Chatterbox, 1906 Part 99

STRANGE NESTING-PLACES.

With the return of spring every year the trees take new life, and begin to bud and put forth their leaves. At the same time the birds also feel, as it were, a throb of new life, and begin to busy themselves with the building of their nests, in which, when the weather is warmer, they will lay their eggs and rear their young ones. At these times they are bolder than usual, and timid birds, which in the winter and autumn seek the most secluded woods and distant fields, often build in gardens quite near to houses or to places where men are at work. The habits of birds when they are building their nests are very interesting, and sometimes rather puzzling.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A wren built its nest in the pocket."]

As a rule they take great care to place their nests where they will be screened from observation and safe from injury; but at times they appear to be utterly reckless, and build in some place where there seems to us to be every probability that the nests will be disturbed. The little wren, for instance, usually builds its nest in some hole in an ivy-covered tree or in a thatch. When it builds in a more open place, it is careful to cover its nest with a dome or roof, leaving a hole in the side for its own pa.s.sage in and out. It covers its nest on the outer side with green moss or brown leaves, selecting those materials which are similar in colour to the surroundings of the nest. The nest is on this account difficult to see, and the white eggs speckled with red, which are laid in it, are hidden from view by the dome of the nest. Very often, too, the bird has been known to build false nests, or 'dummies,'

in order to mislead visitors into thinking that it has been driven away.

But though the wren usually takes all this care to hide its nest and its eggs from observation, it is sometimes just as careless and builds in strange places, where it is almost sure to be noticed. It will boldly make its nest in the hat of a scarecrow, which is intended to frighten birds away. A little while ago, according to the newspapers, one of these birds built its nest and hatched its eggs in the pocket of a child's old waistcoat which had been thrown aside as useless. Other birds often display the same boldness or carelessness. Many years ago a swallow occupied for two years a nest which had been built upon the handles of a pair of garden-shears which leaned against the boards in the interior of an out-house. These were all very unlikely places for nests, not only because they were very different from the kind of situations usually selected, but still more because they were liable to be disturbed at any time. If the farmer had resolved to move his scarecrow, if a rag-man had picked up the waistcoat, or if the gardener had come for the shears, the nest would in each case have been removed or destroyed. And yet there is good reason to believe that the parent birds and their young ones fared just as well in their strange quarters as they would have done in a tree-trunk or a cranny of the walls. The truth is, perhaps, that all thoughtful and kindly people admire the courage, industry, and devotion of birds when they are building their nests and rearing their young, and take every care not to disturb them unnecessarily.

TWO LITTLE DROPS OF RAIN.

They fell together from the sky, Two little drops of rain; One cheered a blossom like to die, One fell upon the plain.

One made the thirsty wilderness A lovely blooming place; One came a drooping flower to bless, And give it light and grace.

The flower gave out a fragrance sweet, That lingered by the way; The wilderness amid the heat Seemed sweet and cool that day.

They did the work they had to do, And, when the day was done, Two raindrops went back to the blue, Drawn upwards by the sun.

FAMOUS ROSES.

A few flowers stand at the head of all others as being general favourites; the rose, the lily, the violet have been popular for ages, and to these we may now add, probably, the chrysanthemum. The rose has been called the 'queen of flowers.' It was probably one of the earliest garden plants grown in Eastern lands. Splendid festoons of roses are said to have been one of the sights of the celebrated hanging gardens of Babylon. At the present time roses are largely grown in India to produce the expensive attar of roses, the Damascus kind being chiefly planted; and very often the perfume of large rose gardens may be smelt a long way off.

The old Romans were very fond of roses, and quant.i.ties of them were grown in the times of the Emperors, especially near Capua and Praeneste.

The Emperor Nero is said to have spent ten thousand pounds on roses for one night's supper. The rich n.o.bles carpeted rooms with roses, and piled their petals round the dishes at table. In more modern times, Blanche of Castile inst.i.tuted the custom of presenting a basket of roses to the French Parliament on May-day, but this has long ceased.

Both in France and Italy, and also in Britain, many new roses have been raised, some nearly black, others of curious shapes. The first yellow rose was brought to England from Turkey by Nicholas Lets, a London merchant; other varieties have come from farther East. Scotch roses have been famous for centuries; they are usually very fragrant, and well guarded by sharp spines.

Roses are still grown for the market in some parts of the South of England, even as near London as Mitcham, in Surrey, a place famous for its fragrant plants, such as lavender and peppermint. Many roses are brought to our island from the flower farms of South France; some come from Holland, a country which supplies us with most of our bulbs.

When we walk about in London City as it is now, we can hardly fancy that it had an abundance of beautiful roses in the olden time. Yet they used to be particularly plentiful on the west side, where the Old Bourne and River of Wells flowed down to the Thames. The gardens of Ely House, of which we have a memory in Hatton Garden, now a street, were so full of roses during Tudor times that the flowers were measured by bushels.

During the long and unfortunate Wars of the Roses, the white rose was taken for an emblem by the Yorkists, and the red kind was displayed by the Lancastrians. The Yorkists said that they chose the white because it represented the purity of their cause, and the Lancastrians gloried in their red flower since it told that they were ready to give their heart's blood to obtain the victory. In Shakespeare's _Henry VI._ there is a scene in the Temple Garden, in which the two parties pick these roses, to show their opposition.

Not only is the rose our national emblem, but it also appears on the collar of St. Patrick's Order, which shows roses and harps joined by knots; and it is one of the adornments of the Order of the Bath. We may discover this flower, too, figured on the crests of several n.o.ble families. The oldest rose-tree in the world is said to be one growing on the walls of Hildesheim Cathedral, which is believed to date from the reign of the great Charlemagne.

MURIEL'S FIRST PATIENT.

Muriel clapped her hands and gave a little jump for joy when she saw Aunt Margaret coming up the garden path. Aunt Margaret was a hospital nurse, and Muriel had quite made up her mind to be one as well, when she was old enough. She liked nothing better than to listen to her aunt's stories about her patients, for it was Aunt Margaret's duty to visit the poor people who could not afford to pay for a doctor, and Muriel never tired of hearing about the different families her aunt went to see every day.

She could hardly wait for her aunt to come up to the schoolroom, and wondered impatiently whatever Mother and Aunt Margaret could be talking about downstairs for so long. At last she came, however, and Muriel rushed to meet her.

'Oh, Auntie! may I come with you this morning?' she begged at once. 'I have got a whole holiday, and you did promise you would take me with you some day to see all your poor people.'

But although Aunt Margaret kissed her little niece as warmly as ever, her face did not wear its usual bright smile.

'Why have you got a holiday, Muriel?' she asked. 'It isn't a birthday, is it?'

'Oh, Miss Fane has got a headache,' said Muriel, rather hastily.

'I wonder what brought it on?' said Aunt Margaret looking at Muriel earnestly. Muriel grew very red, and looked down at her shoes, but did not answer.

'Mother has been telling me something very sad,' went on Aunt Margaret, '_She_ is afraid that Miss Fane's headache was caused by the great trouble she had with a certain little pupil of hers yesterday. What do you think, Muriel?'

'They were such stupid exercises--no one could do such horrid things,'

muttered Muriel without looking up.

'Perhaps, if some one tried,' suggested Aunt Margaret, gently, drawing Muriel to sit beside her. 'Now, Muriel, you want to be a nurse some day, don't you?'

Muriel nodded.

'Well, it is not a very good beginning to make people ill, is it? You know if you are going to study the things I had to learn, you will have to do a great many uninteresting things, so that perhaps you had better give up the idea, if you never want to do anything that is not very nice.'

Muriel shook her head. 'But I _do_ want to be a nurse,' she said.

'Suppose I give you a lesson to-day?'

Muriel looked up suddenly, and her eyes sparkled at the thought.

'Please do, Auntie. I will try to do what you want.'

'Mother has asked me to do something for poor Miss Fane, to make her headache better. I want you to do it instead.'

Muriel's smile disappeared suddenly. 'She's--she's so cross, Auntie.'

'Perhaps she has a reason for feeling so,' said Aunt Margaret. 'Still, if you would rather not--'

'Oh, but I will do it,' answered Muriel quickly. 'Only the things I do never please her, and perhaps _she_ would rather not.'

'Suppose you have another try to please her?' said Aunt Margaret. 'I will be the doctor, and I shall leave you in charge, and expect you to obey my orders exactly. What do you do when Mother has a headache?'

'She lets me bathe her forehead with _eau-de-Cologne_, and I try to keep everything very quiet.'

'That is a good beginning,' said Aunt Margaret. 'Now, Nurse, come and take charge of your patient. I shall look in this evening to see how the invalid is getting on.'