“Near the centre of this wood,” he observes, “and not far from the farm of the same name, there is a small piece of stagnant water. I was reclining against a tree one night, listening to a reptilian choir—a concert of frogs. It was delicious to hear the musicians endeavouring to excel each other in their strains, and to exhibit their wonderful vocal powers. The defect of the concert was the want of time. Each individual performer endeavoured to get as much above the concert pitch as possible. It was a most beautiful night,—for there are beautiful nights as well as days in the north,—and I am certain that these creatures were enjoying its beauty as much as myself. Presently, when the whole of the vocalists had reached their highest notes, they became hushed in an instant. I was amazed at this, and began to wonder at the sudden termination of the concert. But, looking about, I observed a Brown Owl drop down, with the silence of death, on to the top of a low dyke close by the orchestra.
THE BROWN OWL.
“He sat there for nearly half an hour, during which there was perfect silence. The owl himself remained quite motionless, for I watched him all the time. Then I saw the owl give a hitch, and move his head a little to one side. He instantly darted down amongst the grass and rushes, after which he rose with something dangling from his claws. It was a frog: I saw it quite distinctly. He flew up to a tree behind the one against which I was leaning. I turned round a little, and looked up to see how the owl would proceed with his quarry; whether he would tear him in pieces, or gobble him up whole. In this, however, I was disappointed. Although I moved very quietly, the quick eye or ear of the owl detected me, and I was at once greeted with his hoolie-gool-oo-oo as loud as he could scream. I might have shot him; but my stock of powder and lead was very low, and I refrained. Besides, he soon put it out of my power by taking wing and flying off with his prey.”
NIGHT BIRDS.
There were two other birds which Edward often observed prowling about in the twilight in search of food,—namely, the Kestrel and Merlin. On one occasion he shot a specimen of the latter, when it was so dark that he could scarcely see it. He did not know that it was a hawk. He thought it was a goatsucker by its flight. Many of the birds of prey roamed about by night as well as by day. The harsh scream of the heron, the quack of the wild duck, the piping of the kittyneedy (common sandpiper), the birbeck of the muirfowl, the wail of the plover, the curlee of the curlew, and the boom of the snipe, were often heard at night, in the regions frequented by these birds. Then again, by the sea-side, he would hear by night the shrill piping of the redshank and ring-dotterel, and the pleck-pleck of the oyster-catcher, as they came down from their breeding-grounds to the shore, to feed or to hold their conclaves.
The Coot and Water-hen sometimes get very noisy after sunset. The Landrail craiks the whole night through, until some time after the sun rises. The Partridge too either moves about or is on the alert during spring and summer, as may be known by its often repeated twirr-twirr. “The only bird we have here,” says Edward, “that attempts to give music at the dead hours of night, is the Sedge-warbler. It appears to be possessed of the gift of song during the night as well as the day, and it is by no means niggardly in exercising its vocal powers.
“Well do I remember,” he continues, “how the little mill-worker, of scarcely ten years of age, was struck with admiration and almost bewildered with delight, at the first of this species he had ever heard exhibiting its mimicking powers; whereas now, I considered this to be neither more nor less than the bird’s own natural melody. And if there be any change in the delight with which I hear the Sedge-warbler, although I have now turned the corner of ten times six, and have become an old cobbler instead of a juvenile factory operative, yet when I hear the little songster, I drink in the pleasure with even greater delight than I did in those long-past years.”
THE ROOK.
The Rook, too, is in a measure nocturnal in his habits during a certain term of the year, especially when building his nest or when bringing up his progeny. From the time when the foundation of the nest has been laid, to the end of the matrimonial proceedings for the year, and until the last chick has left the nest, the rookery is in a state of continual caw-cawing from morning till night. As the young brood of rooks grow up, their appetites increase, and hence the incessant labour of their parents in scouring the country for worms and grubs to furnish them with their late supper or their early morning breakfast.
“I once,” says Edward, “during one of my country excursions, slept beside a very large rookery in the woods of Forglen. Slept? no, I could not sleep! I never was in the midst of such a hideous bedlam of cawings. I positively do not believe that a single member of that black fraternity slept during the whole of that night. At least I didn’t. If the hubbub slackened for a moment, it was only renewed with redoubled vehemence and energy. I found the rookery in the evening in the wildest uproar, and I left it in the morning in the same uproarious condition. I took good care never to make my bed so near a rookery again. Still, in all justice, I must give the rook the very first and highest character for attention to its young. It is first out in the morning to search for food, and the last to provide for its family at night. The starling is very dutiful in that way; but the rook beats him hollow.”