TALES OF THE BIRDS.*

IF we were to assign to the various influences which go to form character their relative values as contributions to our happiness, probably for quiet and enduring service an early bias towards natural history would receive a high rank in the scale with most of us. The main service rendered by the study of natural history is the training it gives in the habit of intelligent and sympathetic observation ; and perhaps no acquired habit yields a richer return of those quiet pleasures that "lie about our feet " upon which our every-day happiness is so dependent. The pleasures of the naturalist are analogous to those of the treasure-hunter; his is the first rough process of turning up with the spade the virgin ore from which the scientific and Lesthetic wealth of the world are coined, and his spade-work cannot fail to enrich his mind with some nuggets of beauty and curious information.

These Ta'es of the Birds recall that pleasantest of children's books, Mary Howitt's Sketches of Natural History. There is the same joy in the wild life of the field and wood, and the same delicacy of feeling for what is quaint, beautiful, or pathetic in their denizens. Mary Howitt takes her reader out—

"on the wide heath with furze covered o'er, Where the cry of the Plover, the hum of the Bee,

Give a feeling of joyful security?!

Or she leads him by the side of some sedgy field-stream,—

• Tales of the Birds. By W. Ward. Fowler. With Illustrations by Sven

Hook. London : Ilaengllan and Co. and New York. . "Where the crowned Butomus is gracefully growing, Where the long purple spikes of the Loosestrife are blowing, And the rich, plumy crests of the Meadowsweet seem Like foam which the current has left on the stream."

And by a few direct, vivid touches she shows him some graceful wild creature, squirrel, or water-rat, or field-mouse, at home in those pleasant places.

What Mary Howitt does for her reader by her simple, lucid verse, Mr. Fowler effects by his equally lucid, though more elaborate, prose idylls. Here is a scene for a lover of our chalk downs to linger over with delight :—

. "It was a wild and gusty day early in April ; a wet wind from the south-east drove the waves into a little bay, where the sea had long ago forced an opening in the great chalk rampart of the coast. The downs rose steeply above this opening, their short sweet grass freshened by rain and wind ; down below in the hollow a little stream, dear as every chalk stream is, trickled through the long grass, still brown with the sun of last summer, and nestled here and there under a fringe of dwarf willows or

alders." .

This is the opening scene of a thrilling tale of adventure by

sea and land, the heroes of which are a party of willow- warblers on their annual migration to this country for the nesting season. By one who can claim an old acquaintance with this graceful olive-coated songster, an added interest will be felt in him after reading this tale of his struggles and sufferings, and his joyous song will sound from the catkined sallows with a fuller meaning when April comes round again.

• The most dramatic of the tales, entitled "A Tragedy in Rook Life," is founded upon the observed fact that rooks will sometimes band themselves together to harass one particular pair of their number, and to prevent them from completing their nest. The history of one of these Pariah rooks, whose misfortunes are ascribed to a dangerous habit of "reflecting upon the nature of things," is very humorous and pathetic ; and Mr. Bryan Hook's delineation of the unfortu- nate philosopher," deep in meditation on the problems which occupied his mind," is thoroughly in tone with the spirit of the story. This is the quietly humorous account of poor Jetsom's adolescence :—

"And. so it came to pass that he grew up a silent and philosophical rook, and it • was frequently remarked that he did not make his proper contribution to that chorus of cawing which at certain times of the day is so necessary to the happiness and comfort of a rookery. He would sometimes, too, decline to accompany the others when they wheeled about in the air of an evening before settling down to roost ; and from his solitary habits was often chosen to sit on a tree as sentinel when the rest were at work feeding in a ploughed field. His father and mother were quite content that this should be so, and so was he, for it redeemed him a little from the suspicion that was beginning to fall on him."

The history of the persecution and tragical end of this

misguided youngster is no mean rival to that most pathetic tale of persecution, Andersen's "Ugly Duckling." The tale entitled "A Question Beginning with a Why,' " is written in a somewhat similar strain of feeling. The chief character is a wagtail, vexed with an evil spirit of curiosity that will not let her rest until she has discovered why wagtails wag their tails. This is how she broaches the question with her father

I want to ask a question, father. Mother says we don't wag our tails, but a man I heard talking said we did. Which do you think is right?'—' Your mother's sure to be right, my dear,' said

; I never, never knew her wrong. Never,' he said, with warmth, and wagging his tail to emphasise his words. Believe all she says, and do everything she tells you.'—' But, father dear, you're wagging your own tail now as fast as you can,' cried Kelpie.—' I do it sometimes, when I am a little excited,' he said, taken by surprise."

But this inquiring spirit does not bring upon Kelpie the cruel fate that befell Jetsom. Kelpie learnt the lesson of life betimes, and kept hard to facts. "She kept to flies, beetles, and small crustaceans ; she kept hard to her husband when

pairing-time came, and to her eggs and young ; she kept to

the laws of her kind, and left the questions that begin with a 'why' to the Professor and his species."

Probably with most children the favourite tales will be "The Falcon's Nest" and "A Winter's Tale,"—the former a story of an adventurous cliff-climb, and the latter a diary of the wanderings and sufferings of a band of field-fares in the heart of winter. Mr. Bryan Hook's illustrations are of some- what unequal merit ; but the picture of the two surviving field-fares in the snow, crouching for warmth by the side of a friendly hare, is excellent. While there is much that is

fanciful, and even fantastic, in these pleasant tales, it is apparent throughout that they are the work of one who has made the habits of the birds in their native haunts a subject of careful and affectionatestudy. It is to be hoped that the circulation of the book will be a wide one, and that there will be left behind in the minds of its readers something of the living interest in our wild birds, and of the delicate apprecia- tion of their beauty, which have animated its author.