The Ornithology of Shakespeare / Critically examined, explained and illustrated

Kingfisher and Swallows
CHAPTER IX.
VARIOUS BIRDS NOT INCLUDED IN THE FOREGOING CHAPTERS.

NOTWITHSTANDING the comprehensive titles of the preceding chapters, there are several birds mentioned by Shakespeare which cannot, with propriety, be included in any of them. We have, therefore, deemed it advisable to notice them separately under the above heading.

Naturalists have frequently remarked upon the propensity which some birds have to become restless and noisy before rain. Familiar examples are, the Peacock; the Green Woodpecker, which, on this account, in some parts of the country, is called “rain-bird;” the Golden Plover, whose Latin and French name, Pluvialis and Pluvier, have reference to the same peculiarity; and the Woodcock, which, as Gilbert White says, has been observed “to be remarkably listless against snowy, foul weather.” Shakespeare has noticed this peculiarity in the Parrot:—

“More clamorous than a parrot against rain.”—As You Like It, Act iv. Sc. 1.

It is not quite clear when parrots were first introduced as cage birds, but their attractive colours, and aptitude for learning tricks and words, no doubt brought them into notice at an early period. Shakespeare knew that to ensure success in teaching a parrot, the bird must be rewarded:—

“The parrot will not do more for an almond.”—Troilus and Cressida, Act v. Sc. 2.

To talk “like a parrot,” that is, without reason, is proverbial. Lieutenant Cassio thus upbraids himself after a drunken squabble:—

“I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so discreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear and discourse fustian with one’s own shadow? Oh, thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!”—Othello, Act ii. Sc. 3.

In a witty scene between Beatrice and Benedick, in Much Ado about Nothing, the former is likened by the latter to “a parrot-teacher,” from her great talkative powers:—

“Bened. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love now.

Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.

Bened. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such a face as yours were.

Bened. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.160

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

Bened. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer: but keep your way, o’ God’s name! I have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.”

[Whereupon Don Pedro steps in and puts an end to this bantering.]

Much Ado about Nothing, Act i. Sc. 1.

The “Popinjay” (Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3) apparently is only another name for parrot.

In the Glossary to Chaucer’s Works we find the word thus explained:—“Popingay, a parrot; Papegaut, Fr.; Papegaey, Belg.; Papagallo, Ital.”

In the Privy Purse expenses of King Henry VIII. the following entry occurs under date November, 1532:—

The practice of turning to advantage the capability which certain birds possess for learning to utter words must be of some antiquity, for Pliny alludes to the starlings which were trained for the amusement of the young Cæsars, as being capable of uttering both Latin and Greek.

Shakespeare thus refers to the starling’s talking powers:—

It is stated that when M. Girardin visited his friend M. Thirel in Paris, he was agreeably astonished at hearing a starling articulate a dozen consecutive sentences with the same precision as if they had been spoken by some person in the next room; and when the bell rang for mass, the same bird called to its mistress, by name, “Mademoiselle, entendez-vous la messe que l’on sonne? Prenez votre livre et revenez vite, donner à manger a votre polisson.” If this statement can be depended upon, M. Girardin might well have been astonished.

It was formerly believed that during the time the Halcyon or Kingfisher was engaged in hatching her eggs, the water, in kindness to her, remained so smooth and calm, that the mariner might venture on the sea with the happy certainty of not being exposed to storms or tempests; this period was therefore called, by Pliny and Aristotle, “the halcyon days.”

It was also supposed that the dead bird, carefully balanced and suspended by a single thread, would always turn its beak towards that point of the compass from which the wind blew.

Kent, in King Lear (Act II. Sc. 2), speaks of rogues who—

And, after Shakespeare, Marlowe, in his Jew of Malta, says,—

For brightness and beauty of plumage, the kingfisher has no equal amongst our British birds, and so straight and rapid withal is its line of flight, that when the sunlight falls upon its bright blue back, it seems as if an azure bolt from a crossbow had been suddenly shot across our path.

It is difficult to calculate or limit the speed which can be produced by the effort of a wing’s vibration. We may, nevertheless, ascertain with tolerable accuracy the rate of a bird’s flight, as follows:—If we note the number of seconds which are occupied by a bird in passing between two fixed points in its line of flight, and measure the distance between these points, we resolve the question to a simple “rule-of-three” sum; inasmuch as, knowing the number of yards flown in a certain number of seconds, we can ascertain the distance traversed in 3,600 seconds, or an hour, and thus obtain the rate of speed per hour; supposing, of course, the speed to be uniform. In this way the flight of the common Swallow (Hirundo rustica) has been computed at ninety miles,—

while that of the swift has been conjectured to be nearly one hundred and eighty miles per hour.

Those who have watched the swallows upon a dull day, skimming low along the ground, and seeming almost to touch it, although flying with speed as undiminished as if high in air, will readily see the aptness of the simile:—

“The swallow follows not summer more willingly than we your lordship, nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men.”—Timon of Athens, Act iii. Sc. 6.

The swallow, although one of the earliest, is not always the first of our spring ornaments to appear. There are—

A near relative of this bird is the Martin, or, as it is called in the language of heraldry, the “Martlet” (Hirundo urbica).

Sir Joshua Reynolds was struck with the beauty of this brief colloquy before the castle of Macbeth, and he observes on it:—“This short dialogue between Duncan and Banquo, while they are approaching the gates of Macbeth’s castle, has always appeared to me a striking instance of what, in painting, is termed ‘repose.’ Their conversation very naturally turns upon the beauties of its situation, and the pleasantness of the air; and Banquo, observing the martlets’ nests in every recess of the cornice, remarks that where these birds most breed and haunt, the air is delicate. The subject of this quiet and easy conversation gives that repose so necessary to the mind after the tumultuous bustle of the preceding scenes, and perfectly contrasts the scene of horror that immediately succeeds.”

The bird is mentioned again in the Merchant of Venice, where we are reminded that—

Old authors tell us that when the young swallows are hatched, they are blind for some time, and that the parent birds bring to the nest a plant called Chelidonium, or Swallow’s herb, which has the property of restoring sight. This popular fallacy appears to be widely disseminated. The plant is the well-known Celandine (Chelidonium majus). It belongs to the Papaveraceæ, or poppies, and may be found growing in waste places to the height of two feet or more. It is brittle, slightly hairy, and full of a yellow, fœtid juice, and bears small yellow flowers in long-stalked umbels.

The name Chelidonium is derived no doubt from the Greek χελιδων, a swallow: but the reason for its being thus named is not so obvious. Some authors assert that it was so called on account of its flowering about the time of the arrival of the swallow, while others maintain that it derived its appellation from being the plant medicinally made use of by that bird.

The belief that animals and birds possess a knowledge of certain plants which will cure a disease, or benefit them in some way, is very ancient, and this particular plant is alluded to by old authors as being especially selected for the purpose. Pliny observes (Hist. Nat. fol. 1530, p. 461, xv.): “Animalia quoque invenire herbas, inprimisque chelidoniam. Hac enim hirundines oculis pullorum in nido restituunt visum, ut quidam volunt, etiam erutis oculis.” (!) And the same author further remarks: “Chelidoniam visui saluberrimam hirundines monstravere vexatis pullorum oculis ilia medentes.”

Gerard, referring to this plant, in his “Herball, or Generall Historie of Plantes” (1597), observes:—“It is called celandine, not because it then first springeth at the comming in of the swallowes, or dieth when they goe away; for as we haue saide, it may be founde all the yeere; but because some hold opinion that with this herbe the dams restore sight to their yoong ones when their eies be out, the which things are vaine and false: for Cornelius Celsus in his sixt booke doth witnesse that when the sight of the eies of diuers yoong birdes be put foorth by some outward meanes, it will after a time be restored of itselfe, and soonest of all the sight of the swallow, whereupon, (as the same saith) that the tale or fable grew, how, thorow an herbe the dams restore that thing, which healeth of itselfe: the very same doth Aristotle alleadge in the sixt booke of the historie of liuing creatures: the eies of young swallowes, saith he, that are not fledge, if a man do pricke them out, do grow againe, and afterwards do perfectly recouer their sight.” Subsequently, when speaking of the “virtues” of the plant, the sage Gerard continues:—“The iuice of the herbe is good to sharpen the sight, for it clenseth and consumeth awaie slimie things that cleaue about the ball of the eie, and hinder the sight.” The root was considered good for yellow-jaundice, and also (being chewed) for toothache. Gerard adds, “The roote cut in small peeces is good to be giuen vnto hawkes against sundrie diseases;” and Turbervile, in his “Booke of Falconrie” (1611), treats of a cure for “a blow giuen to the eye, or of some other mischance,” as follows:—“Sometimes the eyes of hawkes are hurt by some mishappe, some stripe, or otherwise, as I said afore. Against such unlooked-for mischances, Master Malopin, in his boke of the Prince, willeth to take the juice of Celondine, otherwise Arondell, or Swallowes hearbe, and to convey it into the eye. And if it bee not to be had greene, to take it drie, and to beat it into powder, and to blow it into her eye with a quill, and this shall recure the hawke.”

A marginal note to this paragraph informs us that “Arondell” in French is “Hirundo,” a swallow, otherwise called “Chelidon.”

Parkinson, in his “Theatrum Botanicum” (1640), alludes to two species of Celandine, C. major and minor, and says:—“Some call them Chelidonia major and minor, and tooke the name, as Dioscorides saith, because it springeth when swallowes come in; and withered at their going away (which is true in neither, the greater, whereof Dioscorides chiefely speaketh, being greene both winter and sommer; and the lesser springeth before swallowes come in, and is gone and withered long before their departure). Dioscorides likewise, and Pliny also, say it tooke that name from swallowes that cured their young ones’ eyes, that were hurt, with bringing this herbe and putting it to them: but Aristotle, and Celsus from him, doe shew that the young ones of partridges, doves, swallowes, &c., will recover their sight (being hurt) of themselves in time, without anything applyed unto them, and therefore Celsus accounteth this saying but a fable.”

It is curious to observe how universally this plant appears to be associated with the swallow. Chelidonium majus is Calidonia maggiore of the Italians; Yerva de las gelondrinhas of the Spaniards; Chelidoine Felongue and Esclaire of the French; and Schwalbenkraut of the Germans; while we, in English, call it Celandine, Swallow’s-herb, and Swallow-wort.

Besides the Swallow-herb there is the Swallow-stone, to which wonderful properties have been likewise attributed in connection with diseases of the eye.

Dr. Lebour, in a communication to The Zoologist, for 1866, says (p. 523):—“I met last summer, in Brittany, with a curious fact relating to the habits of the common house-swallow. In Brittany there exists a wide-spread belief among the peasantry that certain stones found in swallows’ nests are sovereign cures for certain diseases of the eye. I think the same notion holds in many other parts of France, and also in some of our English counties. These stones are held in high estimation, and the happy possessor usually lets them on hire at a sous or so a day. Now, I had the good fortune to see some of these ‘swallow-stones,’ and to examine them. I found them to be the hard polished calcareous opercula of some species of Turbo, and although their worn state precludes the idea of identifying the species, yet I am confident that they belong to no European Turbo. The largest I have seen was three-eighths of an inch long, and one-fourth of an inch broad; one side is flat, or nearly so, and the other is convex, more or less so in different specimens. Their peculiar shape enables one to push them under the eyelid across the eyeball, and thus they remove any eyelash or other foreign substance which may have got in one’s eye;163 further than this, they have no curing power: the peasants, however, believe they are omnipotent. The presence of these opercula in swallows’ nests is very curious,164 and leads one to suppose that they must have been brought there from some distant shore in the swallow’s stomach. If so, they must have inhabited the poor bird for a considerable time, and proved a great nuisance to it.”

The tradition on this subject, current amongst the peasants in Brittany, is no doubt of some antiquity,165 since the allusion which Longfellow has made to it in his poem of “Evangeline” would seem to confirm this impression, inasmuch as we may assume that the tradition found its way into Acadia through the French colonists who were the first to settle there.

Longfellow, in his “Evangeline,” says,—

The connection between the stone and the herb is, that both were said to be brought to the nest by the swallow, and both were deemed remedies for defective sight. There is this difference, however, between the current opinion in Brittany and the popular notion in Acadia, that in the former case it is the finder of the stone who is thereby benefited, in the latter it is the sight of the fledglings which is thereby restored.

A friend has suggested that the tradition may have originated with the Chinese, to whom the edible swallows’ nests have been so long known, and to whom credit is now given for having been acquainted centuries ago with inventions which until recently were believed to be modern. Not being conversant, however, with Chinese, we are unable to say whether there is in that language any equivalent for “swallow-stone,” or “swallow’s-herb,” or whether ancient Chinese authors in any way throw light upon the subject.166

Pliny’s mention of the stone found in the stomach of the swallow brings to mind the stones found in the stomach of the ostrich, and so leads to the consideration of another bird noticed by Shakespeare. The food of the ostrich is said to consist of the tops of shrubby plants, seeds, and grain; strange to say, however, it will swallow, with indiscriminating voracity, stones, sticks, pieces of metal, cord, leather, and other substances, which often occasion its destruction. The extraordinary digestion of the bird is thus alluded to in the threat of the rebel Cade, when confronted by Alexander Iden:—

“Ah! villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my head to him! but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.”—Henry VI. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 10.

This curious habit is not peculiar to the ostriches. The same thing has been observed in the bustards. Dr. Jerdon, speaking of the Indian Bustard (Eupodotis Edwardsii), says, “they will often swallow pebbles or any glittering object that attracts them. I took several portions of a brass ornament, the size of a No. 16 bullet, out of the stomach of one bustard.”167

In reply to Hotspur’s inquiries for “The madcap Prince of Wales,” and his comrades, at the rebel camp near Shrewsbury, he is told that they are

Looking to the antiquity of the fable of the Pelican’s feeding her young with her own blood, it is not surprising that Shakespeare has alluded to it when mentioning this bird. Laertes says:—

King Lear, too, likens himself to a pelican when speaking of his ungrateful children:—

Again—

It is generally supposed that the fable alluded to is a classical one. But this is not the case. Many and various explanations have been offered as regards its origin, but none is more ingenious, and at the same time more plausible, than the explanation suggested by Mr. Bartlett, the energetic Superintendent of the Zoological Society’s Gardens. In a letter addressed to the editor of Land and Water, dated the 3rd April, 1869, Mr. Bartlett says:—

“Having devoted much attention to investigations upon the subject of the supply of food provided by several species of birds for their young, I have collected many interesting facts showing that in some instances the parents prepare by partial digestion, and in others by the addition of a secreted nutritive substance, the food intended for the support of their offspring. The one which I am about to relate I was certainly not prepared to expect; nevertheless, such facts as I now lay before you have caused me no little astonishment, as they appear to me to afford a solution to the well-known and ancient story of the Pelican in the Wilderness. I have heard that the so-called fable originated, or is to be found, on some of the early Egyptian monuments (I do not know where), but that the representations are more like flamingoes than pelicans. I have published elsewhere, in the ‘Proceedings of the Zoological Society,’ for March 1869, what I consider to be the facts of the case, and take this opportunity of referring to the matter. The flamingoes here in the gardens have frequently shown signs of breeding, and have been supplied with heaps of sand to form their nests, but without result; nevertheless they appear to take considerable notice of a pair of Cariamas in the same aviary. These birds have a habit of bending back their heads, and with open gaping mouths utter loud and somewhat distressing sounds. This habit at once attracts the flamingoes, and very frequently one or more of them advance towards the cariamas, and standing erect over the bird, by a slight up-and-down movement of the head, raise up into its mouth a considerable quantity of red coloured fluid. As soon as the upper part of the throat and mouth becomes filled, it will drop or run down from the corners of the flamingo’s mouth; the flamingo then bends its long neck over the gaping cariama and pours this fluid into the mouth, and as frequently on the back of the cariama. Having seen this repeatedly, I took an opportunity of obtaining a portion of this fluid and submitted it to the examination of Dr. Murie. We placed it under the microscope, and find it composed of little else than blood; in fact, the red blood-corpuscles are wonderfully abundant in the otherwise clear and almost transparent glutinous fluid. That this does not proceed from any disease or injury done to the flamingo, nor arise or is produced by any portion or part of the food taken by them, I am perfectly certain, for the birds are in the most vigorous health and condition; but I believe that it is an attempt to supply food to the cariamas, just as the hedge-sparrow and other birds supply food to the young cuckoo, and I have no doubt, if a careful observer had the opportunity of watching the flamingoes on their breeding-ground, he would find that this is the mode of feeding their young: no doubt other food is also provided, but most likely mixed with this secretion. I think it highly probable that this habit was noticed in ancient Egypt, and, by the confusion of names in translation, the pelican was supposed to be the bird intended; in fact, I have heard that the representation (which I am very anxious to see) is much more like a flamingo than a pelican. Again, a flamingo is much more a bird of the wilderness than the pelican, seeing that the pelican requires a good supply of fish, while the flamingo can live and does well upon very small insects, seeds, and little fry, and is found in places in which the pelican would starve.”

This communication naturally drew forth some comments. Mr. Houghton, in a long letter to the editor of the same journal, dated 24th April, 1869, says:—“That this is the origin of the old story of the pelican feeding its young with its blood seems very plausible. I purpose to examine this ingenious idea, and to offer a few remarks on the old fable. It is commonly supposed—and you will often find it so expressed in works on natural history—that this fable is a classical one. This is an error: I have searched in vain amongst classical authors for any allusion to the pelican feeding its young with its blood. To the Greeks this bird was known by the name of πελεκάν, or πελέκας, or πελεκινος, though it would appear that some species of woodpecker was also intended by the word πελέκας (see Aristoph. Aves, 1155). Aristotle mentions pelicans two or three times in his ‘History of Animals;’ he speaks of their migratory habits and flying in crowds. He says they take large shell-fish into their pouches (ἐν τῷ πρὸ τῆς κοιλίας τόπῳ), wherein the molluscs are softened. They then throw them up and pick out the flesh from the opened valves. Ælian merely repeats this story, only he says the shell-fish are received into the stomach. In another place he says there is mutual hostility between the pelican and the quail. The pelican was known to the Romans under the name of onocrotalus. Pliny says this bird is like the swan, except that under the throat there is a sort of second crop of astonishing capacity. There is, of course, no doubt that the pelican is here intended. Cicero says there is a bird called platalea which pursues other birds and causes them to drop the fish they have caught, which it devours itself. He then gives the same story as Ælian, viz., that this bird softens shell-fish in its stomach, &c. The first part of this account is true of the parasitic gulls (Lestris). It is uncertain what bird Cicero alludes to by the name platalea. Pliny gives the same story as Cicero, and calls the bird platea. The fable, then, is no classical one. Whence did it originate? Does any pictorial representation occur on the Egyptian monuments, as Mr. Bartlett has been informed? I am inclined to think—but I speak under correction—that such a representation does not occur. Horapollo (i. 54) tells us that when the ancient Egyptians want to represent a fool they depict the pelican, because this bird, instead of laying its eggs on lofty and secure places, merely scratches up the ground and there lays. The people surround the place with dried cow’s dung, and set fire to it. The pelican sees the smoke, and endeavours to extinguish the fire with her wings, the motion of which only fans the flame. Thus she burns her wings, and falls an easy prey to the fowlers. Some Egyptian priests, considering this behaviour evinces great love of its young, do not eat the bird; others, again, thinking it is a mark of folly, eat it. The Egyptians, however, did believe in a bird feeding its young with its blood, and this bird is none other than a vulture. Horapollo says (i. 11) that a vulture symbolises a compassionate person (ἐλεήμονα), because during the 120 days of its nurture of its offspring, if food cannot be had, ‘it opens its own thigh and permits the young to partake of the blood, so that they may not perish from want.’ This is alluded to in the following lines by Georgius Pisidas:—

Τὸν μηρὸν ἐκτέμοντες, ἡματωμένοις
Γάλακτος ὀλκοῖς ζωπυροῦσι τὰ βρέφη.

Amongst classical authors, the love of the vulture for its young was proverbial. But when do we first hear of the fable of the pelican feeding its young with its blood? In Patristic annotations on the Scriptures. I believe this is the answer. The ecclesiastical fathers transferred the Egyptian story from the vulture to the pelican, but magnified the already sufficiently marvellous fable a hundredfold, for the blood of the parent was not only supposed to serve as food for the young, but was also able to reanimate the dead offspring! Augustine, commenting on Psalm cii. 5—‘I am like a pelican in the wilderness’—says: ‘These birds [male pelicans] are said to kill their young offspring by blows of their beaks, and then to bewail their death for the space of three days. At length, however, it is said the mother bird inflicts a severe wound on herself, pouring the flowing blood over the dead young ones, which instantly brings them to life.’ To the same effect write Eustathius, Isidorus, Epiphanius, and a host of other writers, except that sometimes it was the female who killed the young ones, while the male reanimated them with its blood. This fable was supposed to be a symbol of Christ’s love to men. I think, then, that the very interesting fact of the flamingo feeding the cariama with the red fluid and other contents of its stomach can hardly be, as Mr. Bartlett conjectures, the origin of the old fable of the pelican feeding its young with its blood, because the Egyptian story of the vulture wounding its thigh has nothing analogous to the natural-history fact of the flamingo, while the fable of the pelican pouring from its self-inflicted wound the life-restoring blood which reanimates its offspring is still further from the mark.”

In a short criticism upon the subject in the same number of Land and Water, Mr. H. J. Hancock is inclined to believe that some confusion has arisen in the translation from the original Hebrew. “The word קָאַת (Kàh-ath'), which is rendered πελεκάν in the Septuagint, and Pelican, or Onocrotalus, in the Vulgate, is derived from the verb קָא ‘to vomit,’ and signifies ‘a vomiter.’ This name, evidently a general one, may have been intended by the Hebrew writers to apply either to such birds as, like the pelican and many others, possess the power of disgorging their food on being disturbed or alarmed, or to such birds as are accustomed to nourish their young from their own crops; and, in the latter case, the curious bloody secretion of the flamingo may well have given rise to the superstition concerning the pelican. I may observe, as an evidence that the translators did not consider the Hebrew word to be other than a general name, that Kà-ath' is sometimes rendered ‘cormorant’ (Isa. xxxiv. 11; Zeph. ii. 14). For further information concerning this point, I would refer your readers to the ‘Hebrew and Chaldee Concordance,’ p. 1083; Bate’s ‘Hebrew Dictionary,’ p. 538; and Parkhurst’s ‘Hebrew Dictionary,’ pp. 631, 632.”

Shakespeare, doubtless, had not investigated the subject so narrowly, but was content to accept the common story as he found it, and to apply it metaphorically as occasion required.

The majority of the birds mentioned in this chapter are not natives of the British Islands, but, strange as it may appear, there is evidence to show that the pelican, or, to speak more correctly, a species of pelican, once inhabited the English fens.

The peat-bogs of Cambridgeshire have yielded of late years a large number of bones of birds, and amongst these has been discovered the wing-bone of a pelican. This interesting discovery was made known by M. Alphonse Milne-Edwards, in an able article in the “Annales des Sciences Naturelles,”169 a translation of which subsequently appeared in The Ibis.170 The author thus anticipates the objections of the sceptical:—

“We may be inclined, perhaps, to wonder that a single bone, belonging (as it does) to a young animal, and consequently not presenting all its anatomical characters, should permit the exact recognition of the genus and species of bird to which it belongs. So precise a determination would not be always possible, but in the present case there need be no doubt; for I have shown, in another work,171 that the wing-bone in the genus Pelicanus offers extremely clear distinctive peculiarities, which do not allow of its being confounded with that of any other bird.”

The only species of pelican which has been recorded to have occurred in England in recent times, is the great white pelican, P. onocrotalus.

Latham has stated,172 on the authority of Sir Thomas Brown, that a pelican of this species was killed in Horsey Fen in 1663. This statement was copied by Montagu,173 and subsequently by Dr. Fleming,174 but there is no evidence to show that the bird was a wild one. On the contrary, it is probable, as suggested by Sir Thomas Brown, that it may have been one of the King’s pelicans which was lost about that time from St. James’s Park.

He says175:—“An onocrotalus, or pelican, shot upon Horsey Fen, May 22, 1663, which, stuffed and cleaned, I yet retain. It was three yards and a half between the extremities of the wings; the chowle and beak answering the usual description; the extremities of the wings for a span deep brown; the rest of the body white; a fowl which none could remember upon this coast.

“About the same time, I heard one of the king’s pelicans was lost at St. James’s; perhaps this might be the same.”

Latham was further assured by Dr. Leith, that in the month of May he saw a brown pelican fly over his head on Blackheath, in Kent. Montagu, however, suggests that the bird was an immature swan.

In The Zoologist for 1856 (p. 5321), the Rev. H. B. Tristram has recorded, that on the 25th of August, 1856, the remains of a pelican were picked up on the shore at Castle Eden, Durham. Such are the scanty records of the appearance of a pelican in England in modern times.

The bone found in Cambridgeshire may have belonged to P. onocrotalus, a native of South and South-Eastern Europe, and which is stated to be “common on the lakes and watercourses of Hungary and Russia, and also seen further south in Asia and in Northern Africa.” M. Milne-Edwards, however, has not quite determined the species, for, on comparison with the bones of other recognized and existing species, it appears to differ rather remarkably in its greater length.

Enough has probably been said, however, to show the interest which attaches to the discovery, and to suggest further research.

With the pelican ends the long list of birds mentioned in the works of Shakespeare.

The reader who has had the patience or the curiosity to follow us thus far will, doubtless, ere this have formed a just estimate of Shakespeare’s qualifications as a naturalist, and will have drawn the only conclusion which the evidence justifies.

It is impossible to read all that Shakespeare has written in connection with ornithology, without being struck with the extraordinary knowledge which he has displayed for the age in which he lived; and our admiration for him as a poet must be increased tenfold on perceiving that the beauteous thoughts, which he has clothed in such beauteous language, were dictated by a pure love of nature, and by a study of those great truths which appeal at once to the heart and to reason, and which infuse into the soul of the naturalist the true spirit of poetry.