Chapter 2

We now proceeded on our ramble, and I espied about one hundred yards off a heron on the bank of the Strine. He did not see us at first, but when we got a little nearer, off he flew, with his long legs stretched out behind, and his head bent close to his shoulders. He had evidently been fishing, for we could see the scales of fish on the side of the bank. Willy asked whether herons built on trees, and Jack wanted to know how they managed with their great long legs while sitting on their nests. These birds in the breeding season assemble together and make their nests on tall firs or oak trees; sometimes they build on rocks near the sea coast. It is said, too, that they will occasionally build on the ground. The heron's nest is not unlike that of the rook, only larger and broader; it is made of sticks and lined with wool and coarse grass; the female lays four or five eggs of a green colour, her long legs are tucked under her. Rooks and jackdaws sometimes take up their quarters near to a heronry, and do you know they steal their eggs, the rogues, and devour them. Both male and female herons take great care of their little ones and bring them food. Besides fish the heron will eat frogs, rats, young ducks, and coots. Eels are great dainties in the opinion of Mr. Heron; and sometimes an eel, after being pierced through the head by the sharp and strong bill of the heron, manages to wrap himself so tight round the bird's neck as to stop his breathing and cause his death. A good many years ago herons were protected by the law; they were considered royal game, and their capture by the peregrine falcon was looked upon as very exciting sport. As we followed the bank of the stream out flew a couple of kingfishers with straight and rapid flight; we distinctly heard the shrill note these birds utter; they flew about two hundred yards and lighted on a rail near the water's edge. Let us see if we can get a little nearer to them, I said, and then sit down and see what they will do. "Papa," said May, "is not the kingfisher a very beautiful bird, and the most brightly coloured of all British birds?" Yes, it is; its splendid colours remind one of the gorgeous plumage of tropical birds, and we have no other British bird with such brilliant colours. There, did you see that? one of the birds darted off the rail into the water. I have no doubt he has caught a small fish; and now he has lighted on the same rail, and with my pocket telescope I can see him throw his head up and swallow some dainty morsel. It is not at all an uncommon sight to see a kingfisher hover over the water after the manner of a kestril-hawk; suddenly it will descend with the greatest rapidity and again emerge, seldom failing to secure a fish for its dinner. "Did you ever find a kingfisher's nest, papa?" Willy inquired. Yes; some years ago I found one in a hole in a bank; there were four eggs in it, and I had to put my whole arm into the hole before I got at the nest, which consisted of sand mixed with a great quantity of very small fish bones. The eggs are very pretty, having a delicate pink tinge, the shell is thin, and the form of the egg almost round. "But where," asked Jack, "do the little fish bones of the nest come from?" I think I have told you that many birds--hawks, eagles, owls, shrikes, &c.--throw up from their crops the indigestible portions of their food. It is not uncommon to find these on the ground in the course of one's rambles. Kingfishers possess this power; they throw up the undigested fishbones, and curiously enough, as it would appear, form them into a nest. There is a kingfisher's nest in the British Museum, which I remember to have seen a few years ago. It has been a disputed point whether the parent bird throws the fishbones up at random into the hole where she is going to lay, or whether she forms them into a nest. The nest in the British Museum was secured at the expense of great patience and pains by the celebrated ornithologist and splendid draughtsman, Mr. Gould, whose drawings you may one day see in the library of the museum at Eyton. This specimen, if I remember right, was of a flattened form and fully half an inch thick. It is said that the kingfisher always selects a hole that has an upward slope, so that, though heavy rains may cause the water of the river bank to rise into the hole, the eggs will be dry. Some naturalists have said that kingfishers do not make their own holes, but use those already made by other animals. Mr. Gould, however, is of opinion that kingfishers drill their own holes. The tunnels always slope upwards, as I said; at the further end of the tunnel is an oven-like chamber where the nest is made. The fish-bone nest is thought by Mr. Gould to be really a nest, and intended to keep the eggs off the damp ground. However, there is difference of opinion on this point, and I reserve my own. We will see if we cannot find a kingfisher's nest some time this summer. Now, May, what little plant have you got hold of? "Indeed I don't know, papa, but it is a very curious little plant; I gathered it at the bottom of that hedge bank." Ah, I know it well, and a little favorite it is too; it is the moschatell. You see it is about five inches high, with pale green flowers and leaves; the flowers are arranged in heads of five each, namely, four on the side, and one on the top; it has a delicate musk-like odour, very pleasant and refreshing. Take a few specimens home and put them in water with your primroses. Mamma, I know, is very fond of the pretty little moschatell.

"Oh, papa," exclaimed Willy, "look at the bottom of this drain; what is that strange-looking insect crawling slowly about at the bottom?" I see; it is a water-scorpion, a very common insect in these drains on the moors,--indeed, it is common everywhere; let us catch him and take him home for examination. He is a queer-looking creature, with a small head and pointed beak; his forearms are something like lobster's claws; his prevailing colour blackish-brown, like the mud upon which he crawls; his body is very flat, and ends in two long stick-like projections; underneath these horny covers of the creature may be seen his two wings. He is an aquatic murderer; inserting that pointed beak into the body of some other insect, and holding his victim in his lobster-like forearms--oh! fatal embrace--he sucks out the juices of the struggling prey. Kirby and Spence say that some of the tribe of insects to which the water-scorpion belongs are so savage that they seem to love destruction for its own sake. A water-scorpion which was put into a basin of water with several young tadpoles killed them all without attempting to eat one. The tail projections, I ought to tell you, are connected with the insect's breathing; they are protruded out of the water and conduct the air to the spiracles at the end of the body, about which I must tell you more at another time. The eggs of the water-scorpion I have frequently found; they are of an oval form, with seven long hair-like projections at one end. But it is time to go home, our walk to-day is over; let us look forward to another holiday and another country ramble.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: 'Wild Sports of the Highlands,' p. 136.]

WALK II.

APRIL

We will walk to-day along the side of the canal bank as far as the aqueduct, then take the Duke's Drive and home by Lubstree Park; we shall find lots to see and to admire in the course of our ramble. We notice plenty of those beautiful balls of green jelly (_Ophrydium versatile_) in the clear water of the canal which, you know, we see every spring. These balls vary in size from that of a pea to that of Jack's fist; they are, you see, generally attached to some water-weed, and consist of myriads of very minute creatures called _infusoria_, which are imbedded in a mass of whitish jelly; these animals can detach themselves from the jelly and swim freely about; of course it requires a microscope to see the tiny green animalcules. If we examine a single specimen under a high power of the microscope we shall see its shape, which, when fully extended, is long and cylindrical, having at one end a mouth surrounded, as is usually the case in the _infusoria_, by a circle of very fine hairs, or _cilia_, as they are called, from the Latin word _cilium_ an eyelash; the mouth opens into a long narrow channel; the creature's throat, which leads to its stomach; towards the opposite extremity the animal tapers, till it ends in an extremely long fine hair-like tail which is fixed in the jelly-like ball; when the little creature prefers to swim freely about in the water it leaves its tail behind it, unlike, in this respect, to little Bo-peep's sheep! These balls were once supposed to belong to the vegetable kingdom, but there is no doubt about their animal nature.

"Oh! papa, what is that bird with a black head that flew from the side of the canal to the hedge?" said Willy. "There, don't you see it?" Yes! I see, my boy, it is the black-headed Bunting or Reed Sparrow, common on the sides of rivers, canals, and ponds. The specimen you see on the hedge is a male bird, the females are a little smaller and have not black heads. See how beautifully contrasted are the deep-black head and white collar on the neck. In the spring and summer these birds may be frequently seen, male and female together; in winter they associate with others of the finch tribe, forming large flocks. The nest is generally placed on the ground amongst the sedges and coarse grass; the eggs, which are four or five in number, are laid in May and, I believe, a second brood sometimes is produced in July. The nests of the Reed-bunting are difficult to find, at least, I have seldom been successful. You know how cunning the peewit is in trying to lead people away from its nest or young ones. Well, some observers have remarked the same thing in the case of the reed-bunting. One writer says, "Walking last spring amongst some rushes growing near a river my attention was arrested by observing a black-headed bunting shuffling through the rushes and trailing along the ground, as if one of her legs or wings was broken. I followed her to see the result, and she, having led me to some considerable distance, took wing, no doubt much rejoiced on return to find her stratagems had been successful in preserving her young brood." "Ha! ha!" interrupted Jack, "the gentleman was nicely deceived then." No, not entirely, because he goes on to say he afterwards found the nest, which had five young ones in it. One thing more I ought to tell you; not to confuse the reed-bunting with the reed-warbler, a very different bird, which very probably we may notice in to-day's ramble.

We now had another look into the canal, and saw numerous little whirligig beetles, performing their merry-go-rounds on the top of the water. With what amazing rapidity they skim along, to be sure! Some diving beneath the surface, some resting on a water leaf. If we catch one in our net and examine it more closely we shall see that, in form, it is like a miniature boat. It seems surprising that these little "whirligigs," "whirl-wigs," or "shiners," as they are called, should perform their rounds so closely together, without sometimes coming into collision. If you will look ever so long a time you will not see one animated boat run foul of another. Just think of a couple of hundred skaters on a small piece of ice playing at cros-stick. Oh! would they not be constantly knocking one another over?

Now look at Mr. Whirligig's eyes, you see each is separated into two parts by a division; the one is on the upper part of the head and looks towards the sky, the other is on the under part of the head and looks into the water. Now let us all keep quite still--the whirligigs rest. Now let us move--just look, they see our motions and off they start on their merry-go-rounds. It was with this upper part of the eye they saw us; should some sly fish, from below the surface of the water, make a rush at one, the beetle sees the enemy with his under eye and avoids him. What have you caught now, Jack? fish him out whatever it is. Oh! a fresh-water mussel, and a very fine specimen too; there are plenty of these fellows in the canal all the way from here to Newport. "Are they good to eat, papa?" asked Willy. I never tried one, but, from having often dissected specimens, I should say they were as tough as the sole of a boot. I never heard of anyone eating them. These molluscs carry their eggs, myriads in number, within their gills. The young, at the time they are ejected, are very curious little animals with triangular shells, and, oddly enough, they will fasten upon the fins or tails of fish, on which they will stick for some time, but how long I do not know.

This particular mollusc is known by the name of swan-mussel; the young fry are sent into the water in April and May. There is another kind of fresh-water mussel in rivers and streams, called the pearl-mussel, pearls being occasionally found in them. I had one of these pearls once given me by a lad, taken from a river in the Isle of Man. I took it to a jeweller, in Liverpool, who valued it at a guinea. Your uncle Arthur, to whom I gave it, had it set in gold as a pin "I wish," said May, who had listened to this part of the story with great attention, "I wish pearl-mussels would live in the canal, it would be so nice to get the pearls out of them." Very few mussels are found to contain the pearls; perhaps you might have to open many hundreds before you found a single pearl, and I should not like to cause the death of so many harmless animals for the sake of a single pearl.

"Here is another swan-mussel, and, just look, papa," said Jack, "some other shells are fastened on it." So there are; it is a lot of the curious and pretty little zebra-mussel. How prettily they are marked with zig-zag stripes of reddish brown, especially the young specimens. The name of mussel is better suited to these molluscs than to the large kinds upon which the "zebras" are often attached, because, like the salt water mussel you have often seen at New Brighton, they have the power of spinning, what is called, "a byssus"--here, you see, is the substance I mean--by which they fasten themselves to shells, or to stones, roots, and other things.

There flies one of those pretty little birds, the long-tailed titmouse; it is common enough, certainly, but I never fail to notice several upon the hedges and poplar trees of the "Duke's drive." There are several members of the titmouse family found in Great Britain; let me count them. First we have the great tit, then the little blue-tit, the long-tailed tit, the cole tit, the marsh, the crested and the bearded tit. How many does that make? Seven; but the crested tit is very uncommon, and the bearded tit does not occur in Shropshire. The other five are quite common and we shall, I dare say, be able to see all in the course of to-day's walk. The long-tailed tit, so called on account of the great length of the tail feathers, is a very active, lively little bird. Indeed, activity and liveliness belong to all the tit family. See how the little fellow flits from branch to branch, seldom remaining long on one spot. It is a very small bird, almost the smallest British bird we have; of course I am thinking of the tit's body and not taking into account its tail. The skin is remarkably tender, and thin as tissue paper. Like all the titmice, the long-tailed tit feeds on insects and their larvæ. I do not remember to have heard or seen this species tapping the bark of a tree with its beak, as the great and the blue tit are frequently in the habit of doing, but most probably they do the same. "What do they tap for, papa?" asked May. I suppose for the purpose of frightening the tiny insects, which lurk under the bark, from their hiding places, when they quickly snap them up with their sharply-pointed bills and devour them. "Is not this the tit which the people about here call a bottle tit, and which makes a very beautiful nest?" asked Willy. Yes, the nest is indeed a very pretty object, and one that you would never, I think, confuse with the nest of any other bird. The outside is formed of that white-coloured lichen, so pretty and so common, and moss, and if you were to put your finger, May, into the inside, which is full of the softest feathers, you would say it was as nice as your own muff. The nest is oval, with a hole at the side. I believe that sometimes two holes exist, but I have never seen two in a nest. The eggs are very small, and are white with a few lilac spots. As many as a dozen or more are sometimes found in a nest.

The little blue-tit, which has just fled across our path is a very pretty active bird and common everywhere, in lanes, woods, and gardens. The blue-tit makes its nest in a wall or a hole in a tree and lays about nine or ten pretty little spotted eggs. How often I remember, when I was a boy, to have been bitten rather sharply by this little bird into whose nest I had placed my hand; I can fancy I hear the snake-like hissing which the blue-tit utters when some rude hand invades its home. Its food consists of various kinds of insects and insect larvæ, which it finds on the bark of trees and in fruit buds. I think it does much good by destroying numbers of injurious insects, though gardeners and others destroy this bird, because they say it harms the fruit buds. Look at that little sprightly fellow, how restless he is; in what curious attitudes he puts himself on yonder branch. Hark! you hear him tapping quite distinctly. Besides insects, blue-tit does not object to make a meal of dead mice or rats. Mr. St. John tells us that a blue-tomtit once took up his abode in the drawing-room, having been first attracted there by the house flies which crawl on the window. "These he was most active in searching for and catching, inserting his little bill into every corner and crevice and detecting every fly which had escaped the brush of the housemaid." He soon became more bold and came down to pick up crumbs which the children placed for him on the table, looking up into Mr. St. John's face without the least apparent fear. Boys sometimes call the little blue-tit Billy Biter, no doubt from personal experience of the sharpness of Mr. Tit's beak. The great tit which we can see under the yew tree in our garden, almost any hour of the day, is very common in the neighbourhood, and I dare say if we look well about us during our walk we shall see some to-day.

"Oh! papa," exclaimed Willy, "there are some birds on the towing-path of the canal, about sixty yards off; they seem to be breaking something with their beaks by knocking it against the ground; just look." Yes, they are thrushes, and I can tell you what they are doing and what we shall find when we come up to the spot. We shall see several broken snail shells (_Helix_), which the thrushes find on the grassy slopes of the canal bank, and then bring up to the path in order to get at the animals inside the shells by breaking them against the hard ground and stones. There! as I told you, you see at least a dozen broken snail shells. I am sure the thrushes do a great deal of good by destroying both snails and young slugs, and it is a pity their labours are not more appreciated than they are. Lads in the village, and great grown men from the collieries, are continually hunting for the nests, eggs, or young of thrushes, and many other useful birds, which they wantonly destroy. Now we get on the Duke's Drive, and there, on a branch of a poplar tree, I see the great tit. Look at him; he is the king of the titmice, and he seems to know it. He is a restless fellow, like tits in general. Look at his black head and breast, white cheeks and greenish back. Now, by one of his hooked claws, he hangs suspended from a branch; now again he is clinging by both legs; see how busy he is, examining the leaves and bark in search for insects. But Major Tit is a bit of a tyrant sometimes and uses that sharp short straight bill of his with deadly effect upon some of his feathered companions, on whose heads he beats repeated blows till he cracks the skulls and eats the brains! The marsh-tit and the cole-tit are pretty common in this neighbourhood, we may often notice them in our walks.