Chapter 4

This sonnet was written in 1807, and when we consider the immense numbers used in medicine, and the utter neglect of leech culture in this country, we shall cease to wonder that native leeches are very scarce. It is said that four only of the principal dealers in London import every year more than seven million leeches. The annual demand in France was estimated in 1846 to be from twenty to thirty millions; Paris requiring three millions a year. "I should be very sorry, papa," said Jack, "to walk about like the old man in the lines you quoted just now, with bare legs in the water, making them a bait for leeches. Ugh! it is horrible to think of; they must suck a good deal of blood from the man's legs." There is nothing like being used to a thing, and when you remember that many people derive their whole support from the leeches they gather, you will not wonder that they do not fear a few leech bites. I do not suppose they lose much blood; no doubt the gatherers pick them up pretty quickly and put them into their collecting cases; besides the chief flow of blood from a leech-bite occurs after the leech has been removed; the flow is encouraged by the application of warm fomentations, but the cold water of a pool would stop the flow of blood in the case of the man's legs. We ought to be thankful for the existence of an animal which is of such immense service to mankind. I suppose it was the appreciation of their value in medicine that induced French ladies, about forty-five years ago, to regard leeches with especial favour. Many people remember the Cochin-China _mania_ and the sea-anemone _mania_, but, May, what will young ladies say to the fact that in 1824 there existed in France a _mania_ for leeches? The most enthusiastic admirer of Cochin fowls or sea-anemones would never have thought of carrying her admiration of her pets so high as to wear on her dress figures of these animals; but we learn from a French writer that there might have been seen at that period elegant ladies wearing dresses _à la Broussais_ on the trimming of which were imitations of leeches! Broussais, you must know, was a physician, no doubt a fashionable ladies' doctor, and a great patron of leeches. "What," asked Willy, "are the leeches I often find in the drains on the moors and in other places?" I have no doubt you often find these kinds; there is a small leech, the commonest of all, called _Nephelis_, whose little oval cocoons are so frequent on the under sides of stones in the water and on water plants. I will soon find a few cocoons; look here, under this bit of brick tile are five or six; they now contain eggs, as I will show you, by slitting open the case with my penknife. These gradually change to young leeches, which find their way out of the cocoon through one or other of the two openings at either end. Then there is the horse leech, and another very similar to it, called _Aulastoma_, which means having "a mouth as wide as a hall;" it has no English name, but we may give it one if you like, and call it "the hall-mouthed leech." Its mouth is capable of great stretching, and can readily take in huge earthworms nearly the size of itself. I once witnessed a curious sight--I put a couple of "hall-mouths" into a glass vessel of water, and introduced also a great fat lob-worm; each leech seized the worm, the one took the head, the other the tail. As the worm got gradually swallowed the two leeches came to very close quarters, and at last touched. What was to happen? would they twist and writhe about and break the worm, and so share the "grub" between them? No; the one fellow quickly proceeded to swallow his antagonist. I watched him carefully, and he succeeded in getting down the red lane about an inch of his companion; but whether he did not like the taste, or whether he had qualms of conscience for taking such unfair advantage of a near relation, I know not; after a few minutes the partly swallowed leech made his appearance again, apparently none the worse for his temporary sojourn in the throat of his companion. This leech may be seen sometimes on damp earth in search of its favorite earthworms. I should mention also that another worm-devouring leech has lately been found in this country; it is known by the name of _Trocheta_, called after a French naturalist, Du Trochet, who first described it. I dare say if we look carefully we shall find it in this neighbourhood. All these leeches lay cocoons in which the young are developed. Let us leave the pool and take our little fish with us, taking care not to shake the can more than we can help. We are now in the fields; the grass is beautifully green after the late rain. Look at that crab tree in the hedge; did you ever see such a magnificent mass of blossom? The hawthorn hedges are loaded with May-buds; what a show of May there will be in a fortnight's time. Let us gather a sprig of crab blossom and a few bits of May-bud, and see if we cannot gather a pretty handful of wild flowers for May to take home to mamma. Here are a few cowslips with their drooping golden bells and delicious scent; I am afraid we shall not find enough to make a cowslip ball. Here is cuckoo-flower, which, as old Gerarde says, "doth flower in April and Maie, when the cuckoo doth begin her pleasant notes without stammering." Old Gerarde, by the way, ought to have said "_his_ pleasant notes," for it is the male bird alone that cries "cuckoo." Its flowers are of a delicate pale purple when at the height of its beauty; they become nearly white when on the wane. "Ladies' smock" is another name for this harbinger of Spring; Shakespeare speaks of it--

"The daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver white."

Here is blue speedwell and the delicately pencilled stitchwort with its pure snow-white blossoms and delicate green leaves. It is a lovely Spring flower and very common amongst the grass of every hedgerow. We will pluck a few bits; how brittle the stem is. What curious ideas our ancestors must have had; fancy calling this plant "all-bones!" Its name, stitchwort, no doubt alludes to the plant's supposed virtue in cases of "stitches" in the side. The following lines of Calder Campbell on Spring flowers I am sure you will think very pretty:

"The buds are green on the Linden tree, And flowers are bursting on the lea; There is the daisy, so prim and white, With its golden eye and its fringes bright; And here is the golden buttercup, Like a miser's chest with the gold heap'd up; And the stitchwort with its pearly star, Seen on the hedgebank from afar; And there is the primrose, sweet, though wan, And the cowslip dear to the ortolan, That sucks its morning draught of dew From the drooping curls of the harebell blue."

Here is more "May-flower" or marsh marigold; let us take some; it will make a bright show in our wildflower cluster. We will put a sprig or two of copper beech, with its rich brown leaves, which we can get from the garden, two bits of lilac, purple and white; and though the nosegay is common, it is still very beautiful, and mamma will put it in her best vase and give it a place in the drawing-room for those to admire who have hearts to admire the wild gifts of Nature.

Why, Jacko, what are you grubbing up in that ditch? "I am not grubbing up anything," said Jacko, "but here are a lot of black creatures, lively enough when you stir them up; I suppose they must be tadpoles." Tadpoles, Jack, unquestionably, but are they the young of the toad or the frog? Let me see. Well, it is not easy to say which in their present stage, a tadpole is so like a tadpole, whether the young of frog or toad. If you had found the eggs, which you might have done earlier in the year, there would have been no difficulty in saying whether they belonged to a toad or a frog; for the toad lays its black eggs imbedded in a long clear jelly-like line, whereas the frog's eggs are imbedded in a shapeless mass of jelly. Look at some of these little black fellows, as black as niggers; there is a delicate fringe on each side of the head; these are the creature's gills and answer the same purpose as the gills in a fish; the blood circulates through them, and is made fresh and pure by the action of the air contained in the water. In this state the tadpole is more of a fish than a reptile; in a short time, however, these gills will be lost and then the tadpole can no longer breathe the air of the water, but must come to the surface to take in air from the atmosphere. By-and-by we should see two small tubercles appear near the root of the tail; these are the first indications of hind-legs. Meanwhile the forelegs are budding forth, and in time would assume their distinct forms. The changes of the tadpole, when it is a fish, to a frog, when it becomes a reptile, are most curious and instructive. If you have never seen the circulation of blood in a tadpole's tail, you have something to look forward to, and I will promise to show it you some day under the microscope. "What kind of frog," Willy asked, "do they eat in France? because you know the French eat frogs." The frog which the French eat is a different species from our common frog, though I dare say our common frog would be quite as good. The edible frog has been several times found in this country, and Mr. Eyton says that during the time a detachment of the French were prisoners at Wellington, they were highly delighted to find their old friend the edible frog in the wild moors here. I have never myself seen any other than the common frog in this neighbourhood. You may think a frog would make a curious sort of pet, but a gentleman once kept a frog for several years quite domesticated. It made its appearance in an underground kitchen at Kingston on the banks of the Thames. The servants, wonderful to say, showed him kindness and gave him food; one would rather have expected that they would have uttered loud shrieks of terror and fainted away at the unexpected sight. Curiously enough, during the winter seasons, when frogs as a rule are lying asleep at the bottom of a pool, this frog used to come out of his hole and seek a snug place near the kitchen fire, where he would continue to bask and enjoy himself till the servants retired to rest. And more curious still, this frog got remarkably fond of a favourite old cat, and used to nestle under the warm fur of Mrs. Pussy, she in the mean time showing she did not in the least object to Mr. Frog's presence.

Both frogs and toads do a great deal of good by destroying quantities of slugs and injurious insects; they are, moreover, perfectly harmless. Some ignorant people, who love to destroy everything, insist on killing frogs and toads; they say they eat the strawberries in their gardens. Did you ever examine a frog's or a toad's tongue, Willy? You never did; then I hope the next frog you catch you will carefully open his mouth--treat him as if you loved him, as honest Isaac Walton says--and give me some short account of the structure of a frog's tongue. "All right, papa," said Willy, "I will bear the matter in mind. It makes me laugh, though, to think of my examining a frog's tongue; still I wonder what it is like, and I wish I could at once catch a frog to see; but we are now again near home, and I must wait for another walk."

WALK IV.

MAY.

"Papa," said Willy, "you once told me of a very beautiful little creature, almost too small to be seen by the naked eye, that lives in water, and builds its house out of the small particles of clay or mud that float therein. The bricks are not of the shape of house bricks, but quite round. Do you not think we can find some of these animals in the course of to-day's walk? I forget the name of the creature." I know what you mean; you are speaking of a microscopic animal called _Melicerta_. "Oh, yes, that is its name, now I remember." I have no doubt we shall be able to obtain specimens from the canal; so we will walk along the bank for a short distance and then get into the fields again. We must take with us a clear wide-mouthed bottle, and we shall soon see whether we have captured any specimens. These exquisite little creatures attach themselves to the leaves and stems of water-plants; they are most readily seen on the finely cut leaves of the water-buttercup or spiked milfoil. The way to proceed is to place a tuft of this plant in the bottle and to hold it up to the light, and we shall soon see whether any Melicertæ are there.

Here is plenty of water-buttercup--a very interesting plant by-the-bye, and one which is subject to much variation; for when it grows in swiftly flowing water all the leaves are very long and hair-like, but in still water there are flattened leaves as well, and the hair-like leaves are not nearly so long. You see it is now in flower; a beautiful white mass it forms in small still ponds. "Well, but, papa," said May, "the flowers are white, and I thought all buttercups were yellow." Nearly all the buttercups have yellow flowers, but there are two British species which have white blossoms, namely, this one and the little ivy-leaved buttercup, or crowfoot, as it is often called, which is found either in the water or near the water's edge. Though the ivy-leaved crowfoot is generally regarded as a species, I think it is only a variety of the one we are now looking at. Now I fish a plant out with my stick and nip off a tuft of hair-like leaves and pop it into the bottle. Have I anything here? No doubt the microscope would show countless numbers of minute animalcules, but I detect no Melicertæ. Let us try again. I nip off another tuft. There! do you see one, two, three, four little things sticking almost at right angles to some of the leaves? No, you see nothing? Well, perhaps not, for your eyes are not so accustomed to these things as mine are, but I will take out my pocket lens; there, surely you see that one close to the side of the bottle, do you not? Oh yes, you see what I mean; well, that is the case or house of a Melicerta, which animal I will describe to you, and when we get home we will look at it under the microscope. The case is about the twelfth part of an inch long and about the thickness of a horsehair, and of a reddish colour generally, though the colour depends on the nature of the material out of which the case is made. Let us sit down and put the bottle on this large stone, and I dare say some of the creatures will soon show their heads at the top of the tubes, for they are all indoors now; the disturbance caused in breaking off the bit of weed and putting it in the bottle has alarmed the Melicertæ, and very quickly they sunk within their houses of clay.

Now I see one fellow slowly appearing at the top, after the manner of a chimney-sweeper, but certainly in a much more elegant form. There! it has unfolded four flower-like expansions, of which the uppermost are much the largest. The animal shows only the upper part of its body, and I can see with my pocket lens that it is somewhat transparent and whitish. But my lens has not sufficient magnifying power to reveal more, so I must tell you what I have seen of Melicerta under my compound microscope. Each of these four leaf-like lobes or expansions is surrounded with very minute hairs, which can move with great rapidity in all directions; these you will remember are called "cilia," from the resemblance to _eyelashes_, for which cilia is the Latin word. The motion caused by these numerous cilia lashing the water brings currents containing particles of food for the Melicerta, and materials for his house. Mr. Melicerta "is at once brick-maker, mason, and architect, and fabricates as pretty a tower as it is easy to conceive." The mouth is situated between the two large leaflets, and leads to a narrow throat, in which are the curious jaws and teeth of the animal. Below the jaws are the stomach and intestine; so you see the Melicerta, though so minute a creature, has a complex structure. "You said, papa," remarked May, "that the little creature makes its own tube; how does it do that?" Upon the upper part of the head there is a small hollow cup, which is lined with cilia, and probably also secretes some sticky fluid to make the pellets of clay adhere together; the particles of clay and mud, having been brought to the space between the leaflets by the action of the cilia, are conveyed to this little cup-shaped cavity, and are then worked about by the cilia within, till a round pellet is formed which completely fits the cavity. The little creature then bends itself down upon the tube and deposits the pellet upon it, then it raises itself up again and proceeds to form another brick, its jaws working all the time. "I wonder," said Jack, "how the little creature manages to set apart and put in its proper place the particles required for food and those required for brick-making; it would be funny if it sometimes made a mistake and put the clay in its stomach and the food in the brick machine!" It is curious, indeed, to know how the materials are put in the proper place; I suppose the Melicerta has the power to change the direction of the currents and thus to place the particles in their proper place. By rubbing a little paint, such as carmine or indigo, in some water and placing a drop upon the glass slide with the Melicerta, these currents may be readily seen; and I have more than once seen rows of coloured bricks, red or blue, which the animal moulded and then deposited on the tube! We will take the bottle home, and if you have patience I doubt not I shall be able to show you a good deal of what I have been describing; but you must have patience, for, as an excellent naturalist has said, "The Melicerta is an awkward object to undertake to show to our friends, for, as they knock at the door, she is apt to turn sulky, and when once in this mood it is impossible to say when her fair form will reappear. At times the head is wagged about in all directions with considerable vehemence, playing singular antics, and distorting her lobes so as to exhibit a Punch and Judy profile."[B]

Hark! what is that bird singing so sweetly and with such animation in the hedge? Do you hear? It is the dear little sedge-warbler; often, indeed, heard, but not so often seen, for it is fond of hiding itself in bushes or sedges. The sedge-warbler, like the migratory warblers generally, comes to us in April and leaves us in September. How often have I listened with delight to its music when returning home quite late at night in summer months! If the bird stops its music for a few moments, you have only to throw a stone among the bushes and the singing commences again. I am not clever in describing musical sounds, and I cannot describe that of the sedge-warbler, nor can I always distinguish it from the song of its near relative the reed-warbler. Both imitate the songs of other birds, and their incessant warblings and babblings at night cause them to be often mistaken for nightingales. I have generally found the nest of the sedge-warbler on the ground, on a tuft of coarse grass or sedge; the nest of the reed-warbler is supported on four or five tall reeds, and is made of the seed-branches of the reeds and long grass wound round and round; it is made deep, so that the little eggs are not tossed out when the reeds are shaken by the high winds.

Hark! there is the cuckoo; how clearly he utters "cuckoo! cuckoo!" He is not far away. Some people can imitate the well-known note so well as to deceive the bird and bring it near the place where they are hiding. Your Uncle Philip only the other day made a cuckoo respond to him; had the day been calm instead of windy, he would, no doubt, have induced the bird to come close to us. There he goes with his long tail, flying something like a hawk. You should remember the rhyming lines about the cuckoo's visit to this country:

In April, Come he will. In May, He sings all day. In June, He alters his tune. In July, He prepares to fly. Come August, Go he must.

"I think you said, papa," said May, "that it is only the male bird that utters the cuckoo note; what kind of a voice has the female?" I have never heard the note of the female cuckoo. Mr. Jenyns says, "The note of the female cuckoo is so unlike that of the male, which is familiar to every one, that persons are sometimes with difficulty persuaded that it proceeds from that bird. It is a kind of chattering cry, consisting of a few notes uttered fast in succession, but remarkably clear and liquid." Very curious are the habits of the cuckoo. Unlike most other birds, they do not pair; you all know, too, that cuckoos make no nests, but lay their eggs one by one in the nests of various other birds, such as those of the hedge-warbler, or hedge-sparrow as it is generally but wrongly called, robin, white-throat, and other birds. It is probable that the same cuckoo does not go twice to the same nest to deposit her egg. What a curious exception is the case of the cuckoo to the instinctive love of their offspring observable in almost all birds! After the eggs are laid the parent bird has no further trouble with them; no period of incubation to bare the breast of the brooding bird; no anxiety about her young ones, as some idle, wanton lad hunts amongst the trees and bushes, destroys both nest and eggs, or tortures the helpless fledglings! "But, papa," said Willy, "how does it happen that the young birds hatched in the same nest with the young cuckoo always get turned out of it." The cuckoo, being much the larger and heavier bird, fills up the greater part of the nest, consequently the smaller fledgling companions get placed on the sides of the nest, and partially also on the back of the young cuckoo; when, therefore, the latter stands up in the nest he often lifts up on his back one of the small companions, who thus gets thrown headlong to the ground. This seems to me to be the mode in which the ejection sometimes takes place, till at last the young cuckoo is left sole possessor of the nest, and of course gets all the food; at the same time I ought to say that some naturalists attribute a murderous disposition to the young cuckoo, and say that the other inmates of the nest are maliciously thrown out. Others, again, say that the foster birds throw their own young ones out. It is certain that the young are sometimes treated thus, for they have been seen on the ground when the young cuckoo was too small to eject them itself.