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  THE BIRD AND INSECTS' POST-OFFICE.

  _Frontispiece._

  THE BIRD AND INSECTS' POST-OFFICE.]

  THE BIRD AND INSECTS' POST-OFFICE.

  BY

  ROBERT BLOOMFIELD,

  _Author of "The Farmer's Boy," "Rural Tales", &c. &c._

  WITH THIRTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS

  NEW YORK:

  E. P. DUTTON AND CO.

  GRIFFITH AND FARRAN: ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON.

  [_The Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._]

  PREFACE.

  "THE BIRD AND INSECTS' POST-OFFICE" was projected and written by ROBERTBLOOMFIELD, author of the "Farmer's Boy," &c., excepting Letters VIII.,X., XI., and XVI. by his eldest son, Charles. It was the author'sintention to publish it uniformly with his other juvenile work, the"HISTORY OF LITTLE DAVY'S NEW HAT," but he did not live to do so, and itwas therefore included in his literary _Remains_, published in 1824--ayear after the poet's death--in two volumes, price twelve shillings. Itscirculation, in consequence, has been extremely limited, its form ofpublication preventing its introduction to children; for this reason,and because I think it would be a pity for it to be shut up for ever ina dusty old volume from the little ones, for whom it was written, Ihave sent it forth in the form originally intended for it to assume.

  The original manuscript, in the author's autograph, I recently presentedto the Trustees of the British Museum.

  WALTER BLOOMFIELD.

  _March 1st, 1879._

  CONTENTS.

  LETTER PAGE

  I.--FROM THE MAGPIE TO THE SPARROW 19

  II.--THE SPARROW'S REPLY 22

  III.--FROM A YOUNG GARDEN-SPIDER TO HER MOTHER 29

  IV.--FROM A YOUNG NIGHTINGALE TO A WREN 33

  V.--FROM AN EARWIG, DEPLORING THE LOSS OF ALL HER CHILDREN 39

  VI.--FROM THE WILD DUCK TO THE TAME DUCK 42

  VII.--THE TAME DUCK'S REPLY 47

  VIII.--FROM THE GANDER TO THE TURKEY-COCK. _By Charles Bloomfield_ 53

  IX.--FROM THE DUNGHILL-COCK TO THE CHAFFINCH 58

  X.--FROM THE BLUE-BOTTLE FLY TO THE GRASSHOPPER _By Charles Bloomfield_ 63

  XI.--FROM THE GLOW-WORM TO THE BUMBLE-BEE. _By Charles Bloomfield_ 66

  XII.--FROM THE PIGEON TO THE PARTRIDGE 71

  XIII.--FROM THE WOOD-PIGEON TO THE OWL 78

  XIV.--THE OWL IN REPLY TO THE WOOD-PIGEON 85

  XV.--FROM A SWALLOW IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE TO AN ENGLISH ROBIN 88

  XVI.--ON HEARING THE CUCKOO AT MIDNIGHT, MAY 1ST. 1822. _By Charles Bloomfield_ 95

  LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

  PAGETHE BIRD AND INSECTS' POST-OFFICE _Frontispiece._

  MAGPIE 18

  SPARROWS 23

  SPIDERS 28

  NIGHTINGALE 32

  WRENS 35

  WILD DUCKS 43

  SPARROWS 49

  GOOSE 55

  COCK 59

  PARTRIDGES 70, 74

  PIGEONS 72, 76

  OWLS 79, 83

  SWALLOWS 89, 92

  AND SEVERAL SMALLER ONES IN THE TEXT.

  AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

  We all know that AEsop has made his birds and beasts talk, and reasontoo; and that so well as still to make the volume bearing his name afavourite with thousands. Perhaps, too, we all know that same Frenchauthor has objected to this method of teaching, alleging that childrenshould not be imposed upon (or something to that effect), and led tobelieve in the _reality_ of talking birds and beasts. To me it appearsplainly that they do not, nor are they inclined to, believe in any suchreality. Observe two or three children at play with a favourite kitten.When one of them, in mere wantonness, shall give the little animal a rapon the nose, or a squeeze by the tail, the owner of the cat willinstantly exclaim, "Poor little pussy! she does not like that, _shesays_." Now, the child knows very well that the cat did not say a wordabout the matter, but she looked and acted as if she had, and that wasenough.

  In the following pages I have endeavoured to make my winged and creepingcorrespondents talk in their own characters, according to theirwell-known habits and pursuits.

  I have added a few notes, sometimes of illustration, and sometimes ofinquiry; for, as natural history is almost a boundless field, I maystand in need of correction myself. It will be obvious that I have takenonly some of the plainest and simplest subjects, for the purpose oftrying whether any interest can be awakened in young minds by suchmeans. And as I like to write for children, and think a great deal ofinformation might be blended with amusement in this way, I hold myselfacquitted of the charge of trifling and puerility, and am the youngreader's friend and well-wisher,

  R[OBERT] B[LOOMFIELD.]

  THE BIRD AND INSECT'S POST-OFFICE.

  MAGPIE.]

  Illustration]

  LETTER I.

  _FROM THE MAGPIE TO THE SPARROW._

  LITTLE JABBERER,

  I have many times thought of addressing to you a few words of advice, asyou seem to stand in need of such a friend.

  You know that I do not stand much upon ceremony; I am always ready fortalking and for giving advice, and really wonder how other birds cankeep themselves so quiet. Then you will pardon my frankness, since youknow my character, when I inform you that I think you remarkably tameand spiritless: you have no enterprise in you. In an old farmyard,shuffling amongst the straw, there you may be found morning, noon andnight; and you are never seen in the woods and groves with me and mycompanions, where we have the blessing of free liberty, and fly where weplease. You must often have heard me sing; that cannot be doubted,because I am heard a great way. As to me, I never come down to yourfarm, unless I think I can find a hen's egg or two amongst the nettles,or a chicken or duck just hatched.

  I earnestly advise you to change your manner of life and take a littlefree air, as I do. Stop no longer in your dull yard, feeding upon pigs'leavings, but come abroad with me. But I must have done till a betteropportunity; for the gamekeeper with his gun has just turned thecorner. Take my advice, and you may be as well off, and learn to sing aswell as I do.

  Yours, in great haste,

  MAG.

  LETTER II.

  _THE SPARROW'S REPLY._

  OLD MAG (I won't say Neighbour),

  I was hopping along the top ridge of the house when I received yourinsolent and conceited epistle, which does you no credit, but is verymuch in your usual style. "Little Jabberer" indeed! and pray, what isyour letter of advice? Nothing but jabber from beginning to end. You_sing_, you say. I have heard you often enough; but if yours is singing,then I must be allowed to be no jud
ge of the matter. You say you areafraid of the gamekeeper; this, perhaps, allows some sense in you, forhe is paid for killing all kinds of vermin.

  SPARROWS.]

  And so you come down to our farm when you think you can steal something!Thus, if I did not hide my eggs and my young ones, in a hole too smallfor you to enter, I can see pretty plainly how I should come off withyour thieving and your advice.

  Be advised in _your_ turn; keep away from our yard, for my master has agun too; and your chattering, which I suppose you call singing, heabominably hates. You will be in danger of catching what the gamekeeperthreatens, and then where is the great difference between your stationand mine?

  From my lodging under the thatch of the stable, I am, as you may happento behave yourself,

  Yours, at a convenient distance,

  &c. &c.

  SPIDERS.]

  LETTER III.

  _FROM A YOUNG GARDEN-SPIDER TO HER MOTHER._

  DEAR MOTHER,

  I cannot exactly tell what happened before I came out of the shell; but,from circumstances, I can give you some information. When I came tolife, amongst some scores of other little merry yellow creatures, Ifound myself, and all of us, enclosed in a thing, through which we, withour eight eyes, could see very well, but could not instantly get out. Isoon perceived that we, in the egg state, wrapped in a white bag, as youleft us, had been put into a thing called a bottle, by one of thosegreat creatures whom we always call _striders_; but this was aparticular one of that tribe, who wanted to play tricks with us--onewhom they would perhaps call a philosopher.[1] Well, his own sense (ifhe had any) told him that we could not live without air; so he left thecork out, and went about his business; no doubt of much less consequencethan the lives of all us prisoners--but that they do not mind. But howlong were we prisoners? Why, as soon as ever we were out of the shell webegan to spin, and linked our webs so thick together that thephilosopher's bottle would hold us no longer. We climbed out in a crowd,and spread our webs over the room, up to the very ceiling. I shall neverforget how the great booby stared when he saw us all climbing up our ownrope-ladders! I wonder if those great creatures are not sometimes caughtin webs spun by their fellow-creatures, and whether they are notsometimes put by hundreds into a bottle without possessing any means ofescape? But I am but a child, and must live and learn before I talk morefreely. Long life to you, dear mother, and plenty of flies.

  Yours ever, &c.

  NIGHTINGALE.]

  LETTER IV.

  _FROM A YOUNG NIGHTINGALE TO A WREN._

  Dated "Home Wood."

  NEIGHBOUR,

  When we last met you seemed very lively and agreeable, but you asked anabundance of questions, and particularly wanted to know whether wenightingales really do, as is said of us, cross the great water everyyear, and return in the spring to sing in your English groves. Now, as Iam but young, I must be modest, and not prate about what I cannot as yetunderstand. I must say, nevertheless, that I never heard my parents talkof any particular long journey which they had performed to reach thiscountry, or that they should return, and take me and the rest of thefamily with them, at this particular time or season. I know this, that Inever saw my parents fly further at one flight than from one side of afield to another or from one grove to the next. Who are they who callus "birds of passage"?[2] They certainly may know more of the extent ofthe GREAT WATERS than we can, neighbour Wren; but have they consideredour powers, and the probability of what they assert? I am sure, if myparents should call on me to go with them, I shall be flurried out of mylife. But it is my business to obey. I have so lately got my feathers,that I cannot be a proper judge of the matter. As to the swallows andmany other birds going to a vast distance, there is no wonder in that,if you look at their wings; but how would you, for instance, performsuch a journey--you who, even when you sing, put yourself into a violentpassion, as if you had not a minute to live? We nightingales are thebirds for song. This you will acknowledge, I dare say, though I have notbegun yet. I will give you a specimen when I come back (if I am reallyto go), and you will hear me in "_Home Wood_" when it is dark, and youhave crept into your little nest in the hovel.

  WRENS.]

  Believe me, I have a great respect for you, and am your young friend,

  THIRD-IN-THE-NEST.

  LETTER V.

  _FROM AN EARWIG, DEPLORING THE LOSS OF ALL HER CHILDREN._

  DEAR AUNT,

  You cannot think how distressed I have been, and still am; for, underthe bark of a large elm, which, I dare say, has stood there a greatwhile, I had placed my whole family, where they were dry, comfortable,and, as I foolishly thought, secure. But only mark what calamities mayfall upon earwigs before they are aware of them! I had just got myfamily about me, all white, clean, and promising children, when pouncecame down that bird they call a woodpecker; when, thrusting his hugebeak under the bark where we lay, down went our whole sheltering roof!and my children, poor things, running, as they thought, from danger,were devoured as fast as the destroyer could open his beak and shut it.For my own part, I crept into a crack in the solid tree, where I havethus far escaped; but as this bird can make large holes into solidtimber, I am by no means safe.

  This calamity is the more heavy, as it carries with it a greatdisappointment; for very near our habitation was a high wall, the sunnyside of which was covered with the most delicious fruits--peaches,apricots, nectarines, &c.--all just then ripening; and I thought ofhaving such a feast with my children as I had never enjoyed in my life.

  I am surrounded by woodpeckers, jackdaws, magpies, and other devouringcreatures, and think myself very unfortunate. Yet, perhaps, if I couldknow the situation of some larger creatures--I mean particularly such aswould tread me to death if I crossed their path--they may havecomplaints to make as well as I.

  Take care of yourself, my good old aunt, and I shall keep in myhiding-place as long as starvation will permit, And, after all, perhapsthe fruit was not so delicious as it looked--I am resolved to think so,just to comfort myself.

  Yours, with compliments, as usual.

  LETTER VI.

  _FROM THE WILD DUCK TO THE TAME DUCK._

  Dated Lincoln and Ely Fens.

  DEAR COUSIN,

  I suppose I must call you so, though I declare I know not how we arerelated. But, though I am thought so very wild and shy, I have still akind of fellow-feeling for you; and, if you have not gone to the spitbefore this comes to you, I should be glad of your reply in a friendlyway. You know very well that you are intended to be eaten, and so arewe--when they can catch us. I understand that you never fly and that youseldom waddle above a meadow's length from your pond, where you keeppuddling and groping from daylight till dark. This, I assure you, is notthe life that I lead. We fly together in vast numbers in the night, formany miles over this flat, wet country; so, as to water, we have aninexhaustible store: we may swim ourselves tired. But, I dare say, everystation of our duck-lives is subject to some disadvantages and somecalamities. Thus, with all our wildness, we are not secure; for we aretaken sometimes by hundreds in a kind of trap which is called adecoy.

  WILD DUCKS.]

  Some of our tribe have been made tame like you (but I hope you are notso false-hearted), and then their masters feed them plentifully, in aplace contrived on purpose, with a narrow entrance, with which these_traitor ducks_ are well acquainted, so that they can pass in and out ata place we strangers should never have thought of. They are sent out inthe dusk of the evening, when they soon join with large companies of usstrangers; and knowing, as they do, their way home, and that they shallfind food, they set off, close at each other's tails, along a ditch, orwatercourse, and we fools follow them.

  The entrance, as far as I could see of it, is very narrow; for I havebeen twice within a hair's breadth of being caught, and do not pretendto know all about it; but I wish heartily that every duck and drake inthe country--ay, and every one of our allies, the geese, too, could sayas much--could say that "they had twice been on the verge of destr
uctionby keeping bad company, but had escaped."

  What becomes of my companions, when taken, I think I have heard prettyaccurately; for there is somewhere a very large assemblage offellow-creatures to those who catch us, and whose demand seems never tobe satisfied. Well, never mind, cousin; I am determined to fly, and swimtoo, as long as I can, and I advise you to do the same, and make themost of your day.

  Hoping to hear from you, I am, affectionately, your wild cousin.

  LETTER VII.

  _THE TAME DUCK'S REPLY._

  COUSIN WILDING,

  I confess I did not at all expect to hear from you; for I alwaysbelieved you to be one of those thoughtless young creatures which areto be found in other stations of life as well as in yours and mine, who,as soon as they get fledged and able to get abroad, care no more fortheir parents and those who brought them up than I care for a shower ofrain. However, you have escaped danger _twice_, and you have reason tocongratulate yourself. I have been sitting here upon ten eggs for threeweeks past, and of course have another week to be confined; but then thethoughts of the pleasure I shall have in hatching and guiding my youngones to the water, is ample payment for all my pains. They will look soclean and so delighted, and will do as they are bid by the smallestquack that I can utter, that I must be a bad mother indeed if I am notproud of them. Perhaps you will wonder when I tell you that we have acreature here--fledged indeed--which is called a hen; a strange,cackling, flying, useless, noisy, silly creature, which is as muchafraid of water as you are of your decoy. I have often known one ofthese birds to hatch nine or ten of my eggs; and then, if you wanted toridicule the lifted foot of conceit, and the dignity of assumedimportance, you should see her lead her young, or more properly, see theyoung lead her to the nearest water they can find. In they go, and shebegins to call and scold, and run round the edge to save them fromdrowning! Now, what fools these hens must be compared to us ducks! atleast, I, for one, am determined to think so. I have seen this same henwith the brood about her scratching in our farmyard with all her might;when, not considering who was behind her, or who under her feathers, shehas tricked away one little yellow duck with one of her claws, andanother with the other, till I wished I had her in a pond; I would havegiven her a good sousing, depend upon it. But really, cousin, don't youthink that this way of contradicting our natures and propensities isvery wrong? Suppose, for instance, I should sit upon a dozen of thatsilly creature's eggs which I mentioned above--for I will never consentto have them matched with us--I should then, to be sure, have a week'sholiday, as they sit but three weeks; but what should I bring to light?a parcel of little, useless, tip-toed, cowardly things, that would notfollow me into the pond--I cannot bear to think of it. I have writtenyou a long letter, and can think of no more but Quack! quack! quack! andfarewell.