With the description and photograph Mr. Tomkins sent a few portions of the nest, some of the barley leaves being of their original width, and others split up into fibres as fine as ordinary sewing cotton. In a subsequent letter he states that the hole through which the campagnol made her entrance into the house opened into the stable yard of a neighbour.
Its mode of eating the provisions which it stores is rather remarkable. It would naturally be supposed that, as other beings (including man) do, it would eat the thick, soft, and sweet exterior of the “hip” or fruit of the wild rose, and reject the hard, small seeds, with their fluffy envelope. But it does just the contrary, eating the seeds and rejecting the exterior.
When in America in 1884, I saw a flock of pine grosbeaks busily feeding upon the berries of the mountain ash at Worcester. Very pretty they looked, the rosy plumage of the two or three males contrasting boldly with the dark, sombre green of the many females. I should not have noticed them but for their mode of feeding.
It was at the beginning of February—the very depth of a New England winter. I had to make my way up a rather steep hill, and over paths which, by reason of constant traffic over snow, were as slippery as ice. Many persons are in the habit of scattering sand or pulverised brick on the paths, and seeing, as I fondly thought, a few yards of the latter material, I gladly made my way towards it. To my disappointment—on that ground at least—I found that the red material was not brick, but the soft, external part of the mountain ash berry, the birds only eating the seeds, and allowing the rest of the fruit to fall to the ground.
Then, the campagnol has a remarkable way of eating the cherry stones.
When the squirrel eats a nut, it nibbles off a little piece of the sharp end, inserts the edges of its incisor teeth in wedge fashion, and splits the nut in two. The campagnol begins like the squirrel, but when it has bitten off the end of the cherry-stone, it does not split the shell asunder, but in some way of its own contrives to get the kernel out.
(To be continued.)
MERLE’S CRUSADE.
By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc.