8 
The Illustrated Book op Plgeons. 
he shows a knowledge — however acquired — of the singular physiological fact that the pigeon, like 
the horse, has no gall-bladder.* Again, one of his inimitable comparisons is — 
“ As patient as a female dove, 
When that her golden couplets are disclosed. ” 
Now pigeons, unlike poultry, will readily leave their eggs before hatching, if disturbed ; but very 
rarely when once the beautiful little “golden” young claim their care; then, as the same close 
observer elsewhere says, even “doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.” It is rather significant, 
therefore, to find that Mr. Hotten identifies the old inn at Brentford which still goes by the name 
of “ The Three Pigeons,” and the sign of which (taken by permission from his curious “ History of 
Signboards”) forms the tail-piece to this chapter, as “being in all likelihood one of the few haunts 
of Shakespeare now remaining.” He shows that “it was kept at one time by Lowin, one of the 
original actors in Shakespeare’s plays, and is often named by the old dramatists.” Thus — 
‘ ‘ Thou art admirably suited for the ‘ Three Pigeons ’ at Brentford. ” 
The Roaring Girl. 
Or again, as in Ben Jonson’s Alchymist — 
“We will turn our courage to Brentford, 
My bird of the night, to ‘ The Pigeons.’” 
“ The Three Pigeons ” was, however, we are told by the same authority, a far from uncommon 
sign for taverns in old times, and was also employed by others besides innkeepers. Bacon, the 
famous hairdresser immortalised by the Spectator , lived at the sign of “ The Three Pigeons,” in St. 
Clement’s Churchyard, so late as 1740, when he cut the boyish locks of Pennant; in 1663 it was 
the sign of a bookseller in St. Paul’s Churchyard ; and in 1698 of John Newton, also a bookseller, 
over against Inner Temple Gate.t 
Passing away from the great dramatist, allusions showing not only notice of, but a genuine 
delight in and appreciation of pigeons crowd thick and fast upon us. The pages of poets, 
divines, philosophers — all classes bear out our remarks in the last chapter, and show that in all 
alike the best and most gifted have shared our love for these beautiful birds. Crabbe we have 
already quoted from. A little before he wrote, there wrote thus from a little Buckinghamshire 
village to the Rev. W. Unwin, another refined poet and gentleman, known to all English-speaking 
folk as the “gentle” Cowper (note Crabbe’s “gentle mind”). “ I have,” says he, “eight pairs of 
tame pigeons. When I first enter the garden in the morning I find them perched upon a wall, 
waiting for their breakfast, for I feed them always upon the gravel walk. If your wish should be 
accomplished, and you should find yourself furnished with the wings of a dove, I shall undoubtedly 
find you amongst them. Only be so good, if that should be the case, to announce yourself by 
some means or other ; for I imagine your crop will require something better than tares to fill it.” 
Dr. Doddridge too — revered alike by Churchman and Dissenter — in one of his letters, gentle and 
playful as Cowpcr’s own, writes to a friend : “ You know I love a country life, and here I have it in 
perfection. I am roused in the morning by the chirping of sparrows, the lowing of kine, the 
bleating of sheep, and the cooing of pigeons.” And Mary Russell Mitford, writing to Mrs. 
Browning — that highest and most gifted of all female poets — thus discourses on the same theme. 
“ I love to see my tame pigeons feed at my window, and the saucy hen tap at the glass if the 
casement be shut. She likes to come in and sit on the innermost ledge of the window-sill, and 
listen, and turn her pretty top-knotted head to this side and that while I talk to her. This 
* This same curious fact is also alluded to by old Fuller, 
t Ilotten’s “History of Signboards,” pages 218-19. 
