Chapter 4

123.

We wish to declare,How the birds of the airAll high institutions designed,And, holding in aweArt, Science, and Law,Delivered the same to mankind.6To begin with; of oldMan went naked, and cold,Whenever it pelted or froze,Tillweshowed him how feathersWere proof against weathers,With that,hebethought him of hose.12And next, it was plain,That he, in the rain,Was forced to sit dripping and blind,While the Reed-warbler swungIn a nest, with her youngDeep sheltered, and warm, from the wind.18So our homes in the boughsMadehimthink of the House;And the Swallow, to help him invent,Revealed the best wayTo economize clay,And bricks to combine with cement.24The knowledge withalOf the Carpenter's awl,Is drawn from the Nuthatch's bill;And the Sand-Martin's painsIn the hazel-clad lanesInstructed the Mason to drill.30Is thereoneof the Arts,More dear to men's hearts?To the bird's inspiration they owe it;For the Nightingale firstSweet music rehearsed,Prima-Donna, Composer, and Poet.36The Owl's dark retreatsShowed sages the sweetsOf brooding, to spin, or unravelFine webs in one's brain,Philosophical—vain;The Swallows,—the pleasures of travel.42Who chirped in such strainOf Greece, Italy, SpainAnd Egypt, that men, when they heard,Were mad to fly forth,From their nests in the North,And follow—the tail of the Bird.48Besides, it is true,Toourwisdom is dueThe knowledge of Sciences all;And chiefly, those rareMetaphysics of AirMen 'Meteorology' call,54And 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 menVast pamphlets to penUpon social compact and law,And Parliaments hold,As themselves did of old,Exclaiming 'Hear, Hear,' for 'Caw, Caw.'66And whence arose Love?Go, ask of the Dove,Or behold how the Titmouse, unresting,Still early and lateEver sings by his mate,To lighten her labors of nesting.72Theirbonds 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.78That these things are truthWe have learned from our youth,For our hearts to our customs incline,As the rivers that rollFrom the fount of our soul,Immortal, unchanging, divine.84Man, simple and old,In his ages of gold,Derived from our teaching true light,And deemed it his praiseIn his ancestors' waysTo govern his footsteps aright.90But the fountain of woes,Philosophy, rose;And, what between reason and whim,He has splintered our rulesInto sections and schools,So the world is made bitter, forhim.96But the birds, since on earthThey discovered the worthOf their souls, and resolved with a vowNo custom to change,For a new, or a strange,Have attained unto Paradise,now.102

We wish to declare,How the birds of the airAll high institutions designed,And, holding in aweArt, Science, and Law,Delivered the same to mankind.6

We wish to declare,

How the birds of the air

All high institutions designed,

And, holding in awe

Art, Science, and Law,

Delivered the same to mankind.6

To begin with; of oldMan went naked, and cold,Whenever it pelted or froze,Tillweshowed him how feathersWere proof against weathers,With that,hebethought him of hose.12

To begin with; of old

Man went naked, and cold,

Whenever it pelted or froze,

Tillweshowed him how feathers

Were proof against weathers,

With that,hebethought 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 swungIn a nest, with her youngDeep sheltered, and warm, from the wind.18

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 boughsMadehimthink of the House;And the Swallow, to help him invent,Revealed the best wayTo economize clay,And bricks to combine with cement.24

So our homes in the boughs

Madehimthink 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 withalOf the Carpenter's awl,Is drawn from the Nuthatch's bill;And the Sand-Martin's painsIn the hazel-clad lanesInstructed the Mason to drill.30

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 thereoneof the Arts,More dear to men's hearts?To the bird's inspiration they owe it;For the Nightingale firstSweet music rehearsed,Prima-Donna, Composer, and Poet.36

Is thereoneof the Arts,

More dear to men's hearts?

To the bird's inspiration they owe it;

For the Nightingale first

Sweet music rehearsed,

Prima-Donna, Composer, and Poet.36

The Owl's dark retreatsShowed sages the sweetsOf brooding, to spin, or unravelFine webs in one's brain,Philosophical—vain;The Swallows,—the pleasures of travel.42

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 strainOf Greece, Italy, SpainAnd 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

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,Toourwisdom is dueThe knowledge of Sciences all;And chiefly, those rareMetaphysics of AirMen 'Meteorology' call,54

Besides, it is true,

Toourwisdom 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

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 menVast pamphlets to penUpon social compact and law,And Parliaments hold,As themselves did of old,Exclaiming 'Hear, Hear,' for 'Caw, Caw.'66

'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 Titmouse, unresting,Still early and lateEver sings by his mate,To lighten her labors of nesting.72

And whence arose Love?

Go, ask of the Dove,

Or behold how the Titmouse, unresting,

Still early and late

Ever sings by his mate,

To lighten her labors of nesting.72

Theirbonds 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

Theirbonds 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 truthWe have learned from our youth,For our hearts to our customs incline,As the rivers that rollFrom the fount of our soul,Immortal, unchanging, divine.84

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 praiseIn his ancestors' waysTo govern his footsteps aright.90

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 rulesInto sections and schools,So the world is made bitter, forhim.96

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, forhim.96

But the birds, since on earthThey discovered the worthOf their souls, and resolved with a vowNo custom to change,For a new, or a strange,Have attained unto Paradise,now.102

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 ofhail, not rain. Felt by nakedness, in a more severe manner than mere rain.11. 'Weathers,'i.e., bothweathers—hail and cold: thearmorof the feathers against hail; the down of them against cold. See account of Feather-mail in 'Laws of Fésole,' chap, vi., p. 53, with the first and fifth plates, and figure 15.15.Blind. By the beating of the rain in his face. Inhail, there is real danger and bruising, if the hail be worth calling so, for the whole body; while in rain, ifitbe 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 herneston it, in which even her infinitely tender brood weredeepsheltered and warm, from thewind. It is impossible to find a lovelier instance of pure poetical antithesis.20.House. Again antithetic 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 "Shegave 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.Composerof the music;Poetof the meaning.Compare, and think over, the Bullfinch's nest, etc., § 48 to 61 of 'Eagle's Nest.'In modern music themeaningis, I believe, by the reputed masters omitted.39. ToSpin, orunravel. Synthesis and analysis, in the vulgar Greek slang.46.Mad. Compare Byron of the English inhisday. "A parcel of staring boobies 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 samespots(Wengern Alp and Interlachen), see, if youcansee, in any library, public or private, at Geneva, Topffer's 'Excursions dans les Alpes, 1832.' Douzième, Treizième, and Quatorzième Journée.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 therearereaders 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.92.Philosophy.The author should at least have given a note or two to explain the sense in which he uses words so wide as this. The philosophy which begins in pride, and concludes in malice, is indeedafountain—though notthefountain—of woes, to mankind. But true philosophy such as Fénelon's or Sir Thomas More's, is a well of peace.98.Worth.Again, it is not clearly told us what the author means by the worth of a bird's soul, nor how the birds learned it. The reader is left to discern, and collect for himself—with patience such as not one in a thousand now-a-days possesses, the opposition between the "fount of our soul" (line 83) and fountain of philosophy.

Line 9.Pelted, said ofhail, not rain. Felt by nakedness, in a more severe manner than mere rain.

11. 'Weathers,'i.e., bothweathers—hail and cold: thearmorof the feathers against hail; the down of them against cold. See account of Feather-mail in 'Laws of Fésole,' chap, vi., p. 53, with the first and fifth plates, and figure 15.

15.Blind. By the beating of the rain in his face. Inhail, there is real danger and bruising, if the hail be worth calling so, for the whole body; while in rain, ifitbe 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 herneston it, in which even her infinitely tender brood weredeepsheltered and warm, from thewind. It is impossible to find a lovelier instance of pure poetical antithesis.

20.House. Again antithetic 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 "Shegave 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.Composerof the music;Poetof the meaning.

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

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

39. ToSpin, orunravel. Synthesis and analysis, in the vulgar Greek slang.

46.Mad. Compare Byron of the English inhisday. "A parcel of staring boobies 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 samespots(Wengern Alp and Interlachen), see, if youcansee, in any library, public or private, at Geneva, Topffer's 'Excursions dans les Alpes, 1832.' Douzième, Treizième, and Quatorzième Journée.

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 therearereaders 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.

92.Philosophy.The author should at least have given a note or two to explain the sense in which he uses words so wide as this. The philosophy which begins in pride, and concludes in malice, is indeedafountain—though notthefountain—of woes, to mankind. But true philosophy such as Fénelon's or Sir Thomas More's, is a well of peace.

98.Worth.Again, it is not clearly told us what the author means by the worth of a bird's soul, nor how the birds learned it. The reader is left to discern, and collect for himself—with patience such as not one in a thousand now-a-days possesses, the opposition between the "fount of our soul" (line 83) and fountain of philosophy.

124. I could willingly enlarge on these last two stanzas, but think my duty will be better done to the poet if I quote, for conclusion, two lighter pieces of his verse, which will require no comment, and are closer to our present purpose. The first,—the lament of the French Cook in purgatory,—has, for once, a note by the author, giving M. Soyer's authority for the items of the great dish,—"symbol of philanthropy, served at York during the great commemorative banquet after the first exhibition." The commemorative soul of the tormented Chef—always making a dish like it, of which nobody ever eats—sings thus:—

"Do you veeshTo hear before you taste, of de hundred-guinea deesh?Has it not been sung by every knife and fork,'L'extravagance culinaire à l'Alderman,' at York?Vy, ven I came here, eighteen Octobers seence,I dis deesh was making for your Royal Preence,Ven half de leeving world, cooking all de others,Swore an oath hereafter, to be men and brothers.All de leetle Songsters in de voods dat build,Hopped into the kitchen asking to be kill'd;All who in de open furrows find de seeds,Or de mountain berries, all de farmyard breeds,—Ha—I see de knife, vile de deesh it shapens,Vith les petits noix, of four-and-twenty capons,Dere vere dindons, fatted poulets, fowls in plenty,Five times nine of partridges, and of pheasants twenty;Ten grouse, that should have had as many covers,All in dis one deesh, with six preety plovers,Forty woodcocks, plump, and heavy in the scales,Pigeons dree good dozens, six-and-dirty quails,Ortulans, ma foi, and a century of snipes,But de preetiest of dem all was twice tree dozen pipesOf de melodious larks, vich each did clap the ving,And veeshed de pie vas open, dat dey all might sing!"

"Do you veesh

To hear before you taste, of de hundred-guinea deesh?

Has it not been sung by every knife and fork,

'L'extravagance culinaire à l'Alderman,' at York?

Vy, ven I came here, eighteen Octobers seence,

I dis deesh was making for your Royal Preence,

Ven half de leeving world, cooking all de others,

Swore an oath hereafter, to be men and brothers.

All de leetle Songsters in de voods dat build,

Hopped into the kitchen asking to be kill'd;

All who in de open furrows find de seeds,

Or de mountain berries, all de farmyard breeds,—

Ha—I see de knife, vile de deesh it shapens,

Vith les petits noix, of four-and-twenty capons,

Dere vere dindons, fatted poulets, fowls in plenty,

Five times nine of partridges, and of pheasants twenty;

Ten grouse, that should have had as many covers,

All in dis one deesh, with six preety plovers,

Forty woodcocks, plump, and heavy in the scales,

Pigeons dree good dozens, six-and-dirty quails,

Ortulans, ma foi, and a century of snipes,

But de preetiest of dem all was twice tree dozen pipes

Of de melodious larks, vich each did clap the ving,

And veeshed de pie vas open, dat dey all might sing!"

125. There are stiff bits of prosody in these verses,—one or two, indeed, quite unmanageable,—but we must remember that French meter will not read into ours. The last piece I will give flows very differently. It is in express imitation of Scott—but no nobler model could be chosen; and how much better for minor poets sometimes to write in another's manner, than always to imitate their own.

This chant is sung by the soul of the Francesca of the Bird-ordained purgatory; whose torment is to be dressed only in falling snow, each flake striking cold to her heart as it falls,—but such lace investiture costing, not a cruel price per yard in souls of women, nor a mortal price in souls of birds.

Her 'snow-mantled shadow' sings:

"Alas, my heart! No grief so greatAs thinking on a happy stateIn misery. Ah, dear is powerTo female hearts! Oh, blissful hourWhen Blanche and Flavia, joined with me,Tri-feminine Directory,Dispensed in latitudes belowThe laws of flounce and furbelow;And held on bird and beast debate,What lives should die to serve our state!We changed our statutes with the moon,And oft in January or June,At deep midnight, we would prescribeSome furry kind, or feathered tribe.At morn, we sent the mandate forth;Then rose the hunters of the North:And all the trappers of the WestBowed at our feminine behest.Died every seal that dared to riseTo his round air-hole in the ice;Died each Siberian fox and hareAnd ermine trapt in snow-built snare.For us the English fowler setThe ambush of his whirling net;And by green Rother's reedy sideThe blue kingfisher flashed and died.His life for us the seamew gaveHigh upon Orkney's lonely wave;Nor was our queenly power unknownIn Iceland or by Amazon;For where the brown duck stripped her breastFor her dear eggs and windy nest,Three times her bitter spoil was wonFor woman; and when all was done,She called her snow-white piteous drake,Who plucked his bosom for our sake."

"Alas, my heart! No grief so great

As thinking on a happy state

In misery. Ah, dear is power

To female hearts! Oh, blissful hour

When Blanche and Flavia, joined with me,

Tri-feminine Directory,

Dispensed in latitudes below

The laws of flounce and furbelow;

And held on bird and beast debate,

What lives should die to serve our state!

We changed our statutes with the moon,

And oft in January or June,

At deep midnight, we would prescribe

Some furry kind, or feathered tribe.

At morn, we sent the mandate forth;

Then rose the hunters of the North:

And all the trappers of the West

Bowed at our feminine behest.

Died every seal that dared to rise

To his round air-hole in the ice;

Died each Siberian fox and hare

And ermine trapt in snow-built snare.

For us the English fowler set

The ambush of his whirling net;

And by green Rother's reedy side

The blue kingfisher flashed and died.

His life for us the seamew gave

High upon Orkney's lonely wave;

Nor was our queenly power unknown

In Iceland or by Amazon;

For where the brown duck stripped her breast

For her dear eggs and windy nest,

Three times her bitter spoil was won

For woman; and when all was done,

She called her snow-white piteous drake,

Who plucked his bosom for our sake."

126. "See 'Hartwig's Polar World' for the manner of taking Eiderdown."—Once more, we have thus much of author's note, but edition and page not specified, which, however, I am fortunately able to supply. Mr. Hartwig's miscellany being a favorite—what can I call it, sand-hill?—of my own, out of which every now and then, in a rasorial manner, I can scratch some savory or useful contents;—one or two, it may be remembered, I collected for the behoof of the Bishop of Manchester, on this very subject, (Contemporary Review, Feb. 1880); and some of Mr. Hartwig's half-sandy, half-soppy, political opinions, are offered to the consideration of the British workman in the last extant number of 'Fors.' Touching eider ducks, I find in his fifth chapter—on Iceland—he quotes the following account, by Mr. Shepherd, of the shore of the island of 'Isafjardarjup'—a word which seems to contain in itself an introduction to Icelandic literature:—

127. "The ducks and their nests were everywhere, in a manner that was quite alarming. Great brown ducks sat upon their nests in masses, and at every step started up from under our feet. It was with difficulty that we avoided treading on some of the nests. The island being but three-quarters of a mile in width, the opposite shore was soon reached. On the coast was a wall built of large stones, just above the high-water level, about three feet in height, and of considerable thickness. At the bottom, on both sides of it, alternate stones had been left out, so as to form a series of square compartments for the ducks to make their nests in. Almost every compartment was occupied; and, as we walked along the shore, a long line of ducks flew out one after another. The surface of the water also was perfectly white with drakes, who welcomed their brown wives with loud and clamorous cooing. When we arrived at the farmhouse, we were cordially welcomed by its mistress. The house itself was a great marvel. The earthen wall that surrounded it and the window embrasures were occupied by ducks. On the ground, the house was fringed with ducks. On the turf-slopes of the roof we could see ducks; and a duck sat in the scraper.

"A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a chess-board, (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed, and a hollow made,) and all were filled with ducks. A windmill was infested, and so were all the out-houses, mounds, rocks, and crevices. The ducks were everywhere. Many of them were so tame that we could stroke them on their nests; and the good lady told us that there was scarcely a duck on the island which would not allow her to take its eggs without flight or fear."

128. But upon the back of the canvas, as it were, of this pleasant picture—on the back of the leaf, in his book, p. 65,—this description being given in p. 66,—Doctor Hartwig tells us, in his own peculiar soppy and sandy way—half tearful, half Dryasdusty, (or may not we say—it sounds more Icelandic—'Dry-as-sawdusty,') these less cheerful facts. "The eiderdown is easily collected, as the birds are quite tame. The female having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs, in a nest thickly lined with her beautiful down, the collectors, after carefully removing the bird, rob the nest of its contents; after which they replace her. She then begins to lay afresh—though this time only three or four eggs,—and again has recourse to the down on her body. But her greedy persecutors once more rifle her nest, and oblige her to line it for the third time. Now, however, her own stock of down is exhausted, and with a plaintive voice she calls her mate to her assistance, who willingly plucks the soft feathers from his breast to supply the deficiency. If the cruel robbery be again repeated, which in former times was frequently the case, the poor eider-duck abandons the spot, never to return, and seeks for a new home where she may indulge her maternal instinct undisturbed by the avarice of man."

129. Now, as I have above told you, these two statements are given on the two sides of the same leaf; and the reader must make what he may of them. Setting the best of my own poor wits at them, it seems to me that the merciless abstraction of down is indeed the usual custom of the inhabitants and visitors; but that the 'good lady,' referred to by Mr. Shepherd, manages things differently; and in consequence we are presently farther told of her, (bottom of p. 65,) that "when she first became possessor of the island, the produce of down from the ducks was not more than fifteen pounds weight in the year; but under her careful nurture of twenty years it had risen to nearly one hundred pounds annually. It requires about one pound and a half to make a coverlet for a single bed, and the down is worth from twelve to fifteen shillings per pound. Most of the eggs are taken and pickled for winter consumption, one or two only being left to hatch."

But here, again, pulverulent Dr. Hartwig leaves us untold who 'consumes' all these pickled eggs of the cooing and downy-breasted creatures; (you observe, in passing, that an eider-duck coos instead of quacking, and must be a sort of Sea-Dove,) or what addition their price makes to the good old lady's feather-nesting income of, as I calculate it, sixty to seventy-five pounds a year,—all her twenty years of skill and humanity and moderate plucking having got no farther than that. And not feeling myself able, on these imperfect data, to offer any recommendations to the Icelandic government touching the duck trade, I must end my present chapter with a rough generalization of results. For a beginning of which, the time having too clearly and sadly come for me, as I have said in my preface, to knit up, as far as I may, the loose threads and straws of my raveled life's work, I reprint in this place the second paragraph of the chapter on Vital Beauty in the second volume of 'Modern Painters,' premising, however, some few necessary words.

130. I intended never to have reprinted the second volume of 'Modern Painters'; first, because it is written in affected imitation of Hooker, and not in my own proper style; and, secondly, yet chiefly, because I did not think the analytic study of which it mainly consists, in the least likely to be intelligible to the general student, or, therefore, profitable to him. But I find now that the 'general student' has plunged himself into such abysses, not of analytic, but of dissolytic,—dialytic—or even diarrhœic—lies, belonging to the sooty and sensual elements of his London and Paris life, that, however imperfectly or dimly done, the higher analysis of that early work of mine ought at least to be put within his reach; and the fact, somehow, enforced upon him, that there were people beforehelived, who knew what 'æsthesis' meant, though they did not think that pigs' flavoring of pigs'-wash was ennobled by giving it that Greek name: and that there were also people before his time who knew what vital beauty meant, though they did not seek it either in the model-room, or the Parc aux Cerfs.

Therefore, I will republish (D.V.) the analytic parts of the second volume of 'Modern Painters' as they were written, but with perhaps an additional note or two, and the omission of the passages concerning Evangelical or other religious matters, in which I have found out my mistakes.

131. To be able to hunt for these mistakes, and crow over them, in the original volume, will always give that volume its orthodox value in sale catalogues, so that I shall swindle nobody who has already bought the book by bringing down its price upon them. Nor will the new edition be a cheap one—even if I ever get it out, which is by no means certain. Here, however, at once, is the paragraph above referred to, quite one of the most important in the book. The reader should know, preparatorily, that for what is now called 'æsthesis,'Ialways used, and still use, the English word 'sensation'—as, for instance, the sensation of cold or heat, and of their differences;—of the flavor of mutton and beef, and their differences;—of a peacock's and a lark's cry, and their differences;—of the redness in a blush, and in rouge, and their differences;—of the whiteness in snow, and in almond-paste, and their differences;—of the blackness and brightness of night and day, or of smoke and gaslight, and their differences, etc., etc. But for the Perception of Beauty, I always used Plato's word, which is the proper word in Greek, and the only possiblesingleword that can be used in any other language by any man who understands the subject,—'Theoria,'—the Germans only having a term parallel to it, 'Anschauung,' assumed to be its equivalent in p. 22 of the old edition of 'Modern Painters,' but which is not its real equivalent, for Anschauung does not (I believe)includebodily sensation, whereas Plato's Theoria does, so far as is necessary; and mine, somewhat more than Plato's. "The first perfection," (then I say, in this so long in coming paragraph) of the theoretic faculty, "is the kindness and unselfish fullness of heart, which receives the utmost amount of pleasure from the happiness of all things. Of which in high degree the heart of man is incapable; neither what intense enjoyment the angels may have in all that they see of things that move and live, and in the part they take in the shedding of God's kindness upon them, can we know or conceive: only in proportion as we draw near to God, and are made in measure like unto Him, can we increase this our possession of charity, of which the entire essence is in God only. But even the ordinary exercise of this faculty implies a condition of the whole moral being in some measure right and healthy, and to the entire exercise of it there is necessary the entire perfection of the Christian character; for he who loves not God, nor his brother, cannot love the grass beneath his feet, and the creatures which live not for his uses, filling those spaces in the universe which he needs not; while, on the other hand, none can love God, nor his human brother, without loving all things which his Father loves; nor without looking upon them, every one, as in that respect his brethren also, and perhaps worthier than he, if, in the under concords they have to fill, their part be touched more truly. It is good to read of that kindness and humbleness of S. Francis of Assisi, who never spoke to bird or cicala, nor even to wolf and beast of prey, but as his brother; and so we find are moved the minds of all good and mighty men, as in the lesson that we have from the mariner of Coleridge, and yet more truly and rightly taught in the Hartleap Well:—

'Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride,With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.'

'Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride,

With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.'

And again in the White Doe of Rylstone, with the added teaching, that anguish of our own

'Is tempered and allayed by sympathies,Aloft ascending, and descending deep,Even to the inferior kinds;'

'Is tempered and allayed by sympathies,

Aloft ascending, and descending deep,

Even to the inferior kinds;'

so that I know not of anything more destructive of the whole theoretic faculty, not to say of the Christian character and human intellect, than those accursed sports, in which man makes of himself, cat, tiger, serpent, chætodon, and alligator in one; and gathers into one continuance of cruelty, for his amusement, all the devices that brutes sparingly, and at intervals, use against each other for their necessities."

132. So much I had perceived, and said, you observe, good reader, concerning S. Francis of Assisi, and his sermons, when I was only five-and-twenty,—little thinking at that day how, Evangelical-bred as I was, I should ever come to write a lecture for the first School of Art in Oxford in the Sacristan's cell at Assisi,[25]or ever—among such poor treasures as I have of friends' reliquaries—I should fondly keep a little 'pinch' of his cloak.

Rough cloak of hair, it is, still at Assisi; concerning which, and the general use of camels' hair, or sackcloth, or briars and thorns, in the Middle Ages, together with seal-skins (not badgers'), and rams' skins dyed gules, by the Jews, and the Crusaders, as compared with the use of the two furs, Ermine and Vair, and their final result in the operations of the Hudson's Bay Company, much casual notice will be found in my former work. And now, this is the sum of it all, so far as I can shortly write it.

There is no possibility of explaining the system of life in this world, on any principle ofconqueringlyDivine benevolence. That piece of bold impiety, if it be so, I have always asserted in my well-considered books,—I considering it, on the contrary, the only really pious thing to say, namely, that the world is under a curse, which we may, if we will, gradually remove, by doing as we are bid, and believing what we are told; and when we are told, for instance, in the best book we have about our own old history, that "unto Adam also, and to his wife, did the Lord God make coats of skins, and clothed them," we are to accept it as the best thing to be done under the circumstances, and to wear, if we can get them, wolf skin, or cow skin, or beaver's, or ermine's; but not therefore to confuse God with the Hudson's Bay Company, nor to hunt foxes for their brushes instead of their skins, or think the poor little black tails of a Siberian weasel on a judge's shoulders may constitute him therefore a Minos in matters of retributive justice, or an Æacus in distributive, who can at once determine how many millions a Railroad Company are to make the public pay for not granting them their exclusive business by telegraph.

133. And every hour of my life, since that paragraph of 'Modern Painters' was written, has increased, I disdain to say myfeeling, but say, with fearless decision, myknowledge, of the bitterness of the curse, which the habits of hunting and 'la chasse' have brought upon the so-called upper classes of England and France; until, from knights and gentlemen, they have sunk into jockeys, speculators, usurers, butchers by battue; and, the English especially, now, as a political body, into what I have called them in the opening chapter of 'The Bible of Amiens,'—"the scurviest louts that ever fouled God's earth with their carcasses."

The language appears to be violent. It is simply brief, and accurate. But I never meant it to remain without justification, and I will give the justification here at once.

Take your Johnson, and look out the adjective Scurvy, in its higher or figurative sense.

You find the first quotation he gives is from 'Measure for Measure,' spoken of the Duke, in monk's disguise:

"I know him for a man divine and holy;Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler."

"I know him for a man divine and holy;

Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler."

In which passage, Shakspeare, who never uses words in vain, nor with a grain less than their full weight, opposes the divineness of men, or their walking with God, to the scurviness of men, or their wallowing with swine; and again, he opposes the holiness of men,—in the sense of "Holy—harmless, undefiled," and more than that, helpful or healthful in action—to the harmful and filthy action of temporary meddlers, such as the hanging of seventeen priests before breakfast, and our profitable military successes, in such a prolonged piece of 'temporary meddling' as the Crimean war.

134. But, secondly, if you look down Johnson's column, you will find his last quotation is not in the higher or figurative, but the lower and literal sense, from Swift, to the effect that "it would be convenient to prevent the excess of drink, with that scurvy custom of taking tobacco." And you will also find, if you ever have the sense or courage to look the facts of modern history in the face, that those two itches, for the pot and the pipe, have been the roots of every other demoralization of the filthiest and literally 'scurviest' sort amongallclasses;—the dirty pack of cards; the church pavementrunningwith human saliva,—(I have seen the spittings in ponds half an inch deep, in the choir of Rouen cathedral); and the entirely infernal atmosphere of the common cafés and gambling-houses of European festivity, infecting every condition of what they call 'æsthesis,' left in the bodies of men, until they cannot be happy with the pines and pansies of the Alps, until they have mixed tobacco smoke with the scent of them; and the whole concluding in the endurance—or even enjoyment—of the most squalid conditions of filth in our capital cities, that have ever been yet recorded, among the disgraces of mankind.

135. But, thirdly, Johnson's central quotation is again from 'Measure for Measure':—

"He spokescurvyandprovokingterms against your honor."

The debates in the English House of Commons, for the last half-century, having consisted virtually of nothing else!

I next take the word 'lout,' of which Johnson gives two derivations for our choice: it is either the past participle of 'to lower, or make low;' a lowed person, (as our House of Lords under the direction of railway companies and public-house keepers); or else—and more strictly I believe in etymology—a form of the German 'leute,' 'common people.' In either case, its proper classical English sense is given by Johnson as "a mean, awkward fellow; a bumpkin, a clown."

Now I surely cannot refer to any general representation of British society more acceptable to, and acknowledged by, that society, than the finished and admirably composed drawings of Du Maurier inPunchwhich have become every week more and more consistent, keen, and comprehensive, during the issues of the last two years.

I take three of them, as quite trustworthy pictures, and the best our present arts of delineation could produce, of the three Etats, or representative orders, of the British nation of our day.

Of the Working class, take the type given in Lady Clara Robinson's garden tea party, p. 174, vol. 79.

Of the Mercantile class, Mr. Smith, in his drawing-room after dinner, p. 222, vol. 80.

And of the Noblesse, the first five gentlemen on the right (spectator's right) of the line, in the ball at Stilton House, (July 3d, 1880).

136. Of the manner or state of lout, to which our manufacturing prosperity has reduced its artisan, as represented in the first of these frescoes, I do not think it needful to speak here; neither of the level of sublime temperament and unselfish heroism to which the dangers of commercial enterprise have exalted Mr. Smith. But the five consecutive heads in the third fresco are a very notable piece of English history, representing the polished and more or less lustrous type of lout; which is indeed a kind of rolled shingle of former English noblesse capable of nothing now in the way of resistance to Atlantic liberalism, except of getting itself swept up into ugly harbor bars, and troublesome shoals in the tideway.

And observe also, that of the three types of lout, whose combined chorus and tripudiation leads the present British Constitution its devil's dance, this last and smoothest type is also the dullest. Your operative lout cannot indeed hold his cup of coffee with a grace, or possess himself of a biscuit from Lady Clara's salver without embarrassment; but, in his own mill, he can at least make a needle without an eye, or a nail without a head, or a knife that won't cut, or something of that sort, with dexterity. Also, the middle class, or Smithian lout, at least manages his stockbroking or marketing with decision and cunning; knows something by eye or touch of his wares, and something of the characters of the men he has to deal with. But the Ducal or Marquisian lout has no knowledge of anything under the sun, except what sort of horse's quarters will carry his own, farther weighted with that smooth block or pebble of a pow; and no faculty under the sun of doing anything, except cutting down the trees his fathers planted for him, and selling the lands his fathers won.

137. That is indeed the final result of hunting and horse-racing on the British landlord. Of its result on the British soldier, perhaps the figures of Lord George Sackville at the battle of Minden, and of Lord Raglan at the battle of Alma, (who in the first part of the battle did not know where he was, and in the second plumed himself on being where he had no business to be,) are as illustrative as any I could name; but the darkest of all, to my own thinking, are the various personages, civil and military, who have conducted the Caffre war to its last successes, of blowing women and children to death with dynamite, and harrying the lands of entirely innocent peasantry, because they would not betray their defeated king.

138. Of the due and noble relations between man and his companion creatures, the horse, dog, and falcon, enough has been said in my former writings—unintelligible enough to a chivalry which passes six months of its annual life in Rotten Row, and spends the rents of its Cumberland Hills in building furnaces round Furness Abbey; but which careful students either of past knighthood, or of future Christianity, will find securely and always true. For the relations between man and his beast of burden, whether the burden be himself or his goods, become beautiful and honorable, just in the degree that both creatures are useful to the rest of mankind, whether in war or peace. The Greeks gave the highest symbol of them in the bridling of Pegasus for Bellerophon by Athena; and from that myth you may go down to modern times—understanding, according to your own sense and dignity, what all prophecy, poetry, history, have told you—of the horse whose neck is clothed with thunder, or the ox who treadeth out the corn—of Joseph's chariot, or of Elijah's—of Achilles and Xanthus—Herminius and Black Auster—down to Scott and Brown Adam—or Dandie Dinmont and Dumple. That pastoral one is, of all, the most enduring. I hear the proudest tribe of Arabia Felix is now reduced by poverty and civilization to sell its last well-bred horse; and that we send out our cavalry regiments to repetitions of the charge at Balaclava, without horses at all; those that they can pick up wherever they land being good enough for such military operations. But the cart-horse will remain, when the charger and hunter are no more; and with a wiser master.

"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall neverSet tooth upon a friend so true;He'll not live long; but I foreverShall know I gave the beast his due.Ready as bird to meet the mornWere all his efforts at the plow;Then the mill-brook—with hay or corn,Good creature! how he'd spatter through.I left him in the shafts behind,His fellows all unhook'd and gone;He neigh'd, and deemed the thing unkind;Then, starting, drew the load alone.* * * *Half choked with joy, with love, and pride,He now with dainty clover fed him;Now took a short, triumphant ride,And then again got down, and led him."

"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall neverSet tooth upon a friend so true;He'll not live long; but I foreverShall know I gave the beast his due.

"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never

Set tooth upon a friend so true;

He'll not live long; but I forever

Shall know I gave the beast his due.

Ready as bird to meet the mornWere all his efforts at the plow;Then the mill-brook—with hay or corn,Good creature! how he'd spatter through.

Ready as bird to meet the morn

Were all his efforts at the plow;

Then the mill-brook—with hay or corn,

Good creature! how he'd spatter through.

I left him in the shafts behind,His fellows all unhook'd and gone;He neigh'd, and deemed the thing unkind;Then, starting, drew the load alone.

I left him in the shafts behind,

His fellows all unhook'd and gone;

He neigh'd, and deemed the thing unkind;

Then, starting, drew the load alone.

* * * *

Half choked with joy, with love, and pride,He now with dainty clover fed him;Now took a short, triumphant ride,And then again got down, and led him."

Half choked with joy, with love, and pride,

He now with dainty clover fed him;

Now took a short, triumphant ride,

And then again got down, and led him."

139. Where Paris has had to leadherhorses, we know; and where London had better lead hers, than let her people die of starvation. But I have not lost my hope that there are yet in England Bewicks and Bloomfields, who may teach their children—and earn for their cattle—better ways of fronting, and of waiting for, Death.

Nor are the uses of the inferior creatures to us less consistent with their happiness. To all that live, Death must come. The manner of it, and the time, are for the human Master of them, and of the earth, to determine—not to his pleasure, but to his duty and his need.

In sacrifice, or for his food, or for his clothing, it is lawful for him to slay animals; but not to delight in slaying any that are helpless. If he choose, for discipline and trial of courage, to leave the boar in Calydon, the wolf in Taurus, the tiger in Bengal, or the wild bull in Aragon, there is forest and mountain wide enough for them: but the inhabited world in sea and land should be one vast unwalled park and treasure lake, in which its flocks of sheep, or deer, or fowl, or fish, should be tended and dealt with, as best may multiply the life of all Love's Meinie, in strength, and use, and peace.

APPENDIX.

140. This part of the book will, I hope, be continuous with the text of it, containing henceforward, in each number, the nomenclature hitherto used for the birds described in it, and the Author's reason for his choice or change of names. In the present number, it supplies also the nomenclature required for the two preceding ones, and thus finishes the first volume.

The names given first, in capitals, for each bird, are those which the Author will in future give it, and proposes for use in elementary teaching. They will consist only of a plain Latin specific name, with one, or at the most two, Latin epithets; and the simplest popular English name, if there be one; if not, the English name will usually be the direct translation of the Latin one.

Then in order will follow—

I. Linnæus's name, marked L.

II. Buffon's name, marked F, the F standing also for 'French' when any popular French name is given with Buffon's.

III. The German popular name, marked T (Teutonic), for I want the G for Mr. Gould; and this T will include authoritative German scientific names also.

IV. The Italian popular name, if one exists, to give the connection with old Latin, marked I.

V. Mr. Gould's name, G; Yarrell's, Y; Dressler's, D; and Gesner's, Ges, being added, if different.

VI. Bewick's, B.

VII. Shakspeare's and Chaucer's, if I know them; and general references, such as may be needful.

The Appendix will thus contain the names of all the birds I am able to think or learn anything about, as I can set down what I think or learn; and with no other attempt at order than the slight grouping of convenience: but the numbers of the species examined will be consecutive, so that L. M. 25,—Love's Meinie, Number twenty-five,—or whatever the number may be, will at once identify any bird in the system of the St. George's schools.

The following note by the Author has in previous editions faced the first page of Lecture III., with the exception of the Nos. i.-vii., which are now added by the Editor for the sake of completeness.

Names of the birds noticed, according to the Author's system, with reference to the sections of the text and the Appendix in which the reader will find their more melodious scientific nomenclature:—

141. RUTILA FAMILIARIS. ROBIN REDBREAST.

"The second lesson, Robin Redebreast sang."

It is rightly classed by F. and Y. with the Warblers. Gould strangely puts it with his rock-birds, 'saxicolinæ,'—in which, however, he also includes the sedge warbler.

The true Robin is properly a wood-bird; the Swedish blue-throated one lives in marshes and arable fields. I have never seen a robin in really wild mountain ground.

There is only one European species of the red-breasted Robin. Gould names two Japanese ones.

II.

142. HIRUNDO DOMESTICA. HOUSE SWALLOW.

III.

143. HIRUNDO MONASTICA. MARTLET.

I cannot get at the root of this word, 'Martlet,' which is the really classical and authoritative English one. I have called it Monastica, in translation of Shakspeare's "temple-haunting." The main idea about this bird, among people who have any ideas, seems to be that it haunts and builds among grander masses or clefts of wall than the common Swallow. Thus the Germans, besides Church-Swallow, call it wall,—rock,—roof,—or window, swallow, and Mur-Spyren, or Munster Spyren. (Wall-walker? Minster-walker?) But by the people who have no ideas, the names 'town' and 'country,' 'urbica' and 'rustica,' have been accepted as indicating the practical result, that a bird which likes walls will live in towns, and one which is content with eaves may remain in farms and villages, and under their straw-built sheds.

My name, Monastica, is farther justified by the Dominican severity of the bird's dress, dark gray-blue and white only; while the Domestica has a red cap and light brown bodice, and much longer tail. As far as I remember, the bird I know best is the Monastica. I have seen it in happiest flocks in all-monastic Abbeville, playing over the Somme in morning sunlight, dashing deep through the water at every stoop, like a hardcast stone.

IV.

144. HIRUNDO RIPARIA. BANK MARTLET.

The Italian name, 'Topino,' is a good familiar one, the bird being scarcely larger than a mouse, and "the head, neck, breast, and back of a mouse-color." (B.) It is the smallest of the Swallow tribe, and shortest of wing; accordingly, I find Spallanzani's experiment on the rate of swallow-flight was, for greater certainty and severity, made with this apparently feeblest of its kind:—a marked Topino, brought from its nest at Pavia to Milan, (fifteen miles,) flew back to Pavia in thirteen minutes. I imagine a Swift would at least have doubled this rate of flight, and that we may safely take a hundred miles an hour as an average of swallow-speed. This, however, is less by three-fifths than Michelet's estimate. See above, Lecture II., § 48.

I have substituted 'bank' for 'sand' in the English name, since all the six quoted authorities give it this epithet in Latin or French, and Bewick in English. Also, it may be well thus to distinguish it from birds of the sea-shore.

145. HIRUNDO SAGITTA. SWIFT.

I think it will be often well to admit the license of using a substantive for epithet, (as one says rock-bird or sea-bird, and not 'rocky,' or 'marine,') in Latin as well as in English. We thus greatly increase our power, and assist the brevity of nomenclature; and we gain the convenience of using the second term by itself, when we wish to do so, more naturally. Thus, one may shortly speak of 'The Sagitta' (when one is on a scientific point where 'Swift' would be indecorous!) more easily than one could speak of 'The Stridula,' or 'The Velox,' if we gave the bird either of those epithets. I think this of Sagitta is the most descriptive one could well find; only the reader is always to recollect that arrow-birds must be more heavy in the head or shaft than arrow-weapons, and fly more in the manner of rifle-shot than bow-shot. See Lecture II., §§ 46, 67, 71, in which last paragraph, however, I have to correct the careless statement, that in the sailing flight, without stroke, of the larger falcons, their weight ever acts like thestringof a kite. Their weight acts simply as theweightof a kite acts, and no otherwise. (Compare § 65.) The impulsive force in sailing can be given only by the tail feathers, like that of a darting trout by the tail fin. I do not think any excuse necessary for my rejection of the name which seems most to have established itself lately, 'Cypselus Apus,' 'Footless Capsule.' It is not footless, and there is no sense in calling a bird a capsule because it lives in a hole, (which the Swift does not.) The Greeks had a double idea in the word, which it is not the least necessary to keep; and Aristotle's cypselus is not the swift, but the bank-martlet—"they bring up their young in cells made out of clay,longin the entrance." The swift being precisely the one of the Hirundines which doesnotmake its nest of clay, but of miscellaneous straws, threads, and shreds of any adaptable rubbish, which it can snatch from the ground as it stoops on the wing,[26]or pilfer from any half-ruined nests of other birds.

'Cotyle' is only a synonym for Cypselus, enabling ornithologists to become farther unintelligible. We will be troubled no more either with cotyles or capsules, but recollect simply that Hirundo, χελιδων [Greek: chelidôn], swallow, schwalbe, and hirondelle, are in each language the sufficing single words for the entire Hirundine race.

VI.

146. HIRUNDO ALPINA. ALPINE SWIFT.

I cannot find its German name. The Italians compare it with the sea-swallow, which is a gull. What 'Melba' means, or ever meant, I have no conception.

The bird is the noblest of all the swallow tribe—nearly as large as a hawk, and lives high in air, nothing but rocks or cathedrals serving it for nest. In France, seen only near the Alps; in Spain, among the mountains of Aragon. "Almost every person who has had an opportunity of observing this bird speaks in terms of admiration of its vast powers of flight; it is not surprising, therefore, that an individual should now and then wing its way across the Channel to the British Islands, and roam over our meads and fields until it is shot." (G.) It is, I believe, the swallow of the Bible,—abundant, though only a summer migrant, in the Holy Land. I have never seen it, that I know of, nor thought of it in the lecture on the Swallow; but give here the complete series of Hirundines, of which some notice may incidentally afterwards occur in the text.

VII.

147. NOCTUA EUROPÆA. NIGHT-JAR OF EUROPE.

Dorrhawk and Fern-owl, also given by Bewick, are the most beautiful English names for this bird; but as it is really neither a hawk nor an owl, though much mingled in its manners of both, I keep the usual one, Night-jar, euphonious for Night-Churr, from its continuous note like the sound of a spinning wheel. The idea of its sucking goats, or any other milky creature, has long been set at rest; and science, intolerant of legends in which there is any use or beauty, cannot be allowed to ratify in its dog or pig-Latin those which are eternally vulgar and profitless. I had first thought of calling it Hirundo Nocturna; but this would be too broad massing; for although the creature is more swallow than owl, living wholly on insects, it must be properly held as a distinct species from both. Owls cannot gape like constrictors; nor have swallows whiskers or beards, or combs to keep both in order with, on their middle toes. This bird's cat-like bristles at the base of the beak connect it with the bearded Toucans, and so also the toothed mandibles of the American cave-dwelling variety. I shall not want the word Noctua for the owls themselves, and it is a pretty and simple one for this tribe, enabling the local epithet 'European,' and other necessary ones, of varieties, to be retained for the second or specific term. Nacht-schade, Night-loss, the popular German name, perhaps really still refers to this supposed nocturnal thieving; or may have fallen euphonious from Nacht-schwalbe, which in some places abides. 'Crapaud-volant' is ugly, but descriptive, the brown speckling of the bird being indeed toadlike, though wonderful and beautiful. Bewick has put his utmost skill into it; and the cut, with the Bittern and White Owl, may perhaps stand otherwise unrivaled by any of his hand.

Gould's drawing of the bird on its ground nest, or ground contentedly taken for nest, among heath and scarlet-topped lichen, is among the most beautiful in his book; and there are four quite exquisite drawings by Mr. Ford, of African varieties, in Dr. Smith's zoology of South Africa. The one called by the doctor Europæus seems a grayer and more graceful bird than ours. Natalensis wears a most wonderful dark oak-leaf pattern of cloak. Rufigena, I suppose, blushes herself separate from Ruficollis of Gould? but these foreign varieties seem countless. I shall never have time to examine them, but thought it not well to end the titular list of the swallows without notice of the position of this great tribe.

VIII.

148. MERULA FONTIUM. TORRENT-OUZEL.

Turdus Cinclus, Pennant; Common Dipper, Y.; Didapper, Doucker, Water Crow, Water Piot, B.; Cincle Plongeur, Temminck; Wasser Trostel, Swiss.

The scientific full arrangement, according to Yarrell, is thus:—

You will please observe that some of the scientific people call it a blackbird—some a thrush—some a starling—and the rest a Cincle, whatever that may be. It remains for them now only to show how the Cincle has been developed out of the Winkle, and the Winkle out of the Quangle-Wangle. You will note also that the Yorkshire and Durham mind is balanced between the two views of its being a crow or a magpie. I am content myself to be in harmony with France and Italy, in my 'Merula,' and with Germany in myTorrent-Ouzel. Their 'bach' (as in Staubbach, Giesbach, Reichenbach) being essentially a mountain waterfall; and their 'amsel,' as our Damsel, merely the Teutonic form of the Demoiselle or Domicilla—'House-Ouzel,' as it were, (said of a nice girl)—Domicilla again being, I think, merely the transposition of Ancilla Domini,—Behold, the handmaid of the Lord: (see frontispiece to third volume of 'Modern Painters') which, if young ladies in general were to embroider on their girdles—though their dresses, fitting at present 'as close as a glove' (see description of modern American ideal in 'A Fair Barbarian') do not usually require girdles either for their keys or their manners,—it would probably be thought irreverent by modern clergymen; but if the demoiselle were none the better for it, shecouldcertainly be none the worse.

149. ALLEGRETTA NYMPHÆA. LILY-OUZEL.

Var. 1 (IX.A.)

ALLEGRETTA NYMPHÆA, MACULATA. SPOTTED ALLEGRET.

The 'Winkernell' is I believe provincial (Alsace); so, Girardina, Milanese, and Girardine, Picard.—I can make nothing whatever of any of these names;—Porzana, Bolognese and Venetian, might perhaps mean Piggy-bird; and Ortygometra Porzana would then mean, in serious English, the 'Quail-sized Pig-bird.' I am sorry not to be able to do better as Interpreter for my scientific friends.

IX.B.

ALLEGRETTA NYMPHÆA, STELLARIS. STARRY ALLEGRET.

IX.C.

ALLEGRETTA NYMPHÆA, MINUTA. TINY ALLEGRET.

It never occurred to me, when I was writing of classical landscape, that 'Poussin' to a French ear conveyed the idea of 'chicken,' or of the young of birds in general. (Is it from 'pousser,' as if they were a kind of budding of bird?) Everybody seems to agree in feeling that this is a kind of wren among the dabchicks. Bewick's name, 'Little Gallinule,' meaning of course, if he knew it, the twice-over little Gallina;—and here again the question occurs to me about its voice. Is it a twice-over little crow, called a 'creak,' or anything like the Rail's more provokingly continuous objurgation?—compare notes below on Rallus Aquaticus. I find, with some alarm, in Buffon, that one with a longer tail, the Cau-rale or Tail-rail of Cayenne, is there called 'Little Peacock of the Roses;' but its cry is represented by the liquid syllables 'Piolo,' while the black-spotted one of the Society Islands—Magellan's 'Water-quail'—says 'Poo-a-nee,' and the Bidi-bidi of Jamaica says 'Bidi-bidi.'

150. TREPIDA STAGNARUM. LITTLE GREBE.

The Yorkshire accents and changes of its name are given by Bewick: Dobchick—small doucker; Dipper, or Didapper.

In Barbadoes—Two-penny chick.

It seems to me curious that without knowing Buffon's name, which I have only looked up now, 'the Chestnutty,' given from the brown on its back, I should have, myself, always called its foot 'chestnutty,' from the shape of its lobes.

My 'Trepida' will do well enough, I think, for a Latin rendering of Grebe, and will include the whole group of them,—'stagnarum' remaining for this species only, and the others being called Tippeted Trepids, or Muffed Trepids, Eared Trepids or Majestic Trepids, as I find out what they wear, and how they behave. Grèbe is used by Buffon only for the larger ones, and Castagneux for the smaller, which is absurd enough, unless the smaller are also the browner.

But I find in Buffon some interesting particulars not given in my text—namely, that the whole group differs from common chicks, not only in the lobed feet, but in these being set so far back, (becoming almost a fish's tail indeed, rather than a bird's legs,) that they are quite useless for walking, and could support the bird only on land if it stood upright: but that it "dashes through the waves" (i.e., the larger varieties through sea waves), and "runs on the surface"? (i.e., the smaller varieties on pools,) with surprising rapidity; its motions are said to be never quicker and brisker than when under water. It pursues the fish to a very great depth, and is often caught in fishermen's nets. It dives deeper than the scoter duck, which is taken only on beds of shellfish left bare by the ebb-tide; while the Grebes are taken in the open sea, often at more than twenty feet depth.

XI.

151. TITANIA ARCTICA. ARCTIC FAIRY.

But of suggestions by scientific authors, here are enough to choose from:—

Lobipes Hyperboreus, G. Lobipes Hyperborea, Selby. Phalaropus Hyperboreus, Penn. Phalarope Hyperbore, Temm. Phalaropus Fulicaria, Mont. Phalaropus Fuscus, Bewick. Phalaropus Rufescens, Briss. Red Coot-footed Tringa, Edw. Red-necked Phalarope, Gould. Lobe-foot, Selby. Coot-foot, Fleming.

I am a little shocked at my own choice of name in this case, not quite pleasing my imagination with the idea of a Coot-footed Fairy. But since Athena herself thinks it no disgrace to take for disguise the likeness either of a sea-gull or a swallow, a sea-fairy may certainly be thought of as condescending to appear with a diving bird's foot; and the rather that, if one may judge by painters' efforts to give us sight of Fairyland, the general character of its inhabitants is more that of earthly or marine goblins than aerial ones.

Now this is strange! At the last moment, I find this sentence in Gould's introduction: "The generic terms Phalaropus and Lobipes have been instituted for thefairy-likephalaropes."

XI.A.

TITANIA INCONSTANS. CHANGEFUL FAIRY.

"Phalarope with indented festoons," English trans. of Buffon.—It is of no use to ring the changes farther.

XII.

152. RALLUS AQUATICUS. WATER RAIL.

I take this group of foreign names from Buffon, but question the German one, which must belong to the Water Hen; for the Rail is not black, but prettily gray and spotted, and I think Buffon confuses the two birds, as several popular names do. Thus, the Velvet Hen also, I fancy, is the Water Hen; but Bewick's Velvet-Runner partly confirms it to the Rail. I find nothing about velvet said in describing the plumage.

I leave Linnæus's for our Latin name, under some protest. Rallus is a late Latin adjective, meaning 'thin,' and if understood as 'Thin-bird,' or 'Lath-like' bird, would be reasonable; but if it stand, as it does practically, for Railing or Rattling bird, it is both bad Latin, and, as far as I can make out, calumnious of the usually quiet creature.

Note also, for a connected piece of scholarship, that our English verb to 'rail' does not properly mean to scold, or to abuse noisily; it is from 'railler,' and means to 'rally,' or jest at, which is often a much wickeder thing to do, if the matter be indeed no jest.

Note also of Samet or Samite, its derivation from late Greek εξαμιτος [Greek: examitos], silken stuff woven of six threads, of which I believe two were of gold. The French oriflamme was of crimson samite, and I don't see why the French shouldn't call this bird Poule de Soie, instead of by their present ugly name—more objectionable on all grounds, of sense, scholarship, and feeling, than the English one. But see the next species.

153. XII.A.

PULLA AQUATICA. WATER HEN.

There seems so much confusion in the minds, or at least the language, of ornithologists, between the Water Rail and Water Hen, that I give this latter bird under the number XII.A. rather than XIII., (which would, besides, be an unlucky number to end my Appendix with); and it would be very nice, if at all possible or proper, to keep these two larger dabchicks connected pleasantly in school-girl minds by their costumes, and call one 'Silken Runner,' and this,—which, as said above, Gesner seems to mean, Velvet Runner, or Velvet Hen.—Poule de Soie or Poule de Velours? I am getting a little confused myself, however, I find at last, between Poules, Poussins, Pullets, and Pullas; and must for the present leave the matter to the reader's choice and fancy, till I get some more birds looked at, and named:—only, for a pretty end of my Appendix, here are two bits of very precious letters, sent me by friends who know birds better than most scientific people, but have been too busy—one in a 'Dorcas Society,' and the other in a children's hospital—to write books, and only now write these bits of letters on my special petition. The member of the Dorcas Society sends me this brief but final and satisfactory answer to my above question about birds' ears:—

"We talk and think of birds as essentially musical and mimetic, or at least vocal and noisy creatures; and yet we seem to think that although they have an ear, they have no ears. Little or nothing is told us of the structure of a bird's ear. We are now too enlightened to believe in what we can't see; and ears that are never pricked, or cocked, or laid back,—that merely receive and learn, but don't express,—that are organs, not features, don't interest our philosophers now.

"If you blow gently on the feathers of the side of a bird's head, a little above and behind the corner of the beak, a little below and behind the eye, the parted feathers will show the listening place; a little hole with convolutions of delicate skin turning inwards, very much like what your own ear would be if you had none,—I mean, if all of it that lies above the level of the head had been removed, leaving no trace. No one who looks at the little hole could fail to see that it is an ear, highly organized—an ear for music; at least, I found it so among the finches I have examined; I know not if a simpler structure is evident in the ear of a rook or a peacock.

"The feathers are so planted round a bird's ears, that however ruffled or wet, they can't get in—and possibly they conduct sound. Birds have no need of ears with a movable cowl over them, to turn and twist for the catching of stray sounds, as foxes have, and hares, and other four-footed things; for a bird can turn his whole head so as to put his ear wherever he pleases in the twinkling of an eye; and he has too many resources, whatever bird he may be, of voice and gesture, to need any power of ear-cocking to welcome his friends, or ear-flattening to menace his foes.

"The long and the short of it is, that we may as well take the trouble first to look for, and then to look at, a bird's ear—having first made the bird like us and trust us so much, that he won't mind a human breath upon his cheek, but will let us see behind the veil, into the doorless corridor that lets music into the bird-soul."

154. Next; the physician (over whom, to get the letter out of him, I had to use the authority of a more than ordinarily imperious patient) says,—

"Now for the grebes lowering themselves in water, (which Lucy said I was to tell you about). The way in which they manage it, I believe to be this. Most birds have under their skins great air-passages which open into the lungs, and which, when the bird is moving quickly, and consequently devouring a great deal of air, do, to a certain extent, the work of supplementary lungs. They also lessen the bird's specific gravity, which must be of some help in flying. And in the gannet, which drops into the sea from a great height after fish, these air-bags lessen the shock on striking the water. Now the grebes (and all diving-birds) which can swim high up out of water when the air-cushions are full, and so feel very little the cold of the water beneath them, breathe out all spare air, and sink almost out of sight when they wish to be less conspicuous;—just as a balloon sinks when part of the gas is let out. And I have often watched the common divers and cormorants too, when frightened, swimming about with only head and neck out of water, and so looking more like snakes than birds.

"Then about the Dippers: they 'fly' to the bottom of a stream, using their wings, just as they would fly up into the air; and there is the same difficulty in flying to the bottom of the stream, and keeping there, as there would be in flying up into the air, and keeping there,—perhaps greater difficulty.

"They can never walk comfortably along the bottom of a river, as they could on the bank, though I know they are often talked of as doing it. They too, no doubt, empty their air-bags, to make going under water a little less difficult."

155. This most valuable letter, for once, leaves me a minute or two, disposed to ask a question which would need the skinning of a bird in a diagram to answer—about the "air-passages, which are a kind of supplementary lungs." Thinking better of it, and leaving the bird to breathe in its own way, Idowish we could get this Dipper question settled,—for here we are all at sea—or at least at brook, again, about it: and although in a book I ought to have examined before—Mr. Robert Gray's 'Birds of the West of Scotland,' which contains a quantity of useful and amusing things, and some plates remarkable for the delicate and spirited action of birds in groups,—although, I say, this unusually well-gathered and well-written book has a nice little lithograph of two dippers, and says they are quite universally distributed in Scotland, and called 'Water Crows,' and in Gaelic 'Gobha dubh nan allt,' (which I'm sure must mean something nice, if one knew what,) and though it has a lively account of the bird's ways out of the water—says not a word of its waysinit! except that "dippers everywhere delight indeeplinns and brawling rapids, where their interesting motions never fail to attract the angler and bird-student;" and this of their voices: "In early spring, the male birds may be seen perched on some moss-covered stone, trilling their fine clear notes;" and again: "I have stood within a few yards of one at the close of a blustering winter's day, and enjoyed its charming music unobserved. The performer was sitting on a stake jutting from a mill-pond in the midst of a cold and cheerless Forfarshire moor, yet he joyously warbled his evening hymn with a fullness which made me forget the surrounding sterility."

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