Part 19

But I must not loiter too long over my West Australian aviary, in spite of the great temptation to dwell on those dear distant days. I brought a small travelling-cage of Gouldian and other lovely finches from the neighbourhood of Cambridge Gulf home with me. What I suffered with that cage during a storm in the Bay of Biscay no tongue can tell. However, they all reached London in safety, and in due time were taken out—also with great personal trouble and difficulty—to Trinidad. Here they were luxuriously established in four large wired compartments over the great porch of Government House. No birds could have been happier. The finches had one compartment all to themselves, so had the canaries; whilst the laughing jackass, another Australian magpie, and a beautiful Indian hill mynah occupied a third compartment, the fourth being brilliantly filled by troupials, morichés, and sewing crows from Venezuela, besides many lovely local birds of exquisite plumage.

In each compartment stood large boxes and tubs filled with growing shrubs, whilst creepers, brought up from the luxuriant growth at the pillars below, were twined in the fine meshes of the netting. Of course there were perches and nests, all sizes and at differing heights. It was really one man’s business to attend to them, but they were beautifully kept. Every morning the grasscutter brought in a large bunch of the waving plume-like seed of the tall guinea grass; and they had plenty of fresh fruit, in which they greatly delighted. Of course they quarrelled over it all, and a fierce battle would rage over half an orange, of which the other half was utterly neglected.

The canaries led a commonplace existence and had only one adventure. I had noticed that for some few weeks past the numbers of these little birds seemed rather to diminish than increase at their usual rapid rate. But I saw so many hens sitting on nests very high up that I accounted for the small number in that way. However, one day a perch fell down, and the black attendant went into the cage with a tall ladder to replace it. Presently I heard a great scrimmage and many “Hi! my king!” and other agitated ejaculations, which soon brought me to the spot. It was indeed no wonder that my poor little birds had been disappearing mysteriously, for there was a large, well-fed, but harmless snake. It must have got in through the mesh when quite young and small, but had now grown to such stout proportions that escape through the wire netting—which would only admit the very tip of my fourth finger—was impossible, and it was easily slain. The snake was found coiled on a ledge too high up to be easily perceived from below.

Soon after that episode the little finches underwent a sad and startling experience. One morning the coachman brought me in a beautiful little bird of brilliant plumage which I had never seen before. It had been caught in the saddle-room, and was certainly a lovely creature, though unusually wild and terrified. However, I was so accustomed to new arrivals soon making themselves perfectly at home and becoming quite tame, that I turned the splendid stranger into the finches’ compartment with no misgivings, and went away, leaving them to make friends, as I hoped. About half-an-hour later I passed the tall French window, carefully netted in, which opened on the corridor, and through which I could always watch my little pets unperceived. My attention was attracted by two or three curious little feathered lumps on the gravelled floor. On closer examination these proved to be the heads of some of my especial favourites, which the new arrival (a member of the Shrike family, as I discovered too late) had hastily twisted off. Besides these murders he had found time to go round the nests and turn out all the eggs and young birds. My dismay and horror may be imagined, but I could not stop, for luncheon and guests were waiting. I hastily begged a tall Irish orderly who was on duty in the hall to catch the new-comer and let him go. Now this man loved my birds quite as much as I did, and seemed to spend all his leisure-time in foraging for them. They owed him many tit-bits in the shape of wasps’ larvæ or the nursery of an ants’ nest nicely stocked, or some delicacy of that sort. There was only time for a hurried order, received in grim silence, but when I was once more free and able to inquire how matters had been settled, all I could get out of O’Callaghan was: “I’ve larned him to wring little birds’ necks.”

“Did you catch him easily?” I inquired.

“Quite easily, my lady, and _I_ larned him.” This in a voice trembling with rage.

“What have you done to him?” No answer at first, only a murmur.

“But I want to know what has happened to that bird,” I persisted.

“Well, my lady, I’ve larned him;”—a pause; “I’ve wrunged _his_ neck.”

So in this way rough and ready justice had been meted out to the wrong-doer very speedily.

Perhaps of all my birds the one I called the Sewing Crow was the most amusing. It was a glossy black bird about the size of a thrush, with pale yellow tail and wing-feathers, and curious light blue eyes with very blue rims. It was brought from Venezuela, and its local Spanish name means “The Rice-bird,” but it never specially affected rice as food, preferring fruit and mealworms. I had several of these crows, but one was particularly tame, and rambled about the house seeking for sewing materials. I found it once or twice _inside_ a large workbag full of crewels, where it had gone in search of gay threads, with which it used to decorate the wire walls of an empty cage kept in the verandah outside my own sitting-room. The extraordinary patience and ingenuity of that bird in passing the wool through the meshes of the wire can hardly be described. I suppose it was a reminiscence of nest-building, because it always worked harder in the springtime. It had a great friend in a little “moriché,” black and yellow also, but of a more slender build, and with a very sweet whistle. The “moriché,” too, was perfectly tame and flew all about the house, and it was very comic to watch its efforts at learning embroidery from its friend. It arrived at last at some sort of cage decoration, but quite different from that of the crow, who evidently disapproved of it, and often ruthlessly pulled the work of a laborious morning on the “moriché’s” part to pieces. Now the “moriché” knew better than to touch the crow’s work, though he often appeared to carefully examine it.

One day the crow must have persuaded the moriché to help him to roll and drag a reel of coarse white cotton from the corridor of the work-room, across the floor of my sitting-room, into the verandah. I saw them doing this more than once, and had unintentionally interfered with the crow’s plans by picking up the reel and returning it to the maids’ work-basket. However, one afternoon the crow got rid of me entirely, and on my return from a long expedition I found both the crow and moriché just going to roost in the empty cage, which was really only kept there for them to play in. I then perceived what the reel of cotton, which was again lying on the verandah floor, had been wanted for. The crow had sewn a straw armchair with an open-patterned seat securely to the cage by nine very long strands, and was sleepily contemplating the work with great satisfaction. It was quite easy to see how it had been managed once a start was made with the cotton; but it must have entailed a great deal of flying in and out with the end of the cotton, for it had not been broken off. Of course I left the chair in its place, and it remained untouched for some months; but I always had to use it myself, lest any one should move it too roughly, and so break the connecting strands which had cost my little bird so much labour and trouble.

The most popular of my birds, however, was certainly the laughing jackass, who dwelt in company with the magpie and the mynah. Unhappily a misunderstanding arose, when I was away in England, between these two birds, once such great friends. If I had only been there to adjust the quarrel, all might have gone well; but the magpie, after many days of incessant battle, I was told, fell upon the mynah and killed it. It was curious that they should have lived together for a couple of years without more than the ordinary share of bird-quarrels. I do not know what active share the jackass took in this affair. I always doubted his intentions towards that mynah, and he always regarded it with a bad expression of eye, but as he was very slow and cumbrous of movement I thought the mynah could well take care of himself. The only time the laughing jackass ever showed agility was when a mouse-trap with a live mouse in it was taken into his cage. With every feather bristling he would watch for the door of the trap to be opened, when he pounced on the darting mouse quicker than the eye could follow, and killed and swallowed it with the greatest rapidity. Once a mouse escaped him, and the magpie caught it instead, and a more absurd sight could not be imagined than the magpie flitting from perch to perch, holding the mouse securely in his beak, through which he was at the same time trying hard to whistle; whilst the jackass lumbered heavily after him, remonstrating loudly, for the magpie did not want to eat the mouse, and he did.

It always amused me to see the jackass take his bath, though it was rather a rare performance, whereas all the other birds tubbed incessantly. I had a large tin basin full of water placed just beneath one of the lowest perches, and when the jackass intended to bathe he descended cautiously to this perch and eyed the water for some time, uttering—with head well thrown back—his melancholy laugh. As soon as his courage was equal to it he suddenly flopped into the water, as if by accident, and then scrambled hastily out again. After repeating these dips many times he seemed to think he had done all that was necessary in the washing line, and scrambled up to a sunny corner where he could dry and preen his beautiful plumage.

Yes, my birds were the greatest delight and amusement to me for many years, and I had nearly a hundred of them when my happy life in that beautiful tropical home came to a sad and abrupt end. Many of my friends have often asked me if I did not regret leaving my birds; but as I left everything that the world could hold for me in the way of happiness and interest and work behind me at the same time, the loss of the birds did not make itself felt just then. I miss them more now than I did at first, but I believe they have nearly all found kind and happy homes, where they are cherished a little for my sake as well as for their own, the dear things!

XIX

GIRLS—OLD AND NEW

“Comparisons are odious” we know, but yet when one gets past middle age one is constantly invited to make them.

My life is brightened and cheered by many girl friends, and there is nothing about which they show a more insatiable curiosity than my own girlhood.

I think it is the going back so constantly to that distant time, and being forced by my imperious pets to drag every detail out of the pigeon-holes of memory, which has impressed so forcibly on me the superiority of the modern girl.

I began to answer their questions with the full intention of proving to the contrary, but alas, in the course of the talks, I often felt how heavily handicapped we had been. I am afraid the first point upon which I had to dilate was our clothes, the description of which always provoked peals of laughter. It is to be presumed that pretty women set the fashions and that they suited them, but the rigour of the fashion laws prescribed that every one should wear exactly and precisely the same gown or bonnet, with, of course, disastrous results as to appearance. Then we all had to dress our hair in precisely the same way. The ears especially were treated as though they were monstrous deformities, and had to be carefully concealed. What the modern girls find most difficult to believe is that these same fashions lasted for three or four years without the slightest change, so there was no escape from an unbecoming garment. Of course I impressed upon my laughing audience, with all the dignity at my command, that we looked extremely nice, and at all events were quite contented with our appearance.

If I could not defend the colours and cut of the material provided for our bodies, still less could I champion the diet prescribed for our minds. Looking back on it all I see there was the same cardinal error; the want of recognition of any individuality. As in our frocks so in our studies, no allowance whatever used to be made for our different natures. In fact, the great aim of every mother and teacher was to make her girl exactly and precisely like every other girl. No matter in what direction your tastes and talents lay, you had to plod through the same list of what was called “accomplishments.” The very word was a misnomer, for nothing was really accomplished. A girl’s education was supposed to be quite “finished” (Heaven save the mark!) at about sixteen or seventeen, but if she were studiously inclined, or even dimly suspected that she had not exhausted all the treasures of knowledge, she would have found it difficult to pursue any course of study. And the idleness of that stage of girlhood was one of its greatest dangers. A reaction from the practical days of our own grandmothers had set in, and there was no still-room, or work-room, or any branch of domestic education to which we could turn to find an outlet for our energies.

A girl with any musical talent could of course go on practising, and had a chance of achieving something, but art education must have been at its lowest ebb half a century ago. It is difficult to believe that a “drawing class” of that day generally consisted of a dozen girls or so meeting at the house of some rising or even well-known artist. The great point seemed to be his _name_. Drawing materials and every other facility, except instruction, used to be provided by our “master.” Perhaps the poor man recognised the hopelessness of his task, but he certainly let us severely alone even in our choice of subjects. We were only asked to copy other drawings, and I well remember selecting, as my first attempt at painting, a most ambitious sketch of a pretty Irish colleen with a pitcher on her head emerging from a ruined archway. I dashed in her red petticoat and blue cloak with great vigour, but took little pains with her uplifted arm or bare legs. They must indeed have been curious anatomical studies, for I recollect the master heaving a deep sigh, if not a groan, as I presented my drawing for his criticism. But he made no attempt whatever to teach me how to do better, only took possession of my picture, kept it a few days and returned it—what was called “corrected,” though we never knew where our faults lay.

Our “fancy work” was truly hideous also, and as useless as it was ugly. It makes one’s heart ache to think of the terrible waste of time and eyesight which our awful performances in wool work and crotchet entailed. Hardly any girl was taught to do plain sewing, and I really think one of my keenest pangs of regret for my misspent youth in the way of needlework was caused the other day, by my youngest girl friend telling me that at her school she was taught to cut out and make a whole set of baby clothes, as well as garments for older children.

Our amusements were few and far between, but we took to them a freshness and keenness of enjoyment which I suspect is often lacking in the much amused damsel of the present day. But then, on the other hand, “vapours” had gone out of fashion, and “nerves” had not yet been invented, so one never heard of rest cures being prescribed for young matrons!

I am thankful to say that the day of tight lacing and small appetites was over before I became aware of the dangers I had escaped, but I remember the pity with which I listened to my poor young mother’s stories of how she was required to hold on to the bedpost while her maid laced her stays, and how she often fainted after she was dressed.

I am often asked what exercise we were allowed to take. We rode a great deal, though girls were hardly ever seen in the hunting field, and I wonder we survived a ride on a country road, considering that our habits almost swept the ground. We had no out-door game except croquet, which was just coming into fashion, and was pursued with a frenzy quite equal to that evoked by ping-pong or any other modern craze. Of course, there was always walking and dancing, though over the latter there still hung a faint trace of the stately movements of the generation before us. We all did elaborate steps in the quadrille, and although the waltz was firmly established in the ball-rooms of my youth, it was a slow measure compared to the modern rush across the room. The polka woke us all up, and we hailed its pretty and picturesque figures with enthusiasm.

I often hear of the iniquities of girls of the present day, but I don’t come across those specimens, and I confess that I honestly believe the modern girl, as I know her, to be a very great improvement on the early Victorian maiden. To begin with, she is much nicer and prettier to look at, because she can suit her dress and her _coiffure_ to her individuality. Then she is not so dreadfully shy—not to say _gauche_, as we were, because she is not kept in the school-room until the hour before she is launched into society, as ignorant of its ways as if she had dropped from the moon.

I distinctly remember being reproached for my want of “knowledge of the world,” when I had not even the faintest idea what the phrase meant. When I came to understand it, it seemed a rather unreasonable criticism, for I certainly should have been regarded with horror had I made any attempt to acquire such knowledge on my own account.

Now—so far as my experience goes—the up-to-date girl has pretty and pleasant manners, and is not secretly terrified if a new acquaintance speaks to her. She is more sure of herself, and has the confidence of custom, for she has probably been her mother’s companion out of school hours. I fear girls are not quite as respectful and obedient to their elders as we used to be, although the days of “Honoured Madam” and “Sir” had passed away with the generation before mine. Still the modern mother seems quite content with her pretty girl, and it is often difficult to distinguish between them, but I always observe the daughter is the most proud and delighted if “Mummie” is taken for her elder sister.

Then the New Girl is so companionable. Her education has been conducted on very different lines to ours, and she does not dream of giving up her studies because she is no longer obliged to pursue them. Her individual tastes have been given a chance of asserting themselves, and I am often told of “work” gone on with at home. In fact her education has really taught her how to go on educating herself. Of course I am speaking of intelligent girls, and I am happy to think they are far more numerous than they were even one generation ago. There will always be frivolous, empty-headed girls, but with even them I confess I find it very difficult to be properly angry, as they are generally so pretty and coaxing.

The delightful classes and lectures on all subjects and in all languages now so common were unknown in my day, to say nothing of the numerous aids to difficult branches of knowledge. Even history was offered to us in so unattractive a form that although we swallowed, so to speak, a good deal of it, we digested little or none. Poetry was generally regarded as dangerous mental food, and, perhaps to our starved natures, it may have been. Our reading was most circumscribed, and everything was Bowdlerised as much as possible. I am not sure, however, that miscellaneous reading does not begin too soon now, and certainly I am often astonished at the books very, very young girls are allowed to read. In this respect I confess I think the old way safer, to say the least of it.

In considering the subject of the new ways of girls, however, one must bear in mind how many more girls there now are, and that marriage is not the invariable destiny of every pretty or charming girl one meets. The consequence is girls certainly do not talk and think of future or possible husbands as much as they used to a couple of generations ago. Such talk was quite natural and harmless under the old conditions, but I must say it seems healthier and nicer that now it should be the merits of the favourite “bike,” or the last “ripping” run, or the varying fortunes of golf or hockey, or even croquet, which claims their attention when they get together. I often wonder how a man could have encumbered himself with any of us as his life’s companion! It is true that he had not any option, but still we must have been rather trying. I know of one girl who amazed her husband by appearing before him the first Sunday morning after their marriage, with her Prayer Book, which she handed to him with the utmost gravity, and standing up with her hands clasped behind her back, in true school-girl fashion, proceeded to rattle off the collect, epistle, and gospel for the day, having no idea she was doing anything the least unusual!

The only comfort I have in looking back on our crudeness and ignorance is that we were really good girls. That is to say we were trained to be unselfish, and certainly we were obedient and docile, though in many ways what would now be called silly. Still, we were as pure minded and innocent as babes, and quite as unworldly. No doubt this white-souled state sprang from crass ignorance, but who shall say that it was not good to keep us from tasting the fruit of that terrible Tree of Knowledge as long as possible?