Country Walks of a Naturalist with His Children Part 5

Here we are once more on the wild moors. There is really nothing very "wild" about them now; cultivation has turned them into excellent pasturage; the epithet, too, is a corruption of weald, signifying a wood. But this whole district, extending from Longdon-upon-Tern to Aqualate, was once, there can be no doubt, covered with water. Perhaps it was the bed of a large lake a great many years ago; the soil, you see, is composed of peat varying in thickness in different parts, and below the peat is often found sand and pebbles, which looks as if it was once the bottom of a vast lake ten miles or more long, and three broad. The village of Kinnersly was evidently once an island, and you can now see the moors extending all around it. Once, then, the whole district was covered with water, but about 200 years ago it was covered with wood.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KESTREL.]

"Oh! papa, did you see that?" said Jack. "A hawk pounced upon a small bird and has taken him to that fir tree, where he is eating him." It is a kestril; one of the commonest of the British hawks, and which we may often see in this district; though I am afraid those destructive animals called gamekeepers will in time succeed in destroying every hawk in the neighbourhood. "Well, but, papa," said w.i.l.l.y, "do they not do a great deal of harm to young partridges and pheasants, and of course the gamekeeper will not stand that?" I dare say; indeed I have no doubt that a kestril will occasionally seize upon a young partridge, but it is also certain that mice form the princ.i.p.al part of its food. Remains of mice, shrews, beetles, lizards, have been found in the kestril's stomach, and I am sure it would be a great pity to seek to exterminate this handsome and attractive bird.

"Is this the hawk that you very often see hovering steadily in the air over one spot?" asked May. Yes, it is, and from this habit it has got the name of windhover; the outspread tail is suspended and the head always points in the direction of the wind. The sparrow-hawk I occasionally see, and now and then the merlin, a beautiful little fellow and of great courage; the sparrow-hawk is a much greater enemy to young birds than the kestril, and ought not to be allowed to increase where game or poultry are reared, for so bold are these birds that they will not unfrequently skim over a poultry yard, seize a young chicken and carry it off. Have you never heard the cry of terror an old hen utters when a hawk is seen in the air near her little brood?

Mr. Gould gives us the following anecdote of a sparrow-hawk as related to him by a friend:--

"Three or four years since I was driving towards Dover, when suddenly a sparrow-hawk, with a stoop like a falcon's, struck a lark close to my horse's head. The lark fell as a grouse or a partridge will fall to a falcon or tiercel, and the sparrow-hawk did not attempt to carry, but held on his way. I jumped down and picked up the body of the lark and the head; the two being entirely disunited. The velocity and force of the stoop must have been tremendous. I have often seen grouse and partridges ripped up the back and neck, and the skull laid bare, but I never saw a head taken clean off before." A sparrow-hawk has been known to pursue a finch between the legs of a man, and to dash through a window-pane with the intention of seizing some cage-bird.

"What was that very large bird, papa," said w.i.l.l.y, "that you noticed near Eyton last November? It was one of the hawk family, was it not?"

Yes; I have no doubt it was the common buzzard, though it would not allow me to get very near it; but I watched it at a distance for some time. It would remain on a tree for some time, and then take a slow flight away, returning again to some tree. Buzzards are not nearly such active fliers and bold birds as the smaller kinds of hawks.

Though I said it was the common buzzard, you must not suppose that this bird is really common; it is called common as being the species most frequently seen in this country. Mr. Yarrell, in his book on 'British Birds,' has given the figure of a buzzard nursing and feeding a brood of young chickens. Is not that a curious thing?

He says, "The extreme partiality of the common buzzard to the seasonal task of incubation and rearing young birds has been exemplified in various instances. A few years back, a female buzzard, kept in the garden of the Chequers Inn, at Uxbridge, showed an inclination to sit by collecting and bending all the loose sticks she could gain possession of. Her owner, noticing her actions, supplied her with materials. She completed her nest and sat on two hens' eggs, which she hatched, and afterwards reared the young. Since then she has hatched and brought up a brood of chickens every year.

"She indicates her desire to sit by scratching holes in the ground, and breaking and tearing everything within her reach. One summer, in order to save her the fatigue of sitting, some young chickens just hatched were put down to her, but she destroyed the whole. Her family, in June, 1839, consisted of nine, the original number was ten, but one had been lost. When flesh was given to her, she was very a.s.siduous in tearing and offering it as food to her nurselings, and appeared uneasy if, after taking small portions from her, they turned away to pick up grain."

What is this little mouse-like thing in the gra.s.s? how quickly it runs. Now I have got him. No! off again; burrowing under the gra.s.s-roots. Now I have him safe enough; he cannot bite me with this glove on. Look at the little rogue, with his soft short silky fur and long nose. See how flexible that pointed nose is; how useful in grubbing amongst the closest herbage, or under the surface of the soil. How sharp are the little creature's teeth. With them he eats worms and the larvae of various kinds of insects. Well, what is its name? It is the common shrew, and though the form of the body is mouse-shaped, it is, properly speaking, not a mouse at all, being much more nearly related to the mole. It is said that shrews are very fond of fighting, and that if two be confined together in a box, the stronger will conquer the weaker and then eat him. Moles are said to eat their small relatives, but I have never had any evidence of the fact, though it is probable enough. May wanted to know whether cats eat shrews. I have often tried cats with dead shrews, and have always found they will not touch them. I dare say, however, they would kill them. The smell of the shrew is certainly unpleasant, as you may find out from this little fellow I hold in my hand. Mind he does not bite your nose. Now we have examined him I shall let him go. It is no pleasure to take an animal's life, and as this little shrew does no harm but good by destroying insect larvae, it would be a shame to hurt him. Where injurious creatures must be killed, let us always be careful to take away life so as to cause the least possible pain. Now, would any of you have ever thought that the little shrew I have just released had ever been supposed to be one of the most dangerous enemies to cattle? This was really once believed by our ancestors, who thought that a shrew, by running over the backs of cattle, made them weak in the loins, and that its bite made a beast swell at the heart and die. Absurd as was the belief, the supposed cure for the injury was, if possible, still more ridiculous. It consisted in pa.s.sing over the cow's back the twigs of a shrew ash. "Now a shrew ash," says Gilbert White, "is an ash whose twigs or branches when applied to the limbs of cattle will immediately relieve the pains which a beast suffers from the running of a shrew-mouse over the part affected, for it is supposed that a shrew-mouse is of so baneful and deleterious a nature, that wherever it creeps over a beast, be it horse, cow, or sheep, the suffering animal is afflicted with cruel anguish and threatened with the loss of the use of the limb. Against this accident, to which they were continually liable, our provident forefathers always kept a shrew ash at hand which, when once medicated, would maintain its virtue for ever. A shrew ash was made thus: into the body of the tree a deep hole was bored with an auger, and a poor devoted shrew-mouse was thrust in alive, and plugged in, no doubt with several quaint incantations long since forgotten." It is marvellous how people could ever have believed such stuff; but equal absurdities are still accepted by many people to this very day; so strong a hold on men's minds have the kindred vices of superst.i.tion and ignorance.

Look at these spiders' webs on this hawthorn hedge, they are formed of delicate silken threads, and are of a long funnel shape; the spider occupies the bottom part and soon rushes up should any insect get into the trap, and quickly rushes down and escapes at the back door if your hand enters the front. The top of the funnel is spread out into large broad sheets, and the whole snare is attached by silken cords to the twigs of the bushes. This is the snare and residence of a good-sized species, the _Agelena labyrinthica_. Such webs are common on hedges, on gra.s.s, heath, and gorse. Now you must distinguish between spiders'

nests and spiders' snares. The very common wheel-like webs, which you see abundantly on hedges, are snares or traps for insects, and beautiful they look on a dewy morning all strung with liquid pearls.

Here under this oak are a number of old acorn-cups of last autumn's produce; the acorns have fallen out and the black cups remain. Do you see a delicate spider's web filling this cup; inside are a quant.i.ty of tiny round eggs, and a small spider is keeping guard within; this is a spider's nest. Many spiders spin coc.o.o.ns for their little round eggs, place them in various situations, and leave them; others show the greatest care for them and carry them about wherever they go. The coc.o.o.ns of the species whose web or trap we are now looking at are made of strong white silk, each coc.o.o.n containing perhaps 100 round eggs, rather yellowish in colour. They are fastened to the inside of a web the spider spins by means of silken pillars formed by a number of threads closely glued together. The sac containing the coc.o.o.ns is fastened to stems of gra.s.s or other objects, and partially hidden by a few withered leaves. "For the purpose of securing their prey," says Mr. Blackwall, the author of a splendid work on 'British Spiders,'

"spiders have recourse to divers expedients. Numerous species run rapidly about in quest of those objects which const.i.tute their food; others, approaching their victims with great circ.u.mspection, spring upon them from a distance; some lie concealed in flowers or among leaves, seizing such insects as come within their reach; and many species procure a supply of nutriment by means of complicated snares of their own fabrication." Of these snares the most beautiful, as I said, are the "wheel within wheel" nets of the various species of the family _Epeiridae_. "What are those spider-like things," asked w.i.l.l.y, "with long thin bodies, you often see skating along the water? they are something like the spiders." They are not spiders at all, but insects called "water-measurers," from their peculiar habit of taking a short skate on the surface of the water and then stopping; having measured that distance, off they go again. However, many spiders do run along on the surface of the water, and you know there is one, the great water-spider, that lives habitually in it. Some years ago I had one of these water-spiders in a gla.s.s vessel of water, and saw it spin its curious dome-shaped web which it attached to the sides of the gla.s.s and some weeds. These domes are formed of closely woven white silk, in the form of a diving bell or half a pigeon's egg, as De Geer has said, with the opening below. It looks like a half-ball of silver; this appearance is due to a quant.i.ty of air. It is, in fact, a huge air-bubble surrounded by a covering of white silk, and, as you may suppose, a very interesting and pretty object. Within this silver dome the spider places her eggs, perhaps a hundred or more in number, which are enveloped in a coc.o.o.n, this being attached to the inner side of the dome. "But how," said Jack, "is the bubble formed? Where does the air come from?" You have asked a very interesting question, and one which can be answered; for the question was set at rest by Mr. Bell, an excellent observer and well-known naturalist, about twelve years ago, if I remember rightly. He found that the old spider actually took the air down with her from the surface of the water, and deposited it in her domed house. I shall now quote Mr. Bell's words: "The manner in which the animal possesses itself of the bubble of air is very curious, and, as far as I know, has never been exactly described. It ascends to the surface slowly, a.s.sisted by a thread attached to a leaf or other support below and to the surface of the water. As soon as it comes near the surface it turns with the extremity of the abdomen upwards, and exposes a portion of the body to the air for an instant, then with a jerk it s.n.a.t.c.hes, as it were, a bubble of air, which is not only attached to the hairs which cover the abdomen, but is held on by the two hinder legs, which are crossed at an acute angle near their extremity; this crossing of the legs taking place at the instant the bubble is seized. The little creature then descends more rapidly and regains its cell, always by the same route, turns the abdomen within it, and disengages the bubble." Spiders have strong jaws; at the bottom of each hooked jaw there is a small sac which contains a poisonous fluid; this fluid is conveyed by a narrow channel from the sac along the jaw, and is pressed out at an opening or slit at the tip of the fang into the wound inflicted on its victim. The feet of spiders are generally terminated by two or more claws furnished with teeth; by means of these combs the animal is enabled to manage the threads of its web with great dexterity and efficiency.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SPIDER'S FANG, MAGNIFIED.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SPIDER'S FOOT, MAGNIFIED.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

WALK IX.

JULY.

Let us be off to the fields once more; the sun is very hot, but we can find refreshing shade under the trees when we are tired. What is this beautiful little plant with bright scarlet flowers fully expanded? It is the scarlet pimpernel, or "poor man's weather-gla.s.s;" for on rainy days, and even before the showers are coming, the little plant, conscious of their approach, closes up its flowers. Other wild flowers, such as the convolvulus, close before rain. The little pimpernel, however, is supposed to be the best barometer. There is another thing about the pimpernel; you will not often see its blossoms expanded after three o'clock in the afternoon. In other countries, also, the regular closing of the flowers has been noticed. Dr. Seeman, who went as naturalist on one of the Arctic Expeditions, noticed the flowers to close during the long day of an arctic summer. "Although,"

he says, "the sun never sets while it lasts, the plants make no mistake about the time, when if it be not night it ought to be, but regularly as the evening hours approach, and when a midnight sun is several degrees above the horizon, they droop their leaves, and sleep even as they do at sunset in more favoured climes." Look at the bright scarlet flower, with its small purple eye. Excepting poppies, with their dazzling brightness, I do not think there is another wild flower that has scarlet petals. However, the blossoms are not always scarlet; there is a white variety with a purple eye, and another having a dark blue blossom.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCARLET PIMPERNEL.]

Well, Jack, you have found something, have you? Ah! this is a queer plant, it has queer habits, and a queer name; it is called "Jack-go-to-bed at noon." We sometimes call you after the name of another plant, "Jack-by-the-hedge." May, of course, is "May," or hawthorn blossom, and Robin at home, from his often tearing his clothes, is "Ragged Robin." Another name for the plant you hold in your hand is goat's beard; the leaves are long and gra.s.s-like, the flowers bright yellow; it is not yet quite eleven o'clock, and the blossoms are expanded; they generally close about noon. Look at the colour of the stem, it has a kind of sea-green bloom upon it. Well, you would never find this plant with blossom expanded in the afternoon; so "Jack-go-to-bed at noon" is really not a bad name for it.

"And goodly now the noon-tide hour When from his high meridian tower The sun looks down in majesty.

What time about the gra.s.sy lea The goat's-beard prompt his rise to hail With broad expanded disc, in veil Close mantling wraps its yellow head, And goes, as peasants say, to bed."

Here we are at a stream; do you see those things at the bottom slowly moving? They seem to be bits of stick. "I know what they are," said Jack, "there is a good fat maggot in each of these cases; they are caddis-worms." Quite right, and in time they will change to insects.

Here is another kind; the house is made of small bits of gravel, and it is attached to this smooth stone. I will break open the case; do you see inside is a long cylindrical case, with a thin covering; I slit this open with my penknife, and now you see the creature inside.

There are a great variety of these caddis-worms, and most interesting it is to notice the different kind of houses they build. Some of the larvae live in movable cases, as we have seen, some in fixed habitations; the materials, too, out of which the different cases are constructed, are different, sometimes they are bits of gravel, or sand, wood, leaves, gra.s.s, the empty sh.e.l.ls of various fresh-water molluscs. The fragments of stick and the small bits of gravel are held together by a kind of cement which the larva spins from his mouth.

Sometimes we may meet with cases made of sand, having on either side long slender bits of rush or stick. A lady once took a number of the larvae out of their cases, and placed them in a vessel of water with various materials, such as coloured gla.s.s, cornelian, agate, onyx, bra.s.s filings, coralline, tortoisesh.e.l.l; and these little maggoty things made use of and built their houses out of them. The perfect insect has four wings; and from these being closely covered with hairs, the order to which they belong has received the name of _Trichoptera_, which means "having hairy wings." You must know many of these insects; they are very common near ponds and streams; generally they fly in a zig-zag fashion, and have the appearance of moths.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _a, b, c, d._ Larva, coc.o.o.n, nympha, and insect of Caddis-fly.]

Ah! here is a splendid bed of the forget-me-not growing on this bank near the stream. Look at the blue enamel-like flowers, each with a yellow centre-eye; the leaves are bright green and rather rough. There are other species very much resembling this one you may often see in hedgerows and fields; but they are generally smaller plants; this one is the true forget-me-not. There are several stories about the origin of the name. Here is one:--Many years ago, a lady and knight were wandering by a river; the lady espied these bright blue flowers, on a small islet I suppose, in the deep river, and wished to possess them.

Her lover immediately plunged in and plucked the plants, but the strength of the stream was too much for him on his return. With a great effort, however, he threw the flowers on the bank, exclaiming "Forget-me-not," and sank!

"But the lady fair of the knight so true Still remember'd his hapless lot; And she cherish'd the flower of brilliant hue And she braided her hair with the blossoms blue, And she call'd it 'Forget-me-not.'"

We must proceed on our walk and not linger too long here, though, I must own, it is hard to tear oneself away from the banks of a gently-flowing river. So good-by to

"That blue and bright-eyed flowret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet 'Forget-me-not.'"

[Ill.u.s.tration: GOLDFINCH.]

As we crossed the road we met two men with cage-traps, and a slender twig covered thickly with bird-lime. In each cage-trap was a tame goldfinch, which were the decoy birds. The men had only succeeded in taking one goldfinch--for which they asked half a crown. The decoy birds attract other goldfinches by their call-note; these sometimes alight on the trap, which instantly closes upon them; sometimes they alight on the twig smeared with bird-lime, which is so sticky that they cannot free themselves from it. "Gay plumage, lively habits, an agreeable form and song, with a disposition to become attached to those who feed them, are such strong recommendations, that the goldfinch has been, and will probably continue to be, one of the most general cage favourites. So well also do the birds of this species bear confinement, that they have been known to live ten years in captivity, continuing in song the greater part of each year. This tendency to sing and call make them valuable as brace-birds, decoy-birds, and call-birds, to be used by the birdcatcher with his ground nets, while the facility with which others are captured, the numbers to be obtained, and the constant demand for them by the public, render the goldfinch one of the most important species included within the bird-dealer's traffic."

Mr. Mayhew says that a goldfinch has been known to exist twenty-three years in a cage. The same person tells us that goldfinches are sold in the streets of London from sixpence to a shilling each, and when there is an extra catch, and the shops are fully stocked, at threepence and fourpence each. Only think, it is computed that as many as 70,000 song birds are captured every year about London; the street sale of the goldfinch being about a tenth of the whole. Goldfinches may be taught to perform many amusing tricks, to draw up water for themselves by a small thimble-sized bucket, or to raise the lid of a small box to obtain the seed within. A goldfinch has been trained to appear dead; it could be held up by the tail or claw without exhibiting any signs of life, or to stand on its head with its claws in the air, or to imitate a Dutch milk-maid going to market with pails on its shoulders, or to appear as a soldier, keeping guard as sentinel. One was once trained to act as a cannoneer with a cap on its head, a firelock on its shoulder, and a match in its claw; it would then discharge a small cannon. "The same bird also acted as if it had been wounded. It was wheeled in a barrow, to convey it, as it were, to the hospital; after which it flew away before the company." Another turned a kind of windmill; another stood in the midst of some fireworks, which were discharged all around it, without showing any fear. When we consider how docile and affectionate many birds become; when we think of their beauty and the sweet music they pour from their little throats; when we consider also of what immense use a great number of species are to man in helping to check injurious insects and caterpillars; does it not seem strange that they meet with so little protection? How often, as you know, we have met lads and great strong men with helpless fledglings in their hands, which they intend to torture in some way or other; perhaps they will tie strings to their legs and drag them about, or place them on a large stone and throw at them. To expostulate with them on the wickedness of such barbarous conduct is hopeless; one might as well quote Hebrew to a tadpole!

How noisy the gra.s.shoppers are, with their incessant shrill chirpings; how thoroughly they enjoy the heat and sun! Just catch me one or two, w.i.l.l.y; there, one has hopped just before you; now he is on that blade of gra.s.s. Have you got him? No? Well, take this gauze net. Now you have him. "How does the gra.s.shopper make that peculiar sound?" asked May. If you will get near one of these insects while he is making the noise you will see how he does it. There, one stands on that plantain stem. Do you see how briskly he rubs his legs against the wing-covers?

Now he is quiet, and his legs are still; so it is evident that the friction or rubbing of the legs against the wings causes the sound. I rub the thigh of this specimen I hold in my hands against the wing.

You distinctly hear the shrill sound. It is the males only who make the noise; the females are mute. Some people have described another organ which seems to increase the sound. I have sometimes placed both field-crickets and gra.s.shoppers under a tumbler, and supplied them with moist blades of gra.s.s; it is curious to see how fast they eat them. You should remember that the gra.s.shopper is a relative of the locust, to which, indeed, it bears a close resemblance; only the locust is a much larger insect. There are several species of locusts, and all are extremely injurious. You have read in the Bible of the fearful damage they are able to cause to the trees and various crops.

It is seldom that locusts visit this country, happily, for there is not a greater insect scourge in existence. Our green gra.s.shopper is also related to the cricket, so merrily noisy in dwelling-houses.

Crickets are difficult to get rid of when they have thoroughly established themselves in a house. Like many noisy persons, crickets like to hear n.o.body louder than themselves; and some one relates that a woman who had tried in vain every method she could think of to banish them from her house, at last got rid of them by the noise made by drums and trumpets, which she had procured to entertain her guests at a wedding. It is said, but you need not believe the story, that they instantly forsook the house, and the woman heard of them no more.

Possibly some half dozen more women in the house would have had the same effect, without the musical instruments! What do you say to that idea, May? "That is too bad of you, papa, but you know you are only joking."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _a, b, c._ Leg, wing-cover, and wing of Gra.s.shopper, magnified.]

Here is a large pond, and from this bank we can look down into the water. There are some yellow water-lilies with their broad expanded leaves. I have noticed that the blossoms are often attacked by the larvae of some two-winged flies. These flies lay their eggs within the petals, "lily-cradled" literally; the eggs hatch and the larvae eat the cradle. I do not know more of these flies: I have often meant to trace their history, but have somehow forgotten to do so. Do you see that pike basking on the top of the water; how still and motionless he lies. He is a good-sized fish, at least I should say he was four pounds weight. "I wish we could catch him," said w.i.l.l.y. We have no tackle with us; besides, when pike are sunning themselves in that way on the top of the water, they are seldom inclined to take a bait.

"What is the largest pike," asked Jack, "you ever saw caught?" The largest I ever saw alive was caught in the ca.n.a.l about five years ago; it weighed twenty-one pounds, and was really a splendid fish. What voracious fish they are; they will often take young ducks, water-hens and coots, and will sometimes try to swallow a fish much too large for their throats. It is said that a pike once seized the head of a swan as she was feeding under water, and gorged so much of it as killed them both. The servants perceiving the swan with its head under water for a longer time than usual, took the boat and found both swan and pike dead. "Gesner relates that a pike in the Rhone seized on the lips of a mule that was brought to water, and that the beast drew the fish out before it could disengage itself. Walton was a.s.sured by his friend Mr. Segrave, who kept tame otters, that he had known a pike, in extreme hunger, fight with one of his otters for a carp that the otter had caught and was then bringing out of the water. A woman in Poland had her foot seized by a pike as she was washing clothes in a pond."

Mr. Jesse tells the story of a gentleman, who, as he was one day walking by the side of the river Wey, saw a large pike in a shallow creek. He immediately pulled off his coat, tucked up his shirt sleeves, and went into the water to intercept the return of the fish to the river, and to endeavour to throw it out upon the bank by getting his hands under it. During this attempt the pike, finding he could not make his escape, seized one of the arms of the gentleman, and lacerated it so much that the marks of the wound were visible for a long time afterwards. Pike will live to a great age, ninety years or more. In the year 1497, according to old Gesner, a pike was taken at Halibrun in Suabia with a brazen ring attached to it, on which was the following inscription in Greek:--"I am the fish which was put into the lake by the hands of the governor of the universe, Frederick the Second, the 5th of October, 1230." This pike, therefore, would be two hundred and sixty-seven years old; people said it weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, and that its skeleton was nineteen feet long. I will show you a picture of this ring in Gesner's book when we get home.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

WALK X.

OCTOBER.

How pleasant is the season of autumn, with its yellow fields of ripe corn, and its orchards laden with the fruits of the apple and the pear. But now the golden grain is safely stored. The birds, too, have done singing, with the exception of the robin and the hedge-warbler, which even in the winter occasionally cheer us with their welcome notes. There are yet, however, a few wild flowers to interest us, and the ferns are still beautiful. The various kinds of fungi are springing up in the fields and woodlands; it is a charming day for a stroll; we will drive to the Wrekin and explore the woods at its base.

I am sure we shall be able to meet with many pretty forms. The woods are rendered extremely beautiful by the rich autumnal tints of the foliage. We will go through this wicket and follow the path in the direction of Ten-Tree Hill. Now, who will be the first to find the bright scarlet fly agaric? It is a poisonous species, though so beautiful. We will put the wholesome fungi in one basket and the suspected ones in another.

Here you see is the elegant parasol fungus, with its tall stem and top spotted with brown flakes; it is a most delicious one to eat, and in my opinion is superior to the common mushroom. "Shall we find the beefsteak fungus, papa?" said w.i.l.l.y. I have never seen it growing here; the beefsteak fungus prefers to grow on very old oak trees, and it is, moreover, by no means common. It is so called from its resemblance to a beefsteak when cut through; a reddish gravy-like juice flows from the wound, and I think the whole fungus when young very inviting. I have on three or four occasions eaten this species, but I do not think it a very palatable one, though perfectly wholesome and doubtless nutritious.