Part 13

All hail to the moon, all hail to thee! I, prithee, good moon, reveal to me This night who my husband must be!

THE CUCKOO.

We are usefully reminded of the season of the cuckoo by the following homely proverbial lines:

In April, The cuckoo shows his bill; In May, He sings all day; In June, He alters his tune; In July, Away he'll fly; Come August, Away he must!

In some dialects thus:

In April, 'A shake 'as bill; In May, 'A pipe all day; In June, 'A change 'as tune; In July, Away 'a fly; Else in August, Away 'a must.

Of the "change of tune" alluded to in these verses, it has been remarked (Trans. Linn. Soc.) that in early season the cuckoo begins with the interval of a minor third, proceeds to a major third, then to a fourth, then to a fifth; after which his voice breaks, never attaining a minor sixth. This was observed by old John Heywood, Workes, 1576, vi. 95:

In April the koo-coo can sing her note by rote, In June of tune she cannot sing a note; At first, koo-koo, koo-coo, sing shrill can she do; At last, kooke, kooke, kooke, six cookes to one koo.

The following proverbial verses relating to this bird are current in the North of England:

The cuckoo comes in April, Stops all the month of May, Sings a song at Midsummer, And then he goes away.

When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn, Sell your cow and buy your corn; But when she comes to the full bit, Sell your corn and buy your sheep.

The following "tokens of love and marriage by hearing the cuckow, or seeing other birds first in the morning," are extracted from an old chap-book entitled, the Golden Cabinet, or the Compleat Fortune-teller, n. d.: "When you walk out in the spring, as soon as you hear the cuckow, sit down on a bank or other convenient place, and pull your stockings off, saying,—

May this to me, Now happy be.

Then look between your great toe and the next, you'll find a hair that will easily come off. Take and look at it, and of the same colour will that of your lover be; wrap it in a piece of paper, and keep it ten days carefully; then, if it has not changed, the person will be constant: but if it dies, you are flattered." Gay alludes to this method of divination in his Fourth Pastoral, ed. 1742, p. 32.

THE ROBIN AND THE WREN.

The superstitious reverence with which these birds are almost universally regarded takes its origin from a pretty belief that they undertake the delicate office of covering the dead bodies of any of the human race with moss or leaves, if by any means left exposed to the heavens. This opinion is alluded to by Shakespeare and many writers of his time, as by Drayton, for example:

Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye, The little red-breast teacheth charitie.

Webster, in his tragedy of Vittoria Corombona, 1612, couples the wren with the robin as coadjutors in this friendly office:

Call for the robin red-breast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Notwithstanding the beautiful passage in Shakespeare to which we have alluded, it is nevertheless undeniable that, even to this day, the ancient belief attached to these birds is perpetuated chiefly by the simple ballad of the Babes in the Wood. Early in the last century, Addison was infatuated with that primitive song. "Admitting," he says, "there is even a despicable simplicity in the verse, yet because the sentiments appear genuine and unaffected, they are able to move the mind of the most polite reader with inward meltings of humanity and compassion." Exactly so; but this result arises from the extraordinary influence of early association over the mind, not from the pathos of the ballad itself, which is infinitely inferior to the following beautiful little nursery song I have the pleasure of transcribing into these pages:

My dear, do you know How a long time ago, Two poor little children, Whose names I don't know, Were stolen away On a fine summer's day, And left in a wood, As I've heard people say.

And when it was night, So sad was their plight, The sun it went down, And the moon gave no light! They sobb'd and they sigh'd, And they bitterly cried, And the poor little things, They laid down and died.

And when they were dead, The robins so red Brought strawberry leaves, And over them spread; And all the day long, They sang them this song,— Poor babes in the wood! Poor babes in the wood! And don't you remember The babes in the wood?

Adages respecting the robin and the wren, generally including the martin and swallow, are common in all parts of the country. In giving the following, it should be premised it is a popular notion that the wren is the wife of the robin; and Mr. Chambers mentions an extraordinary addition to this belief current in Scotland, that the wren is the paramour of the tom-tit!

The robin red-breast and the wren Are God Almighty's cock and hen;[39] The martin and the swallow Are the two next birds that follow.

[Footnote 39: The wren was also called _our Lady's hen_. See Cotgrave, in v. _Berchot_.]

The next was obtained from Essex:

A robin and a titter-wren Are God Almighty's cock and hen; A martin and a swallow Are God Almighty's shirt and collar!

And the following from Warwickshire:

The robin and the wren Are God Almighty's cock and hen; The martin and the swallow Are God Almighty's bow and arrow![40]

[Footnote 40: In Cheshire the last line is, "Are God's mate and marrow," _marrow_ being a provincial term for a companion. See Wilbraham's Chesh. Gloss. p. 105.]

The latter part of this stanza is thus occasionally varied:

The martin and the swallow Are God Almighty's birds to hollow;

where the word _hollow_ is most probably a corruption of the verb _hallow_, to keep holy.[41] If this conjecture be correct, it exhibits the antiquity of the rhyme.

[Footnote 41: Parker, in his poem of the Nightingale, published in 1632, speaking of swallows, says:

And if in any's hand she chance to dye, 'Tis counted ominous, I know not why.]

Nor let it be thought there is any impiety in giving these verses in the form in which they are cherished, for the humble recorders of them dream of no irreverence. On the contrary, the sanctification of these harmless birds is no unpoetical or objectionable fragment of the old popular mythology; and when we reflect that not even a sparrow "is forgotten before God," can we blame a persuasion which protects more innocent members of the feathered tribes from the intrusion of the wanton destroyer?

It is exceedingly unlucky to molest the nests of any of these birds. This belief is very prevalent, and it was acted upon in a case which came under my observation, where, misfortune having twice followed the destruction of a swallow's nest, the birds were afterwards freely permitted to enjoy the corner of a portico, where their works were certainly not very ornamental. The following verses were obtained from Essex:

The robin and the red-breast, The robin and the wren; If ye take out o' their nest, Ye'll never thrive agen!

The robin and the red-breast, The martin and the swallow; If ye touch one o' their eggs, Bad luck will surely follow!

The Irish call the wren the king of birds; and they have a story that, when the birds wanted to choose a king, they determined that the one which could fly highest should have the crown. The wren, being small, very cunningly hid itself under the wing of the eagle; and when that bird could fly no higher, the wren slipped from its hiding-place, and easily gained the victory. In Cotgrave's Dictionarie, 1632, we find the wren called _roitelet_, and in another dictionary, quoted by Mr. Wright, it is called _roi des oiseaux_, so it is probable a similar superstition prevailed in France. The ceremony of hunting of the wren on St. Stephen's day has been so frequently described, that it is not necessary to do more than allude to it, and to mention that Mr. Crofton Croker possesses a proclamation lately issued by the mayor of Cork, forbidding the custom, with the intent "to prevent cruelty to animals," as the document is headed. This custom was also prevalent in France. An analogous ceremony is still observed in Pembrokeshire on Twelfth-day, where it is customary to carry about a wren, termed _the king_, inclosed in a box with glass windows, surmounted by a wheel, from which are appended various coloured ribands. It is attended by men and boys, who visit the farm-houses, and sing a song, the following fragments of which are all that have come under my observation:

For we are come here To taste your good cheer, And the king is well dressed In silks of the best.

He is from a cottager's stall, To a fine gilded hall.

The poor bird often dies under the ceremony, which tradition connects with the death of an ancient British king at the time of the Saxon invasion. The rhyme used in Ireland runs thus:

The wren, the wren, the king of all birds, Was caught St. Stephen's day in the furze; Although he's little his family's great, Then pray, gentlefolks, give him a treat.

THE OWL.

To-whoo—to-whoo! Cold toe—toe!

expresses the hooting of the owl. This bird, according to old ballads and legends, was of exalted parentage. A rural ballad, cited in Waterton's Essays on Natural History, 1838, p. 8, says:

Once I was a monarch's daughter, And sat on a lady's knee; But am now a nightly rover, Banished to the ivy tree.

Crying hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, Hoo, hoo, hoo, my feet are cold. Pity me, for here you see me Persecuted, poor, and old.

An anonymous writer, in the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. lxxiv. p. 1003, mentions an old fairy tale respecting the owl, which, he says, is well known to the nurses of Herefordshire. A certain fairy, disguised as an old distressed woman, went to a baker's shop, and begged some dough of his daughter, of whom she obtained a very small piece. This she farther requested leave to bake in the oven, where it swelling to the size of a large loaf, the baker's daughter refused to let her have it. She, however, gave the pretended beggar another piece of dough, but still smaller than the first; this swelled in the oven even more than the other, and was in like manner retained. A third and still smaller piece of dough came out of the oven the largest of all, and shared the same fate. The disguised fairy, convinced of the woman's covetousness by these repeated experiments, no longer restrained her indignation. She resumed her proper form, and struck the culprit with her wand, who immediately flew out of the window in the shape of an owl. This story may be a version of the legend alluded to by Ophelia in Hamlet, iv. 5: "They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be."

MAGPIES.

Wide-spread is the superstition that it is unlucky to see magpies under certain conditions, but these vary considerably in different localities. Thus, in some counties, two bring sorrow, in others joy; while, in some places, we are instructed that one magpie is a signal of misfortune, which can, however, be obviated by pulling off your hat, and making a very polite bow to the knowing bird. This operation I have more than once seen quite seriously performed. In Lancashire they say:

One for anger, Two for mirth, Three for a wedding, Four for a birth, Five for rich, Six for poor, Seven for a witch, I can tell you no more.

But in Tim Bobbin it is expressly said that two are indicative of ill fortune: "I saigh two rott'n pynots, hongum, that wur a sign o' bad fashin; for I heard my gronny say hoode os leef o seen two owd harries os two pynots." The same belief obtains in Scotland. In the North they thus address the bird:

Magpie, magpie, chatter and flee, Turn up thy tail, and good luck fall me.

The half-nest of the magpie is accounted for by a rural ornithological legend. Once on a time, when the world was very young, the magpie, by some accident or another, although she was quite as cunning as she is at present, was the only bird that was unable to build a nest. In this perplexity, she applied to the other members of the feathered race, who kindly undertook to instruct her. So, on a day appointed, they assembled for that purpose, and, the materials having been collected, the blackbird said, "Place that stick there," suiting the action to the word, as she commenced the work. "Ah!" said the magpie, "I knew that afore." The other birds followed with their suggestions, but to every piece of advice, the magpie kept saying, "Ah! I knew that afore." At length, when the birdal habitation was half-finished, the patience of the company was fairly exhausted by the pertinacious conceit of the pye, so they all left her with the united exclamation, "Well, Mistress Mag, as you seem to know all about it, you may e'en finish the nest yourself." Their resolution was obdurate and final, and to this day the magpie exhibits the effects of partial instruction by her miserably incomplete abode.

The magpie is always called Madge, and the Christian names given to birds deserve a notice. Thus we have Jack Snipe, Jenny Wren, Jack Daw, Tom Tit, Robin Redbreast, Poll Parrot, Jill Hooter, Jack Curlew, Jack Nicker, and King Harry for the goldfinch, and the list might be widely extended. A starling is always Jacob, a sparrow is Philip, a raven is Ralph, and the consort of the Tom Tit rejoices in the euphonic name of Betty! Children give the name of Dick to all small birds, which, in nursery parlance, are universally Dickybirds.

WHO KILL'D COCK ROBIN.

Who kill'd Cock Robin? I, said the sparrow, With my bow and arrow, I kill'd Cock Robin.

Who see him die? I, said the fly, With my little eye, And I see him die.

Who catch'd his blood? I, said the fish, With my little dish, And I catch'd his blood.

Who made his shroud? I, said the beadle, With my little needle, And I made his shroud.

Who shall dig his grave? I, said the owl, With my spade and showl,[42] And I'll dig his grave.

[Footnote 42: Shovel. An archaism.]

Who'll be the parson? I, said the rook, With my little book, And I'll be the parson.

Who'll be the clerk? I, said the lark, If 'tis not in the dark, And I'll be the clerk.

Who'll carry him to the grave? I, said the kite, If 'tis not in the night, And I'll carry him to his grave.

Who'll carry the link? I, said the linnet, I'll fetch it in a minute, And I'll carry the link.

Who'll be chief mourner? I, said the dove, I mourn for my love, And I'll be chief mourner.

Who'll bear the pall? We, said the wren, Both the cock and the hen, And we'll bear the pall.

Who'll sing a psalm? I, said the thrush, As she sat in a bush, And I'll sing a psalm.

And who'll toll the bell? I, said the bull, Because I can pull; And so, Cock Robin, farewell!

All the birds in the air Fell to sighing and sobbing, When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin!

The above version of this widely-extended poem is taken from a copy printed many years ago in Aldermary Churchyard, entitled, "Cock Robin, a pretty gilded _toy_ for either girl or _boy_, suited to children of all ages," 18mo. It is reprinted even at the present day with a few immaterial variations.

In Eccardi _Historia Studii Etymologici_, 8vo. Han. 1711, p. 269, is an old Wendic nursery ballad of a somewhat similar character. Perhaps the first verse will be sufficient to give the reader an idea of its composition.

Katy mês Ninka beyt? Teelka mês Ninka beyt: Teelka rîtzi Wapakka neimo ka dwemo: Gos giss wiltge grîsna Sena, Nemik Ninka beyt; Gos nemik Ninka beyt.

Who, who, the bride will be? The owl she the bride shall be. The owl quoth, Again to them both, I am sure a grim ladye; Not I the bride can be, I not the bride can be!

CROWS.

In Essex they have a rhyme respecting crows very similar to that above quoted regarding magpies. The following lines are said to be true, if crows fly _towards_ you:

One's unlucky, Two's lucky; Three is health, Four is wealth; Five is sickness, And six is death!

PIGEONS.

Pigeons never do know woe, Till they do a benting go.

This means that pigeons are never short of food except when they are obliged to live on the seeds of the grass, which ripen before the crops of grain. The seed-stalk of grass is called the _bent_, and hence the term _benting_.

LAPWING AND RINGDOVE.

The common people in the North Riding of Yorkshire, says Brockett, ii. 71, believe that at one period the cushat, or ringdove, laid its eggs upon the ground, and that the peewit, or lapwing, made its nest on high; but that some time or other, an amicable arrangement took place between these birds, exchanging their localities for building. The peewit accordingly expresses its disappointment at the bargain as follows:

Pee-wit, pee-wit, I coup'd my nest and I rue it.

While the cushat rejoices that she is out of the reach of mischievous boys,—

Coo, coo, come now, Little lad With thy gad, Come not thou!

THE WOOD-PIGEON.

An Isle of Wight legend respecting this bird tells us that, soon after the creation of the world, all the birds were assembled for the purpose of learning to build their nests, and the magpie, being very sagacious and cunning, was chosen to teach them. Those birds that were most industrious, such as the wren and the long-tailed-capon, or pie-finch, he instructed to make whole nests in the shape of a cocoa-nut, with a small hole on one side; others, not so diligent, he taught to make half-nests, shaped something like a teacup. Having thus instructed a great variety of birds according to their capacity, it came to the turn of the wood-pigeon, who, being a careless and lazy bird, was very indifferent about the matter, and while the magpie was directing him how to place the little twigs, &c., he kept exclaiming, "What, athurt and across! what zoo! what zoo!—athurt and across! what zoo! what zoo!" At length the magpie was so irritated with his stupidity and indolence, that he flew away, and the wood-pigeon, having had no more instruction, to this day builds the worst nest of any of the feathered tribe, consisting merely of layers of cross-twigs.

Montagu gives a Suffolk version of the tale, which differs considerably from the above. "The magpie, it is said, once undertook to teach the pigeon how to build a more substantial and commodious dwelling; but, instead of being a docile pupil, the pigeon kept on her old cry of 'Take two, Taffy! take two!' The magpie insisted that this was a very unworkmanlike manner of proceeding, one stick at a time being as much as could be managed to advantage; but the pigeon reiterated her 'two, take two,' till Mag, in a violent passion, gave up the task, exclaiming, 'I say that one at a time's enough; and, if you think otherwise, you may set about the work yourself, for I will have no more to do with it!' Since that time, the wood-pigeon has built her slight platform of sticks, which certainly suffers much in comparison with the strong substantial structure of the magpie." The cooing of the wood-pigeon produces, it is said—

Take two-o coo, Taffy! Take two-o coo, Taffy!

Alluding, says Mr. Chambers, to a story of a Welshman, who thus interpreted the note, and acted upon the recommendation by stealing two of his neighbour's cows.

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

The clucking conversation of poultry, the cackling of the hen, and the replying chuckle of the cock, is represented by the following dialogue:

_Hen._ Cock, cock, I have la-a-a-yed! _Cock._ Hen, hen, that's well sa-a-a-yed! _Hen._ Although I have to go barefooted every da-a-y! _Cock_ (_con spirito_). Sell your eggs, and buy shoes, Sell your eggs, and buy shoes!

Mr. Chambers, p. 167, has given a very different version of this current in Scotland. In Galloway, the hen's song is:

The cock gaed to Rome, seeking shoon, seeking shoon, The cock gaed to Rome, seeking shoon, And yet I aye gang barefit, barefit!

The following proverb is current in the North of England:

If the cock moult before the hen, We shall have weather thick and thin; But if the hen moult before the cock, We shall have weather hard as a block.

DRAGON-FLIES.

In some parts of the Isle of Wight, these insects are found of a peculiarly large size, and their colours are extremely beautiful. There is an old legend respecting them which is still current. It is supposed by the country people that their sting or bite is venomous, as bad as that of a snake or adder, and perhaps from this belief their provincial name of snake-stanger or snake-stang is derived. It is said that these insects can distinguish the good children from the bad when they go fishing: if the latter go too near the water, they are almost sure to be bitten; but when the good boys go, the dragon-flies point out the places where the fish are, by settling on the banks, or flags, in the proper direction. This curious myth is commemorated by the following song:

Snakestanger! snakestanger! vlee aal about the brooks; Sting aal the bad bwoys that vor the vish looks, But lat the good bwoys ketch aal the vish they can, And car'm awaay whooam[43] to vry'em in a pan; Bred and butter they shall yeat at zupper wi' their vish, While aal the littul bad bwoys shall only lick the dish.

[Footnote 43: Carry them away home.]

This has of late years been introduced into the nursery, but in different suit of clothes:

Dragon fly! dragon fly! fly about the brook; Sting all the bad boys who for the fish look; But let the good boys catch all that they can, And then take them home to be fried in a pan; With nice bread and butter they shall sup upon their fish, While all the little naughty boys shall only lick the dish.

THE SNAIL.

In Yorkshire, in evenings when the dew falls heavily, the boys hunt the large black snails, and sing:

Snail, snail! put out your horn, Or I'll kill your father and mother i' th' morn.

Another version runs thus:

Snail, snail, put out your horns, I'll give you bread and barleycorns.

And sometimes the following song is shouted on this occasion:

Sneel, snaul, Robbers are coming to pull down your wall. Sneel, snaul, Put out your horn, Robbers are coming to steal your corn, Coming at four o'clock in the morn.

The version generally heard in the southern counties differs very considerably from the above, and the original use and meaning are very seldom practised or understood:

Snail, snail, come out of your hole, Or else I'll beat you as black as a coal.