And down they came upon the happy haunts,
The pleasant greenery of the favoured groves,
Their blissful resting–place.[30]
We propose, accordingly, now to add a brief account of the ornithology of the district these Rambles cover, so far, at all events, as regards the immediate neighbourhood of Manchester. The detailed observations upon the habits of the various species as originally given in the “Walks and Wild flowers” were, as stated in that work, supplied to a considerable extent by two old friends, both long since deceased, Samuel Carter and Edward Jacques. Many others will now be found, and for these we have chiefly to thank Mr. Charles E. Reade.
When Dr. Latham published his famous history of birds, exactly a hundred years ago, the number of ascertained species, in all countries, was about four thousand. It is now beyond question that the number is not less than eleven thousand, and many others no doubt exist in remote corners of which little or nothing has yet been learned. Europe contains a fair proportion of the great total. So does old England individually. The Rev. F. O. Morris, in his six well–known volumes, the first of which is dated 1863, describes and figures no fewer than three hundred and fifty–eight, or about a thirtieth of the whole number, which, very curiously, is just about the same proportion as that of the inhabitants of the British Islands to the aggregate of the world in general. In this list are included the genuine Ancient Britons, the aborigines, the birds that never go away, hence called “Permanent Residents;” the migratory birds, or such as come for awhile in summer or winter, hence called “Periodical Visitors;” and, thirdly, the vagrants, the lost, and the adventurous, collectively called “Casuals.” The introduction of the last–named, though legitimate, gives, it must be confessed, a certain deceptiveness to the figures. In the whole range of natural history there is no fact more interesting than that birds, in their airy voyages, often wander inconceivably far from home, so that in all countries solitary examples of different kinds are met with in turn, not one of them perhaps ever revisiting that particular spot. Well may the poets, that is to say, the philosophers, find in birds the representatives and emblems of human thought, which, as we all know, travels illimitably. To give these casuals, however, a place in the catalogue commensurate with that of the aborigines, the birds residing in the country all the year round, or even with that of the established visitors, which, like the cuckoo, never forget their appointed season, is manifestly to introduce confusion. At least fifty out of Mr. Morris’s three hundred and fifty–eight have not occurred more than once or twice in any part of Great Britain; and another hundred are particularised as “extremely rare.” To say that there are about two hundred British species is thus nearer the truth as regards the established denizens of our island—the birds we are familiar with, or with which we may become so by steady watching; and of these, proper to our own neighbourhood, there would seem to occur within a few miles of Manchester about ninety. The number of permanent residents mentioned in the “Walks” is fifty–nine, and of regular summer and winter visitors between twenty–five and thirty; if there is any difference at the present moment, the changes of twenty–four years will certainly not indicate increase. Why we have no more than about one–half of the proper ornithology of the country is that Lancashire is too far to the north, and its climate too damp and chilly, for many of the summer immigrants from beyond the channel, though some of these have no objection to visit the adjacent county of York; while in respect of the winter visitors from the colder parts of the Continent and the Baltic regions, we are rather too far to the west. If few in comparison with the possessions of more favoured districts, the ninety or a hundred are still enough to be proud of and to rejoice in. It is with birds as with wild–flowers: we do not want lengthy catalogues, but that which shall gladden the heart. A single life–history, followed up in every little particular, supplies, exactly as in botany, more real and lasting enjoyment than acquaintance, however sounding, with a score of mere shapes and measurements, and resting therein.
The parts most abounding in birds are naturally those which supply food in the greatest abundance. The peat–mosses, the cold and treeless hills have their inhabitants. Still, it is where fruit abounds, and where the insects depending on vegetation are most numerous, that birds must always be expected to gather in largest numbers. Trees and substantial hedgerows are also inviting, so that, all things considered, the southern and south–western parts of the neighbourhood are probably the richest both in number of species and of individuals.
The simple fact of so many as ninety of the prettiest and most interesting of the birds accounted British being denizens of our own district should operate as a strong inducement, especially with young people, to commence earnest study of ornithology. If the gathering and examination of ferns and wild–flowers be a perennial pastime, quite as hearty is the enjoyment that comes of observing the forms of birds, always so elegant, the diversities of their vestures, their odd and entertaining manners and customs, their ingenuity, characters, and tempers, their almost human instincts, and their incessant prefiguration of human character. This last is, in truth, not simply one of the most curious and amusing parts of ornithology, but literally the inexhaustible part. The best and most precious lessons in natural history, whatever may be the department, are those which enable us to trace the harmonies between the lower forms of life and our own, seeing that man is not so much contained in nature, as the continent of it, the summary, compend, and epitome of all that is outside of him, and of all that has gone before. It is not necessary, as some seem to suppose, that we should shoot every unlucky bird we may desire to be acquainted with. The museums are now so amply stocked with good stuffed specimens, that there is no need for further slaughter, unless under peculiar circumstances; all that we may want to know about form and colour is procurable indoors, and the best part of the subject is always that which is followed up with our eyes and ears in the fields. There is no harm in killing birds, any more than in the insecticide of the entomologist, so long as necessary for the genuine purposes of science; but to make a point of bringing down every poor wayfarer that may come within range is wanton cruelty. Instead of glorying in the destruction of a rare bird, or of a brilliant butterfly that an instant before had been waving its painted fans like an animated flower, it should rather be matter of regret that it has now been prevented from any longer brightening the earth and air, and that the beauty of the world has been thus much defaced. If a bird in the hand be worth two in the bush, a bird in the woods, rejoicing in the freedom of nature, is worth twenty in a museum or a glass case.
Assuredly, too, it is a great mistake to shoot down birds because of the damage they do in orchards and corn–fields. Caterpillars, grubs, and flies of various kinds multiply in precisely the degree that pains are taken to protect the fruit by destroying the birds disposed to attack it. The prudent man, instead of killing all he can, knows that his best policy is so to alarm the invaders that they shall go away of their own accord. Birds of a feather not only flock together, but, as every ornithologist knows full well, can confabulate. Warned by the discharge of small shot such as will do them no harm, they soon discern that mischief is brewing, and though, like boys, they will “try it on” again, by and by they take their departure, and conscience is not smitten with the reflection that, after all, the poor creature was more of a friend than an adversary. By killing off birds systematically, not to say malevolently and vindictively, those who do so strive their best to exterminate a leading section of the sanitary police of nature. No policy is more short–sighted; it is the opprobrium of the present day, and if persisted in will induce results that, when too late, will be deplored.
While speaking thus of the wanton destruction of birds, let it be added that the words apply with equal force to the wanton destruction of flowers and ferns. Gather what can be applied to good and useful purposes, but no more; and as regards roots, never dig up anything that cannot be relied upon as quite sure to take kindly to the garden or the rockery it is destined for. All true naturalists love to contemplate Life, and living things, and no one deserves the name who wilfully and wantonly or even heedlessly puts things to death, or who treats them in such a way that they will presently be sure to die.
Let us proceed, however, with our list, adding only that the original localities of 1858 have all been allowed to stand, so that it may be seen what Manchester possessed then, if not to–day. The scientific appellations are those which lead off the lists of synonyms given by Morris. To facilitate reference to his useful work, the volume and the number of the plate are cited after every name, the plates being counted as No. 1 and thence onwards up to 358.
I. PERMANENT RESIDENTS.
The Kestrel, or Windhover (Falco Tinnunculus), Morris, vol. i., pl. 17.