Let's Have Some Fun

CHAPTER VI. BIRDS. Barnacle-Goose—Blackbird—Buzzard—Chaffinch—Chough—Cock—Cormorant Crow—Cuckoo—Domestic Fowl—Dove—Duck—Eagle—Goldfinch—Goose—Gull—Hawk—Heron—Jay—Kestril—Kingfisher—Lark—Magpie—Martin—Nightingale—Osprey—Ostrich—Owl—Parrot—Peacock—Pelican—Pheasant—Phœnix—Pigeon—Quail—Raven—Robin-Redbreast—Rook—Snipe—Sparrow—Sparrow-Hawk—Starling—Swallow—Swan—Tassel-Gentle—Turkey—Vulture—Wagtail—Wildfowl—Woodcock—Wren. In the present chapter we have not only a striking proof of Shakespeare's minute acquaintance with natural history, but of his remarkable versatility as a writer. Whilst displaying a most extensive knowledge of ornithology, he has further illustrated his subject by alluding to those numerous legends, popular sayings, and superstitions which have, in this and other countries, clustered round the feathered race. Indeed, the following pages are alone sufficient to show, if it were necessary, how fully he appreciated every branch of antiquarian lore; and what a diligent student he must have been in the pursuit of that wide range of information, the possession of which has made him one of the most many-sided writers that the world has ever seen. The numerous incidental allusions, too, by Shakspeare, to the folk-lore of bygone days, whilst showing how deeply he must have read and gathered knowledge from every available source, serve as an additional proof of his retentive memory, and marvellous power of embellishing his ideas by the most apposite illustrations. Unfortunately, however, these have, hitherto, been frequently lost sight of through the reader's unacquaintance with that extensive field of folk-lore which was so well known to the poet. For the sake of easy reference, the birds with which the present chapter deals are arranged alphabetically. Barnacle-Goose.—There was a curious notion, very prevalent in former times, that this bird (Anser bernicla) was generated from the barnacle (Leilas anatifera), a shell-fish, growing on a flexible stem, and adhering to loose timber, bottoms of ships, &c., a metamorphosis to which Shakspeare alludes in the "Tempest" (iv. i), where he makes Caliban say— "We shall lose our time, And all be turn’d to barnacles." This vulgar error, no doubt, originated in mistaking the fleshy peduncle of the shell-fish for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and the tentacula for a tuft of feathers. These shell-fish, therefore, bearing, as seen out of the water, a resemblance to the goose's neck, were ignorantly, and without investigation, confounded with geese themselves. In France, the barnacle-goose may be eaten on fast days, by virtue of this old belief in its fishy origin. Like other fictions this one had its variations, for sometimes the barnacles were supposed to grow on trees, and thence to drop into the sea, and become geese, as in Drayton's account of Furness, (Polyolb. 1622, Song 27, p. 1190). As early as the 12th century this idea was promulgated by Giraldus Cambrensis in his "Topographia Hiberniæ." Gerarde, who in the year 1597 published his "Herball, or Generall Historie of Plantes," narrates the following:—"There are found in the north parts of Scotland, and the isles adjacent called Orcades, certain trees, whereon do grow certain shell-fishes, of a white colour, tending to russet, wherein are contained little living creatures; which shells in time of maturity do open, and out of them grow those little living things, which, falling into the water, do become fowls, whom we call barnacles, in the north of England brant geese, and in Lancashire tree geese; but the others that do fall upon the land perish, and do come to nothing. Thus much of the writings of others, and also from the mouths of people of those parts, which may very well accord with truth. But what our eyes have seen and hands have touched, we shall declare. There is a small island in Lancashire called the Pile of Foulders, wherein are found the broken pieces of old ships, some whereof have been cast thither by shipwreck, and also the trunks or bodies, with the branches, of old rotten trees, cast up there likewise, whereon is found a certain spume or froth, that in time breedeth into certain shells, in shape like those of the mussel, but sharper pointed, and of a whitish colour; wherein is contained a thing in form like a lace of silk, one end whereof is fastened unto the inside of the shell, even as the fish of oysters and mussels are. The other end is made fast unto the belly of a rude mass or lump, which in time cometh to the shape and form of a bird; when it is perfectly formed the shell gapeth open, and the first thing that appeareth is the foresaid lace or string; next come the legs of the bird hanging out, and as it groweth greater it openeth the shell by degrees, till at length it is all come forth and hangeth only by the bill. In short space after it cometh to full maturity, and falleth into the sea, where it gathereth feathers and groweth to a fowl, bigger than a mallard, and lesser than a goose; having black legs and bill, or beak, and feathers black and white, spotted in such a manner as is our magpie, which the people of Lancashire call by no other name than a tree goose." An interesting cut of these birds so growing is given by Mr Halliwell-Phillipps from a manuscript of the 14th century, who is of opinion that the barnacle mentioned by Caliban was the tree-goose. It is not to be supposed, however, that there were none who doubted this marvellous story, or who took steps to refute it. Belon, so long ago as 1551, says Mr Harting, and others after him, treated it with ridicule, and a refutation may be found in Willughby's "Ornithology," which was edited by Ray in 1678. This vulgar error is mentioned by many of the old writers. Thus Bishop Hall, in his "Virgidemiarum" (Lib. iv., sat. 2), says:— "The Scottish barnacle, if I might choose, That of a worme doth waxe a winged goose." Butler, too, in his "Hudibras," (III., ii. 1. 655), speaks of it; and Marston, in his "Malecontent," (1604), has the following:—"Like your Scotch barnacle, now a block, instantly a worm, and presently a great goose." Blackbird—This favourite is called in the "Midsummer Night's Dream" (iii. 1.) an ousel, (old French, oisel), a term still used in the neighbourhood of Leeds:— "The ousel cock so black of hue, With orange tawny bill." In the 2d part of King Henry IV. (iii. 2) when Justice Shallow inquires of Justice Silence, "And how doth my cousin?" he is answered— "Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow," a phrase which, no doubt, corresponded to our modern one, a "black sheep." In Spenser's "Epithalamium" (1. 82), the word occurs— "The ousel shrills, the ruddock warbles soft." Buzzard.—Mr Staunton suggests that in the following passage of the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), a play is intended upon the words, and that in the second line, "buzzard" means a beetle from its peculiar buzzing noise— "O slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee? Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard." The beetle was formerly called a buzzard; and in Staffordshire, a cock-chafer is termed a hum-buz. In Northamptonshire, we find a proverb, "I'm between a hawk and a buzzard," which means, "I don't know what to do, or how to act." Chaffinch.—Some think that this bird is alluded to in the song in the "Midsummer Night's Dream" (iii. 1), where the expression "Finch" is used; the chaffinch having always been a favourite cage bird with the lower-classes. In "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 1), Thersites calls Patroclus a "finch-egg," which was evidently meant as a term of reproach. Others again consider the phrase is equivalent to coxcomb. Chough.—In using this word, Shakespeare probably in most cases meant the jackdaw; for in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (iii. 2), he says— "Russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report." the term russet-pated being applicable to the jackdaw, but not to the real chough. In "1 Henry IV." (v. 1), Prince Henry calls Falstaff chewet—"Peace, chewet, peace"—in allusion no doubt to the chough or jackdaw, for common birds have always had a variety of names. Such an appellation would be a proper reproach to Falstaff, for his meddling and impertinent talk. Steevens, and Malone, however, finding that chewets were little round pies made of minced meat, thought that the Prince compared Falstaff for his unseasonable chattering, to a minced pie. Cotgrave describes the French "chouette;" as an owlet; also, a "chough," which many consider to be the simple and satisfactory explanation of chewet. Belon in his "History of Birds" (Paris, 1855), speaks of the chouette as the smallest kind of chough or crow. Again, in "1 Henry IV." (ii. 2), in the amusing scene where Falstaff, with the Prince and Poins, meet to rob the travellers at Gadshill, Falstaff calls the victims "fat chuffs," probably, says Mr Harting, who connects the word with chough, from their strutting about with much noise. Nares, too, in his explanation of chuff, says, that some suppose it to be from chough which is similarly pronounced, and means a kind of sea-bird generally esteemed a stupid one. Various other meanings are given. Thus, Mr Gifford affirms that chuff is always used in a bad sense, and means "a coarse unmannered clown, at once sordid and wealthy;" and Mr Halliwell-Phillipps explains it as spoken in contempt for a fat person. In Northamptonshire, we find the word chuff used to denote a person in good condition, as in Clare's "Village Minstrel"— "His chuff cheeks dimpling in a fondling smile." Shakespeare alludes to the practice of teaching choughs to talk, although from the following passages he does not appear to have esteemed their talking powers of much value, for in "All's Well that Ends Well" (iv. 1), he says— "Choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good enough." And in Tempest (ii. 1), he represents Antonio as saying— "There be that can rule Naples As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat." Shakespeare always refers to the jackdaw as the "daw." The chough or jackdaw was one of the birds considered ominous by our forefathers, an allusion to which occurs in "Macbeth" (iii. 4.)— "Augurs and understood relations have, By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret’st man of blood." At the present day this bird is not without its folklore, and there is a Norwich rhyme to the following effect — "When three daws are seen on St Peter's vane together, Then we're sure to have bad weather." In the north, too, of England the flight of jackdaws down the chimney is held to presage death. Cock.—The beautiful notion which represents the cock as crowing all night long on Christmas Eve, and by its vigilance dispelling every kind of malignant spirit and evil influence, is graphically mentioned in "Hamlet" (i. 1), where Marcellus, speaking of the ghost, says— "It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes, Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow’d and so gracious is the time." In short, there is a complete prostration of the powers of darkness; and thus, for the time being, mankind is said to be released from the influence of all those evil forces which otherwise exert such sway. The notion that spirits fly at cock-crow is very ancient, and is mentioned by the Christian poet Prudentius, who flourished in the beginning of the fourth century. There is also a hymn, said to have been composed by St Ambrose, and formerly used in the Salisbury Service, which so much resembles the following speech of Horatio (i. 1), that one might almost suppose Shakespeare had seen it — "The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine." This disappearance of spirits at cock-crow is further alluded to (i. 2)— "The morning cock crew loud, And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish’d from our sight." Blair, too, in his "Grave" has these graphic words— "The tale Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand O’er some new-open’d grave, and strange to tell, Evanishes at crowing of the cock." This superstition has not entirely died out in England, and a correspondent of "Notes and Queries" relates an amusing legend current in Devonshire:—"Mr N. was a squire who had been so unfortunate as to sell his soul to the Devil, with the condition that after his funeral the fiend should take possession of his skin. He had also persuaded a neighbour to be present on the occasion of the flaying. On the death of Mr N. this man went in a state of great alarm to the parson of the parish and asked his advice. By him he was told to fulfil his engagement, but he must be sure and carry a cock into the church with him. On the night after the funeral the man proceeded to the church armed with the cock, and, as an additional security, took up his position in the parson's pew. At twelve o'clock the devil arrived, opened the grave, took the corpse from the coffin, and flayed it. When the operation was concluded he held the skin up before him and remarked, 'Well, ’twas not worth coming for after all, for it is all full of holes!' As he said this, the cock crew, whereupon the fiend, turning round to the man, exclaimed, 'If it had not been for the bird you have got there under your arm, I would have your skin too!' But, thanks to the cock, the man got home safe again." Various origins have been assigned to this superstition, which Hampson 2 regards as a misunderstood tradition of some Sabæan fable. The cock, he adds, which seems by its early voice to call forth the sun, was esteemed a sacred solar bird, hence it was also sacred to Mercury, one of the personifications of the sun. A very general amusement up to the end of the last century was cock-fighting, a diversion of which mention is occasionally made by Shakespeare, as in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 3)— "His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought." And again Hamlet says (v. 2)— "O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit" —meaning the poison triumphs over him, as a cock over his beaten antagonist. Formerly, cock-fighting entered into the occupations of the old and young. Schools had their cockfights. Travellers agreed with coachmen that they were to wait a night if there was a cock-fight in any town through which they passed. When country gentlemen had sat long at table, and the conversation had turned upon the relative merits of their several birds, a cockfight often resulted, as the birds in question were brought for the purpose into the dining-room. Cock-fighting was practised on Shrove Tuesday to a great extent, and, in the time of Henry VII., seems to have been practised within the precincts of Court. The earliest mention of this pastime in England is by Fitzstephens, in 1191. Happily, now-a-days, cock-fighting is by law a misdemeanour, and punishable by penalty. One of the popular terms for a cock beaten in a fight was "a craven," to which we find a reference in the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1)—"No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven." We may also compare the expression in Henry V. (iv. 7)—"He is a craven and a villain else." In the old appeal or wager of battle, in our common law, we are told, on the authority of Lord Coke, that the party who confessed himself wrong, or refused to fight, was to pronounce the word cravent, and judgment was at once given against him. Singer 3 says the term may be satisfactorily traced from crant, créant, the old French word for an act of submission. It is so written in the old metrical romance of "Ywaine and Gawaine" (Ritson i. 133)— "Or yelde the til us als creant." and in "Richard Coeur de Lion" (Weber ii. 208)— "On knees he fel down, and cryde, crêaunt." It then became cravant, cravent, and at length craven. In the time of Shakespeare, the word cock was used as a vulgar corruption or purposed disguise of the name of God, an instance of which occurs in Hamlet (iv. 5)—"By cock, they are to blame." This irreverent alteration of the sacred name is found at least a dozen times in Heywood's "Edward the Fourth," where one passage is— "Herald—Sweare on this booke, King Lewis, so help you God, You mean no otherwise then you have said. King Lewis—So helpe me Cock as I dissemble not." We find, too, other allusions to the sacred name, as in "cock's-passion," "cock's-body;" as in "Taming of the Shrew" (iv. i)—"Cock's passion, silence!" A not uncommon oath, too, in Shakespeare's time was "Cock and pie"—cock referring to God, and pie being supposed to mean the service-book of the Romish Church; a meaning which, says Mr Dyce, seems much more probable than Douce's supposition that this oath was connected with the making of solemn vows by knights in the days of chivalry, during entertainments, at which a roasted peacock was served up. It is used by Justice Shallow (2 Henry IV., v. 1)—"By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to-night." We may also compare the expression in the old play of "Soliman and Perseda" (1599)—"By cock and pye and mousefoot." Mr Harting says the "Cock and Pye" (i.e., magpie) was an ordinary ale-house sign, and may have thus become a subject for the vulgar to swear by. The phrase, "Cock-a-hoop," which occurs in "Romeo and Juliet" (i. 5)— "You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!" —no doubt refers to a reckless person, who takes the cock or tap out of a cask, and lays it on the top or hoop of the barrel, thus letting all the contents of the cask run out. Formerly, a quart pot was called a hoop, being formed of staves bound together with hoops like barrels. There were generally three hoops to such a pot; hence, in "2 Henry VI." (iv. 2), one of Jack Cade's popular reformations was to increase their number, "The three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer." Some, however, consider the term Cock-a-hoop refers to the boastful crowing of the cock. In "King Lear" (iii. 2) Shakespeare speaks of the "cataracts and hurricanoes" as having— "Drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!" Vanes on the tops of steeples were in days gone by made in the form of a cock—hence weathercocks—and put up, in papal times, to remind the clergy of watchfulness. Apart, too, from symbolism, the large tail of the cock was well adapted to turn with the wind. Cormorant.—The proverbial voracity of this bird gave rise to a man of large appetite being likened to it, a sense in which Shakespeare employs the word, as in "Coriolanus" (i. 1)—"The cormorant belly;" in "Love's Labour's Lost" (i. 1)—"Cormorant devouring time;" and in "Troilus and Cressida" (ii. 2)—"This cormorant war." "Although," says Mr Harting, "Shakespeare mentions the cormorant in several of his plays, he has nowhere alluded to the sport of using these birds, when trained, for fishing; a fact which is singular, since he often speaks of the then popular pastime of hawking, and he did not die until some years after James I. had made fishing with cormorants a fashionable amusement." Crow.—This has from the earliest times been reckoned a bird of bad omen; and in "Julius Cæsar," (v. 1), Cassius, on the eve of battle, predicted a defeat, because, to use his own words:— "Crows and kites Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost." Allusions to the same superstition occur in "Troilus and Cressida" (i. 2); "King John" (v. 2), etc. Virgil (Bucolic i., 18), mentions the croaking of the crow as a bad omen:— "Sæpe sinistra cava prædixit ab ilice cornix." And Butler in his "Hudibras" (part ii, canto 3), remarks:— "Is it not ominous in all countries, When crows and ravens croak upon trees." Even children now-a-days regard with no friendly feelings this bird of ill-omen; 1 and in the north of England there is a rhyme to the following effect:— "Crow, crow, get out of my sight, Or else I'll eat thy liver and lights." Among other allusions, mentioned by Shakspeare, to the crow, may be noticed the crow-keeper—a person employed to drive away crows from the fields. At present, in all the midland counties, a boy set to drive away the birds is said to keep birds; hence, a stuffed figure, now called a scare-crow, was also called a crow-keeper, as in "King Lear" (iv. 6):— "That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper." One of Tusser's directions for September is— "No sooner a-sowing, but out by-and-by, With mother or boy that alarum can cry: And let them be armed with a sling or a bow, To scare away pigeon, the rook, or the crow." In "Romeo and Juliet," (i. 4), a scare-crow seems meant— "Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper." Among further references to this practice, is that in "1 Henry VI." (i. 4), where Lord Talbot relates that, when a prisoner in France, he was publicly exhibited in the market-place:— "Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so." And once more, in "Measure for Measure," (ii. 1):— "We must not make a scare-crow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror." The phrase "to pluck a crow" is to complain good-naturedly but reproachfully, and to threaten retaliation. It occurs in "Comedy of Errors," (iii. 1):—"We'll pluck a crow together." Sometimes the word pull is substituted for pluck, as in Butler's "Hudibras," part ii. canto 2:— "If not, resolve before we go That you and I must pull a crow." The crow has been regarded as the emblem of darkness, which has not escaped the notice of Shakspeare, who in "Pericles" (iv. introd.), speaking of the white dove, says:— "With the dove of Paphos might the crow Vie feathers white." Cuckoo.—Many superstitions have clustered round the cuckoo, and both in this country and abroad it is looked upon as a mysterious bird, being supposed to possess the gift of second sight, a notion referred to in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2):— "Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear." And again, in "Midsummer Night's Dream," (iii. 1), Bottom sings:— "The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay." It is still a common idea that the cuckoo, if asked, will tell anyone, by the repetition of its cries, how long he has to live. The country lasses in Sweden count the cuckoo's call to ascertain how many years they have to remain unmarried, but they generally shut their ears and run away on hearing it a few times. Among the Germans the notes of the cuckoo, when heard in spring for the first time, are considered a good omen. Cæsarius (A.D. 1222), tells us of a convertite who was about to become a monk, but changed his mind on hearing the cuckoo's call, and counting twenty-two repetitions of it. "Come," said he, "I have certainly twenty-two years still to live, and why should I mortify myself during all that time. I will go back to the world, enjoy its delights for twenty years, and devote the remaining two to penitence." In England, the peasantry salute the cuckoo with the following invocation:— "Cuckoo, cherry-tree, Good bird tell me, How many years have I to live." the allusion to the cherry-tree having probably originated in the popular fancy, that before the cuckoo ceases its song, it must eat three good meals of cherries. Pliny mentions the belief, that when the cuckoo came to maturity, it devoured the bird which had reared it; a superstition several times alluded to by Shakespeare. Thus, in "King Lear," (i. 4) the Fool remarks— "The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young." Again, in "1 Henry IV." (v. 1), Worcester says— "And being fed by us you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk That even our love durst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing." Once more, the opinion that the cuckoo made no nest of its own, but laid its eggs in that of another bird, is mentioned in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 6):— "Thou dost o’er-count me of my father's house; But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in’t as thou mayst." It has been remarked, however, in reference to the common idea that the young cuckoo illtreats its foster mother, that if we watch the movements of the two birds, when the younger is being fed, we cannot much wonder at this piece of folk-lore. When the cuckoo opens its great mouth, the diminutive nurse places her own head so far within its precincts, that it has the exact appearance of a voluntary surrender to decapitation. The notion "which couples the name of the cuckoo with the character of the man whose wife is unfaithful to him, appears to have been derived from the Romans, and is first found in the middle ages in France, and in the countries of which the modern language is derived from the Latin. But the ancients more correctly gave the name of the bird, not to the husband of the faithless wife, but to her paramour, who might justly be supposed to be acting the part of the cuckoo. They applied the name of the bird in whose nest the cuckoo's eggs were usually deposited—'carruca'—to the husband. It is not quite clear how, in the passage from classic to mediæval, the application of the term was transferred to the husband." In further allusion to this bird, we may quote the following from "All's Well that Ends Well" (i. 3):— "For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true will find, Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind." The cuckoo has generally been regarded as the harbinger of spring, and according to a Gloucestershire rhyme— "The cuckoo comes in April, Sings a song in May; Then in June another tune, And then she flies away." Thus, in "1 Henry IV." (iii. 2), Henry IV., alluding to his predecessor, says— "So when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded." In "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2), spring is maintained by the cuckoo, in those charming sonnets descriptive of the beauties of the country at this season. The word cuckoo has, from the earliest times, been used as a term of reproach; and Plautus has introduced it on more than one occasion. In this sense we find it quoted by Shakespeare in "1 Henry IV." (ii. 4):—"O’ horseback, ye cuckoo." The term cuckold, too, which so frequently occurs throughout Shakespeare's Plays, is generally derived from cuculus; from the practice already alluded to of depositing its eggs in other birds’ nests. Domestic Fowl.—In the "Tempest" (v. 1), the word chick is used as a term of endearment, "Nay arise, chick, &c.;" and in "Macbeth" (iv. 3), Macduff speaks of his children as "all my pretty chickens." In "Coriolanus" (v. 3), hen is applied to a woman—"Poor hen, fond of no second brood;" and in "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), Petruchio says, "So Kate will be my hen;" and, once more, "1 Henry IV." (iii. 3), Falstaff says, "How now, Dame Partlet, the hen?" In "Othello" (i. 3), Iago applies the term "guinea-hen" to Desdemona, a cant phrase in Shakespeare's day for a fast woman. Dove.—Among the many beautiful allusions to this bird we may mention one in "Hamlet" (v. 1), where Shakespeare speaks of the dove only laying two eggs. "As patient as the female dove When that her golden couplets are disclosed." The young nestlings, when first disclosed, are only covered with a yellow down, and the mother rarely leaves the nest, in consequence of the tenderness of her young; hence the dove has been made an emblem of patience. In "2 Henry IV." (iv. 1), it is spoken of as the symbol of peace—"The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace;" and in the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), we find the expression "as modest as the dove." Its love, too, is several times referred to, as in "Romeo" (ii. 1), "Pronounce but—'love' and 'dove';" and in "1 Henry VI." (ii. 2), Burgundy says— "Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, That could not live asunder day or night." This bird has, also, been regarded as the emblem of fidelity, as in the following graphic passage in "Troilus and Cressida" (iii. 2):— "As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre." and in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), we read—"Turtles pair, that never mean to part." Its modesty is alluded to in the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1)—"Modest as the dove;" and its innocence in "2 Henry VI." (iii. 1), is mentioned, where King Henry says— "Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall." The custom of giving a pair of doves or pigeons as a present or peace-offering, is alluded to in "Titus Andronicus" (iv. 4), where the Clown says, "God and Saint Stephen give you good den: I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here;" and when Gobbo tried to find favour with Bassanio in "Merchant of Venice" (ii. 2), he began by saying—"I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow on your worship." Shakespeare alludes in several places to the "doves of Venus," as in "Venus and Adonis:"— "Thus weary of the world, away she (Venus) hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is conveyed; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen." and in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (i. 1), where Hermia speaks of "the simplicity of Venus’ doves." This will also explain, says Mr Harting, the reference to "the dove of Paphos" in "Pericles" (iv., Introduction). The towns of Old and New Paphos are situated on the south-west extremity of the coast of Cyprus. Old Paphos is the one generally referred to by the poets, being the peculiar seat of the worship of Venus, who was fabled to have been wafted thither, after her birth amid the waves. The "dove of Paphos" may therefore be considered as synonymous with the "dove of Venus." Mahomet, we are told, had a dove, which he used to feed with wheat out of his ear; when hungry, the dove lighted on his shoulder, and thrust its bill in to find its breakfast;—Mahomet persuading the rude and simple Arabians that it was the Holy Ghost that gave him advice. Hence, in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2), the question is asked— "Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?" Duck.—A barbarous pastime in Shakespeare's time was hunting a tame duck in the water with spaniels. For the performance of this amusement it was necessary to have recourse to a pond of water sufficiently extensive to give the duck plenty of room for making its escape from the dogs when closely pursued: which it did by diving as often as any of them came near it, hence the following allusion in "Henry V." (ii. 3)— "And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck." "To swim like a duck" is a common proverb, which occurs in the "Tempest" (ii. 2), where Trinculo, in reply to Stephano's question how he escaped, says: "Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn." Eagle.—From the earliest time this bird has been associated with numerous popular fancies and superstitions, many of which have not escaped the notice of Shakspeare. A notion of very great antiquity attributes to it the power of gazing at the sun undazzled, to which Spenser in his "Hymn of Heavenly Beauty" refers:— "And like the native brood of eagle's kind, On that bright sun of glory fix thine eyes." In "Love's Labour's Lost," (iv. 3), Biron says of Rosaline:— "What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty?" And in 3 Henry VI. (ii. 1), Richard says to Edward, Prince of Wales:— "Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun." The French naturalist, Lacepede, has calculated that the clearness of vision in birds is nine times more extensive than that of the farthest-sighted man. The eagle, too, has always been proverbial for its great power of flight, and on this account has had assigned to it the sovereignty of the feathered race. Aristotle and Pliny both record the legend of the wren disputing for the crown, a tradition which is still found in Ireland: —The birds all met together one day and settled among themselves that whichever of them could fly highest was to be the king of them all. Well, just as they were starting, the little rogue of a wren perched itself on the eagle's tail. So they flew and flew ever so high, till the eagle was miles above all the rest, and could not fly another stroke, for he was so tired. "Then," says he, "I'm the king of the birds," says he; "hurroo!" "You lie," says the wren, darting up a perch and a-half above the big fellow. The eagle was so angry to think how he was outwitted by the wren, that when the latter was coming down he gave him a stroke of his wing, and from that day the wren has never been able to fly higher than a hawthorn bush. The swiftness of the eagle's flight is spoken of in "Timon of Athens," (i. 1):— "An eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Leaving no track behind." The great age, too, of the eagle is well known; and the words of the psalmist are familiar to most readers:— "His youth shall be renewed like the eagle's." Apemantus, however, asks of Timon ("Timon of Athens," iv. 3):— "Will these moss’d trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point’st out?" Tuberville, in his "Book of Falconry," 1575, says that the great age of this bird has been ascertained from the circumstance of its always building its eyrie or nest in the same place. The Romans considered the eagle a bird of good omen, and its presence in time of battle was supposed to foretell victory. Thus, in "Julius Cæsar," (v. 1), we read:— "Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch’d, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands." It was selected for the Roman legionary standard, through being the king and most powerful of all birds. As a bird of good omen it is mentioned also in "Cymbeline," (i. 1):— "I chose an eagle, and did avoid a puttock." and in another scene (iv. 2), the Soothsayer relates how "Last night the very gods shew’d me a vision": thus:— "I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanish’d in the sunbeams: which portends (Unless my sins abuse my divination), Success to th’ Roman host." The conscious superiority of the eagle is depicted by Tamora in "Titus Andronicus," (iv. 4):— "The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing, He can at pleasure stint their melody." Goose.—This bird was the subject of many quaint proverbial phrases often used in the old popular writers. Thus, a tailor's goose was a jocular name for his pressing iron, probably from its being often roasting before the fire, an allusion to which occurs in "Macbeth," (ii. 3):— "Come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose." The "wild-goose chase," which is mentioned in "Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 4)— "Mercutio—Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done." —was a kind of horse-race, which resembled the flight of wild-geese. Two horses were started together, and whichever rider could get the lead, the other was obliged to follow him over whatever ground the foremost jockey chose to go. That horse which could distance the other won the race. This reckless sport is enumerated by Burton, in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," as a recreation much in vogue in his time among gentlemen. The term, "Winchester goose," was a cant phrase for a certain venereal disease, because the stews in Southwark were under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester, to whom Gloucester tauntingly applies the term in the following passage ("1 Henry VI.," i. 3):— "Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!" In "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 10), there is a further allusion— "Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss." Ben Jonson calls it— "The Winchestrian goose, Bred on the banke in time of Popery, When Venus there maintain’d the mystery." "Plucking geese" was formerly a barbarous sport of boys ("Merry Wives of Windsor," v. 1), which consisted in stripping a living goose of its feathers. In "Coriolanus" (i. 4), the goose is spoken of as the emblem of cowardice. Marcius says— "You souls of geese, That hear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat." Goldfinch.—The Warwickshire name for this bird is "Proud Tailor," to which, some commentators think, the words in "1 Henry IV." (iii. 1) refer "Lady P.—I will not sing. Hotsp.—’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher." It has, therefore, been suggested that the passage should be read thus—"’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or red-breast teacher," i.e., "to turn teacher of goldfinches or redbreasts." 2 Singer, 3 however, explains the words thus—"Tailors, like weavers, have ever been remarkable for their vocal skill. Percy is jocular in his mode of persuading his wife to sing; and this is a humorous turn which he gives to his argument, 'Come, sing.' 'I will not sing.' '’Tis the next (i.e., the readiest, nearest) way to turn tailor, or redbreast teacher'—the meaning being, to sing is to put yourself upon a level with tailors and teachers of birds." Gull.—Shakespeare often uses this word as synonymous with fool. Thus in Henry V. (iii. 6), he says— "Why, ’tis a gull, a fool." The same play upon the word occurs in "Othello" (v. 2), and in "Timon of Athens" (ii. 1). In "Twelfth Night" (v. 1), Malvolio asks— "Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,. And made the most notorious geck and gull That e’er invention played on? tell me why." It is also used to express a trick or imposition, as in "Much Ado About Nothing" (ii. 3)—"I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it." 1 "Gull-catchers," or "gull-gropers," to which reference is made in "Twelfth Night"(ii. 5), where Fabian, on the entry of Maria, exclaims— "Here comes my noble gull-catcher." were the names by which sharpers were known in Shakespeare's time. The "gull-catcher" was generally an old usurer, who lent money to a gallant at an ordinary, who had been unfortunate in play. 4 Decker devotes a chapter to this character in his "Lanthorne and Candle-light," 1612. According to him, "the gull-groper is commonly an old monymonger, who having travailed through all the follyes of the world in his youth, knowes them well, and shunnes them in his age, his whole felicitie being to fill his bags with golde and silver." The person so duped was termed a gull, and the trick also. In that disputed passage in the "Tempest" (ii. 2), where Caliban, addressing Trinculo, says— "Sometimes I'll get thee Young scamels from the rock." some think that the sea-mew, or sea-gull, is intended, sea-mall, or sea-mell, being still a provincial name for this bird. Mr Stevenson, in his "Birds of Norfolk" (ii. p. 260), tells us that "the female bar-tailed godwit is called a 'scammell' by the gunners of Blakeney. But as this bird is not a rock-breeder, 6 it cannot be the one intended in the present passage, if we regard it as an accurate description from a naturalist's point of view." Holt says that "scam" is a limpet, and scamell probably a diminutive. Mr Dyce 7 reads "Scamels," i.e., the kestrel, stannel, or windhover, which breeds in rocky situations, and high cliffs on our coasts. He also further observes that this accords well with the context "from the rock," and adds that staniel or staunyel occurs in "Twelfth Night" (ii. 5), where all the old editions exhibit the gross misprint, "stallion." Hawk.—The diversion of catching game with hawks was very popular in Shakespeare's time, and hence, as might be expected, we find many scattered allusions to it throughout his plays. The training of a hawk for the field was an essential part of the education of a young Saxon nobleman; and the present of a well-trained hawk was a gift to be welcomed by a king. Edward the Confessor spent much of his leisure time in either hunting or hawking; and in the reign of Edward III. we read how the Bishop of Ely attended the service of the church at Bermondsey, Southwark, leaving his hawk in the cloister, which in the meantime was stolen—the bishop solemnly excommunicating the thieves. On one occasion Henry VIII. met with a serious accident when pursuing his hawk at Hitchin in Hertfordshire. In jumping over a ditch, his pole broke, and he fell headlong into the muddy-water, where he was with some difficulty rescued by one of his followers. Sir Thomas Moore, writing in the reign of Henry VIII., describing the state of manhood, makes a young man say— "Man-hod I am, therefore I me delyght To hunt and hawke, to nourish up and fede The greyhounde to the course, the hawke to th’ flight, And to bestryde a good and lusty stede." In noticing then, Shakespeare's allusions to this sport, we have a good insight into its various features, and also gain a knowledge of the several terms associated with it. Thus frequent mention is made of the word "haggard"—a wild untrained hawk—and in the following allegory ("Taming of the Shrew," iv. 1), where it occurs, much of the knowledge of falconry is comprised:— "My falcon now is sharp and passing empty; And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come and know her keeper's call, That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites, That bate and beat and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not." Further allusions occur in "Twelfth Night" (iii. 1), where Viola says of the Clown:— "This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye." In "Much Ado about Nothing," Hero (iii. 1), speaking of Beatrice says that— "her spirits are as coy and wild As haggerds of the rock." And Othello (iii. 3), mistrusting Desdemona, and likening her to a hawk, exclaims— "If I do prove her haggard,— I’ld whistle her off." The word "check" alluded to above was a term in falconry applied to a hawk when she forsook her proper game and followed some other of inferior kind that crossed her in her flight 3—being mentioned again in Hamlet (iv. 7), where the king says— "If he be now return’d, As checking at his voyage." Another common expression used in falconry is "tower," applied to certain hawks, etc., which tower aloft, soar spirally to a height in the air, and thence swoop upon their prey. In "Macbeth" (ii. 4), we read of "a falcon, towering in her pride of place;" in "2 Henry VI." (ii. 1), Suffolk says, "My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;" and in "King John" (v. 2), the Bastard says, "And, like an eagle o’er his aery 1 towers." The word "quarry" which occurs several times in Shakespeare's plays, in some instances, means the "game or prey sought." The etymology has, says Nares, been variously attempted, but with little success. It may, perhaps, originally have meant the square, or inclosure (carrée) into which the game was driven (as is still practised in other countries), and hence the application of it to the game there caught, would be a natural extension of the term. Randle Holme, in his "Academy of Armory" (Book II., c. xi. p. 240), defines it as "the fowl which the hawk flyeth at, whether dead or alive." It was also equivalent to a heap of slaughtered game, as in the following passages. In "Coriolanus" (i. 1), Caius Marcius says—"I’ld make a quarry with thousands of these quarter’d slaves." In "Macbeth" (iv. 3) 2 we read "The quarry of these murder’d deer," and in "Hamlet" (v. 2), "This quarry cries on havoc." Another term in falconry is "stoop," or "swoop,'' denoting the hawk's violent descent from a height upon its prey. In "Taming of the Shrew" (iv. 1) the expression occurs, "Till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged." In "Henry V." (iv. 1), King Henry, speaking of the king, says, "Though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing." In "Macbeth," too (iv. 3), Macduff, referring to the cruel murder of his children, exclaims, "What! at one fell swoop?" 1 Webster, in the "White Devil," 2 says— "If she [i.e., Fortune] give aught, she deals it in small parcels, That she may take away all at one swoop." Shakespeare gives many incidental allusions to the hawk's trappings. Thus in "Lucreece" he says— "Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells." And in "As You Like It" (iii. 3) , Touchstone says, "As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires." The object of these bells was to lead the falconer to the hawk when in a wood or out of sight. In Heywood's play entitled, "A Woman Killed with Kindness," 1617, is a hawking scene, containing a striking allusion to the hawk's bells. The dress of the hawk consisted of a close-fitting hood of leather or velvet, enriched with needle-work, and surmounted with a tuft of coloured feathers, for use as well as ornament, inasmuch as they assisted the hand in removing the hood when the birds for the hawk's attack came in sight. Thus in "Henry V." (iii. 7), the Constable of France, referring to the valour of the Dauphin, says, "’Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate." 5 And again, in "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 2), Juliet says— "Hood my unmann’d blood, bating 6 in my cheeks." The "jesses" were two short straps of leather or silk, which were fastened to each leg of a hawk, to which was attached a swivel from which depended the leash or strap which the falconer 1 twisted round his hand. Othello (iii. 3), says "Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings." We find several allusions to the training of hawks. They were usually trained by being kept from sleep, it having been customary for the falconers to sit up by turns and "watch" the hawk, and keep it from sleeping, sometimes for three successive nights. Desdemona in "Othello" (iii. 3), says— "My lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit." So in Cartwright's "Lady Errant" (ii. 2),— "We'll keep you as they do hawks, Watching until you leave your wildness." In "The Merry Wives of Windsor" (v. 5), where Page says "Nay, do not fly: I think we have watch’d you now" the allusion is, says Staunton, to this method employed to tame or "reclaim" hawks. Again, in "Othello" (iii. 3), 3 Iago exclaims— "She that, so young, could give out such a seeming, To seel her father's eyes up close as oak;" in allusion to the practice of seeling a hawk, or sewing up its eyelids, by running a fine thread through them, in order to make her tractable and endure the hood of which we have already spoken. Henry IV. ("2 Henry IV." iii. 1), in his soliloquy on sleep, says— "Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge." In Spenser's "Fairie Queen," (I. vii. 23), we read:— "Mine eyes no more on vanity shall feed, But sealed up with death, shall have their deadly meed." It was a common notion, that if a dove was let loose with its eyes so closed, it would fly straight upwards, continuing to mount, till it fell down through mere exhaustion. In "Cymbeline," (iii. 4), Imogen, referring to Posthumus, says:— "I grieve myself To think, when thou shall be disedged by her That now thou tirest on," this passage containing two metaphorical expressions from falconry. A bird was said to be disedged when the keenness of its appetite was taken away by tiring, or feeding upon some tough or hard substance given to it for that purpose. In "3 Henry VI." (i. 1), the king says:— "That hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son." In "Timon of Athens," (iii. 6), one of the lords says:— "Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered." In "Venus and Adonis," too, we find a further allusion:— "Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone," &c. Among other allusions to the hawk, may be mentioned one in "Measure for Measure," (iii. i):— "This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i’ th’ head and follies doth emmew, As falcon doth the fowl." —the word "emmew" signifying the place where hawks were shut up during the time they moulted. In "Romeo and Juliet," (iii. 4), Lady Capulet says of Juliet:—"To-night she is mew’d up to her heaviness;" and in "Taming of Shrew," (i. 1), Gremio speaking of Bianca to Signor Baptista, says:—"Why will you mew her?" When the wing or tail feathers of a hawk were dropped, forced out, or broken, by any accident, it was usual to supply or repair as many as were deficient or damaged, an operation called "to imp 1 a hawk." Thus in Richard II. (ii. 1), Northumberland says:— "If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing." So Massinger in his "Renegado" (v. 8), makes Asambeg say— "Strive to imp New feathers to the broken wings of time." Hawking was sometimes called birding. In the "Merry Wives of Windsor," (iii. 3), Master Page says:—"I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast; after, we'll a-birding together, I have a fine hawk for the bush." In the same play (iii. 5), Dame Quickly, speaking of Mistress Ford, says:—"Her husband goes this morning a-birding;" and Mistress Ford says (iv. 2):—"He's a-birding, sweet St John." The word hawk, says Mr Harting, is invariably used by Shakspeare in its generic sense; and in only two instances does he allude to a particular species. These are the kestrel and sparrowhawk. In "Twelfth Night," (ii. 5), Sir Toby Belch, speaking of Malvolio, as he finds the letter which Maria has purposely dropped in his path, says "And with what wing the staniel checks at it." —staniel being a corruption of stangdall, a name for the kestrel hawk. "Gouts" is the technical term for the spots on some parts of the plumage of a hawk, and perhaps Shakspeare uses the word in allusion to a phrase in heraldry. Macbeth (ii. 1), speaking of the dagger, says:—"I see thee still, and on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood." Heron.—This bird was frequently flown at by falconers. Shakespeare, in "Hamlet" (ii. 2), makes Hamlet say, "I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw;" handsaw being a corruption of "heronshaw," or "hernsew," which is still used, in the provincial dialects, for a heron. In Suffolk and Norfolk it is pronounced "harnsa," from which to "handsaw," is but a single step. Shakespeare here alludes to a proverbial saying, "He knows not a hawk from a handsaw." Mr J. C. Heath explains the passage thus: "The expression obviously refers to the sport of hawking. Most birds, especially one of heavy flight like the heron, when roused by the falconer or his dog, would fly down or with the wind, in order to escape. When the wind is from the north, the heron flies towards the south, and the spectator may be dazzled by the sun, and be unable to distinguish the hawk from the heron. On the other hand, when the wind is southerly, the heron flies towards the north, and it and the pursuing hawk are clearly seen by the sportsman, who then has his back to the sun, and without difficulty knows the hawk from the hernsew." Jay.—From its gay and gaudy plumage, this bird has been used for a loose woman, as "Merry Wives of Windsor" (iii. 3):— "We'll teach him to know turtles from jays," i.e., to distinguish honest women from loose ones. Again, in "Cymbeline" (iii. 4), Imogen says— "Some jay of Italy Whose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him." Kestrel.—A hawk 5 of a base unserviceable breed, and therefore used by Spenser in his "Faerie Queen" (II. iii. 4), to signify base "Ne thought of honour ever did assay His baser breast, but in his kestrell kynd A pleasant veine of glory he did fynd." By some it is derived from "coystril," a knave or peasant, from being the hawk formerly used by persons of inferior rank. Thus, in "Twelfth Night" (i. 3), we find "coystrill," and in "Pericles" (iv. 6), "coystrel." The name kestrel, says Singer, for an inferior kind of hawk, was evidently a corruption of the French quercelle or quercerelle, and originally had no connection with coystril, though in later times they may have been confounded. Holinshed 3 classes coisterels with lacqueys and women, the unwarlike attendants on an army. The term was also given as a nick-name to the emissaries employed by the kings of England in their French wars. Dyce also considers kestrel distinct from coistrel. Kingfisher.—It was a common belief in days gone by, that during the days the halcyon or kingfisher was engaged in hatching her eggs, the sea remained so calm that the sailor might venture upon it without incurring risk of storm or tempest; hence this period was called by Pliny and Aristotle "the halcyon days," to which allusion is made in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2)— "Expect St Martin's summer, halcyon days." Dryden also refers to this notion— "Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be, As halcyons brooding on a winter's sea." Another superstition connected with this bird occurs in "King Lear" (ii. 1), where the Earl of Kent says— "Turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters." the prevalent idea being, that a dead kingfisher, suspended, from a cord, would always turn its beak in that direction from whence the wind blew. Marlow, in his "Jew of Malta," (i. 1), says— "But now how stands the wind? Into what corner peers my halcyon's bill?" Occasionally one may still see this bird hung up in cottages, a remnant, no doubt, of this old superstition. Kite.—This bird was considered by the ancients to be unlucky. In "Julius Cæsar" (v. 1), Cassius says— "Ravens, crows, and kites, Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us." In "Cymbeline," too (i. 2), Imogen says— "I chose an eagle, and did avoid a puttock," puttock, here, being a synonym sometimes applied to the kite. Formerly the kite became a term of reproach from its ignoble habits. Thus in "Antony and Cleopatra" (iii. 13), Antony exclaims, "You kite," and King Lear (i. 4), says to Goneril, "detested kite, thou liest." Its intractable disposition is alluded to in "Taming of the Shrew" by Petruchio (iv. 1). A curious peculiarity of this bird is noticed in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 3), where Autolycus says:—"My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen"—meaning that his practice was to steal sheets; leaving the smaller linen to be carried away by the kites, who will occasionally carry it off to line their nests. Mr Dyce quotes the following remarks of Mr Peck on this passage—"Autolycus here gives us to understand that he is a thief of the first class. This he explains by an allusion to an odd vulgar notion. The common people many of them, think that, if anyone can find a kite's nest, when she hath young, before they are fledged, and sew up their back doors, so as they cannot mute, the mother kite in compassion to their distress, will steal lesser linen, as caps, cravats, ruffles, or any other such small matters as she can best fly with, from off the hedges where they are hanged to dry after washing, and carry them to her nest, and there leave them, if possible to move the pity of the first corner, to cut the thread, and ease them of their misery." Lapwing.—Several interesting allusions are made by Shakespeare to this eccentric bird. It was a common notion that the young lapwings ran out of the shell with part of it sticking on their heads, in such haste were they to be hatched. Horatio ("Hamlet," v. 2) says of Osric— "This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head." It was, therefore, regarded as the symbol of a forward fellow. Webster in the "White Devil" (1859, p. 13)— "Forward lapwing! He flies with the shell on’s head." The lapwing, like the partridge, is also said to draw pursuers from her nest by fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction or by crying in other places. Thus in the "Comedy of Errors" (iv. 2), Shakespeare says— "Far from her nest the lapwing cries away." Again in "Measure for Measure" (i. 4), Lucio exclaims— "Though ’tis my familiar sin, With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest Tongue far from heart." Once more in "Much Ado about Nothing" (iii. 1) we read— "For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs, Close by the ground, to hear our conference." Several, too, of our older poets refer to this peculiarity. In Ben Jonson's "Underwoods" (lviii.) we are told— "Where he that knows will like a lapwing fly, Farre from the nest, and so himself belie." Through thus alluring intruders from its nest, the lapwing became a symbol of insincerity; and hence originated the proverb, "The lapwing cries tongue from heart;" or, "The lapwing cries most, farthest from her nest." Lark.—Shakespeare has bequeathed to us many exquisite passages referring to the lark, full of the most sublime pathos and lofty conceptions. Most readers are doubtless acquainted with that superb song in "Cymbeline" (ii. 3), where this sweet songster is represented as singing "at heaven's gate;" and again, as the "bird of dawn," it is described in "Venus and Adonis," thus— "Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty." In "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2 song), we have a graphic touch of pastoral life— "When shepherds pipe on oaten straws And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks." The words of Portia, too, in "Merchant of Venice" (v. 1), to sing "as sweetly as the lark," have long ago passed into a proverb. It was formerly a current saying that the lark and toad changed eyes, to which Juliet refers in "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 5)— "Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes." Warburton says this popular fancy originated in the toad having very fine eyes, and the lark very ugly ones. This tradition was formerly expressed in a rustic rhyme— "To heav’n I’d fly, But that the toad beguil’d me of mine eye." In "Henry VIII." (iii. 2), the Earl of Surrey, in denouncing Wolsey, alludes to a curious method of capturing larks, which was effected by small mirrors and red cloth. These scaring the birds made them crouch, while the fowler drew his nets over them— "Let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap like larks." In this case the cap was the scarlet hat of the cardinal, which it was intended to use as a piece of red cloth. The same idea occurs in Skelton's "Why Come Ye not to Court?" a satire on Wolsey— "The red hat with his lure Bringeth all things under cure." The words "tirra-lyra" ("Winter's Tale," iv. 3), are a fanciful combination of sounds, meant to imitate the lark's note, borrowed, says Nares, from the French tire-lire. Browne, "British Pastorals" (bk. i. song 4), makes it teery-leery. In one of the Coventry pageants there is the following old song sung by the shepherds at the birth of Christ, which contains the expression— "As I out rode this endenes night, Of three joli shepherds I sawe a syght, And all aboute there fold a stare shone bright, They sang terli terlow, So mereli the sheppards their pipes can blow." In Scotland and the north of England, the peasantry say that if one is desirous of knowing what the lark says, he must lie down on his back in the field and listen, and he will then hear it say:— "Up in the lift go we, Tehee, tehee, tehee, tehee! There's not a shoemaker on the earth Can make a shoe to me, to me! Why so, why so, why so? Because my heel is as long as my toe." Magpie.—It was formerly known as magot-pie, probably from the French magot, a monkey, because the bird chatters and plays droll tricks like a monkey. It has generally been regarded as a mysterious bird, and regarded with superstitious awe, and is thus alluded to in "Macbeth," (iii. 4):— "Augurs and understood relations, have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret’st man of blood." And again, in 3 "Henry VI.," (v. 6), it is said:— "Chattering pies in dismal discords sung." There are numerous rhymes relating to the magpie, of which we subjoin as a specimen one prevalent in the north of England:— "One is sorrow, two mirth, Three a wedding, four a birth. Five heaven, six hell, Seven the de’il's ain sell." In Devonshire, in order to avert the ill-luck from seeing a magpie, the peasant spits over his right shoulder three times, and in Yorkshire various charms are in use. One is to raise the hat as a salutation, and then to sign the cross on the breast; and another consists in making the same sign by crossing the thumbs. It is a common notion in Scotland that magpies flying near the windows of a house portend a speedy death to one of its inmates. The superstitions associated with the magpie are not confined to this country, for in Sweden 1 it is considered the witch's bird, belonging to the evil one and the other powers of night. In Denmark, when a magpie perches on a house, it is regarded as a sign that strangers are coming. Martin.—The martin, or martlet, which is called in "Macbeth," (i. 6), the "guest of summer," as being a migratory bird, has been from the earliest times treated with superstitious respect,—it being considered unlucky to molest or in any way injure its nest. Thus, in the "Merchant of Venice," (ii. 9), the Prince of Arragon says:— "The martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty." Forster says that the circumstance of this bird's nest being built so close to the habitations of man indicates that it has long enjoyed freedom from molestation. There is a popular rhyme still current in the north of England:— "The martin and the swallow Are God Almighty's bow and arrow." The Nightingale.—The popular error that the nightingale sings with its breast impaled upon a thorn is noticed by Shakespeare, who makes Lucreece say:— "And whiles against a thorn thou bear’st thy part, To keep thy sharp woes waking." In the "Passionate Pilgrim," (xxi.), there is an allusion:— "Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull’st ditty, That to hear it was great pity." Beaumont and Fletcher, in "The Faithful Shepherdess" (v. 3), speak of— "The nightingale among the thick-leaved spring, That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing Whole nights away in mourning." Sir Thomas Browne asks "Whether the nightingale's sitting with her breast against a thorn, be any more than that she placeth some prickles on the outside of her nest, or roosteth in thorny prickly places, where serpents may least approach her." In the "Zoologist" for 1862 the Rev. A. C. Smith mentions "the discovery, on two occasions, of a strong thorn projecting upwards in the centre of the nightingale's nest." Another notion is that the nightingale never sings by day; and thus Portia in "Merchant of Venice," (v. 1), says:— "I think, The nightingale, if she could sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren." Such, however, is not the case, for this bird often sings as sweetly in the day as at night-time. There is an old superstition 3 that the nightingale sings all night, to keep itself awake, lest the glow-worm should devour her. The classical fable of the unhappy Philomela turned into a nightingale, when her sister Progne was changed to a swallow, has doubtless given rise to this bird being spoken of as she; thus Juliet tells Romeo (iii. 5),— "It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale." Sometimes the nightingale is termed Philomel, as in "Midsummer Night's Dream" (ii. 2, song) 1— "Philomel, with melody, Sing your sweet lullaby." Osprey.—This bird, also called the sea-eagle, besides having a destructive power of devouring fish, was supposed formerly to have a fascinating influence, both which qualities are alluded to in the following passage in "Coriolanus" (iv. 7)— "I think he'll be to Rome, As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature." Drayton, in his "Polyolbion" (Song xxv.), mentions the same fascinating power of the osprey— "The osprey, oft here seen, though seldom here it breeds, Which over them the fish no sooner do espy, But, betwixt him and them by an antipathy, Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw, They at his pleasure lie, to stuff his gluttonous maw." Ostrich.—The extraordinary digestion of this bird is said to be shown by its swallowing iron and other hard substances. In 2 Henry VI. (iv. 10), the rebel Cade says to Alexander Iden—"Ah villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the .king by carrying my head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part." Cuvier, speaking of this bird, says, "It is yet so voracious, and its senses of taste and smell are so obtuse, that it devours animal and mineral substances indiscriminately, until its enormous stomach is completely full. It swallows without any choice, and merely as it were to serve for ballast, wood, stones, grass, iron, copper, gold, lime, or, in fact, any other substance equally hard, indigestible, and deleterious." Sir Thomas Browne, writing on this subject, says, "The ground of this conceit in its swallowing down fragments of iron, which men observing, by a forward illation, have therefore conceived it digesteth them, which is an inference, not to be admitted, as being a fallacy of the consequent." In Loudon's "Magazine of Natural History" (No. 6, p. 32), we are told of an ostrich having been killed by swallowing glass. Owl.—The dread attached to this unfortunate bird is frequently spoken of by Shakespeare, who has alluded to several of the superstitions associated with it. At the outset, many of the epithets ascribed to it show the prejudice with which it was regarded—being in various places stigmatised as "the vile owl," in "Troilus and Cressida" (ii. 1); and the "obscure bird," in "Macbeth" (ii. 3), etc. From the earliest period it has been considered a bird of ill-omen, and Pliny tells us how, on one occasion, even Rome itself underwent a lustration, because one of them strayed into the Capitol. He represents it also as a funereal bird, a monster of the night, the very abomination of human kind. Virgil describes its death-howl from the top of the temple by night, a circumstance introduced as a precursor of Dido's death. Ovid, too, constantly speaks of this bird's presence as an evil omen; and indeed the same notions respecting it may be found among the writings of most of the ancient poets. This superstitious awe in which the owl is held may be owing to its peculiar look, its occasional and uncertain appearance, its loud and dismal cry, as well as to its being the bird of night. 5 It has generally been associated with calamities and deeds of darkness. 6 Thus its weird shriek pierces the ear of Lady Macbeth (ii. 2), while the murder is being committed— "Hark!—Peace! It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern’st good night." And when the murderer rushes in exclaiming— "I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?" She answers— "I heard the owl scream." Its appearance at a birth has been said to foretell ill-luck to the infant, a superstition to which King Henry, in "3 Henry VI." (v. 6), addressing Gloucester, refers— "The owl shriek’d at thy birth, an evil sign." Its cries 1 have been supposed to presage death, and, to quote the words of the "Spectator," "a screech-owl at mid: night has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers." Thus, in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (v. 1), we are told how— "The screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud"; and, in "1 Henry VI." (iv. 2), it is called the "ominous and fearful hour of death." Again, when Richard III. (iv. 4) is exasperated by the bad news, he interrupts the third messenger by saying— "Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?" The owl by day is considered by some equally ominous, as in "3 Henry VI." (v. 4) 1— "The owl by day, If he arise, is mock’d and wonder’d at." And in "Julius Cæsar" (i. 3), Casca says,— "And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, These are their reasons,—they are natural'; For, I believe they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon." Considering, however, the abhorrence with which the owl is generally regarded, it is not surprising that the "owlet's wing" should form an ingredient of the cauldron in which the witches in "Macbeth" (iv. 1), prepared their "charm of powerful trouble." The owl is, too, in all probability, represented by Shakespeare as a witch, 1 a companion of the fairies in their moonlight gambols. In "Comedy of Errors" (ii. 2), Dromio of Syracuse says— "This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites! We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites. If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, and pinch us black and blue!" Singer in his Notes on this passage (ii. p. 28) says—"It has been asked, how should Shakespeare know that screech-owls were considered by the Romans as witches?" Do these cavillers think that Shakespeare never looked into a book? Take an extract from the Cambridge Latin Dictionary (1594, 8vo), probably the very book he used: "Strix, a scritche owle; an unluckie kind of bird (as they of olde time said) which sucked out the blood of infants lying in their cradles; a witch, that changeth the favour of children; an hagge or fairie." So in the "London Prodigal," a comedy, 1605:—"Soul, I think I am sure crossed or witch’d with an owl." In the "Tempest" (v. 1), Shakespeare introduces Ariel as saying— "Where the bee sucks, there suck I, In a cowslip's bell I lie, There I couch when owls do cry." Ariel, who sucks honey for luxury in the cowslip's bell, retreats thither for quiet when owls are abroad and screeching. According to an old legend, the owl was originally a baker's daughter, to which allusion is made in "Hamlet" (iv. 5), where Ophelia exclaims—"They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be." Douce says the following story was current among the Gloucestershire peasantry:—"Our Saviour went into a baker's shop where they were baking, and asked for some bread to eat; the mistress of the shop immediately put a piece of dough into the oven to bake for him; but was reprimanded by her daughter, who, insisting that the piece of dough was too large, reduced it to a very small size; the dough, however, immediately began to swell, and presently became a most enormous size, whereupon the baker's daughter cried out, 'Heugh, heugh, heugh!' which owl-like noise probably induced our Saviour to transform her into that bird for her wickedness." Another version of the same story, as formerly known in Herefordshire, substitutes a fairy in the place of our Saviour. Similar legends are found on the Continent. Parrot.—The "popinjay," in "1 Henry IV." (i. 3), is another name for the parrot—from the Spanish, papagayo—a term which occurs in Browne's "Pastorals" (ii. 65)— "Or like the mixture nature dothe display Upon the quaint wings of the popinjay." Its supposed restlessness before rain is referred to in "As you like it," (iv. 1):—"More clamorous than a parrot against rain." It was formerly customary to teach the parrot unlucky words, with which when anyone was offended, it was the standing joke of the wise owner to say, "Take heed, sir, my parrot prophesies,"—an allusion to which custom we find in "Comedy of Errors," (iv. 4), where Dromio of Ephesus says:—"Prophesy like the parrot, beware the rope's end." To this Butler hints, where speaking of Ralpho's skill in augury, he says 2:— "Could tell what subtlest parrots mean, That speak and think contrary clean; What member ’tis of whom they talk, When they cry rope, and walk, knave walk." The rewards given to parrots to encourage them to speak are mentioned in "Troilus and Cressida," (v. 2) 3—"The parrot will not do more for an almond." Hence, a proverb for the greatest temptation that could be put before a man p. 135 seems to have been "An almond for a parrot." To "talk like a parrot," is a common proverb, a sense in which it occurs in "Othello," (ii. 3). Peacock.—This bird was as proverbially used for a proud, vain fool as the lapwing for a silly one. In this sense some would understand it in the much disputed passage in "Hamlet," (iii. 2):— "For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself; and now reigns here A very, very—peacock." The third and fourth folios reads pajock, the other editions have "paiock," "paiocke," or "pajocke," and in the later quartos the word was changed to "paicock" and "pecock," whence Pope printed peacock. Dyce says that in Scotland the peacock is called the pea-jock. Some have proposed to read paddock, and in the last scene Hamlet bestows this opprobrious name upon the king. It has been also suggested to read puttock, a kite. The peacock has also been regarded as the emblem of pride and arrogance, as in 1 "Henry VI." (iii. 3) 4:— "Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, And, like a peacock, sweep along his tail; We'll pull his plumes and take away his train." Pelican.—There are several allusions by Shakespeare to the pelican's piercing her own breast to feed her young. Thus, in Hamlet (iv. 5), Laertes says:— "To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms; And like the kind life-rendering pelican, Repast them with my blood." And in "King Lear," where the young pelicans are represented as piercing their mother's breast to drink her blood, an illustration of filial impiety (iii. 4), the king says:— "Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment! ’Twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters." It is a common notion that the fable here alluded to is a classical one, but this is an error. Shakespeare, says Mr Harting, "was content to accept the story as he found it, and to apply it metaphorically as the occasion required." Mr Houghton, in an interesting letter to "Land and Water " on this subject, remarks that the Egyptians believed in a bird feeding its young with its blood, and this bird is none other than the vulture. He goes on to say that the fable of the pelican doubtless originated in the Patristic annotations on the scriptures. The ecclesiastical Fathers transferred the Egyptian story from the vulture to the pelican, but magnified the story a hundredfold, for the blood of the parent was not only supposed to serve as food for the young, but was also able to reanimate the dead offspring. Augustine, commenting on Psalm cii. 6,—"I am like a pelican of the wilderness,"—remarks:—"These birds [male pelicans] are said to kill their offspring by blows of their beaks, and then to bewail their death for the space of three days. At length, however, it is said that the mother inflicts a severe wound on herself, pouring the flowing blood over the dead young ones, which instantly brings them to life." To the same effect write Eustathius, Isidorus, Epiphanius, and a host of other writers. According to another idea pelicans are hatched dead, but the cock pelican then wounds his breast, and lets one drop of blood fall upon each, and this quickens them. Pheasant.—This bird is only once alluded to in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), where the Clown jokingly says to the Shepherd—"Advocate's the Court word for a pheasant; say you have none." Phœnix.—Many allusions are given to this fabulous bird which is said to rise again from its own ashes. Thus in "Henry VIII." (v. 4), Cranmer tells how— "When The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phœnix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself." Again, in "3 Henry VI." (i. 4), the Duke of York exclaims— "My ashes, as the phœnix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all." Once more, in "Henry VI." (iv. 7), Sir William Lucy speaking of Talbot and those slain with him, predicts that "from their ashes shall be rear’d a phœnix that shall make all France afeard." Sir Thomas Browne tells us that there is but one phœnix in the world, "which after many hundred years burns herself, and from the ashes thereof ariseth up another." From the very earliest times there have been countless traditions respecting this wonderful bird. Thus its longevity has been estimated from three hundred to fifteen hundred years; and among the various localities assigned as its home are Ethiopia, Arabia, Egypt, and India. In the "Phœnix and the Turtle," it is said— "Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be." Pliny says of this bird, "Howbeit, I cannot tell what to make of him; and first of all, whether it be a tale or no, that there is never but one of them in the whole world, and the same not commonly seen." Malone 3 quotes from Lyly's "Euphues and his England" (p. 312, ed. Arber). "For as there is but one phœnix in the world, so is there but one tree in Arabia wherein she buyldeth;" and Florio's "New Worlde of Wordes" (1598), "Rasin, a tree in Arabia, whereof there is but one found, and upon it the phœnix sits." Pigeon.—As carriers these birds have been used from a very early date, and the castle of the birds at Bagdad takes its name from the pigeon-post which the old monks of the convent established. The building has crumbled into ruins long ago by the lapse of time, but the bird messengers of Bagdad became celebrated as far westward as Greece, and were a regular commercial institution between the distant parts of Asia Minor, Arabia, and the east. In ancient Egypt also the carrier breed was brought to great perfection, and, between the cities of the Nile and the Red Sea, the old traders used to send word of their caravans to each other by letters written on silk, and tied under the wings of trained doves. In "Titus Andronicus" (iv. 3), Titus, on seeing a clown enter with two pigeons, says—"News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, What tidings? have you any letters?" From the same play we also learn that it was also customary to give a pair of pigeons as a present. The Clown says to Saturninus (iv. 4), "I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here." In "Romeo and Juliet" (i. 3), the dove is used synonymously for pigeon; where the nurse is represented as "sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall." 3* Mr Darwin in his "Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication" (i. pp. 204, 205), has shown that from the very earliest times pigeons have been kept in a domesticated state. He says—"The earliest record of pigeons in a domesticated condition occurs in the 5th Egyptian dynasty, about 3000 B.C., but Mr Birch of the British Museum informs me that the pigeon appears in a bill of fare in the previous dynasty. Domestic pigeons are mentioned in "Genesis," "Leviticus," and "Isaiah." Pliny informs us that the Romans gave immense prices for pigeons; 'nay, they are come to this pass, that they can reckon up their pedigree and race.' In India, about the year 1600 pigeons were much valued by Akber Khan; 20,000 birds were carried about with the Court." In most countries, too, the breeding and taming of pigeons have been a favourite recreation. The constancy of the pigeon has been proverbial from time immemorial; allusions to which occur in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 3); and in "As You Like it" (iii. 3). Quail.—The quail was thought to be an amorous bird; and hence was metaphorically used to denote people of a loose character. In this sense it is generally understood in "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 1), "Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails." Mr Harting, however, thinks that the passage just quoted refers to the practice formerly prevalent of keeping quails, and making them fight like game-cocks. The context of the passage would seem to sanction the former meaning. Quail fighting is spoken of in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 3), where Antony, speaking of the superiority of Cæsar's fortunes to his own, says— "If we draw lots, he speeds; His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop’d, at odds." It appears that cocks as well as quails were sometimes made to fight within a broad hoop—hence the term inhoop’d—to keep them from quitting each other. Quail-fights were well known among the ancients, and especially at Athens. Julius Pollux relates that a circle was made, in which the birds were placed, and he whose quail was driven out of this circle lost the stake, which was sometimes money, and occasionally the quails themselves. Another practice was to produce one of these birds, which being first smitten with the middle finger, a feather was then plucked from its head. If the quail bore this operation without flinching, his master gained the stake, but lost it if he ran away. Some doubt exists as to whether quail-fighting prevailed in the time of Shakespeare. At the present day 1 the Sumatrans practise these quail combats, and this pastime is common in some parts of Italy, and also in China. Mr Douce has given a curious print, from an elegant Chinese miniature painting, which represents some ladies engaged at this amusement, where the quails are actually inhooped. Raven.—Perhaps no bird is so universally unpopular as the raven, its hoarse croak in most countries being regarded as ominous. Hence, as might be expected, Shakespeare often refers to it, in order to make the scene he depicts all the more vivid and graphic. In "Titus Andronicus" (ii. 3), Tamora, describing "a barren detested vale," says— "The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O’ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven." And in "Julius Cæsar" (v. 1), Cassius tells us how ravens "Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey." It seems that the superstitious dread attaching to this bird has chiefly arisen from its supposed longevity, and its frequent mention and agency in Holy Writ. By the Romans it was consecrated to Apollo, and was believed to have a prophetic knowledge—a notion still very prevalent. Thus its supposed faculty of "smelling death" still renders its presence, or even its voice, ominous. Othello (iv. i) exclaims— "O, it comes o’er my memory, As doth the raven o’er the infected house, Boding to all." There is no doubt a reference here to the fanciful notion that it was a constant attendant on a house infected with the plague. Most readers, too, are familiar with that famous passage in "Macbeth" (i. 5), where Lady Macbeth, having heard of the king's intention to stay at the castle, exclaims— "The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty!" We may compare Spenser's language in the "Faerie Queene" (bk. ii., c. vii. 23) "After him owles and night ravens flew, The hateful messengers of heavy things, Of death and dolor telling sad tidings." And once more the following passage from Drayton's "Barons’ Wars" (book v. st. 42), illustrates the same idea— "The ominous raven often he doth hear, Whose croaking him of following horror tells." In "Much Ado About Nothing" (ii. 3), the "night-raven" is mentioned. Benedick observes to himself—"I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it." This inauspicious bird, according to Steevens, is the owl; but this conjecture is evidently wrong, "being at variance with sundry passages in our early writers, who make a distinction between it and the night-raven." Thus Johnson, in his "Seven Champions of Christendom" (part i), speaks of "the dismal cry of night-ravens, . . . . and the fearefull sound of schriek owles." Cotgrave regarded the "night-crow" and the "night-raven" as synonymous; and Mr Yarrell considered them only different names for the night-heron. In "3 Henry VI." (v. 6), King Henry says— "The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time." Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," calls the bittern the night-raven, and says—"I remember, in the place where I was a boy, with what terror the bird's note affected the whole village; they consider it as the presage of some sad event, and generally found, or made one to succeed it. If any person in the neighbourhood died, they supposed it could not be otherwise, for the night-raven had foretold it; but if nobody happened to die, the death of a cow or a sheep gave completion to the prophecy." According to an old belief, the raven deserts its own young, to which Shakespeare alludes in "Titus Andronicus" (ii. 3)— "Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests." "It was supposed that when the raven," says Mr Harting, "saw its young ones newly hatched, and covered with down, it conceived such an aversion that it forsook them, and did not return to the nest until a darker plumage had shown itself." To this belief the commentators consider the Psalmist refers, when he says—"He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry" (Psalm cxlvii. 9). We are told, too, in Job, "Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat" (Job xxxviii. 41). Shakespeare, in "As You Like It" (ii. 3), probably had the words of the Psalmist in his mind— "He that doth the ravens feed Yea, providently caters for the sparrow." The raven has from earliest times been symbolical of blackness, both in connection with colour and character. In "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 2), Juliet exclaims— "O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face, Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather’d raven!" Once more, ravens’ feathers were formerly used by witches, from an old superstition that the wings of this bird carried with them contagion wherever they went. Hence in the "Tempest" (i. 2), Caliban says "As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both." Robin Redbreast.—According to a pretty notion, 1 this little bird is said to cover with leaves any dead body it may chance to find unburied; a belief which probably in a great measure originated in the well-known ballad of the "Children in the Wood," although it seems to have been known previously. Thus Singer quotes as follows from "Cornucopia, or Divers Secrets," &c. (by Thomas Johnson, 1596)—"The robin redbreast, if he finds a man or woman dead, will cover all his face with moss; and some think that if the body should remain unburied that he would cover the whole body also." In Dekker's "Villaines Discovered by Lanthorn and Candlelight" (1616), quoted by Douce, it is said—"They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight, are robin redbreasts that bring strawes in their bills to cover a dead man in extremitie." Shakespeare, in a beautiful passage in "Cymbeline" (iv. 2), thus touchingly alludes to it, making Arviragus, when addressing the supposed dead body of Imogen, say— "With fairest flowers While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that like's thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured harebell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander Out-sweeten’d not thy breath: the ruddock would, With charitable bill,—o bill, sore shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument! bring thee all this; Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse." the "ruddock" being one of the old names for the redbreast, which is now-a-days found in some localities. John Webster, also, refers to the same idea in "The White Devil" (1857. Edit. Dyce, p. 45),— "Call for the robin redbreast and the wren, Since o’er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men." Drayton, too, in the "Owl," has the following lines: "Cov’ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye, The little redbreast teaching charitie." Rook.—As an ominous bird this is mentioned in "Macbeth," (iii. 4). Formerly the nobles of England prided themselves in having a rookery in the neighbourhood of their castles, because rooks were regarded as "fowls of good omen." On this account no one was permitted to kill them, under severe penalties. When rooks desert a rookery 2 it is said to foretell the downfall of the family on whose property it is. A Northumbrian saying informs us that the rooks left the rookery of Chipchase before the family of Reed left that place. There is also a notion that when rooks haunt a town or village "mortality is supposed to await its inhabitants, and if they feed in the street it shows that a storm is at hand." The expression "bully-rook," in "Merry Wives of Windsor," (I. 3), in Shakespeare's time, says Mr Harting, 4 had the same meaning as "jolly-dog" now-a-days; but subsequently it became a term of reproach, meaning a cheating sharper. It has been suggested that the term derives its origin from the rook in the game of chess; but Douce 5 considers it very improbable that this noble game, "never the amusement of gamblers, should have been ransacked on this occasion." Snipe.—This bird was in Shakespeare's time proverbial for a foolish man. 1 In "Othello," (1. 3), Iago, speaking of Roderigo, says:— "For I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe, But for my sport and profit." Sparrow.—A popular name for the common sparrow was, and still is, philip, perhaps from its note, "Phip, phip." Hence the allusion to a person named Philip in "King John," (i. 1):— Gurney, Good leave, good Philip. Bastard, Philip!—sparrow. Staunton says perhaps Catullus alludes to this expression in the following lines:— "Sed circumsiliens, modo huc, modo illuc, Ad solam dominam usque pipilabat." Skelton, in an elegy upon a sparrow, calls it "Phyllyp Sparowe"; and Gascoigne also writes "The praise of Philip Sparrow." In "Measure for Measure," (iii. 2), Lucio, speaking of Angelo, the Deputy-Duke of Vienna, says:—"Sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous." Sparrow-hawk.—A name formerly given to a young sparrow hawk was eyas-musket, 3 a term we find in "Merry Wives of Windsor," (iii. 3):— "How now, my-eyas-musket! What news with you?" It was thus metaphorically used as a jocular phrase for a small child. As the invention, too, of fire-arms took place at a time when hawking was in high fashion, some of the new weapons were named after those birds, probably from the idea of their fetching their prey from on high. Musket has thus become the established name for one sort of gun. Some, however, assert that the musket was invented in the fifteenth century, and owes its name to its inventors. Starling.—This was one of the birds that was in days gone by trained to speak. In "1 Henry IV." (i. 3), Hotspur says— "I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion." Pliny tells us how starlings were taught to utter both Latin and Greek words for the amusement of the young Cæsars; and there are numerous instances on record of the clever sentences uttered by this amusing bird. Swallow.—This bird has generally been honoured as the harbinger of spring, and Athenæus relates that the Rhodians had a solemn song to welcome it. Anacreon has a well known ode. Shakespeare in the "Winter's Tale" (iv. 3), alludes to the time of the swallow's appearance in the following passage— "Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty." And its departure is mentioned in "Timon of Athens" (iii. 6), "The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship." We may compare Tennyson's notice of the bird's approach and migration in the "May Queen"— "And the swallow ’ll come back again with summer o’er the wave." It has been long considered lucky for the swallow to build its nest on the roof of a house, but just as unlucky for it to forsake a place which it has once tenanted. Shakespeare probably had this superstition in his mind when he represents Scarus as saying, in "Antony and Cleopatra" (iv. 12)— "Swallows have built In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers Say they know not,—they cannot tell;—look grimly, And dare not speak their knowledge." Swan.—According to a romantic notion, dating from antiquity, the swan is said to sing sweetly just before its death, many pretty allusions to which we find scattered here and there throughout Shakespeare's plays. In "Merchant of Venice" (iii. 2), Portia says— "He makes a swan-like end, Fading in music." Emilia, too, in "Othello" (v. 2), just before she dies, exclaims— "I will play the swan, And die in music." In "King John" (v. 7), Prince Henry, at his father's deathbed, thus pathetically speaks— "’Tis strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest." Again, in "Lucrece" (1611), we have these touching lines— "And now this pale swan in her watery nest, Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending." And once more in "Phœnix and the Turtle"— "Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right." This superstition, says Douce, "was credited by Plato, Chrysippus, Aristotle, Euripides, Philostratus, Cicero, Seneca, and Martial. Pliny, Ælian, and Athenæus, among the ancients, and Sir Thomas More, among the moderns, treat this opinion as a vulgar error. Luther believed in it." This notion probably originated in the swan being identified with Orpheus. Sir Thomas Browne says we read that, "after his death Orpheus the musician became a swan. Thus was it the bird of Apollo, the bird of music by the Greeks." Alluding to this piece of folk-lore, Carl Engel remarks:—"Although our common swan does not produce sounds which might account for this tradition, it is a well-known fact that the wild swan (Cygnus ferus), also called the 'whistling swan,' when on the wing emits a shrill tone, which, however harsh it may sound if heard near, produces a pleasant effect when, emanating from a large flock high in the air, it is heard in a variety of pitches of sound, increasing or diminishing in loudness according to the movement of the birds and to the current of the air." Colonel Hawker 2 says, "The only note which I ever heard the wild swan make, in winter, is his well-known 'whoop.'" Tassel-Gentle. —The male of the Goshawk was so called on account of its tractable disposition, and the facility with which it was tamed. It occurs in "Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 2)— "O, for a falconer's voice To lure this tassel-gentle back again!" Spenser, in his "Faerie Queene" (Bk. iii., iv. 49), says— "Having far off espied a tassel-gent Which after her his nimble wings doth straine." This species of hawk was also commonly called a "falcon-gentle;" on account of "her familiar, courteous, disposition." Turkey.—This bird, so popular with us at Christmas-tide, is mentioned in "1 Henry IV." (ii. 1), where the First Carrier says:—"God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved." This however, is an anachronism on the part of Shakespeare, as the turkey was unknown in this country until the reign of Henry VIII. According to a rhyme written in 1525, commemorating the introduction of this bird, we are told how— "Turkies, carps, hoppes, piccarell, and beere, Came into England all in one yeare." The turkey is again mentioned by Shakespeare in 'Twelfth Night' (ii. 5), where Fabian says of Malvolio:—"Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes." Vulture.—In several passages Shakespeare has introduced most forcibly this bird to deepen the beauty of some of his exquisite passages. Thus King Lear (ii. 4), when complaining of the unkindness of a daughter, bitterly exclaims— "O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here." What, too, can be more graphic than the expression of Tamora in "Titus Andronicus" (v. 2)— "I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom, To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind." Equally forcible too are Pistol's words in "The Merry Wives of Windsor" (i. 3)— "Let vultures gripe thy guts." Johnson considers that "the vulture of sedition" in "2 Henry VI." (iv. 3), is in allusion to the tale of Prometheus, but of this there is a decided uncertainty. Wagtail.—In "King Lear" (ii. 2), Kent says— "Spare my grey beard, you wagtail," the word being used, in an opprobrious sense, to signify an officious person. Woodcock.—In several passages this bird is used to denote a fool or silly person; as in "Taming of the Shrew" (i. 2)— "O this woodcock! what an ass it is!" And again in "Much ado about Nothing" (v. 1) where Claudio, alluding to the plot against Benedick, says— "Shall I not find a woodcock too." In "Love's Labour's Lost" (iv. 3) Biron says— "O heavens, I have my wish; Duncan's transformed: four woodcocks in a dish." The woodcock has generally been proverbial as a foolish bird,—perhaps because it is easily caught in springes or nets. Thus the popular phrase "Springes to catch woodcocks "meant arts to entrap simplicity, as in "Hamlet" (i. 3)— "Aye, springes to catch woodcocks." A similar expression occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Loyal Subject" (iv. 4)— "Go like a woodcock, And thrust your neck i’ th’ noose." "It seems," says Nares, "that woodcocks are now grown wiser by time, for we do not now hear of their being so easily caught. If they were sometimes said to be without brains, it was only founded on their character, certainly not on any examination of the fact." Formerly, one of the terms for twilight was "cock-shut time," because the net in which cocks, i.e. woodcocks, were shut in during the twilight, was called a "cock-shut." It appears that a large net was stretched across a glade, and so suspended upon poles as to be easily drawn together. Thus in "Richard III." (v. 3) Ratcliff says— "Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop, Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers." In Ben Jonson's "Masque of Gypsies" we read— "Mistress, this is only spite; For you would not yesternight Kiss him in the cock-shut light." Sometimes it was erroneously written "cock-shoot." "Come, come away then, a fine cock-shoot evening." In the "Two Noble Kinsmen" (iv. i) we find the term "cock-light." Wren.—The diminutive character of this bird is noticed in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (iii. 1, song)— "The wren with little quill." Lady Macbeth (iv. 2) says— "The poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight Her young ones in her nest, against the owl." Considering, too, that as many as sixteen young ones have been found in this little bird's nest, we can say with Grahame in his poem on the birds of Scotland— "But now behold the greatest of this train Of miracles, stupendously minute; The numerous progeny, claimant for food Supplied by two small bills, and feeble wings Of narrow range, supplied—ay, duly fed— Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot." The epithet "poor" applied to the wren by Lady Macbeth was certainly appropriate in days gone by, when we recollect how it was cruelly hunted in Ireland on St Stephen's day—a practice which prevailed also in the Isle of Man.