A STUDY IN DOVES.
ONE day in spring-time, in a quiet garden, the present writer saw a flight of little Egyptian doves fly down on to a turf-walk in the heather in answer to a soft whistle from their mistress. They had been carefully acclimatised and fed twice a day, and in return had built in the garden and reared endless young in the pine-trees bordering the lawn. It was the collared turtle-dove (Columbia risoria), a little soft grey bird, with the black crescent at the back of the neck. Our garden cannot be complete without these doves, we thought to ourselves, so we watched and waited until we found some. Already the English turtle-dove and wood- pigeon had nests in the trees on the lawn, but there was room for the strangers too. "This bird has," writes Wood, "from classic time until the present day, been conventionally accepted as the type of matrimonial perfection, loving but its mate and caring for no other until death steps in to part the wedded couple." The doves came at last to the garden of peace from a bazaar. It was not an Egyptian bazaar, but a sale, such as the Prime Minister condemns, held at a Cripples' Home. The ideal dove was the turtle-dove of the psalmist, and it is but natural to think that the shepherd lad had leisure to note their habits and ways. Their presence, therefore, in the garden must add to the charm and peace. Two pairs were purchased, and so eager were they for a home that one forthwith laid an egg in the railway-carriage, showing absolute trust and superiority of environment. They insisted, too, on cooing the whole journey long in the luggage-rack, to the embarrassment of their owners and to the annoyance of other passengers. Once at home they were put in cages, and peace reigned
after the two pair were supplied with nests of hay, and the white, round eggs were laid and sat upon for a fortnight. All this time they were still ideal doves,—doves of fiction and poetry. At last the eggs in one cage were hatched, and two hideous goblin birdlets, baffling all description, emerged Into existence. The other doves sat on patiently day after day, and apparently would have continued contentedly .sitting for an unknown period with no result, but thinking it a thankless task they were let out of the cage and presented with the freedom of the garden. Instantly the first trait in the real dove betrayed itself. Just to annoy their fellows they flew down on to the other cage and tried to peck the inmates, who were spending their days in feeding their young in the disgusting manner peculiar to doves. Alas ! the free, happy life of the little visitors was cut short by a cruel -sparrow-hawk, who swept through the branches of the snowy mesphilus and pounced on to the soft grey back of one of the pair, inflicting a terrible wound. There was a • -cloud of white down and a scream from the house, but it was too late to save the pet, and after a day of lingering, .helpless pain the little life died out with a weary sigh. "The poor widowed mate will surely mope and die," we said pathetically, with the vision of the ideal dove before our eyes, and our hearts bled for the loneliness and isolation of the little bird's broken heart. But pity was wasted, for the dove seemed as happy as ever, ate rather more than usual, and .flew about merrily. In due course of time the morning dawned when, thinking the little ones in the wicker-cage were old enough to take care of themselves, the parent-birds were let out. Instantly, without a moment's consideration or a single prick of conscience, the widowed dove eloped with his neighbour's wife into the Wellingtonia. This was an awful moment, for the theory of the ideal dove was a hard one to kill. 'She will surely come back," was whispered, with a ring of doubt in the voice. But, instead of coming back, she seemed to enjoy the situation immensely, and in a brazen way the shameless couple began to build a nest in the roses -on the verandah, in fall view of the discarded husband. He was put back into the cage, with his two children to console him, and never missed his wife in the slightest degree, but stored up a mighty vengeance in his heart as he cooed pleasantly and showed no loss of appetite. The dis- graceful couple in the roses meanwhile built an unsafe nest, and showed but little talent for architecture. They would carry a big bit of thick stick up to the trellis, and then Jet it hopelessly drop, and afterwards triumphantly land a twig the size of a match, to be cooed over and aimlessly laid one way and then another with no method in the madness, or carefully devised plan. Soon they gave up the -task of an ideal nest as hopeless, and laid their two eggs on a few loose twigs, and then finding it unsafe added a few more little sticks in a careless, haphazard manner, flouting their scandalous behaviour unblushingly before the public.
Peace reigned until the wicker door of the cage was re- .opened one morning and the three captives let loose. Then the ideal dove, all gentleness and sweetness redolent of rest
• and peace, the ideal dove we had cherished so tenderly in our imagination, was banished for ever. An awful scene ensued. The husband discovered his renegade wife on her nest in the bower of roses and beat her of with his wings, .flying with her into the portugal laurel to fight desperately. Feathers flew in all directions, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were separated. Then the two cock birds, catching sight of one another and thirsting for blood, met in the mountain-ash, and beat each other madly with their wings until they were a sorry sight to behold. They in -their turn were duly separated, and all three miserable com- batants drooped their bruised wings and shut their eyes and fluffed up their feathers, nursing their wrongs, and cherishing -every possible evil thought in their bird-hearts. They rested for awhile, until one of the young doves flew up to ask what all this fuss was about, and he was pecked violently on the 'head by his father for his pains, and was only rescued from a -tragic death by a rush from the window. The two young -ones were then put back into the cage, and the problem at -once presented itself to the owners as to which of the three old ones was to return to captivity, for all doves look alike, and after the fray their identity was lost. "We will see who fights who," we said, "that will be the only test." Alas ! for he ideal dove! One old one was captured, and put into the
cage, and instantly pecked the young ones. He was removed as unfatherlike. Another was placed in the roses, and she hopped quietly into her nest, and was therefore pronounced to be the runaway wife. The third was restored to the cage, and both the sucking-doves stuffed their long beaks down the parental throat. Then we breathed again; peace was for the moment restored. You may still write in poetical language about the ideal dove, but there never was such a scene of rage and jealousy witnessed in the garden of peace until the doves came. But then they were the real doves, not the "harmless doves" we are bidden to imitate.
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