has four wings; and from these being closely covered with hairs, the order to which they belong has received the name of _Trichoptera_, which means "having hairy wings." You must know many of these insects; they are very common near ponds and streams; generally they fly in a zig-zag fashion, and have the appearance of moths.

Ah! here is a splendid bed of the forget-me-not growing on this bank near the stream. Look at the blue enamel-like flowers, each with a yellow centre-eye; the leaves are bright green and rather rough. There are other species very much resembling this one you may often see in hedgerows and fields; but they are generally smaller plants; this one is the true forget-me-not. There are several stories about the origin of the name. Here is one:--Many years ago, a lady and knight were wandering by a river; the lady espied these bright blue flowers, on a small islet I suppose, in the deep river, and wished to possess them. Her lover immediately plunged in and plucked the plants, but the strength of the stream was too much for him on his return. With a great effort, however, he threw the flowers on the bank, exclaiming "Forget-me-not," and sank!

"But the lady fair of the knight so true
Still remember'd his hapless lot;
And she cherish'd the flower of brilliant hue
And she braided her hair with the blossoms blue,
And she call'd it 'Forget-me-not.'"

We must proceed on our walk and not linger too long here, though, I must own, it is hard to tear oneself away from the banks of a gently-flowing river. So good-by to

"That blue and bright-eyed flowret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet 'Forget-me-not.'"

As we crossed the road we met two men with cage-traps, and a slender twig covered thickly with bird-lime. In each cage-trap was a tame goldfinch, which were the decoy birds. The men had only succeeded in taking one goldfinch--for which they asked half a crown. The decoy birds attract other goldfinches by their call-note; these sometimes alight on the trap, which instantly closes upon them; sometimes they alight on the twig smeared with bird-lime, which is so sticky that they cannot free themselves from it. "Gay plumage, lively habits, an agreeable form and song, with a disposition to become attached to those who feed them, are such strong recommendations, that the goldfinch has been, and will probably continue to be, one of the most general cage favourites. So well also do the birds of this species bear confinement, that they have been known to live ten years in captivity, continuing in song the greater part of each year. This tendency to sing and call make them valuable as brace-birds, decoy-birds, and call-birds, to be used by the birdcatcher with his ground nets, while the facility with which others are captured, the numbers to be obtained, and the constant demand for them by the public, render the goldfinch one of the most important species included within the bird-dealer's traffic."

Mr. Mayhew says that a goldfinch has been known to exist twenty-three years in a cage. The same person tells us that goldfinches are sold in the streets of London from sixpence to a shilling each, and when there is an extra catch, and the shops are fully stocked, at threepence and fourpence each. Only think, it is computed that as many as 70,000 song birds are captured every year about London; the street sale of the goldfinch being about a tenth of the whole. Goldfinches may be taught to perform many amusing tricks, to draw up water for themselves by a small thimble-sized bucket, or to raise the lid of a small box to obtain the seed within. A goldfinch has been trained to appear dead; it could be held up by the tail or claw without exhibiting any signs of life, or to stand on its head with its claws in the air, or to imitate a Dutch milk-maid going to market with pails on its shoulders, or to appear as a soldier, keeping guard as sentinel. One was once trained to act as a cannoneer with a cap on its head, a firelock on its shoulder, and a match in its claw; it would then discharge a small cannon. "The same bird also acted as if it had been wounded. It was wheeled in a barrow, to convey it, as it were, to the hospital; after which it flew away before the company." Another turned a kind of windmill; another stood in the midst of some fireworks, which were discharged all around it, without showing any fear. When we consider how docile and affectionate many birds become; when we think of their beauty and the sweet music they pour from their little throats; when we consider also of what immense use a great number of species are to man in helping to check injurious insects and caterpillars; does it not seem strange that they meet with so little protection? How often, as you know, we have met lads and great strong men with helpless fledglings in their hands, which they intend to torture in some way or other; perhaps they will tie strings to their legs and drag them about, or place them on a large stone and throw at them. To expostulate with them on the wickedness of such barbarous conduct is hopeless; one might as well quote Hebrew to a tadpole!

How noisy the grasshoppers are, with their incessant shrill chirpings; how thoroughly they enjoy the heat and sun! Just catch me one or two, Willy; there, one has hopped just before you; now he is on that blade of grass. Have you got him? No? Well, take this gauze net. Now you have him. "How does the grasshopper make that peculiar sound?" asked May. If you will get near one of these insects while he is making the noise you will see how he does it. There, one stands on that plantain stem. Do you see how briskly he rubs his legs against the wing-covers? Now he is quiet, and his legs are still; so it is evident that the friction or rubbing of the legs against the wings causes the sound. I rub the thigh of this specimen I hold in my hands against the wing. You distinctly hear the shrill sound. It is the males only who make the noise; the females are mute. Some people have described another organ which seems to increase the sound. I have sometimes placed both field-crickets and grasshoppers under a tumbler, and supplied them with moist blades of grass; it is curious to see how fast they eat them. You should remember that the grasshopper is a relative of the locust, to which, indeed, it bears a close resemblance; only the locust is a much larger insect. There are several species of locusts, and all are extremely injurious. You have read in the Bible of the fearful damage they are able to cause to the trees and various crops. It is seldom that locusts visit this country, happily, for there is not a greater insect scourge in existence. Our green grasshopper is also related to the cricket, so merrily noisy in dwelling-houses. Crickets are difficult to get rid of when they have thoroughly established themselves in a house. Like many noisy persons, crickets like to hear nobody louder than themselves; and some one relates that a woman who had tried in vain every method she could think of to banish them from her house, at last got rid of them by the noise made by drums and trumpets, which she had procured to entertain her guests at a wedding. It is said, but you need not believe the story, that they instantly forsook the house, and the woman heard of them no more. Possibly some half dozen more women in the house would have had the same effect, without the musical instruments! What do you say to that idea, May? "That is too bad of you, papa, but you know you are only joking."