natural enemies. If we do not choose, like our fathers, to leave a large margin for accidents,—meaning vermin,—we must take some pains to protect what we do not intend to give away. If the salvage is not worth the cost and trouble of the protection, we should either not attempt the production, or not grumble when it does not answer. The silliest thing of all to do is to exterminate birds which rid us of many hundreds of insects per nest per day, in the breeding season, because the birds pay themselves afterwards a small commission on their services.
It is well to make sure in the first place how any particular mischief gets done. We have seen how farmers have been apt to charge the rooks with the offences of the grubs. In the same way we gardeners are apt to blame the birds for what the ants have done. The case made clear, we must execute judgment ourselves. The army of caterpillars was disposed of by a trench being cut across their mighty path, in which they were destroyed by sulphuric acid and water when trapped. It is not difficult to destroy ants’ nests and runs by boiling water. Rat runs and mouse holes can be got at, and strychnine, on bread and butter, may be safely laid in underground runs, though it is too dangerous to be used aboveground without the strictest personal care. There are many resources against insect pests, soot, lime, tobacco-water, and smoke, and various compounds sold for the purpose; and we may well devote some time and pains to these methods, though satisfied that the shortest way to the end is to protect the birds. The plague of caterpillars on gooseberry bushes is one that we hear most of now. Why not take the small trouble of sprinkling the branches thickly with dust from the road? Why not pare off the soil under the bushes in January, to the depth of two or three inches, and burn it, and if the pest reappears, be ready with your dust? We must be contented to help the birds for a time in a task which we have made too heavy for them. In the neighbourhood of all sparrow-clubs there will long be more pests than the remnant of the bird race can deal with. We must give our ducks their share of the business. Mine keep the garden comparatively clear of slugs, when the neighbours cannot raise a lettuce or a cauliflower. It is true that ducks cannot be trusted near a strawberry bed; and it is wonderful how high they can make their bills reach at bob-cherry, or to pluck currants and gooseberries. They twitch at young cabbage plants too in a mischievous way, and make their mark in a track of torn leaves; but they may do a great deal of good work before the fruit is ripe, and the young cabbages are pricked out.
Are not the strawberry-beds, so mourned over by newspaper correspondents, worth netting over? They do not, in ordinary gardens, occupy much space: and if a stout netting, or one of galvanised wire, which will last a lifetime, is put up at some height above the fruit,—the sides being closed in,—the fruit cannot be reached by the birds. There is no difficulty in removing any portion when the fruit is to be gathered. It is for the owner to consider whether the yearly crop is worth the original cost of the guard. If it is not, it looks rather like trifling to abuse the birds so vehemently. For currants or gooseberries, the choice is between netting the bushes and having an extra number of them, as our fathers had. We can at the same time try if any effect ensues from hanging up floating white threads, or dangling red rags. Wall fruit, from cherries, pears, and apples, down to the choicest of the stone fruits, and grapes, are surely worth netting,—a netting in such a way as to keep the birds at a sufficient distance,—by projection at the top or a slope to the bottom.
There is a resource of indulgence, it must be remembered, as well as of prohibition. Are there not fruits that we may give the birds to eat, without sacrificing our own dessert? How many hollies have the grumblers in their gardens? Do they know the pleasure of having a fine holly or two near the windows, not only to shine and glow in the winter sun, but to serve as the gayest of aviaries. Does not this winter feast suggest the device of berries for almost the year round? A plentiful provision of laurel, and Portugal laurel berries will save just so much of what we call fruit.
The farmers’ case is infinitely worse than the gardeners’, because they had so much more extensive an interest in the life of the birds which have been destroyed. The best course for the farmers now seems to be, first to look across to the Antipodes, and see what sums English colonists are paying there for pairs and dozens of those very birds which are got rid of here by bribing people to kill them. The appearance of caterpillars there has raised a cry for birds, to be carefully and expensively conveyed over sea, and liberally paid for. While I write, an Australian newspaper arrives, bringing an account of eager purchases of small birds imported from England. A couple of blackbirds sold for 3l. 8s.; and a single sparrow—the survivor of a lot of a hundred—actually fetched eleven shillings. If the members of our sparrow-clubs stare and laugh at the news, it does not follow that they have the best of the argument. The colonial farmers have, in fact, a keener faculty for recognising their best friends than those they have left behind. Next, the farmers will be wise to refuse any slaughter of small birds on their premises; and if they will moreover use all their influence to get the sparrow-clubs in their districts broken up, they will deserve good crops within their own fences, and a good name in their parishes. Those of them are the best citizens, and the best farmers, who, cœteris paribus, work most effectually towards the restoration of every depressed or exiled family of birds which used to have its natural home in the district. Whatever creatures are or are not to be called vermin, birds certainly are not.
A printed sheet has been lately put forth which calls attention to the truth that even vermin may as well be treated mercifully in the last dealings of man with them. In the Gardeners’ Chronicle the familiar and honoured signature, “C. D.,” is affixed to the “appeal” on behalf of an easy death for wild creatures who must be caught by trapping. The sheet before me, containing this communication, has another support to its appeal,—a woodcut of the common steel trap used for catching “vermin.” The grip of the teeth is made close enough to detain a stoat, or a magpie, or other small animal; and what it must inflict on a rabbit