Chatterbox, 1906 Part 103

'I wish I knew what mistake you made,' he murmured, weakly. 'Did you hurt yourself?'

'Not in the least; it's a lovely sensation, to some extent' I said. My bones were aching all over, but I was determined to be even with Watson, who had not yet done his share of the entertaining.

Watson gave a glance at the stairs, as though he contemplated a bolt; if he had attempted to escape, I should have done my best to prevent him.

Perhaps he read my thoughts in my face; he sighed. Presently the poor wretch was straightened out and started.... It really was very funny, and I no longer wondered at the heartless mirth of the onlookers. A pea on a drumhead is a restful object in comparison with Watson on that ice-hill. His sledge seemed determined from the first moment to rid itself of the unfortunate man clinging to it; it went everywhere and sampled every obstacle, and it shot him eventually, as it had shot me, into a snowheap, with one Chinese lantern twisted by its strings round his neck, and another, held by the post, in his hand. Watson did not know how they got there.

Watson and I solemnly shook hands; we were the gladiators of the occasion, and sympathised with one another. Three or four times did we suffer for the delight of the crowd; after that we began to become uninteresting to them, partly because we had carried away all the Chinese lanterns, and partly because we had begun to learn the art.

MORNING.

'Hullo!' the Blackbird carolled.

'Hullo!' the Woods replied, 'The sun that set in the West last night Comes up on the other side.'

'Wake! wake!' the Starling chattered, 'For the hand of rising day Has gripped one edge of the blanket night And is rolling it all away.'

'Up! up!' the Robin whistled, 'For the Lady Dawn, so bright, Has come to the broad, dark face of earth, And is washing it all with light.'

'Out! out!' sang the joyous chorus: 'With a hand of magic care, She's been to the nooks and corners dark And scrubbed out the shadows there.'

And then upon snowy pillows There glittered the blinking sun, And a thousand thousand eyes awoke To another day begun.

PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.

XI.--NURSERIES IN THE BIRD-WORLD.

Our survey of Nature's babies so far has been a fairly extensive one, and many readers of _Chatterbox_ have shown that they were impressed with the fact that in every case these have come into the world in a form quite unlike that of their parents. And they have probably also noticed that where this unlikeness was most striking, there, as a general rule, these young had to shift for themselves from the moment they were able to move. Though the majority of these young creatures are to be found in or around the coasts of Great Britain, many are difficult to obtain, and only in a very few cases have we met with any display of care on the part of the parents for their helpless children.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 1.--Peregrine Falcon, and young ones.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 2.--Ringed Plover, and young ones.]

The unlikeness to the parents is most marked, as we have said, where the young are cast upon the world to look after themselves, often as microscopic creatures. The reason of this is because they have come from eggs which were so tiny that they could not contain enough food to support the growing body within until it had a.s.sumed its final shape. In consequence, the little creature had to start life in some more simple form, capable of feeding on the tiniest particles of food. This early development is unavoidable in cases where a single family may number some hundreds or thousands of individuals. But when only a few young ones make up a family, you will notice they are more or less jealously guarded by the parents, and they, furthermore, come into the world more nearly in the shape they are finally to a.s.sume.

Many of you, I hope, when you grow up, will be tempted to try and follow out these strange life-histories for yourselves. In this article I propose to describe some of the more interesting forms of young to be met with among the birds, because here, at any rate, you will be able to follow up the facts at once; and a very fascinating pursuit you will find it.

Birds, as every one knows, lay eggs, which, after a time, produce chicks, some of which, like ducks and chickens, for example, can run about and pick up food within an hour or two of their escape from the sh.e.l.l; but for a long time they are most carefully tended by their fond parents, who will brave many dangers in their defence. Now, the difference between the young chicken, or the young duck, and their parents is not very great, and this is because the egg from which they came contained a large supply of food, so that all the building up of the body could be carried on inside the sh.e.l.l. This food is represented by the yolk of the egg, of which there was an enormous store. That this is so you can see for yourselves, if you break an egg into a cup. The little spot in the top of the yolk represents the germ of life that is to form the chick; the rest of the yolk is to be used by that germ as food.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 3 Skylark, and young ones.]

As you doubtless know, however, some young birds, like young rooks and sparrows, thrushes and skylarks, when they leave the egg, are perfectly bare, blind, and helpless, and have to be fed and brooded by their mothers for a long time. Other young birds, like young owls, falcons (fig. 1), and hawks, also leave the egg blind and helpless, but their bodies are covered with long woolly down. Until quite recently no one could say why these differences should be, but at last we are beginning to see a way out of the puzzle. There seems to be no doubt that once upon a time the young of all birds left the sh.e.l.l in a fully active state, and clothed in down; further, we know that these early birds were reared in nurseries amid the tree-tops, and climbed about the branches by means of their legs and beaks, aided by claws in their wings, till at last their feathers grew and replaced the down, and they were able to fly. In course of time some birds took to building their nests on the ground, perhaps because so many young perished every year by falling from the trees. On the ground this danger was overcome. But, among those which chose to stay in the trees, a change was introduced. They took to laying smaller eggs, containing less food; in consequence, the young were hatched before they had reached such a forward state of development as their cousins on the ground; and though this meant far more work for the parents, who had to feed their helpless and blind little ones, the change proved beneficial, because, being helpless, they remained quietly in the nest till their feathers grew, and then they were in no danger of falling, for they saved themselves by flight. These two devices proved so successful that they are followed still--probably always will be. The fact that many young birds which are quite helpless are now reared in nurseries on the ground, as in the case of young skylarks (fig. 3), is a fact of interest; for it shows that the parents have chosen this nesting site comparatively recently, and are of course unable to lay large eggs, which shall produce active young, like young chickens, at will. They have acquired the habit, so to speak, of laying small eggs, and cannot alter it by changing their nesting-place.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 4.--Tern, with young one.]

Most young birds which leave the eggs in a forward condition have the down which clothes them curiously striped. This is a device which enables the young bird to resemble the gra.s.s and herbage with which it is surrounded, and so escape the eye of prowling birds and beasts of prey. The dark stripes at a little distance look like shadows between stems of plants, while the lighter stripes represent streaks of light pa.s.sing through foliage. When young birds live in the open, as on shingly beaches, then their down is mottled. How perfectly this harmonises with the surrounding stones only those who have tried to find young terns (fig. 4), or young ringed plover (fig. 2), for example, can tell. But this question of young birds is a big one, and must be taken up again on some future occasion.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

DR. JOHNSON'S BAD MANNERS.

When Dr. Johnson visited Scotland, he was taken, on his arrival at St.

Andrews, to see the ruins of the castle there. He was sorry to find the grand old building, like many he had already visited, in ruins, and in his disappointment he was very rude and overbearing to those who were guiding him. One of the guides ventured to ask him if he had been disappointed in his visit to Scotland.

'Sir,' replied the doctor, 'I came to see savage men and savage manners, and I have not been disappointed.'

'Yes,' replied the Scotchman, 'and we came to meet a man without manners of any kind, and we have not been disappointed.'

OLD SARUM.

'Can you tell me the way to Old Sarum?' said a tourist, who was roaming over Salisbury Plain, to a country yokel he came across.

'What!' answered the rustic, 'old Sarah! she be dead last year!' Being somewhat deaf, he thought the stranger was asking after a cottager, who had been well known in that part. The site of this old city was not easily to be found on Salisbury Plain. Where the ancient Sarum once stood, grew a field of oats, and the rougher ground was pasture-land, dotted over with remnants of walls and heaps of rubbish. Sarum was a city of the tribe called the Bilgae; it existed before the Romans visited England; it stood in a high and dry part of the large Wiltshire plain, and the Romans seized it as a capital military position.

Many of those curious remains or tombs are near. They have had the name of 'barrow' given to them, and in them are discovered, besides bones, old weapons, jewels, pottery, and other objects. At no great distance is the Druids' temple of Stonehenge, and the still more remarkable one of Abury, of which but fragments are left, though it must have been far grander than Stonehenge. The Saxon King, Egbert, lived chiefly at Old Sarum, as did several other kings, and in 960 Edgar held a national council in the city, to consider the best means of expelling the Danes.

William the Conqueror, in 1086, summoned to Sarum, prelates, n.o.bles, and knights from all parts of England, to discuss new laws. William Rufus also held a council here. It was in the reign of Henry I. that Sarum began to decline. The Empress Maud gave handsome gifts to the cathedral and clergy, but the bishop offended the king, and there were frequent quarrels between the clergy and the garrison, so that after about 1220, the inhabitants began to forsake the place, by degrees, and to build houses at New Sarum, the modern Salisbury.

The old city was very strongly fortified. Around it was a deep moat or ditch; beyond this, two ramparts; on the higher and inner rampart stood a wall of flint, chalk, and stone, about twelve feet thick, with battlements. Only one entrance to the city existed, on the east side. On the top of the hill, in the centre, was the castle or citadel. From this, the streets branched off to the walls, Sarum being divided into two parts, north and south, marked by gates and towers; there were also ten more towers at equal distances, and alongside the walls ran a circular street, which went round the whole city. On the north-west side stood the cathedral and the bishop's palace. Altogether, Old Sarum was one of the strongest cities England ever had.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 335._)

Jack's face was ashy pale, but his eyes burnt as if with some hidden fire. Estelle was half frightened; yet some inkling of the truth began to dawn faintly on her. She shrank back; but the thought that had come to her seemed so impossible that she conquered her terror.

'Yes,' she said, softly, looking up into Jack's face, 'and his greatest wish, the very greatest he has on earth, is--what do you think? To hear that the man who injured him has not been made a bad man by what he had done. He wants him to repent, and he wants him to know that he _has_ forgiven him. d.i.c.k was afraid that the man might think he had killed him, and that the thought might make him desperate.'

'The man seems to have done harm enough,' cried Jack, in a stony voice, turning away, and walking down the steps towards the edge of the cliff.

'But d.i.c.k has forgiven it all, indeed he has, Jack,' she urged.