as a water-rat. The net, I observed before I began to use it, did not seem over strong—nets very soon rot-and I most strongly recommended the keeper to ask his master to allow him to tan it with catechu, as the fishermen do at Folkestone, in the tanning-house built by Sir Elias Harvey (brother to the great Harvey), who saw what a wonderful preservative the catechu would be to the property of the poor fishermen.^ However, we had a good haul of fish, some magnificent roach, some no less than 2fib. weight; two perch, both turning the scales at 31b.; and four trout. The poor old man got his share of the roach for his dinner, and the other fish were turned into the stew till wanted for

the master’s table. “ Did you ever see a dog retrieve fish? If you have not, I can tell you the miller’s water-spaniel is a wonderful performer. I turned a roach out of the basket, and he caught it in an instant, diving pretty deep for him. And I think I have made a discovery that dogs rate, this dog—is shortsighted, and that when—at any he cannot use his nose he is comparatively powerless. I put a half-dead roach in the weeds close under his nose, and he could not see it: he tried hard to sniff for it, but of course could not scent it through the water. I repeated the experiment several times, and always with the same result, therefore I am inclined to believe

Seo “ Curiosities of Natural History,” Second Series.

that dogs do not see so plainly nor so quickly as we do ourselves. We all, moreover, know how difficult it is to get a dog to look at an object just at the moment when we want him so to do. " I have also observed that dogs will not hunt for things that have no scent. I have tried to make a dog scent a crab, which had just buried himself in the sea-sand at low tide, but the dog’s nose would not tell him where the crab was gone. The latter, I suppose, left no scent behind him like a land animal.” 16 But,” said P., “ you really must come on fishing, or you will catch cold in your wet clothes.” So away we went through a ford that contained as many minnows in the shallow water as there are herrings in a herring-tub; we also saw plenty of ducks and few trout. I asked the miller about the ducks in spawning time, and he agreed with me that they work the spawning-ing-beds with the utmost regularity, and that they eat all the trout ova they can find, and that they don’t leave a stone unturned. Gentlemen, once for all, be assured you cannot have ducks about the river in spawning time; if you have, good-bye to the young trout. We then both began fishing with the rod. P. caught a good fish, and then came my turn.

While getting my fish out I had to land him through a thick bank of “ spear.” I caught hold of a bunch of this hard silicious rush, and my hand slipping with my

weight, I cut a tremendous gash in one of my fingers with a broken stem. There was immediately a profusion of bleeding from the wound which seemed inclined to continue. I had nothing whatever with me to mend the damage, so I began to cast about for an expedient at hand, but could see nothing that would serve as a plaister, and I was miles away from a chemist’s shop; at last I recollected I had a bulrush (one of those big-headed rushes, that look like a bottle-cleaner) in my hat, so I immediately broke it in two, and taking a quantity of the down-like seed of which I knew it vras composed, pressed it tight on to the wound; in a few seconds the blood made a clot round the seed, and

the haemorrhage entirely ceased; in fact, it acted like “matico ” leaf, which is one of the best styptics we have in surgery. Now for some plaister; but where was I to get plaister five miles from a town, and none in my pocket? My eye lighted upon the jack I had just killed. A bit of your skin, my fine fellow, I thought, will just do; so whipping out my knife, I soon dissected a long strip of skin from off his back. This I lapped tightly round the injured finger, over a good wadding of bulrush seed; I then bound it firmly with some fishing-silk, the fish-skin becoming tighter as it dried. I was then enabled to go on fishing, which I did for the rest of the day, and felt pleased at the way this impromptu surgery answered.

It was now time to be off, as we beard the wheels of the dog-cart rattle over the old bridge, on the railings of which were cut marks showing the length of a huge trout that had once been caught underneath it, and we soon arrived at Fordingbridge, where the landlady had

a capital dinner for us all ready.

Among the dishes was some ham and eggs. I rang the bell. “ Where did that ham come from, Mrs. Bill?”

said I. “ From Fordingbridge, sir,” said the landlady. u Are you quite sure? Have you had any Irishmen in the village lately?” “ No, sir.” “ Then it’s all right, thank you,” said I. u What’s the matter with the ham?” said Pennell. “ Oh, nothing,” said I; “ only I heard a story just before I left London, which makes me rather shy of bacon just now.” “ What’s the joke?—let’s hear the story.” “ Well, then, a lady told me that four or five Irishmen came a week or two since to Knaresborougli in Yorkshire, where she lived, and set up stalls opposite the butchers’ shops. These men brought bacon, which they sold in large quantities at 2\d. a pound. The butchers were furious, and at last they said, 1 We must hit upon some plan to get rid of these fellows; they are ruining our trade, for the people will not buy our meat at 7d a

’merican pigs. 167

pound when they can get bacon for 2Je?.’ As the butchers were talking this matter over in front of their stalls in the market, an old woman came toddling up to know what the beef was a pound. ‘ Sevenpence, mum; we can’t sell our beef at the same price as these Irishmen all about itsell the bacon, because—don’t you know missus? Why all bacon is made from pigs as comes from ’Meriker; and don’t you know, missus, what they feeds them on in ’Meriker V ‘ No,’ said the old woman, 1 how should I know?’ 6 Why they feeds them on dead soldiers, as has been killed in the war; they picks up the bodies after the battles, and throws ’em into the pig-sties for the that’s what makes ’em so fat and so cheap.’pigs—and

‘ Lord! good gracious, butcher! you don’t say so? How shocking! those ’orrid Irishmen!’ So off goes the old lady, with her bit of beef on a skewer, all round the market, telling everybody she met, young and old, that the Irishmen’s bacon was 1 fed on dead ’Merican soldiers.’ The news spread like wildfire; a thrifty housekeeper was seen to throw a ham she had just bought for 5s. into the road, and nobody would pick it up; even a beggar passed it with contempt, and the inhabitants cleared their cupboards and larders of every morsel of the newly-purchased bacon. The next Saturday, the bacon men came as usual to the market, and there was not a man, woman, or child near their stalls: they brought the bacon still no cus-down to three-halfpence a pound—but

tomers; and not even genuine, home-fed bacon could be sold by the regular shops. The Irishmen were furious at the butchers, and the butchers laughed at the Irishmen; anyhow, the bacon merchants immediately shut up shop, sheered off, and have never been heard of since in Knaresborough. I thought that possibly these same Irishmen might have come on to Fordingbridge, and therefore was anxious to know whether Mrs. Bill’s bacon was fattened with English barleymeal or dead ’Merican soldiers. There’s a story for you! Now pass the grog, if you please; I feel somewhat chilly after my ducking this morning.”

;

169

BIRD-CATCHERS.*

Well, a little fresh air will do one good this fine day where in the world shall I go? Where’s the “ A B C Railway Guide?” Yes, this will do; I can be back in a few hours, and I have never seen Loughton,* so shall just go there and see what it is like, and come back again; and if I can get a look at Epping Forest so much the better. Well, 1 soon got to Loughton (in Essex), and a very sober, slow, stupid, cockney tea-and-hot-water place it seemed to be. However, as I have never, I flatter myself, visited any place, however slow, without learning something, I determined that Loughton should not triumph over me, and form the exception: nor was I ultimately disappointed, for when walking along a lane whom should I meet but three men, carrying bird cages in their hands, wrapped in dirty handkerchiefs, while a boy in the rear had a chaffinch in his hand, stuffed in the attitude of an angry bird. I applied my usual key, which I always use when I wish to unlock the knowledge-box of my humble friends, and found

Near Epping Forest. i

170 “the stale.”

that, as usual, donations of beer and cigars soon loosed their tongues. I am a great believer in the power oi beer as well as the power of love. u Where did you come from, my friends?” “ Well, sir, we started from Whitechapel church this

five in the after-morning, at half-past one”—it was then noon and we ain’t catched only one chaffinch, and he ain’t no great shakes neither.”

Being anxious to be initiated into the mysteries of what Isaak Walton would call “ fowling,” I asked how they caught this bird. u Why you see, sir, we just walks along and along, till we hears a bird singing in the hedge, or on a tree, and then we sticks this ’ere stuffed bird, which we calls a 1 stale ’ (the bird was wired on a bit of wood with a sharp nail at each end of the. wood), into the bark * the twigs’ all about him; thenof the tree, and we puts we sets this call-bird down in his cage on the ground under ‘ the stale.’ He begins to sing, and the wild bird answers him, and comes to drive him off his beat. The wild bird thinks the ‘ stale ’ is singing, so he goes to battle him, and gets catched by the twigs.”

I asked to see the twigs. They are little bits of whalebone, on to one end of which a pin is fastened, in order that it may be stuck into the bark of the tree, close to where the 6 stale ’ is fixed. It is covered with bird-lime, a very precious material. “ You see, sir, this

BIRD-LIME. I7i

ere little ’bacca-box holds a shilling’s worth, and it would take as much holly as a man can carry on his back to make this little bit; good bird-lime is worth a guinea a pound if it’s worth a farthing. The birds about here, sir, is pretty nigh all catched up; there is a beauty round by the public-house, but he would not take no notice of us, and the landlord said it was no use a-trying after him, he had been tried after too often; he had got the information, and was regular * trap-handy.’

Page 22 of 46