True Anecdotes.
VI.—READY-MADE HOMES.
"'Every day he went out and brought me in a hare or a rabbit.'"
When men first made houses, with a view to their own comfort, they little thought that they were providing a ready-made home for a host of outsiders, who took so readily to our quarters that we wonder where they can have lived before. How did the stork get on without his chimney, the merry sparrow without his gutter, the clothes-moth without cupboards, the house-spider without dirty corners and ceilings? In Holland the stork makes free with the house-top as a matter of course, often dropping a stray eel, small snake, or frog, intended for his young, down the chimney into the fireless grate of his astonished hosts below. He knows that nobody would be cruel enough to meddle with that untidy bundle of sticks which houses his family circle. The devotion of these beautiful birds to the fluffy youngsters on the roof is an example to those beneath it. In Turkey the stork is greatly respected, and lately he has been better thought of than ever. A small village on the Gulf of Ismidt caught fire, and over two hundred houses were destroyed. Many storks' nests were there, and when the fire began to rage the terrified birds fled pell-mell, but for a few moments only. After a brief pause they recovered their presence of mind, and with a rush the same broad wings which had hurried them away from death bore them as swiftly back to the burning stacks, where, in each nest, there lay two or three helpless young. The old birds settled down over the broods, covered them with their wings, and one after another perished without another attempt to save themselves.
A Swallow's Nest on the Crank of a Bell-wire.
What the stork is abroad, the swallow is, or ought to be, in England, honoured and admired. Here he makes his summer home, and for the few months during which he stays amply earns his keep by clearing away the swarms of flies. The number of injurious insects consumed by one pair of swallows and their young during a single day cannot be less than one thousand, and the number killed during the season is beyond calculation.
Swallows are quick to avail themselves of ready-made nooks for their nests. When the eaves and similar places will not do, they boldly enter houses and churches, and take any spot that takes their fancy. A farmer at Crux Eastern was honoured by a couple who chose a door inside his home, and, when the nest was accidentally shaken down, pitched upon another door. The farmer's wife, fearing that this nest would be destroyed also, drove a large nail into the woodwork beneath as a support. But Dame Swallow could not put up with this interference, and, leaving the second nest, she chose the crank of a bell-wire in the kitchen. Without more ado she built, laid eggs, and hatched them, though the farmer gave a supper to his men while she was still house-keeping, and while the sheep-shearers enjoyed their noisy feast, the little pair flew in and out, feeding their young as quietly as if they were utterly alone.
Much might be said of the fondness shown by some unbidden guests for our food, of the trickery of the mouse, or of the cricket's habit of tumbling into the milk, while taking unlawful sips. But a plea can be found even for the most despised of creatures. Cheese is a dainty to the pilfering mouse, but the eggs of the cockroach are a still daintier morsel. The cricket is a scavenger, and besides cheering us by his sprightly song, rids the floor of tiny atoms of insanitary dust, and the house-spider preys on the clothes-moth. One lesson at least is taught by many a household insect, that of strict cleanliness.