UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT THE HERON, AND ITS PLACE OF RETREAT; AS WELL AS ABOUT THE AFFECTION AND GENTLENESS OF THE STORK AND THE CRANE.

“Good Evening, Uncle Thomas! Good Evening!” said each of the little circle, as on the following evening they drew their chairs around him, to listen to the Stories which he had promised to tell them about the Storks and Cranes. They knew from what Uncle Thomas had said, as he bid them good bye on the previous evening, that he had something curious to tell them, and although both Mary and Jane had some questions to ask him, they restrained their curiosity for the present, and Uncle Thomas began:—

“The Herons, Storks, and Cranes,” said Uncle Thomas, “were formerly comprehended by the naturalists in one family, but they vary so much in their habits and structure that they are now generally regarded as distinct. The Heron stays with us all the year, while the Storks and the Cranes are birds of passage, most of them never appearing in England at all. The Heron lives almost entirely on fish, which he watches with great assiduity, sitting on some solitary place, the very picture of patience, waiting till an unwary fish comes within its reach, when it darts its powerful bill at it, and so quick and certain is it in its movements that it seldom fails to secure its prey.”

“Are Herons found elsewhere than in England?” asked Harry.

“Oh yes,” said Uncle Thomas, “there are a great many varieties, some of which are to be found in almost every part of the world. They have been seen in all parts of America; and when some adventurous traveller penetrates into the wild deserts of Africa, he sees the solitary Heron sitting in the same watchful attitude on the banks of those unfrequented rivers and marshes, seeking his prey just as we see them here. They like those countries most, however, which are covered with tall forests, and which abound in rivers and stagnant waters, as in those places they can most readily obtain their food, which they devour in immense quantities. In the Backwoods of America, accordingly, they are very abundant. Here is a description of the haunts of the Great Heron, and of his habits, which will convey more information to you in a few lines than I could give you in as many pages:—

“Their favourite places for building and rearing their young are generally in the gloomy solitudes of the tallest cedar swamps, where, if unmolested, they continue annually to breed for many years. These swamps are from half a mile to a mile in breadth, and sometimes five or six in length, and appear as if they occupied the former channel of some choked-up river, stream, lake, or arm of the sea. The appearance they present to a stranger is singular: a front of tall and perfectly straight trunks, rising to the height of fifty or sixty feet, without a limb, and crowded in every direction, their tops so closely woven together as to shut out the day, spreading the gloom of a perpetual twilight below. On a nearer approach they are found to rise out of the water, which, from the impregnation of the fallen leaves and roots of the cedars, is of the colour of brandy. Amidst this bottom of congregated springs, the ruins of the former forest lie piled in every state of confusion. The roots, prostrate logs, and in many places the water, are covered with green mantling moss; while an undergrowth of laurel, fifteen or twenty feet high, intersects every opening so completely as to render a passage through laborious and harassing beyond description; at every step you either sink to the knees, clamber over fallen timber, squeeze yourself through between the stubborn laurels, or plunge to the middle in ponds made by the uprooting of large trees, and which the moss concealed from observation. In calm weather the silence of death reigns in these dreary regions; a few interrupted rays of light shoot across the gloom; and, unless for the occasional hollow screams of the Herons, and the melancholy chirping of one or two species of small birds, all is silence, solitude, and desolation. When a breeze rises, at first it sighs mournfully through the tops; but, as the gale increases, the tall, mast-like cedars wave like fishing-poles, and, rubbing against each other, produce a variety of singular noises, that, with the help of a little imagination, resemble shrieks, groans, or the growling of bears, wolves, and such-like comfortable music.

“On the tops of the tallest of these cedars the Herons construct their nests; ten or fifteen pairs sometimes occupying a particular part of the swamp. The nests are large, formed of sticks, and lined with smaller twigs; each occupies the top of a single tree. The eggs are generally four in number, of an oblong pointed form, larger than those of a Hen, and of a light greenish blue, without any spots. The young are hatched about the middle of May, and remain on the trees till they are full as heavy as the old ones, being extremely fat before they are able to fly. They breed but once in the season. If disturbed in their breeding place, the old birds fly occasionally over the spot, sometimes crying like a Goose, sometimes uttering a coarse hollow grunting noise, like that of a Hog, but much louder. The Great Heron is said to be fat at the full moon, and lean at its decrease; this may be accounted for by the fact of their fishing regularly by moonlight, through the greater part of the night, as well as during the day. The principal food of the Heron is fish, for which he watches with the most unwearied patience, and seizes them with surprising dexterity. At the edge of the river, pond, or sea-shore, he stands fixed and motionless, sometimes for hours together. But his stroke is as quick as thought, and as sure as fate to the first luckless fish that approaches within his reach; these he sometimes beats to death, and always swallows head foremost. He is also an excellent mouser, and is of great service in our meadows in destroying the Short-tailed, or Meadow Mouse, so injurious to the banks. He also feeds eagerly upon Grasshoppers, and various winged insects, particularly Dragon-flies, which he is very expert at striking.”

“But there are no such places in England for Herons to frequent, are there?” asked Harry.

“None exactly answering the description which I have just read,” said Uncle Thomas; “but there are nevertheless several Heronries in England, and as they are both rare and ornamental, they are very carefully preserved. That the Herons still continue in England, and are not quite extirpated, like some other species which have altogether passed away before the progress of cultivation, is partly owing to the care of the proprietors of the heronries, and partly to their own extreme vigilance, and the determination with which they resist the attacks of their enemies. A gentleman on one occasion managed to get within shot of a Heron, which was watching for its prey, wading in the stream a little above a waterfall. He fired, and wounded the bird, and sent his Dog into the river, to bring it to land. As soon as the Dog came within its reach the Heron drew back its head, and struck the Dog with all its force with its sharp and powerful bill. With such power had this been done, that it transfixed the poor little Dog; and on the sportsman again firing and killing the Heron, both it and the Dog floated down the foaming waterfall.

“They are, moreover,” continued Uncle Thomas, “very kind and affectionate to their young. Mr. Jesse, a pleasing writer on Natural History, relates that a young bird having fallen out of a nest, at Walton-on-Thames, where there is a fine heronry, it was taken away in the evening by a gentleman, who carried it to his house at some miles distance, and turned it into a walled garden. The next morning, one of the old birds was seen to feed it, and continued to do so till the young one made its escape. This bird must have gone over a very considerable space of ground in search of the young Heron.”

“What is the difference between a Stork and a Heron?” asked Jane. “We were looking at a picture of them to-day and did not observe much difference.”

“In their appearance,” said Uncle Thomas, “there is considerable similarity; but the Stork is smaller than the Heron, and its habits are very different. In every country in which the Stork is found it is a bird of passage, and does not remain stationary like the Heron. Which of you can tell me in what part of the Bible the migration of the Stork is mentioned?”

This was rather a puzzling question to Uncle Thomas’s young friends. They all had seen it, or thought they had, but no one could tell where it was to be found. Harry and John were quite certain that it occurred in Genesis, and Mary thought it was in the Psalms; but on Uncle Thomas telling them that neither was correct, Jane wisely declared her ignorance of the matter, and Frank declined to offer an opinion.

“Here it is, then,” said Uncle Thomas, “in the Book of Jeremiah, chap. viii. v. 7, in which the Prophet contrasts the wilful ignorance of his countrymen with the instinctive knowledge of the Stork. ‘Yea,’ he says, ‘the Stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times, and the Turtle and the Crane and the Swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.’”

“In the countries which the Storks inhabit,” continued Uncle Thomas, “they are most useful birds, performing, to a certain extent, the office of the Vulture, by consuming such small animals as are left after the periodical subsidence of the rains with which those countries are regularly visited, as well as for the quantities of reptiles and other noxious creatures which they destroy. In Holland, where, from its flatness and humidity, such animals are very numerous, the Stork is carefully protected by the inhabitants; and in all the Eastern cities they look upon it with a feeling little short of veneration, considering it a sacred bird, which they are forbidden to kill. At Constantinople so secure are they from molestation that they are said to build their nests in the streets; but, in other countries, they prefer a lofty situation, such as the roof of a house, or the steeple of a minaret. A recent writer describes the scenes of affection which are exhibited during the breeding season as very interesting. ‘Nothing,’ says he, ‘can be more pleasing than to view an assemblage of the nests of the Stork. Divided as they always are into pairs, sometimes only the long elastic neck of one of them is seen peering from its cradle of nestlings, the male standing by on one of his long slim legs and watching with every sign of the closest affection; while other couples on the adjacent walls are fondly entwining their pliant necks and mixing their long bills; the one sometimes bending her neck over her back, and burying her head in the soft plumage, while her companion, clacking his long beak with a peculiar sharp and monotonous sound, raises her head and embraces it with a quivering delight; while from the holes and crannies of the walls below the storks’ nests, thousands of little blue Turtle-doves flit in all directions, keeping up an incessant cooing by day and night.’”

“Dear kind creatures!” exclaimed Jane, as Uncle Thomas finished the sentence.

“Kind they certainly are,” said Uncle Thomas, “beyond any thing recorded of unreasoning animals. The young Storks have often been observed to lavish the most affectionate and assiduous care on their aged and infirm parents, when they were no longer able to seek food for themselves; and so kind and attentive are they to their young, that both parents never leave the nest at the same time, one of them always remaining to watch over it during the other’s absence, and steadily keeping its eyes all the while fixed on its little charge. A great many years ago, a fire broke out in a house in Holland, on which was built a Stork’s nest containing a brood of young nestlings unable to fly. On the mother’s returning laden with food, she discovered the danger which threatened her offspring, and made several attempts to save them, but finding all her efforts ineffectual, she at length spread her wings over the nest to protect them, and in that attitude expired with them in the flames!”

“Even when reduced to a state of domestication,” continued Uncle Thomas, “and excluded from the society of its species, the kindness of the Stork shows itself towards human beings. A gentleman relates that he once saw a tame Stork frolicking with some children which were playing at ‘hide and seek,’ running its turn when touched, and distinguishing the child whose turn it was to pursue the others so well as to be on its guard as watchfully as any of its young companions.”

“Wouldn’t you like to have a Stork in our garden, Harry?” asked Jane.

“Yes,” said Harry, “if it would run about like this one; but I want to hear about the migration of the Stork. It must surely be something singular, since it is spoken of in the Bible.”

“I do not know that there is any thing peculiar in the migration of the Stork,” said Uncle Thomas, “or that it displays more instinctive sagacity in the matter than the ‘Turtle and the Crane and the Swallow,’ with which it is mentioned. Perhaps their abundance in the Holy Land, and the reverence in which the Stork was held, had some influence on the Prophet’s language. A traveller in the East says, ‘Returning from Cana to Nazareth, I saw the fields so filled with flocks of Storks that they appeared quite white with them; and when they arose, and hovered in the air, they seemed like clouds.’

“They generally leave their more northerly winter-quarters,” continued Uncle Thomas, “about the month of July or August. Previous to their departure, they assemble in large flocks, and appear to hold a consultation as to their future movements, and sometimes several meetings take place before they take flight. When they fairly set out, they mount high into the air; so high as to be invisible to the eye, unless when passing a ridge of mountains. A traveller tells us of several flights which he saw passing over Mount Carmel, each of which extended more than half a mile in breadth, and was upwards of three hours in passing. Here is a fine poetical description of a meeting of Storks preparing to migrate:—

“Is not the Crane a bird of the same sort as the Stork, Uncle Thomas?” asked Harry.

“It belongs to the same family, the long-legged or stilt-birds,” said Uncle Thomas, “and their manners and habits are very similar to those of the Stork. They also are very affectionate birds. A gentleman residing in England had for some years been possessed of two brown Cranes; one of them at length died, and the survivor became inconsolable. He was apparently following his companion, when his master introduced a large mirror into the aviary. The bird no sooner beheld his reflected image, than he fancied she for whom he mourned had returned to him; he placed himself close to the mirror, plumed his feathers, and showed every sign of happiness. The scheme answered completely, the Crane recovered his health and spirits, passed almost all his time before the looking-glass, and lived many years after, at length dying from an accidental injury.

“There is another bird,” said Uncle Thomas, “which some naturalists have classed with the Cranes, whose long legs and scarlet plumage cause them to look at a distance like so many soldiers. Mr. Rennie, in his ‘Architecture of Birds,’ mentions that during the French Revolutionary war, when the English were expected to make a descent upon St. Domingo, a negro having perceived, at the distance of some miles, in the direction of the sea, a long file of Flamingos, ranked up and preening their wings, forthwith magnified them into an army of English soldiers. Their long necks were mistaken for shouldered muskets, and their scarlet plumage had suggested the idea of a military costume. The poor fellow accordingly started off to Gonalves, running through the streets, and vociferating that the English were come. Upon this alarm the commandant of the garrison instantly sounded the tocsin, doubled the guards, and sent out a body of men to reconnoitre the invaders; but he soon found, by means of his glass, that it was only a troop of red Flamingos, and the corps of observation marched back to the garrison, rejoicing at their bloodless expedition. During Captain Owen’s voyage, the officers found them so numerous on the coast of Africa, that every shoal was covered with them ‘looking at a distance,’ as they describe them, ‘like large variegated plains, and upon nearer approach resembling files of soldiers. When the sun was shining upon them, nothing could surpass the beauty of their dazzling appearance.’”

“They should be called soldier-birds, I think,” said Jane.

“They deserve the name,” said Uncle Thomas, “as well from their smart scarlet uniform as from their habits, which seem, from all accounts, to be strictly military. They assemble into large flocks, and while fishing or reposing they form themselves into long lines of regular rank and file, and post sentinels, whose duty it is to give the alarm in case of danger. If any thing suspicious attracts the attention of these watchful guardians, they utter a loud trumpet-like cry, and the whole body marches off in regular order.

“There are two other peculiarities about the Flamingo,” continued Uncle Thomas, “of which I must not fail to tell you, they differ so much from those of any other bird. The one is in the construction of the bill, which is crooked in such an extraordinary manner as at first sight to seem a deformity, and to excite wonder as to the mode in which the animal feeds. The wonder soon ceases, however, when we see it in the act of scooping up its food, which consists of the spawn of fishes and other soft substances. It turns its head quite round, so as to have the crown close to the ground, and thus converts its upper mandible into a sort of spoon, which its long and flexible neck easily enables it to do. So serviceable, indeed, is its long neck to it, that on one occasion, when a Flamingo had its leg broken, it continued to walk about by using its neck as a crutch!”

“Oh, indeed!” said Harry; “how very odd! What a strange figure it would be!”

“The other peculiarity to which I alluded,” said Uncle Thomas, “is in the construction of its nest, which, instead of being built in a tree, or some elevated place, like the Storks and Herons, is generally constructed on the ground; but as the long legs of the bird would, if it were quite close to the ground, be constantly in the way, it heaps up a quantity of mud and earth into a conical shape, and places its nest on the top, so that, when sitting on the nest, its legs hang on each side without inconvenience.”

“A most singular contrivance, indeed!” said Harry.

“And a most wise one, too,” said Uncle Thomas, “when we consider, that in the creature’s haunts it would have the greatest difficulty, if it did not find it altogether impossible, to fall in with a tree or bush of sufficient height to place its nest upon. But I must stop for the evening. To-morrow I mean to tell you about another long-legged bird, but one differing very much from those which we have spoken of to-night, both in its haunts and its habits; and we shall see, too, how God has adapted it for the station in which He has placed it. So, good night.”

“Good night, Uncle Thomas!”