It is a dark-_brown_ bird, according to the colored pictures--iron _gray_, Buffon says, with white stripes of little order on the bodice, clumsy feet and bill, but makes up for all ungainliness by its gentle and intelligent mind; and seems meant for a useful possession to mankind all over the world, for it lives in Siberia and New Zealand; in Senegal and Jamaica; in Scotland, Switzerland, and Prussia; in Corfu, Crete, and Trebizond; in Canada, and at the Cape. I find no account of its migrations, and one would think that a bird which usually flies "dip, dip, dipping with its toes, and leaving a track along the water like that of a stone at 'ducks and drakes'" (Yarrell), would not willingly adventure itself on the Atlantic. It must have a kind of human facility in adapting itself to climate, as it has human domesticity of temper, with curious fineness of sagacity and sympathies in taste. A family of them, petted by a clergyman's wife, were constantly adding materials to their nest, and "made real havoc in the flower-garden,--for though straw and leaves are their chief ingredients, they seem to have an eye for beauty, and the old hen has been seen surrounded with a brilliant wreath of scarlet anemones." Thus Bishop Stanley, whose account of the bird is full of interesting particulars.

This aesthetic water-hen, with her husband, lived at Cheadle, in Staffordshire, in the rectory moat, for several seasons, "always however leaving it in the spring," (for Scotland, supposably?): being constantly fed, the pair became quite tame, built their nest in a thorn-bush covered with ivy which had fallen into the water; and "when the young are a few days old, the old ones bring them up close to the drawing-room window, where they are regularly fed with wheat; and, as the lady of the house pays them the greatest attention, they have learned to look up to her as their natural protectress and friend; so much so, that one bird in particular, which was much persecuted by the rest, would, when attacked, fly to her for refuge; and whenever she calls, the whole flock, as tame as barn-door fowls, quit the water, and a.s.semble round her, to the number of seventeen. (November, 1833.)

120. "They have also made other friends in the dogs belonging to the family, approaching them without fear, though hurrying off with great alarm on the appearance of a strange dog.

"The position of the water, together with the familiarity of these birds, has afforded many interesting particulars respecting their habits.

"They have three broods in a season--the first early in April; and they begin to lay again when the first hatch is about a fortnight old. They lay eight or nine eggs, and sit about three weeks,--the c.o.c.k alternately with the hen. The nest in the thorn-bush is placed usually so high above the surface of the water, they cannot climb into it again; but, as a subst.i.tute, within an hour after they leave the nest, the c.o.c.k bird builds a larger and more roomy nest for them, with sedges, at the water's edge, which they can enter or retire from at pleasure. For about a month they are fed by the old birds, but soon become very active in taking flies and water-insects. Immediately on the second hatch coming out, the young ones of the first hatch a.s.sist the old ones in feeding and hovering over them, leading them out in detached parties, and making additional nests for them, similar to their own, on the brink of the moat.

"But it is not only in their instinctive attachments and habits that they merit notice; the following anecdote proves that they are gifted with a sense of observation approaching to something very like reasoning faculties.

"At a gentleman's house in Staffordshire, the pheasants are fed out of one of those boxes described in page 287, the lid of which rises with the pressure of the pheasant standing on the rail in front of the box.

A water-hen observing this, went and stood upon the rail as soon as the pheasant had quitted it; but the weight of the bird being insufficient to raise the lid of the box, so as to enable it to get at the corn, the water-hen kept jumping on the rail to give additional impetus to its weight: this partially succeeded, but not to the satisfaction of the sagacious bird. Accordingly it went off, and soon returning with a bird of its own species, the united weight of the two had the desired effect, and the successful pair enjoyed the benefit of their ingenuity.

"We can vouch for the truth of this singular instance of penetration, on the authority of the owner of the place where it occurred, and who witnessed the fact."

121. But although in these sagacities, and teachablenesses, the bird has much in common with land poultry, it seems not a link between these and water-fowl; but to be properly placed by the ornithologists between the rail and the coot: this latter being the largest of the fringefoots, singularly dark in color, and called 'fulica' (sooty), or, with insistence, 'fulica atra' (black sooty), or even 'fulica aterrima'

(blackest sooty). 'Coot' is said by Johnson to be Dutch; and that it became 'cotee' in French; but I cannot find cotee in my French dictionary. In the meantime, putting the coot and water-hen aside for future better knowledge, we may be content with the pentagonal group of our dabchicks--pa.s.sing at each angle into another tribe, thus,--(if people must cla.s.sify, they at least should also _map_). Take the Ouzel, Allegret, Grebe, Fairy, and Rail, and, only giving the Fairy her Latin name, write their fourpenny-worth of initial letters (groat) round a pentagon set on its base, putting the Ouzel at the top angle,--so.

Then, the Ouzels pa.s.s up into Blackbirds, the Rails to the left into Woodc.o.c.ks, the Allegrets to the right into Plovers, the Grebes, down left, into Ducks, and the t.i.tanias, down right, into Gulls. And _there's_ a bit of pentagonal Darwinism for you, if you like it, and learn it, which will be really good for something in the end, or the five ends.

122. And for the bliss of cla.s.sification pure, with no ends of any sort or any number, referring my reader to the works of ornithologists in general, and for what small portion of them he may afterwards care to consult, to my Appendix, I will end this lecture, and this volume, with the refreshment for us of a piece of perfect English and exquisite wit, falling into verse,--the Chorus of the Birds, in Mr. Courthope's Paradise of them,--a book lovely, and often faultless, in most of its execution, but little skilled or attractive in plan, and too thoughtful to be understood without such notes as a good author will not write on his own work; partly because he has not time, and partly because he always feels that if people won't look for his meaning, they should not be told it. My own special function, on the contrary, is, and always has been, that of the Interpreter only, in the 'Pilgrim's Progress;'

and I trust that Mr. Courthope will therefore forgive my arranging his long cadence of continuous line so as to come symmetrically into my own page, (thus also enforcing, for the inattentive, the rhymes which he is too easily proud to insist on,) and my division of the whole chorus into equal strophe and antistrophe of six lines each, in which, counting from the last line of the stanza, the reader can easily catch the word to which my note refers.

123. We wish to declare, How the birds of the air All high inst.i.tutions designed, And, holding in awe Art, Science, and Law, Delivered the same to mankind. 6

To begin with; of old Man went naked, and cold, Whenever it pelted or froze, Till _we_ showed him how feathers Were proof against weathers, With that, _he_ bethought him of hose. 12

And next, it was plain, That he, in the rain, Was forced to sit dripping and blind, While the Reed-warbler swung In a nest, with her young Deep sheltered, and warm, from the wind. 18

So our homes in the boughs Made _him_ think of the House; And the Swallow, to help him invent, Revealed the best way To economize clay, And bricks to combine with cement. 24

The knowledge withal Of the Carpenter's awl, Is drawn from the Nuthatch's bill; And the Sand-Martin's pains In the hazel-clad lanes Instructed the Mason to drill. 30

Is there _one_ of the Arts, More dear to men's hearts?

To the bird's inspiration they owe it; For the Nightingale first Sweet music rehea.r.s.ed, Prima-Donna, Composer, and Poet. 36

The Owl's dark retreats Showed sages the sweets Of brooding, to spin, or unravel Fine webs in one's brain, Philosophical--vain; The Swallows,--the pleasures of travel. 42

Who chirped in such strain Of Greece, Italy, Spain And Egypt, that men, when they heard, Were mad to fly forth, From their nests in the North, And follow--the tail of the Bird. 48

Besides, it is true, To _our_ wisdom is due The knowledge of Sciences all; And chiefly, those rare Metaphysics of Air Men 'Meteorology' call, 54

And men, in their words, Acknowledge the Birds'

Erudition in weather and star; For they say, "'Twill be dry,-- The swallow is high,"

Or, "Rain, for the Chough is afar." 60

'Twas the Rooks who taught men Vast pamphlets to pen Upon social compact and law, And Parliaments hold, As themselves did of old, Exclaiming 'Hear, Hear,' for 'Caw, Caw.' 66

And whence arose Love?

Go, ask of the Dove, Or behold how the t.i.tmouse, unresting, Still early and late Ever sings by his mate, To lighten her labors of nesting. 72

_Their_ bonds never gall, Though the leaves shoot, and fall, And the seasons roll round in their course, For their marriage, each year, Grows more lovely and dear; And they know not decrees of Divorce. 78

That these things are truth We have learned from our youth, For our hearts to our customs incline, As the rivers that roll From the fount of our soul, Immortal, unchanging, divine. 84

Man, simple and old, In his ages of gold, Derived from our teaching true light, And deemed it his praise In his ancestors' ways To govern his footsteps aright. 90

But the fountain of woes, Philosophy, rose; And, what between reason and whim, He has splintered our rules Into sections and schools, So the world is made bitter, for _him_. 96

But the birds, since on earth They discovered the worth Of their souls, and resolved with a vow No custom to change, For a new, or a strange, Have attained unto Paradise, _now_. 102

Line 9. PELTED, said of _hail_, not rain. Felt by nakedness, in a more severe manner than mere rain.

11. 'WEATHERS,' _i.e., both_ weathers--hail and cold: the _armor_ of the feathers against hail; the down of them against cold. See account of Feather-mail in 'Laws of Fesole,' chap, vi., p. 53, with the first and fifth plates, and figure 15.

15. BLIND. By the beating of the rain in his face. In _hail_, there is real danger and bruising, if the hail be worth calling so, for the whole body; while in rain, if _it_ be rain also worth calling rain, the great plague is the beating and drenching in the face.

16. SWUNG. Opposed to 'sit' in previous line. The human creature, though it sate steady on this unshakable earth, had no house over its head. The bird, that lived on the tremblingest and weakest of bending things, had her _nest_ on it, in which even her infinitely tender brood were _deep_ sheltered and warm, from the _wind_. It is impossible to find a lovelier instance of pure poetical ant.i.thesis.

20. HOUSE. Again ant.i.thetic to the perfect word 'Home' in the line before. A house is exactly, and only, half-way to a 'home.'

Man had not yet got so far as even that! and had lost, the chorus satirically imply, even the power of getting the other half, ever, since his "_She_ gave me of the tree."

24. BRICKS. The first bad inversion permitted, for "to combine bricks with cement." In my Swallow lecture I had no time to go into the question of her building materials; the point is, however, touched upon in the Appendix (pp. 110, 112, and note).

30. 'DRILL,' for 'quarry out,' 'tunnel,' etc., the best general term available.

36. COMPOSER of the music; POET of the meaning.

Compare, and think over, the Bullfinch's nest, etc., -- 48 to 61 of 'Eagle's Nest.'

In modern music the _meaning_ is, I believe, by the reputed masters omitted.

39. To SPIN, or _un_ravel. Synthesis and a.n.a.lysis, in the vulgar Greek slang.

46. MAD. Compare Byron of the English in _his_ day. "A parcel of staring b.o.o.bies who go about gaping and wishing to be at once cheap and magnificent. A man is a fool now, who travels in France or Italy, till that tribe of wretches be swept home again. In two or three years, the first rush will be over, and the Continent will be roomy and agreeable." (Life, vol. ii., p. 319.) For sketches of the English of seventeen years later, at the same _spots_ (Wengern Alp and Interlachen), see, if you _can_ see, in any library, public or private, at Geneva, Topffer's 'Excursions dans les Alpes, 1832.' Douzieme, Treizieme, and Quatorzieme Journee.

48. THE TAIL. Mr. Courthope does not condescend to italicize his pun; but a swallow-tailed and adder-tongued pun like this must be paused upon. Compare Mr. Murray's Tale of the Town of Lucca, to be seen between the arrival of one train and the departure of the next,--nothing there but twelve churches and a cathedral,--mostly of the tenth to thirteenth century.

60. AFAR. I did not know of this weather sign; nor, I suppose, did the Duke of Hamilton's keeper, who shot the last pair of Choughs on Arran in 1863. ('Birds of the West of Scotland,' p.

165.) I trust the climate has wept for them; certainly our Coniston clouds grow heavier, in these last years.

63. SOCIAL. Rightly sung by the Birds in three syllables; but the lagging of the previous line (probably intentional, but not pleasant,) makes the lightness of this one a little dangerous for a clumsy reader. The 'i-al' of 'social' does not fill the line as two full short syllables, else the preceding word should have been written '_on_,' not 'upon.' The five syllables, rightly given, just take the time of two iambs; but there _are_ readers rude enough to accent the 'on' of upon, and take 'social' for two short syllables.

64. HOLD. Short for 'to hold'--but it is a licentious construction, so also, in next line, 'themselves' for 'they themselves.' The stanza is on the whole the worst in the poem, its irony and essential force being much dimmed by obscure expression, and even slightly staggering continuity of thought.

The Rooks may be properly supposed to have taught men to dispute, but not to write. The Swallow teaches building, literally, and the Owl moping, literally; but the Rook does not teach pamphleteering literally. And the 'of old' is redundant, for rhyme's sake, since Rooks hold parliaments now as much as ever they did.

76. EACH YEAR. I doubt the fact; and too sadly suspect that birds take different mates. What a question to have to ask at this time of day and year!

82. RIVERS. Read slowly. The 'customs' are rivers that 'go on forever' flowing from the fount of the soul. The Heart drinks of them, as of waterbrooks.