The Coal-tit.
(Parus ater.)
This lively, pretty, amiable bird, also lives in the thickest parts of the fir woods, where it carries on its work of destroying the injurious insects, the number of which is enormous. It used to be thought that the Coal-Tit did harm to the young buds; but this has never been authenticated, and even if it does break one off here and there, the mischief is small indeed, in comparison with the service it performs from one year’s end to the other. Its call is shrill and clear “ziwih, ziwih, ziwih,” or “sitt, sitt”—or a long-drawn “seeb, seeb.”
This bird occurs in considerable numbers in Hungary.
The Coal-Titmouse is one of our common birds in the United Kingdom and it is said to increase yearly, although it is not yet so common as the Great and the Blue Tits. It is a very useful little bird as it feeds its young largely on green caterpillars; but it eats nuts as well as seeds—the seeds of the Scotch fir it is specially fond of.
The Marsh-Titmouse—Parus palústris—is another resident species in Great Britain, but it is, with the exception of the Crested Titmouse, the least common of our Tits. I have seen it much about our Middlesex gardens, a superficial observer can note the difference between this bird and the Coal-Tit easily because the Marsh-Tit has not the white patch on the back of the head which the Coal-Tit has. It is often seen in orchards where it does good service, but is fond of the neighbourhood of rivers and delights itself among the alder trees and pollarded willows of swampy ground.
The Coal Tit is the same size as the Crested Tit. Cheeks white—at the back of the head a white patch, the rest of the head black, so that this colour forms a broad bridle, which recalls that of the great tit. Underneath it is of a dingy white, the mantle a bluish ash-colour with a tinge of green. Wings and tail dark grey, the former having two oblique whitish stripes. The nest is built on the ground, in holes in fir trees under decaying bark, sometimes in holes in the ground—and is formed for the most part of green moss, the interior being warmly lined with hair. The clutch consists of six—sometimes even ten—eggs of a brilliant white finely speckled with rust-colour.
The Long-tailed Tit.
(Acredula caudáta.)
This is a true Tit, and never rests, but is hunting here and there, slipping in and out, in constant movement, from morning till night, now and then indulging in such gymnastic exercises on the frailest twigs, as would by comparison make the limb-dislocating mountebank look a clumsy lout. Nothing can be more charming than the society of which the Long-tailed Tit is the grand master. It comprehends the Great-Tit, the Blue-Tit, and the Coal-Tit, one or two tree runners, Spotted Woodpeckers and a Nuthatch. The whole form a brigade of workers, who rove through the woods and gardens, each one working according to the measure of its strength. They search a tree, from the bark to the point of the thin topmost twig, where the Long-Tailed one is quite at home, so light a featherweight is his body—the twig bends, but does not break, and the tail acts as its balancing pole. This society gathers at the same hour at the same place, in the late autumn, in order to seek fresh places. The note of the Long-Tailed Tit sounds like “je, je, je,” and “gey, gey, gey, gey.” It lives on injurious insects, and wherever it builds its nest in wood or garden it is a priceless treasure.
It is not rare in Hungary, and deserves to be protected.
There are various forms of the Long-tailed Titmouse in Europe; our own form is fairly common in localities which suit its mode of living. It is resident and common in Ireland, but very local in its occurrence in Scotland. These Tits often rear two broods in a season, and afterwards the whole family may be seen flitting about
together, in single file from hedgerow to hedgerow. There is a dipping motion in their flight which is pretty to watch. All these feed on insects and their larvæ.
The Long-tailed Tit is the size of the Wren; a round-headed little bird with a tiny beak, and a very long tail. The head is white, and suggests that of a grey-headed old grandfather. The fore-part of the back is black with white patches on the shoulders, the tail black, the three outer feathers being for the most part white, and graduated in length, the two middle feathers being shorter. The under part is rose colour; the tiny beak black.
The Nest of the Long-tailed Tit.
It is not only in our latitudes that the nest of the Long-tailed Tit is considered a masterpiece, but even far away south where nature works such marvels, where the little humming birds, scarcely bigger than the joint of a child’s finger,
shine in the sunlight like diamonds and rubies, and build nests no bigger than half a small hen’s egg,—even there, this nest is looked upon one of the finest specimens of bird architecture. It is the most charming, most beautiful, and warmest bird abode. Most often it is round, the twigs supporting it like the fingers of the hand, and often it stands free like a little beehive. It is beautifully roofed in with a domed top, and has at the side an opening large enough for a big bumble bee. It is constructed of the finest moss, and the softest fluff from the meadows and poplars; it is soft, and yet so strongly put together that no human workman can imitate it.
In this soft, warm nest the tiny bird lays its nine, sometimes eleven, eggs. These are white with rose-coloured spots at the thicker end. The male and female birds sit alternately on the eggs for fourteen days; and then the hard work begins—twelve babes to nourish, and with the finest food!
The industry of the Swallow is truly great, but that of the Long-tailed Tit is still greater. The Swallow seizes its booty while on the wing, and has only to open its beak; but the Tit has to go from branch to branch, working sometimes head downwards, sometimes swinging, in order to secure the tiny morsels.
Truly he who does not delight in the sight of this tiny family united by love, who is not moved when the twelve baby birds are seen sitting close pressed together on a slender bough, and the little parents come and go, with their continuous cry, bringing food and giving it in turn to the young ones—he whom such a sight does not fill with pleasure, must have a stone in his breast instead of a heart.
CHAPTER VI.
WORKERS ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
The House Sparrow.
(Passer domesticus.)
This is among birds what the street-boy is in the towns—merry, audacious, obtrusive and quarrelsome, always moving and picking up what it can. A human habitation without Sparrows is inconceivable. In the street it rummages in the tracks of the horses; in the markets, it sees when the stall-keeper is dozing, and helps itself out of her basket to anything that takes its fancy.
When the wheat ears are soft it betakes itself to the fields and fills its stomach and also feeds its young with their milky juice; when the corn is ripe he attacks it and knocks more grains out of the ears than it can possibly eat. It does the same with cherries, mulberries, and all kinds of seeds. It also breaks off young buds and the points of young shoots.
It drags the Titmice out of their nest-holes and establishes itself there. It presence is easy to recognise by the straws sticking out of the hole. The only method of preventing this is to make the entrance-hole narrower and to hang the nest-hole lower down.
It is true that when there is a great abundance of cockchafers it consumes a great quantity of these creatures; but as soon as it finds something it likes better, and is easily obtained, he leaves the destructive chafers to others. The most useful service it does is in severe snowy winters, when, in company with a large number of other Sparrows, it scours the fields and picks up the seeds of noxious weeds; besides this it feeds its young with insects. It should not be suffered to increase too much, for it does on the whole considerable mischief. The humane way of lessening its numbers, as we have before pointed out, is to pull down the nest wherever we can.
A word for our English Sparrows. E. Newman, F.Z.S., says: “A Sparrow-hawk left to himself, even by scaring the Sparrow from ripe grain, will save the wages of at least ten boys.” And the head gardener of a large garden which was protected with a network of black cotton only, said: “Nobody knows what good a Sparrow does in a garden. In fields it eats charlock, chickweed, plaintain, buttercup, knot-grass,” etc. When the hay lies in swathes in the fields it haunts them in quest of what are called “haychaffers”; craneflies, earwigs, blight, etc., are part of its prey. “They have been known,” writes Curtis of Sparrows in “Farm Insects,” “to gorge themselves with the larvæ of the May-bug till they were unable to fly.” A French writer says: “Under one Sparrow’s nest the rejected wing-cases of cockchafers were picked up; they numbered over 1,400. Thus one pair had destroyed more than 700 insects to feed one brood.” Much of the harm attributed to Sparrows is the work of a small Weevil, which is very destructive to many kitchen-garden plants. Mr. Joseph Nunn of Royston, a farmer, writing of the Sparrow during 1897, says that Sparrows do not eat more corn from the stacks than other Finches or the Buntings, and that a farmer must learn how to protect his property the same as any other tradesman.
As to its colour, we may say that its crown is grey with chestnut stripes, throat black—that is, the male bird. The throat of the female is whitish, and there are whitish lines on the head and over the eyes. Beak strong, wedge-shaped, pointed. The whole bird suggests strength. It lays five or six eggs, which are white, thickly speckled with dark marks. The nest is composed of straw, wood, tow, hair and feathers carelessly put together, still it is soft and warm. This bird breeds twice a year, sometimes three times.
The Tree Sparrow.
(Passer Montanus.)
The habits of this Sparrow vary from those of the house species in that it dwells among fields and foothills where wood and thicket alternate. It also frequents gardens, and behaves very audaciously. In hollow places in old trees it is sure to be met with. It is a bold builder, and will place its nest with us in Hungary under the Eagle’s eyrie, or the Stork’s nest. It may generally be said to be a hole-nester, and a much greater insect eater than its congener the House Sparrow.
Its manner of nesting makes it all the more dangerous to the artificial nest-holes, and we cannot guard them against this species, either by decreasing the size of the entrance or by placing the nest-holes lower; it drags the Tits out and takes possession of the hole; the only thing that can be done is to drive it away with small shot; otherwise we should harbour Tree Sparrows instead of Tits, and, although they are not as numerous as the House Sparrow the supply of them is more than enough.
The Tree Sparrow is also rarer with us in Great Britain than its ubiquitous relative. It is quite local as to habitat. Until quite recently it was unknown in Ireland. Large numbers arrive, however, in autumn along the east coast, and its settlements in Scotland are chiefly on the eastern side, up as far as Sutherland. Its nest with us will be found at times at some distance from human dwellings; in the soft rotten wood of trees often, but it builds also about farm-buildings, beneath roof-tilings and in cliffs by the sea. The eggs are more glossy than the House Sparrow’s; two and even three broods will be reared in a season. The young are fed on caterpillars and other insects, soft vegetable matter, etc., but in winter both young and old frequent farmyards, and visit the ricks; also they seek grain among horse-droppings in the streets. The illustration shows the difference in the markings of the two species of Sparrow.
This bird is smaller than the House Sparrow, and more slender. The colouring is, on the whole, the same in the male and female birds. From crown to tail it is chestnut brown, passing into ash-grey, with dark markings round the ears and on the throat. Both in colour and demeanour it is a true Sparrow. It lays five or six, occasionally seven, light-coloured speckled eggs.
The Hedge Sparrow.
(Accentor modularis.)
This is no vulgar little city arab, picking about in untidy stables, in the refuse on the streets, and among the droppings of horses. Does not its Latin name rather proclaim it one of the aristocrats of bird life. Its dress may be dull-coloured, but its form and its motions are not inelegant, despite its familiar name of “Shufflewings” and “Smokie,” in deference to its characteristic motion and its colouring. Head and nape are a bluish-grey, streaked with brown, back and wings are a reddish-brown, streaked blackish; the lower wing-coverts are tipped with clayish colour, in bar-fashion, underparts a dull white; the sides are marked with dark streaks on a pale reddish-brown ground; the bill brown, the base being of a lighter shade; the legs and feet are yellow brown. Length 5.5 inches. The slate-grey on the head and throat is not seen on the young birds, which are browner and more spotted than the adults. This is a friendly bird and very easily tamed, so that it will often bring its mate to the kitchen door for food in winter, and its song is more melodious than many of our singers. The nest is built of moss, bits of stick, roots, and dry grass, in all kinds of hedges, or roadside thickets. The eggs, four to six, greenish-blue without spots and rough in texture. Many bird-lovers refuse to call this bird by the plebian name of Sparrow, with them it is always the Hedge Accentor.
The food of this bird mainly consists of caterpillars, eggs of insects, wood-lice, earwigs, chrysalids, small seeds of weeds, house-refuse, etc.
The Skylark.
(Alauda arvensis.)
It can raise a tuft on its head at will. A long, slightly hooked claw is on the back toe. The nest is placed on the ground, more rarely among corn or meadow grass, but rather on fallow ground or clover field, among low thick growth; it assimilates so closely with its surroundings that it is difficult to discover. It usually contains five eggs, which, being of a dingy, grey-green speckled with a darker colour, also somewhat resemble the colour of the earth.
This Lark occurs most numerously in the northern regions, and as regards its habits is one of the best known and most popular of birds. It arrives in Hungary early in the spring, settles down, and does not allow any other bird to approach it, pecking them away if possible. Its little territory often occupies only a hundred paces. The different territories are contiguous, and disputes between the neighbours are perpetually going on. The combatants may constantly be seen, darting here and there with lightning speed, flying near the ground, in pursuit of one another. During the pairing and brooding-time the male bird sings unweariedly, flinging his song into the air. He rises towards the sky, with vibrating wings, higher and higher, dropping his ever-changing trilling notes,—often rising to such a height that he disappears from sight and the song dies away. Then suddenly he reappears, becomes silent, and drops like a stone to earth.
In his poem “In Winter,” Johann Arány says of the Lark:—
Who in the sun’s bright rays spreads out his wing
And bears towards heaven his song: he turns and falls,
And he is silent.”
The Lark lives partly on seeds, but its chief food is gathered from the insect world. It is almost universally considered by epicures a great delicacy, and is snared by thousands. Fortunately it exists in great numbers, but its snaring is to be deprecated.
. . . . . . . . . . .
In England larks have been very largely eaten, but happily the practice is now most strongly opposed by thoughtful people. If the consumption of Larks in our country went on as it was doing a few years ago the species would soon be extinct. Yet this singer—whom poets have delighted to honour and one—possibly because of its alert ways and its sentinel-like attitude—which Julius Cæsar chose as an emblem for one of his famous legions,—devours wireworms, grubs and various larvæ when these lie hidden in the short winter pastures, and just at the stage when the latter are most greedy of nourishment, so that the grass would suffer incredibly but for the bird’s work. A recent authority stated that it was to be deplored that not a tenth part of the Skylarks that formerly frequented the Midland pastures were there now. Unfortunately this bird is a favourite among those who are given to the caging of singing birds.
This bird is bigger and more slender than the Sparrow, and the colouring generally of the upper parts is a warm yellowish-brown. It is distinguished from its congener, the Woodlark, by its tail feathers. The two outermost feathers are white, growing darker only about the shaft. The outer web of the second feather is white. The tail feathers have dark-brown centres and tawny edges.
The Kingfisher.
(Alcedo ispida.)
The Kingfisher is the arch-enemy of the fish, and it is hardly credible that this relatively small bird, should gulp down, as it does, fish as long as your finger, in order to fill his stomach. It digests very quickly, and spits out the bones, scales, and fins. It watches, from a bough, for the little fish. Where a bush bending over the water undisturbed by the eddy forms a calm mirror,—there does this resplendent fish-poacher settle itself on an overhanging bough, to watch—motionless and with incredible tenacity—the water and the living things beneath it. If a trout or other small fish, feeling quite safe, comes to the surface, the Kingfisher drops on it like a piece of lead; it grasps its prey with its sharp beak, and, shaking the water from its plumage, flies back to its perch, gulps down its delicate morsel, and sets itself again to watch. Its colour protects the bird when diving. The underparts are much the same colour as a fallen leaf, and this arouses no suspicion in the fish—the back, on the other hand, shines like the blue shimmer of the running stream, and that often protects the bird from the circling Sparrow-hawk. If it comes to a flat shore on the side of a small stream, which offers no overhanging perching place, it settles on a stake or a clod of earth, and now and then hovers over the water, and flutters like a hawk. It is an inconstant bird. It appears, and disappears from a district, and then, perhaps after some years, presents itself again. Its flight is rapid, and it raises its cry, as it goes, “teet.”
It does harm, but is scarce in Hungary.
. . . . . . . . . . .
In Great Britain it was also becoming scarce, but of late years Bird Protection and the ever increasing number of bird-lovers has been in favour of this beautiful ornament of streams and meadows. It is, however, often shot because its feathers are of value for dressing artificial flies. Personally I could not call a bird hurtful because it seeks the food which its Creator intended it to eat, which is no more the property of man when it is taken in its natural conditions than it is that of the bird, and I confess I would rather see the brilliant blue of the Kingfisher flash up a meadow stream than the angler’s figure there with his rod.
The Kingfisher is seven and a half inches long, a short thick set bird, with short tail and straight pointed beak, which sticks out like a lath nail. The colouring of its plumage, which, in its flight, sparkles like precious gems, makes it one of the marvels of nature. Crown, neck, mantle, and rump are of an exquisite brilliant blue; a cinnamon brown stripe passes over the eye, growing lighter as it extends over the side of the neck. Eyes brown, throat white, underparts a brilliant rust-red, legs red, rather short, the toes slightly joined at the root. It nests on the banks of rivers and streams, boring in the bank, on a level just above the surface of the water a tunnel a yard long, which it enlarges at the end into a cauldron-shaped cavity. It does not build a nest here, but lays its round white eggs on rejected fish-bones. The eggs number six or seven.
The Dipper.
(Cinclus aquaticus.)
The Dipper’s habits are most interesting. The bird frequents the most picturesque streams, perching on the dry boulders, with the water gurgling and splashing about him. From this he dives and walks under the water, turns over the small pebbles and returns to his stone. This led to his being suspected of being an enemy to the fisherman. It has, however, be proved by the inspection of the contents of the stomachs of several Dippers that only insect remains and small shell-fish were eaten. The fact that he will attach himself to brooks which contain no fish at all, proves that he does not feed on these. The bird’s plumage is simply watertight, and therefore admirably adapted to a bird which can swim as well as dive.
The song of the Dipper is strong and cheery; and the lively ways of this Water-ouzel, as it often called, lend a charm to our mountain streams. With us in Hungary a thorough investigation of the life-habits of this bird, which spread over a considerable period, and involved much correspondence, has resulted in the complete vindication of this bird’s character.
Mr. Herman’s verdict on the Dipper and the Kingfisher, are the more valuable because he is the great authority, in his own country, in all that relates to pisciculture. The Dipper remains with us all the year round, especially in the Peak District in Derbyshire, and the hill-streams of North Staffordshire. It is, however, found in the British Islands, wherever there are rapid rivers or stony brooks and streams. All the Highland burns and rivers have a few pairs. In Ireland, too, it is resident in the mountainous districts, but it forsakes these often, at the approach of winter, for the mouths of tidal rivers and the salt flats of the seashore. In the valley of the Dove it remains about the stream all through the winter. The birds are clever in contriving to make so heavy a nest cling to the wall of rock or stone, where it is placed. It cocks up its short tail very much as a Wren does, and dips its head in a way, which has gained for it the quaint local name of “Betty Dowker.” As it feeds much on the larvae of the May-fly and bank-fly, and others which are destructive to the salmon spawning beds, it must be of good service to the fisher. The young birds are able to swim as soon as they leave the nest, and to chase the water insects, using both legs and wings in pursuit. The wings serve as oars. The song of the bird is begun in autumn, and it will often be heard all through the winter, but always in early spring, and fully fledged young have been found by the twenty-first of March.
This is a thick-set but charming bird a little over six inches in length. Head and nape are umber-brown, tail and wing-feathers dark brown; chin, throat, and upper breast white, passing off into chestnut-brown, dark-grey and black on the belly; bill brownish-black, legs and feet brown; upper parts mottled with dark grey and brown. The beak is awl-shaped, and the sharp toes on the strong feet are long and well divided. The nest is generally placed close to a running stream, preferably near to, and even behind some little waterfall. It is a large oval ball of leaves, grass, and moss, lined with dry grass and dead leaves. The entrance is low down in the side. From four to six eggs are laid, which are glossy white at first, but become dull as the bird sits. Two broods are reared in a season.
The Thrush.
(Turdus musicus.)
This bird is the same size as a Blackbird. The upper side is olive-brown; throat and under parts whitish; breast rusty-yellow with dark heart-shaped spots and flecks. A light eye-brow stripe runs over the eye. The under side of the wing is rusty-yellow; beak and legs brownish-yellow. Its nest is very remarkable. It builds by preference in trees with dense foliage, at a medium height, and employs stalks, grass, and small twigs well woven together, the crevices being filled with moss. There is nothing remarkable in this, for there are many better woven nests; but the cup of the nest is a work of art. It is wide, and deep, having inside a strong layer finely cemented and smoothed, about the thickness of the back of a table knife. This is composed of pulverised atoms of decayed wood, which the Thrush mixes with its sticky saliva, and kneads into a paste, with its beak. It lays five or six eggs of a vitriol-green colour, with very fine spots.
The Thrush is a fine strong bird, and moves firmly and skilfully among the branches. When on the ground it holds its head and beak well up; always alert. When it sees its prey it springs on it at once with lowered head, seizes it and tears it to pieces with its beak. On mossy grounds it is very skilful in turning over tufts of moss, in order to reach the insects which crawl about underneath. It also catches grasshoppers, and in the late summer and autumn attacks the wild berries.
It has many enemies. The Jay is the worst plunderer of its nest; but it has recently been ascertained that the Squirrel also sucks the eggs.
Its song is beautiful, flooding the woods far and near, with its rich fluty tones. It sings from the highest branches of trees, sitting quietly meanwhile, as if itself steeped in the dreamy rapture of its own performance.
The Song Thrush in Scotland is called the Mavis. This is strange as it is the Redwing which is known in France under the name of Mauvis. The song of the Blackbird is often confused with that of the Thrush; yet that of the latter is a very distinctive one, because in the middle of a strain of song there is the repetition of its three chief notes. You will seem to hear it saying “Pretty dear, pretty dear,” or “Wait a bit, wait a bit.”
We must own that the Thrush is a very active thief, although it does feed much on insects, worms, and snails. It is absolutely necessary to protect one’s fruit against this depredator.
Shakespeare speaks of the “throstle with his note so true,” and Clare wrote
And get by heart some two ’r three notes
Of their intended summer song.”
But Browning still more finely enters into the spirit of this bird’s song:—
Lest you should think he never can recapture
The first, fine, careless rapture!”
The Blackbird.
(Turdus merula.)
This is a lively, cheery bird, an ornament to the thickets and clearings of the woods. Just before the evening twilight, in company with others of the Thrush family, it seeks the clearings and openings of the woods, and delights the eye of the beholder, by its hopping here and there, its darting and hunting—busily dragging worms out of the ground and attacking all the mischievous Chafer family. Then it flies on to the summit of a bush or an over-spreading bough, and its powerful, pure flute-like song resounds through the wood, and makes the listener forget all else. In autumn it eats the berries, sometimes fruit; but being very timid it is easily driven off. It is a useful bird and a pleasure to eye and ear.
This is the bird which is so often taken from the nest and reared. The male bird fetches a good price in Hungary, for it learns to whistle tunes—even from street-organs. Because it learns so easily, it sometimes happens, that in the middle of a beautiful tune which it has been taught, some most excruciating sound is heard, reminiscent of an ungreased cart-wheel. In Germany the Blackbird has become a town-bird; and people spread dried ant-eggs, chopped meat, and maggots, and make a nest for it near their vine-covered windows. It stays there also during the winter.
And what about the East? Why are children ever brought up in such a way that they seize a stone directly they see a Blackbird?
In February our English Blackbird will be thinking of mating. We are all familiar with the usual nesting-site which is chosen—evergreen, thick bushes, and hedgerows—but it has been known to build successfully and to lay its eggs, in the heart of what is known as the thousand-headed cabbage. The young of the early broods sometimes help the parents to feed the young of the second brood of the season.
The Blackbird is commoner in the South than the Thrush, and is as a rule more popular with the country people than the latter bird. Gardeners look upon it as a terrible thief, but the good it does in feeding on moths, beetles, other insects and larvæ, caterpillars, cockchafer grubs, quite counterbalances the harm it does in taking fruit. A well-known Zoologist says, “Short-sighted agriculturists kill the Blackbirds that, at the rate of sixty an hour, destroy their worst foes, or working as they do from early dawn to dusk six hundred in the course of a single day, which, given ten Blackbirds, raises the total of vermin put out of the way to six thousand per diem, against which a few dozens of strawberries should count as the dust in the balance. But the horticulturist sees the Blackbirds pick a raspberry now and again, and he does not see the same bird kill a dozen or two of grubs or snails for each morsel of fruit he may help himself to.” Another, a Fruit-grower, says that during one hard winter when some of his fruit trees were killed, and in some places the Thrush tribe were all but annihilated, snails were a scourge in the following summer, and gooseberry bushes were stripped by caterpillars innumerable. This is the testimony of the late Joseph Witherspoon, a well-known fruit grower. He goes on to say, “When gardens are surrounded by woods, it is only by a liberal use of nets that any reasonable portion of fruit can be saved, as swarms of Blackbirds and Thrushes will eat every fruit as it ripens. I provide nesting-places, and thus have my birds so near my caterpillars, and so far from house morsels that they eat the pest greedily; but fruit crops being thereby secured, we must next draw on our ingenuity to prevent the birds taking more than their fair tithe.”
In winter Blackbirds feed principally on snails, the shells of which they break by raising them in the bill and dashing them against a hard stone, just as Thrushes do. But for these birds, we should be quite unable to save our gardens from the wholesale ravages of those enemies to plant life.
The Blackbird, of course, belongs to the Thrush family, and its relatives the Fieldfare, the Redwing, and the Mistle Thrush all have the same habits of feeding. They all devour snails, slugs, worms, and insects, and in the autumn take wild berries. The Fieldfares are only with us in winter, and they seek their food over the fields and pasture lands in mild weather, and eat the berries when frost comes, and snow covers the ground. The Redwing is a delicate bird, and often comes to grief in our country during a hard winter. The Mistle Thrush is with us all the year, and its food consists, not of mistletoe as used to be supposed, but of the berries of the yew, holly, mountain ash, hawthorn, etc., worms, snails, and insects, and, it must be confessed, of a little fruit occasionally.
The male bird is pure black, the eyes bordered with a fine golden yellow. The beak is also of this colour. Legs blackish. The female is dark-brown, chin whitish, breast a shabby brown with dark spots, beak and legs brown. The male does not attain his brilliant blackness until his third year. It builds its nest in bushes and thick foliage, where it is well hidden. It is composed chiefly of moss, fine twigs, and tufts of hair; and is strong and durable. The clutch consists of four to six eggs of pale green, speckled with pale rust-red and violet.
The Oriole.
(Oriolus galbula.)
This bird is noisy in the spring and the early summer, its voice, which is full and deep like the note of the reed-pipe, fills the edge of the woods and the great gardens. “Next to the call of the Cuckoo, the flute-like note of the Oriole most enlivens the early summer woods and so contributes to the perfect harmony of a sunny spring-tide day; ‘deelee-adid-leen,’ or ‘ditleo, deega, ditleeo’ it sounds, always clear and joyous out of the bushy treetops.” In Hungary, it endeavours to lure away boys from too close proximity to the nest, by the cry, “kell-cy dió, fiu?” which means “Boys do you want some nuts?”
Except at the fruit season, the Oriole is a very useful bird, and there is no kind of caterpillar that it will not pick up. In seasons when there are a great many cockchafers, it carries on a perfect war of extermination on these unhappy creatures. It is unfortunately true, however, that when the summer fruit is ripe—it departs for warmer regions before autumn—it troubles itself little about chafers, but turns its attention to cherries, apricots, morellas, and early pears. Still the good it does in destroying insects, is much greater than the harm it does otherwise, and therefore we will be indulgent to it. Besides, its lovely colour is a delight to the eye.
This Oriole comes annually to Cornwall and the Scilly Isles, but can only be called a visitor to our country, although nests have been found occasionally in some counties, especially in Kent. It is not unfrequently noticed in the Southern and Eastern counties of England.
Unfortunately collectors cannot resist adding this beautifully plumaged bird to their lists. I have watched it myself in Southern Germany and Hungary. It is not at all shy, and one of the most beautiful things in bird-life I have ever seen was a number of Orioles flitting from tree to tree in an orchard situated amongst vineyards on the hilly banks of the Danube in Baranya. The black on the wing-coverts and tail-feathers is in striking contrast with the golden-yellow of the greater part of the plumage. The male has a very flute-like call, hence its French name of Loriot. The female is a devoted mother. Where these birds have been protected on private estates in our country they have reared broods successfully; it would surely add to the beauty of our rural landscapes, if they were encouraged and protected.
The Oriole is rather larger than the Thrush. The male is a beautiful golden-yellow; wings and tail black except the end of the tail which is yellow. A black stripe passes across the eyes from the base of the beak; the beak is a reddish flesh colour, the eye blood-red. In the female and the young, all the parts which in the male are golden-yellow are greenish, the underparts a greyish-white with darker stripes. The nest is quite a work of art. It is always placed in the base of a fork of a branch, and is fastened to the bough with fine root fibre and bast; it is lined with any fine soft material, even cob-webs are sometimes found in it. The clutch usually consists of five eggs, which are white with a few very prominent dark specks. It also nests in gardens.
The Robin.
(Eríthacus rubécula.)
The Robin is one of the cleverest courtiers. It alights on the ground, alternately appears and vanishes for a few moments, then suddenly stands still, makes a low bow, droops its wings, raises its tail, then looks up at one with shining eyes, full of confidence, as if to say: “I trust you.” It hunts beetles with great energy, and does not even recoil before the slug, still less before a small earthworm, which the lordly hedge-sparrow would not touch for all the world.
Sometimes it flies on to a high branch, keeping quite still, except that now and then it makes a bow and raises its tail; then all at once it flies to the ground, pounces on the awaited booty, returns to its bough and devours its prey. Its song is beautiful, exquisite, rivalling, but not excelling, that of the Lark. The bird sits quietly and sings, and is in no hurry to cease. Its cry is a light piercing “see.”
It is a bird which may be said to become tame almost immediately when caught. It likes to move at liberty about a room. Poor people with us like to keep it, for it catches the flies in the room, the spiders in the corners or even on the bed; or any other moving thing. This bonny bird deserves every protection.
The ways of the “cheery little Ruddock,” as Shakespeare calls him, are so well known that it is not necessary