Twilight And Dawn by Caroline Pridham

C >> Caroline Pridham >> Twilight And Dawn

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

I should like you to read in some nice book all about birds, a great deal
about their ways, and especially about the clever nests they build, of
which I have not time to tell you now. Also, I should like you to find
out all you can for yourself. You may at least learn to know by sight and
by sound some of our own songsters. It is often said that English birds
have sober plumage; and so they have, compared with the parrots and the
humming-birds that "flit about like living fires, scarce larger than a
bee," and the wonderful bird of paradise, which the natives of New Guinea
call "God's bird," because it shines with silver and gold--but still we
have some very gay birds.

It is true that the goldfinch and the kingfisher are not often seen except
in picture-books; but our own little robin is a real beauty, is he not? And
what can be gayer than the feathers of some of our cocks, which strut about
so proudly? Then, the more you notice the songs of birds, the more you will
admire them. The sweet notes begin before daylight in the spring-time, and
the cock-bird seems never tired of singing to his mate as she sits on her
eggs. By and by, when they are busy with family cares, feeding the little
ones, and teaching them to fly, there is not much time for singing. It is
said that every bird has a different note or call. I wonder how many you
know? I fancy I can guess: the cock, the rook, the swallow, the thrush, the
blackbird, the lark; if you do not know the notes or calls of all these,
try to learn them.

Then, with regard to the nests; have you not seen rooks and cranes carrying
in their mouths the twigs with which they build theirs in the top of very
high trees? And have you not watched these nests swinging about in the
wind, and wondered that they did not fall? Some of our birds build in holes
of trees, some line their nests beautifully with any soft thing they can
find; blackbirds and thrushes make theirs of mud. But instead of describing
how the nests of our English birds are made, I will copy for you, out of
Leslie's poetry-book, a little poem, which will help you to know where to
search for the nests of different birds:--

"The skylark's nest among the grass
And waving corn is found;
The robin's in a shady bank,
With oak-leaves strewed around.

"The wren builds in an ivied thorn
Or old and ruined wall,
The mossy nest so covered in
You scarce can see at all.

"The martins build their nests of clay
In rows beneath the eaves;
The silvery lichens, moss, and hair
The chaffinch interweaves.

"The cuckoo makes no nest at all,
But through the wood she strays.
Until she finds one snug and warm,
And there her eggs she lays.

"The sparrow has a nest of hay,
With feathers warmly lined;
The ringdove's careless nest of sticks
On lofty trees we find.

"Rooks build together in a wood,
And often disagree;
The owl will build beside a barn,
Or in a hollow tree.

"The blackbird's nest of grass and mud
On bush and bank is found;
The lapwing's darkly-spotted eggs
Are laid upon the ground.

"The magpie's nest is made with thorns,
In leafless tree or hedge;
The wild duck and the water hen
Build by the water's edge.

"Birds build their nests from year to year,
According to their kind;
Some very neat and beautiful,
Some simpler ones we find.

"The habits of each little bird,
And all its patient skill,
Are surely taught by God Himself,
And ordered by His will."

The other day I saw a lark's nest. It was made upon the ground; for it is
true that

"The bird which soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest."

and I had to move aside the grass before I could see it. The parent-birds,
I daresay, were somewhere near, but I found only the little ones, looking
as if they were almost all mouth, so widely did they open their yellow
beaks. If you find such a treasure, and are very careful not to touch, or
even to peer and peep too much, you may have the great interest of watching
over the rearing of the little family; seeing the parents bring them food,
and teach them to fly; and then, when the brood has flown, the deserted
nest will belong to you, if you choose to keep it; but I am afraid you
would not care for a lark's nest, for it is not beautifully finished, as
some birds' nests are, but really only the dry-grass lining of a hole in
the ground. The eggs are brown, like the bird itself, which is so beautiful
in its song--that lovely song which you can hear even when you can hardly
see the tiny singer.

"Far in the downy cloud,"

or but a speck in the deep blue; for the lark will

"Soar up and up, quivering for very joy,"

singing all the time, till he is out of sight--yet never forget that low
spot, hidden with grass, where his nest is.

You know why it is said that "the cuckoo builds no nest at all," don't you?
May has a verse which calls him "a most conceited bird," because from the
time when he comes back from Africa we hear him constantly calling his own
name, 'coo-coo, coo-coo!' Still, I don't think the cuckoo should be called
"conceited" when it is we who have given it its name from the call which
is natural to it; but it is a most unfaithful bird, and leaves its little
ones to be brought up by others, not taking the trouble to build a cradle
for them, nor will the mother sit upon her eggs. I used to think the
reason why we saw so few cuckoos was because this bird laid only one egg;
but I have read that she lays eight, each one in the nest of some bird
much smaller than herself. The cuckoo is grey, and about the size of a
blackbird; but her eggs are small, not bigger than a hedge-sparrow's or a
lark's. She lays her egg on the ground, and then lifts it with her bill
into the nest which she has chosen. The stranger bird is hatched first, and
always behaves as if the whole nest belonged to him. He grows bigger and
bigger, until at last he throws the little sparrows over the side of the
nest to make room for himself. When the "woolly bears "--the caterpillars
on which they feed--are all gone the cuckoos fly off to find them in South
Africa.

How different from this bird is the faithful dove, who would not desert her
little one, even to save her own life! I must tell you the story of the
particular dove of which I am thinking.

When the famous city of Pompeii--which had lain for eighteen hundred years
buried beneath the ashes and mud which fell upon it during a terrible
eruption of Mount Vesuvius--was brought to light again, as the workmen were
digging among the ruins of what had been a beautiful house, in a niche
overlooking the garden they found the skeleton of a dove. They were not
surprised that, as the sky grew darker and darker upon that dreadful day,
and the soft, choking shower of ashes fell more thickly, many of those who
ran for their lives should have lost their way in the darkness, and fallen
to rise no mare. The skeletons of men and women had been found, just as
they had fallen while trying to escape; but this dove, with her swift
wings, why did she not flee away? Ah, as they lifted her from her nest
the secret was revealed: beneath her lay the egg which the timid, gentle
creature, so brave in her love and faithfulness, would not leave.

If you ask me about fossil-birds, I must tell you that very few have been
found. However, if you go to the British Museum, look out for a large stone
slab covered with footprints of birds. It was taken from a quarry in an
American valley, and is a piece of sandstone, which was once soft enough
to receive the impress of the feet of the giant wading-bird, probably much
larger than an ostrich, which once walked across it with long strides. You
will also trace upon it the tracks of smaller birds. In New Zealand very
large bones of an extinct bird have been found, but the most remarkable
remains have been discovered in Germany of a bird which has been given the
name of "Lizard-tailed," because it has a tail with vertebrae, from each
joint of which feathers spring. Three claws are attached to the ends of the
wing-bones, like the single claw of the bat. What is left of this specimen,
which is thought to have been about the size of a rook, is to be seen in
the Natural History branch of the South Kensington Museum. I mention this
in case you should have a chance of visiting it there.

And now, to speak of those birds which we know best, I think there are
none which seem to belong to us so much as these three--the thrush, the
blackbird, and the robin; for they are with us all the year. The thrush
begins to sing very early, before there are any leaves for him to hide
himself among, while the robin's song is heard not only in autumn, but in
winter when all others are silent. All these birds feed upon worms and
insects, not on grain and fruit like the larks and finches and starlings;
but they are very glad of berries in winter when they can get them.

The other day I met a little boy about seven years old carrying a basket
with some dozen snails in the bottom of it, and looking as if he had found
a wonderful prize.

"What are you going to do with them?" I said.

"Give them to our thrush. He cracks the shells and eats them, he does."

"Does your thrush sing?" I asked.

"Oh, yes!" he replied. "You can hear him all over the house."

The song of even a captive thrush is sweet indeed; but I would rather hear
its voice in a choir of birds singing in the woods.

The blackbird's clear note, like the thrush's, may be heard very early in
the morning, and on still evenings, as it "sings darkling" in some leafy
bower. Its eggs are bluish green, with dark spots, while the thrush's five
eggs are light blue. There are white blackbirds--if such a thing can be--in
the Alps, and occasionally in this country; with us you may know the cock
by its being very black, while the hen is brownish-black, and I think both
birds are best known by the "orange tawny" bill. But neither the blackbird
nor the thrush is so pretty as the "little bird with bosom red" of which we
are all so fond.

"Our thrushes now are silent,
Our swallows flown away;
But robin's here in coat of brown,
And scarlet breast-knot gay."

Some time ago I was reading the account which a boy, who had always lived
in town, gave of his first sight of a robin-redbreast. His master told him
to write for his composition all about a holiday which the boys had had
given them, so he gave an account of how he had gone for a long day in
the country with his father and his little sister. Of all the sights he
saw that day, none delighted him so much as to see a robin perched upon a
clothes'-prop in a garden--for this bird always likes a high perch--singing
with all his might and "showing all his red." This boy had read about
robins at school, and learnt verses about them; but when he actually
saw one, and heard it sing, he says it made him "tremble all over with
pleasure."

A lady, who has told many interesting stories about what she has herself
observed, says that one day her gardener was struck by the strange conduct
of a robin, which the man had often fed. "The bird fluttered about him in
so strange a manner, now coming close, then hurrying away, always in the
same direction, that the gardener followed, its retreating movements. The
robin stopped near a flowerpot and fluttered over it in great agitation.
It was soon found that a nest had been formed in the pot, and contained
several young. Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a meal
of the brood."

This little story seems to show that the redbreast understood that the man
who had been so kind was not only good enough but also strong enough to
save his little ones from the danger which threatened them. Can you learn
any lesson from it?

I have not time to tell you of all the feathered creatures mentioned in
the Bible, which were found and written down for me in those nice little
three-cornered notes, some of which I still have. You will not be surprised
to hear that each contained one reference, and some many more; but the text
about which we had most talk was found by Chris--those words spoken by the
Lord to His disciples to show how precious they were to their Father: "Fear
not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows"

The boys wanted to know whether these birds were the same as our sparrows,
which are so common everywhere, even in the busy streets London, and so
mischievous in the country, eating the grain, and stealing the peas, and
nipping off the young buds of the gooseberry-bushes.

[Illustration: Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When winter's winds are sobbing.]

I could not answer this question; so we got the Bible Dictionary and read
there that a great many of our smaller birds, such as the starling, linnet,
goldfinch, blackbird, lark, wagtail, and thrush, are found in Palestine,
and that the Tree-sparrow has been seen in great numbers on Mount Olivet;
while another kind, the Rock-sparrow, is often found perched upon a large
stone, all alone, like the solitary bird mentioned in the hundred and
second Psalm.

One, of whose work among the poor of Lancashire you may some day hear,
tells us that when he was on a visit to America in 1873, he strolled one
morning round a miniature park in New York, glad to find shelter from the
hot beams of the sun. Looking up, he saw a great many boxes fastened,
some to the stems, some to the branches of the trees. Surprised at this,
he asked a gentleman on one of the seats, "What is the meaning of those
boxes suspended up there?" and he was told that twelve years before, not
a single leaf was to be found upon any of those trees, now so full of
beautiful foliage. At that time, a small grub called the inch-worm had the
disagreeable habit of breeding in the bark, climbing up the boughs and
stripping them of every leaf. Thus it was in the orchards, gardens, and
parks in many States of the Union.

At length a thinking man who kept his eyes open, suggested a remedy--to
import several thousands of English sparrows, providing them with little
wooden houses, and feeding them daily until they were settled in, and
contented with their new home. Thousands of beautiful little boxes were
volunteered and fixed in the trees, and thousands of young sparrows
were brought over. A State law was passed inflicting a penalty of one
dollar--nearly five shillings--or a week's imprisonment, on any person who
killed one; and most happy was the result. The inch-worm was destroyed, the
trees became healthy and green, and now the spirited little English birds
hop and chirp in every garden and park in the Union!

[Illustration: "ONLY A LITTLE SPARROW."]

A restless little House-sparrow would seem an unlikely bird to become tame,
but I have heard of one which was rescued, having fallen from his nest, and
lived for two years on the happiest terms with his master, who says of his
pet bird; "He was only confined to his cage during the morning: from midday
until the next morning he was free to go about the house, but was of course
mostly kept to one room. He always slept at the foot of my bed, and as soon
as it was daylight he would come up and creep into my arms, and nestle
there till I rose.... I fed him on seed and sand, but he had food with me
besides, such as a little potato at dinner-time, and bread and butter at
tea-time."

Does this account of a tame sparrow encourage you to try to attach one
of these little birds to yourself? I am afraid it would not be possible
unless, as in the case of this birdie, it was one taken from the nest.

The poem about birds' nests tells only of those made by our home-birds, but
we can read of wonderful nests made by those in foreign countries. Perhaps
the most clever nest-builder is a tiny Indian bird, called the "Tailor,"
because it actually sews leaves together, using both its bill and its
feet, to make a safe hiding-place for its eggs, no bigger than peas, where
neither snake nor monkey shall find them. It first chooses a plant with
large leaves, then sews a dead leaf to the side of the green and living
one, and in the space between the two, it lays its tiny eggs. It gathers
cotton from a shrub, and with its long bill and slender little feet works
away until it has spun a thread; then, using its bill for a needle, it
pierces holes through the leaves, and sews them securely together. Should
you not like to see such a wonderful nest, and still more to watch the
little tailor--more like a bee than a bird in size--at his work?

[Illustration: TAILOR-BIRD'S NEST]

I will tell you of one more nest; it is of a very different kind, and is
made by a swallow which lives in the islands east of Asia, and is generally
called the Java swallow. The other day I was reading how one of our princes
was entertained in China, and among the dishes on the table "birds'-nest
soup" was mentioned. It made me think of how, long ago (when, as I told
you, I was so foolish as not to like to ask questions, for fear the
grown-up people should think I knew nothing at all), I heard of this kind
of soup, and thought how disagreeable it must be to meet with bits of hay
and moss in one's soup, and what queer people the Chinese must be not to
mind it. Now I know that these nests, which are sold in China for their
weight in silver, are made of a clear jelly which comes from the swallow's
mouth. The nests are built against the sides of rocky cliffs, so that it
is very dangerous work to procure them. I do not know whether the Duke and
Duchess of Connaught liked the soup, but it was offered them as a very
great delicacy.

Chrissie and his brothers have a canary, and a very loud singer he is. No
doubt he was born in England. but his family are foreigners, as you know,
and come from Madeira and the Cape Verde and Canary Islands. But if, as I
have heard, they were brought to this country so long ago as the time of
Queen Elizabeth, we cannot be surprised that they are so much at home with
us now, and will lay their pale blue eggs, and hatch their yellow broods,
and live even thirty years in their pretty cages, in which they certainly
seem to be as happy as the days are long. I hope if you have a canary
of your own, you are very careful to give it its seed and water quite
regularly, and to keep its little house as clean as a new pin; for how sad
it would be to neglect the happy little creature who is entirely dependent
upon you for everything!

I once knew a little girl who had a present of a canary when she was seven
years old. I think she was realty too young to have the care of a bird, but
she was very, very fond of her Dick, and used to bring him home groundsel
and chickweed when she went out for a walk, and often had the pleasure of
standing upon a high chair and putting a lump of sugar between the bars of
the cage as a special treat for her pet.

All went well until one morning, when she opened the cage door and saw,
instead of the pretty, pecking, chirping birdie hopping from his perch to
greet her, just a soft yellow ball of feathers lying at the bottom of the
cage. Ah, the sad story was soon told--her pet had been starved to death,
and she had been the cause! This was what nurse told her, when she ran
sobbing to her with the poor dead bird in her little hand. "It is very
cruel of you," she said; "you just went to your play, and forgot all about
your poor little Dick, and now he is dead; you will never hear him sing his
sweet song again."

The poor child was too sorry and too frightened to say anything, and yet
in her heart she knew she had not forgotten her birdie; she was quite sure
that she had filled his glass with seed and given him fresh water, only the
day before. This was quite true; but I will tell you what she had done, and
then you will see why I said I thought she was too young to have the entire
charge of any living creature. After filling the glass with seed, she had
put it back again, as she thought, into its place, where there was a round
opening for the bird to come and peck at the seeds. But she had turned the
glass round, so that the back of it was towards this hole, and the open
part right away from her poor Dick, who might peck and peck against the
hard glass, but could not get one seed. I think if nurse had known just
how it all happened, she would not have said this little girl was cruel
for neglecting her bird; but she was a very careless child, and this
thoughtless act cost her pet his life, and his mistress many a bitter tear.

Now for one more true story, and then we must finish our chapter about
"feathered fowl." You remember the little girl who was so nearly carried
off by a great eagle; this story is about a man whose life was saved by an
enormous sea-bird, whose wings when spread out measure about twelve feet
across. It is called the "Wandering Albatross," and often follow ships in
the southern seas a long way, looking very beautiful and majestic as it
seems to float in the air. One of these huge birds had been following a
ship on board of which was a regiment of soldiers, on their way home to
England. Among them was one man, who, though he seemed to care for nobody,
and always laughed at those who read the Bible, was very, very unhappy.
God's word says that there is no peace to the wicked, and this poor man
never had any rest or comfort, and was constantly disobeying the officers
and getting into disgrace. He had no fear of God, and so one morning, when
no one was near him, he suddenly jumped over the ship's side into the sea,
thinking that he would put an end to his life and his misery.

But just as he sank beneath the waters, God put it into the heart of this
poor sinner against his own soul, to cry to Him for mercy; and then in a
moment, in His great kindness, He sent the answer to that despairing cry.
The great albatross, always ready to pick up anything which was thrown
overboard by the sailors came sweeping by. The drowning man put up his hand
and caught it by the leg, and such was the strength of the bird that it was
able to bear his weight until a boat from the ship came and rescued him. I
do not think I should like to tell you this story, which has such a dark
and sad beginning, but for its bright ending. It was a long time before
this poor soldier recovered; but when he was able to walk about the deck
again, all was changed for him. He knew that God had not only, in this
remarkable way, saved him from drowning, but there was great peace in that
heart which had been so full of trouble; for he had learned to know the
Lord Jesus Christ as the blessed Saviour who had loved him and given
Himself for him--so I think this is really a very beautiful story.

You will find many of the Flying Fowl of which we have been speaking
mentioned in this poem, which reminds us of how God cares for the wildest
as well as the weakest of them all.

"WHO PROVIDED FOR THE RAVEN HIS FOOD?

"All the world lay still and silent in the morning grey,
And at once a thousand voices hail the glorious day;
For the great Sun, glowing crimson, rises o'er the sea--
'Welcome Day!' they sing together, 'Day that is to be!'
Oh, how glad and sweet and joyous is that morning hymn!
Whilst the golden day is stealing through the valleys dim--
Thrush and blackbird, lark and linnet, doves that coo and hum
Wild delight and soft rejoicing, for the day is come.
Not a thought, of care or wonder what the day will bring,
For the Father careth for them in the smallest thing.
There upon the pathless mountains is their table spread,
All by God are known and numbered, by His hands are fed.
Some in deep and tangled forests where the berries glow,
Some, where children's crumbs are scattered on the garden snow,
Some where, through the river sedges, Mayflies glance and play,
Some where mountain tarns lie gleaming in the hollows grey.
For the wild and hungry eagle, for the wren so small,
All is ready--food and gladness, free to each and all."

FRANCES BEVAN.

Taken by permission, from _Hymns by Ter Steegen and others_. Second Series.

THE FIFTH DAY.

CREEPING THINGS.

"_His hand hath formed the crooked serpent._"--JOB xxvi. 13.

"_The Lord thy God ... who led thee through that great and terrible
wilderness, wherein were fiery serpents, and scorpions._"--DEUTERONOMY
viii. 15.

"_The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the lion shall eat straw
like the bullock: and dust shall be the serpent's meat. They shall not hurt
nor destroy in all My holy mountain, saith the Lord._"--ISAIAH lxv. 25.

The "_creeping things_" which God caused the earth to bring forth on the
Fifth Day are so unlike each other in many respects that we might at first
sight wonder that they should have been grouped together; but the more we
study Reptiles--so called from the Latin word _reptilis_, creeping--the
more we see that there are many things which this great family of
vertebrate animals have in common.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24