NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·49.
The Longest Day.
For the Every-Day Book.
Cradled in glory’s ether-space,
By Venus nursed till morn,—
The light unrolls thy golden life
And thou art sweetly born.
O lovely Day of bloom and shine,
Of heat, and air, and strain!
Millions rejoice and millions die
Within thy halcyon reign.
Hopes, fears, and doubts, the passions move;
’Twas yesterday the same:—
To-morrow! thou wilt join the dead,
And only live by name—
Jupiter guides thee through the skies
To Hope’s eternal shore:
The sun departs—Thou, Longest Day—
Thou wilt be seen no more!
Methuselah of England’s year!
Thou Parr of Time—Farewell!
St. Thomas, shortest of thy race,
Shall ring thine annual knell.
J. R. Prior.
Young Birds.
The following letter is to be considered as addressed to the reader, rather than the editor, who, as yet, is not even a tyro in the art wherein his respected correspondent has evidently attained proficiency. Indeed the communication ought to have been inserted in May. If its agreeable writer, and his good-natured readers, can excuse the omission, the birds and the editor will be equally obliged.
The Rearing and Treatment of Young Birds.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Now, thro’ the furrows where the skylarks build,
Or by the hedge-rows green, the fowler strays,
Seeking the infant bird.
Sir,—As the time has arrived for taking the young from the feathered tribe, it may not be amiss to say a few words by way of advice to the uninitiated, concerning the rearing, and training of these amusing creatures, who repay our cares with their rich melody.
We may now get Chaffinches, Goldfinches, Linnets, Larks, &c. in the streets, or at the different shops at a very small expense, either singly, or by the nest, according to their ages, but I should recommend all who wish to purchase young birds to go to a regular dealer, who sell them quite as cheap, and warrant them cocks. Buy them when they begin to feed themselves—or, if younger, when you have them home, put them in a cage, rather roomy:—then for Linnets, Goldfinches, or Chaffinches, mix rape-seed, bruised, and bread, steeped in boiling water—with which, when cooled, you may feed them, putting it into their mouths from the end of a stick, about every two hours; water they will not require, the food being sufficiently moist for them. When you find them peck at the stick, and take their food eagerly from it, which they will do at about a fortnight old, place some food about the cage with clean dry gravel, scattering among it some dry seed bruised; they will pick it up, and so be weaned off the moist food, which is no longer proper for them—also place water in the pot. This, as regards their feeding, is all you have to do, while they remain healthy—if sick, you must treat them according to the nature of their complaint. I think their sickness at this early stage of their existence is either caused by cold, or by the oily nature of their food, it being too strong for their stomachs; to remedy this, mix a little of the fine gravel with it, this will help their digestion. Sometimes the seed will scour them, in that case, boiled milk, or rust of iron put into their water is a remedy. So much as concerns the hard-billed tribe.
If your fancy runs on soft-billed birds, such as the skylark, woodlark, nightingale, or robin, you must feed them with egg, and bread moistened with water; or beef, raw or cooked; changing it as they grow and begin to feed themselves, to dry egg chopped small, and crumbled bread; throwing in with it German paste, until you find them contented with the latter. All these birds will live healthy, and sing stout, on this food, except the nightingale; he must have beef and egg. The remedy for sickness and scouring is as before; if the paste binds them, give them raw beef, or chopped fig; the latter is good for all birds, keeping them in beautiful feather, and cool in body. When a month old, cage them off in their proper cages.
Give your captives good food, and clear water; keep their dwellings free from vermin, which you may always do by having a spare cage to turn them into once a week, while you search the other, and destroy the devouring race of red lice that breed in their crevices and corners.
Squirt a mouthful of water over your birds now and then, it will do them good; this will much assist them in their moulting, and make them throw their feathers faster, particularly larks, nightingales, and robins. The latter may have their water-pans to fix inside the cage, so that they can dabble in them, when they like; this will save the trouble of taking them out to clean their feet. Larks must be taken out once a week, or their claws will become clogged with dirt, and rot off. The cleaning their feet is but very little trouble; dip them in warm water, and rub the dirt gently off with your thumb and finger. As these innocent creatures delight you with the beauty of their feathers, and sweetness of their song, too much cannot be done for their comfort.
Hoping this little dissertation (if I may so call it) will be useful,
I am, &c.
S.R.J.
I conclude with the following
Sonnet
On hearing a Thrush singing in the rain.
How sweet the song of the awakened thrush—
Mellow’d by distance, comes upon the ear,
Tho’ gather’d clouds have made the heavens drear,
And the rain hisses in the hazel bush,
Wherein he warbles with a voice as clear
As if blue skies were over, and he near
The one that lov’d him—sweet, yet sad to hear!
For it remindeth me of one I’ve heard,
Singing to other ears, herself unseen,
In her own bower, like that delightful bird,
While yet her bosom’s hopes were fresh and green,
One, whom I heard again in after years,
When sorrow smote her,—singing midst her tears.
S. R. J.
May, 1826.
The editor has often wished, for the sake of feathered posterity, that he could ensure their liberty; but he can no more do that, than persuade those who think they have “vested rights” in the bodies of certain of the airy race, to open their cages and “set the prisoners free.” It is in his power, however, to assist a little in ameliorating their condition, by urging re-perusal and strict attention to the preceding letter. He is himself particularly struck with the direction, “squirt a mouthful of water over your birds now and then—it will do them good.” He ventures with becoming diffidence to suggest, whether to syringe a little may not be as beneficial as to “squirt a mouthful.” This is the only exception he dares to hint, and it is to be marked as a qualified one, and, under a sense of inexperience, made “at a hazard.” But he agrees that “a nightingale,”—a caged nightingale, alas!—“must have beef and egg;” and “that larks must be taken out once a week”; and—he may be wrong—if they fly away, so much the better. He is strongly of opinion that birds are like himself—they cannot “bear confinement,” and be happy.
[217] Mirror of the Months.