Mrs. Loudon’s Entertaining Naturalist

§ III Insessores, or Perching Birds

The Great Butcher-bird, or Shrike, is about as large as a thrush; its bill is black, an inch long, and hooked at the end. It is only an occasional visitor to this country, where it is generally found between autumn and spring. “The Shrike,” says Mr. Yarrell, “feeds on mice, shrews, small birds, frogs, lizards, and large insects. After having killed its prey, it fixes the body in a forked branch, or upon a sharp thorn, the more readily to tear off small pieces from it. It is from their habit of killing and hanging up their meat, that the Shrikes are called Butcher-birds.” The head, back, and rump are ash-coloured; the chin and lower part of the body white; the breast and throat varied with dark lines crossing each other; the tips of the feathers of the wings are, for the most part, white; it has a black spot by the eye; the outermost tail feathers of the male are all over white; the two middlemost have only their tips white, the rest of the feathers being black, as well as the legs and feet. It builds its nest among thorny shrubs and dwarf trees, and furnishes it with moss, wool, and downy herbs, where the female lays five or six eggs. A peculiarity belonging to the birds of this kind is, that they do not, like most other birds, expel the young ones from the nest as soon as they can provide for themselves, but the whole brood live together in one family. The Butcher-bird will chase all the small birds upon the wing, and will sometimes venture to attack partridges, and even young hares. Thrushes and blackbirds are frequently their prey: the Shrike fixes on them with its talons, splits the skull with its bill, and feeds on them at leisure. On this account Linnæus classed the Shrikes with the birds of prey; but modern naturalists have placed them with the insect-eaters, as insects are their principal food. It is easy to distinguish these birds at a distance, not only from their going in companies, but also from their manner of flying, which is always up and down, seldom in a direct line, or obliquely.

The Little Butcher-bird (Lanius collurio), called in Yorkshire, Flusher, is about the size of a lark, with a large head. About the nostrils and corners of the mouth it has black hairs or bristles; and round the eyes a large black longitudinal spot; the back and upper side of the wings are of a rusty colour; the head and rump cinereous; the throat and breast white, spotted with red. It builds its nest of the stalks of plants, and the female lays six eggs, nearly all white, except at the blunt end, which is encircled with brown or dark red marks. The female is somewhat larger than the male; the head is of a rust colour, mixed with gray; the breast, belly, and sides of a dirty white; the tail deep brown; the exterior web of the outer feathers white. Its manners are similar to those of the large Butcher-bird. It frequently preys on young birds, which it takes in the nest; it likewise feeds on grasshoppers, beetles, and other insects. During the period of incubation, the female soon discovers herself at the approach of any person by her loud and violent outcries.

Is found in most parts of this island, and is about the size of the common blackbird. It feeds upon aquatic insects and small fish. The head and upper side of the neck are of a kind of umber colour, and sometimes black with a shade of red; the back and coverings of the wings are a mixture of black and ash-colour, the throat and breast perfectly white.

The Dipper is said to walk along the bottom of a lake or river as easily as on land; but this is far from being the case, as, though it readily plunges into the water, it appears to tumble about in a very extraordinary manner, with its head downwards. Even on land the bird walks awkwardly, as its feet are best adapted for the slippery stones on which it passes the greater part of its life, watching for the insects which it picks up on the edge of the water. Its movements under water are really performed by means of the wings, the bird positively flying through the water. When disturbed, it usually flirts up its tail, and makes a chirping noise. Its song in spring is said to be very pretty. In some places this bird is supposed to be migratory.

“The smiling morn, the breathing spring,
 Invite the tuneful birds to sing;
 And, while they warble from each spray,
 Love melts the universal lay.”

Mallet.

This well-known songster does not soar up to the clouds, like the lark, to make his voice resound through the air; but keeps to the shady groves, which he fills with his melodious notes. Early at dawn, and late at dusk, he continues his pleasing melody; and when incarcerated in the narrow space of a cage, still cheerful and merry, he strives to repay the kindness of his keeper by singing to him his natural strains; and beguiles his irksome hours of captivity by studying and imitating his master’s whistle. Blackbirds build their nests with great art, making the outside of moss and slender twigs, cemented together and lined with clay, and covering the clay with soft materials, as hair, wool, and fine grass. The female lays four or five eggs, of a bluish green colour, spotted all over with brown. The bill is yellow, but in the female the upper part and point are blackish; the inside of the mouth, and the circumference of the eyelids are yellow. The name of this bird is sufficiently expressive of the general colour of his body. He feeds on berries, fruit, insects, &c.

The Missel Thrush, so called from its feeding on the berries of the misletoe, differs but little from the Song Thrush, except in size. He is larger than the fieldfare, while the Throstle is smaller. The female lays five or six bluish eggs, with a tint of green, and marked with dusky spots.

The Song Thrush or Throstle, (Turdus musicus,) is one of the best songsters of the evening hymn in the grove. His voice is loud and sweet; the melody of his song is varied, and, although not so deep in the general diapason of the woodland concert as that of the blackbird, yet it fills up agreeably, and bursts through the inferior warblings of smaller performers. His breast is of a yellowish white, spotted with black or brown dashes, like ermine spots.

The term Merle for the Blackbird, and Mavis for the Thrush, are used chiefly by the poets.

“Merry is it in the good green wood,
   When the Mavis and Merle are singing,
 When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
   And the hunter’s horn is ringing.”

Scott.

“Take thy delight in yonder goodly tree,
  Where the sweet Merle and warbling Mavis be.”

Drayton.

Is rather less than the song thrush; but the upper part of the body is of the same colour; the breast not so much spotted; the coverings of the feathers of the under side of the wings, which in the thrush are yellow, are of orange colour in this bird; by which marks it is generally distinguished. The body is white, the throat and breast yellowish, marked with dusky spots. It is migratory in this island, builds its nest in hedges, and lays six bluish eggs. Like the fieldfare, it leaves us in spring, for which reason its song is quite unknown to us; but it is said to be very pleasing. It is delicate eating; and the Romans held it in such estimation, that they kept thousands of them together in aviaries, and fed them on a sort of paste made of bruised figs and flour, to improve the delicacy and flavour of their flesh. Under this management these birds fattened, to the great profit of their proprietors, who sold them to Roman epicures for three denarii, or about two shillings sterling each, which at that early period was a large price.

Is a well-known bird in this country. Fieldfares fly in flocks, together with the redwing and starling, and change their haunts according to the season of the year. They abide with us in winter, and disappear in spring, so punctually, that after that time not one is to be seen. The flesh is esteemed a great delicacy, and is highly prized in Germany, where it is known as the Krammsvögel, and is sold in the markets of Westphalia by the dozen. Their favourite food is the juniper-berry, whence its German name. The head is ash-coloured, and spotted with black: the back and coverts of the wings of deep chesnut colour; the rump cinereous; and the tail black, except the lower part of the two middle feathers, which are ash-coloured, and the upper sides of the exterior feathers, which are white. They collect in large flocks; and it is supposed they keep watch, like the crow, to mark and announce the approach of danger. On any person approaching a tree that is covered with them, they continue fearless, till one at the extremity of the bush, rising on its wings, gives a loud and peculiar note of alarm. They then all fly away, except one, which continues till the person approaches still nearer, to certify, as it were, the reality of the danger, and afterwards he also flies off, repeating the note of alarm.

Mr. Knapp, in his “Journal of a Naturalist,” says, that in the county of Gloucestershire the extensive low-lands of the river Severn, in open weather, are visited by prodigious flocks of these birds.

The Ring Ouzel differs from the fieldfare and redwing, to which it is nearly allied, in being a summer visitor to the British islands, instead of a winter one. It is found only in the wildest and most mountainous districts; particularly among the Welsh mountains and on Dartmoor, in Devonshire, where it has been known to breed.

Which is also a species, is found in both North and South America, and in the West Indian islands. He has a beautiful song, which he varies by imitating the notes of almost all other birds, so that a person passing by his haunt is regaled with a complete ornithological concert, all by a single performer. Unfortunately, the Mocking Bird’s taste is not equal to his musical powers. His talent for imitation is so great that he mimics every sound he hears, and as he introduces all his imitations freely into his songs, he often interrupts the most delightful melody with the scream of a hawk, the bark of a dog, the squalling of a cat, or similar discordant noises.

“The Redbreast oft, at evening hours,
   Shall kindly lend his little aid,
 With hoary moss, and gathering flowers,
   To deck the ground where thou art laid.”

Collins.

The Redbreast, or Robin, as he is popularly called, seems always to have enjoyed the protection of man, more than any other bird. The prettiness of his shape, the beauty of his plumage, the quickness of his motions, his familiarity with us in winter, and, above all, the melody and sweetness of his voice, claim our admiration, and have insured him that security which he enjoys among us; though the aid of fable has also been called in, to guard him from the assaults of thoughtless boys.

“Little bird with bosom red,
 Welcome to my humble shed!
 Courtly domes of high degree
 Have no room for thee and me;
 Pride and pleasure’s fickle throng
 Nothing mind an idle song.
 Daily near my table steal,
 While I pick my scanty meal;
 Doubt not, little though there be,
 But I’ll cast a crumb for thee;
 Well rewarded if I spy
 Pleasure in thy glancing eye;
 And see thee, when thou’st eat thy fill,
 Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill.”

Langhorne.

In the winter season, impelled by the potent stimulus of hunger, the Redbreast frequents our barns, gardens, and houses, and often alights, on a sudden, on the rustic floor; where, with his broad eye incessantly open, and looking askew upon the company, he picks up eagerly the crumbs of bread that fall from the table, and then flies off to the neighbouring bush, where, by his warbling strains, he expresses his gratitude for the liberty he has been allowed. He is found in most parts of Europe, but nowhere so commonly as in Great Britain. His bill is dusky; his forehead, chin, throat, and breast are of a deep orange-colour, inclining to vermilion; the back of his head, neck, back, and tail are of a pale olive-brown colour; the wings are somewhat darker, the edges inclining to yellow; the legs and feet are the colour of the bill. The female generally builds her nest in the crevice of some mossy bank, near places which human beings frequent, or in some part of a human dwelling. Robins have been known to build in a sawpit where men worked every day, and in various other equally extraordinary places. When the Crystal Palace at Sydenham was being fitted up, several Robins built their nests in holes of the large roots used to raise the flower beds within the building. So little fear did they exhibit that their bright eyes might be seen glancing from holes close to which men were passing every moment. The elegant poet of The Seasons gives us a very exact and animated description of this bird in the following lines:

“—— —— Half afraid, he first
 Against the window beats: then, brisk alights
 On the warm hearth; then, hopping on the floor,
 Eyes all the smiling family askance,
 And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is,
 Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs
 Attract his slender feet.”

An old Latin proverb tells us that two Robin Redbreasts will not feed on the same tree; it is certain that the Redbreast is a most pugnacious bird, and that he does not live in much harmony and friendship with those of his own kind and sex. The male may be known from the female by the colour of his legs, which are blacker.

The Redbreast attends the gardener when digging his borders; and will, with great familiarity and tameness, pick out the worms almost close to his spade.

“Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly,
 Most musical, most melancholy!
 Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among,
 I woo to hear thy even song.”

Milton.

The Nightingale has little to boast of in respect to plumage, which is of a pale tawny colour on the head and back, dashed with a slight shade of olive; the breast and upper part of the belly incline to a grayish tint, and the lower part of the belly is almost white; the exterior web of the quill feathers is of a reddish brown; the tail of a dull red; the legs and feet ash-coloured; the irides hazel; and the eyes large, bright, and staring. But it is hardly possible to give an idea of the extraordinary power which this small bird possesses in its throat, as to the extension of sound, sweetness of tone, and versatility of notes. Its song is composed of several musical passages, each of which does not continue more than the third part of a minute; but they are so varied, the passing from one tone to another is so fanciful and so rapid, and the melody so sweet and so mellow, that the most consummate musician is pleasingly led to a deep sense of admiration on hearing it. Sometimes, joyful and merry, it runs down the diapason with the velocity of lightning, touching the treble and the base nearly at the same instant; at other times, mournful and plaintive, the unfortunate Philomela draws heavily her lengthened notes, and breathes a delightful melancholy around. These have the appearance of sorrowful sighs; the other modulations resemble the laughter of the happy. Solitary on the twig of a small tree, and cautiously at a certain distance from the nest, where the pledges of his love are treasured under the fostering breast of his mate, the male fills constantly the silent woods with his harmonious strains, and during the whole night entertains and repays his female for the irksome duties of incubation. The Nightingale not only sings at intervals during the day, but waits till the blackbird and the thrush have uttered their evening call, even till the stock and ringdoves have, by their soft murmurings, lulled each other to rest, and then pours forth his full tide of melody:

“—— —— Listening Philomela deigns
 To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
 Elate, to make her night excel their day.”

Thomson.

It is a great subject of astonishment that so small a bird should be endowed with such potent lungs. If the evening is calm, it is supposed that its song may be heard above half-a-mile. This bird, the ornament and charm of our spring and early summer evenings, as it arrives in April, and continues singing till June, disappears on a sudden about September or October, when it leaves us to pass the winter in the North of Africa and Syria. Its visits to this country are limited to certain counties, mostly in the south and east; as, though it is plentiful in the neighbourhood of London, and along the south coast in Sussex, Hampshire, and Dorsetshire, it is not found in either Cornwall or Wales. As soon as the young are hatched, the song of the male bird ceases, and he only utters a harsh croak, by way of giving alarm when any one approaches the nest. Nightingales are sometimes reared up, and doomed to the prison of a cage; in this state they sing ten months in the year, though in their wild life they sing only as many weeks. Bingley says that a caged Nightingale sings much more sweetly than those which we hear abroad in the spring.

The Nightingale is the most celebrated of all the feathered race for its song. The poets have in all ages made it the theme of their verses; some of these we cannot resist giving:

“The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
   Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
 Which late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
   Sings out her woes——.”

Sir Philip Sidney.

“—— —— —— Beast and bird,
 They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
 Were slunk; all but the wakeful Nightingale;
 She all night long her amorous descant sung.”

Milton.

“And in the violet-embroidered vale,
 Where the lovelorn Nightingale
 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.”

Milton.

“O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
   Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
   Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill,
 While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
 Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
   First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill,
   Portend success in love. Oh, if Jove’s will
 Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
 Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
   Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
 As thou from year to year hast sung too late
   For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
 Whether the muse, or love, call thee his mate,
   Both them I serve, and of their train am I.”

Milton.

“—— —— Now is the pleasant time,
 The cool, the silent, save where silence yields,
 To the night-warbling bird, that, now awake,
 Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song.”

Milton.

“How all things listen while thy muse complains,
 Such silence waits on Philomela’s strains,
 In some still evening, when the whispering breeze
 Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.”

Pope.

“There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream,
   And the Nightingale sings round it all the year long;
 In the days of my childhood, ’t was like a sweet dream
   To sit in the roses, and hear the bird’s song.

“That bower and its music I never forget,
   But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,
 I think, Is the Nightingale singing there yet?
   Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?”

Moore.

Is a very small warbler, not weighing above half-an-ounce. The top of the head is black, whence he takes his name; the neck ash-coloured, the back an ashy-brown, the wings of a dusky colour, the tail nearly the same; the nether part of the neck, throat, and upper part of the breast of a pale ash colour; the lower part of the belly white.

The Black-cap visits us about the middle of April, and retires in September; it frequents gardens, and builds its nest near the ground. The female lays five eggs of a pale reddish-brown, sprinkled with spots of a darker colour. This bird sings sweetly, and so like the nightingale, that in Norfolk it is called the mock nightingale. White observes, that it has usually a full, sweet, deep, loud, and wild pipe, yet the strain is of short continuance, and its motions desultory; but when it sits calmly, and earnestly engages in song, it pours forth very sweet but inward melody; and expresses a great variety of modulations, superior perhaps to any of our warblers, the nightingale excepted. While it sings, its throat is greatly distended.

“Fast by my couch, congenial guest,
 The Wren has wove her mossy nest;
 From busy scenes and brighter skies
 To lurk with innocence she flies;
 Her hopes in safe repose to dwell,
 Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.”

T. Warton.

The Wren is a very small bird; but, as if nature had intended to compensate the want of size and bulk in the individuals, by multiplying them to a greater extent, this little bird is one of the most prolific of the feathered tribe, its nest containing often upwards of eighteen eggs, of a whitish colour, and not much bigger than a pea. The male and female enter by a hole contrived in the middle of the nest, and which, by its situation and size, is accessible only to themselves. The Wren weighs no more than three drachms. Its notes are very sweet, and rival those of the robin redbreast, in the middle of winter, when the coldness of the weather has condemned the other songsters to silence. Like the redbreast, it frequently approaches the habitation of man, enlivening the rustic garden with its song during the greater part of the year. It begins to make a nest early in the spring, but frequently deserts it before it is lined, and searches for a more secure place. The Wren does not, as is usual with most other birds, begin to build the bottom of the nest first. When against a tree, its primary operation is to trace upon the bark the outline, and thus to fasten it with equal strength to all parts. It then, in succession, closes the sides and top, leaving only a small hole for entrance.

The Willow Wren is somewhat larger than the common Wren. The upper parts of the body are of a pale olive-green; the under parts are pale yellow, and a streak of yellow passes over the eyes. The wings and tail are brown, edged with yellowish green; and the legs are inclined to yellow. This bird is migratory, visiting us usually about the middle of April, and taking its departure towards the end of September. The female constructs her nest in holes at the roots of trees, in hollows of dry banks, and other similar places. It is round, and not unlike the nest of the Wren. The eggs are dusky white, marked with reddish spots, and are five in number. A Willow Wren had built in a bank of one of the fields of Mr. White, near Selborne. This bird, a friend and himself observed as she sat in her nest, but were particularly careful not to disturb her, though she eyed them with some degree of jealousy. Some days afterwards, as they passed the same way, they were desirous of remarking how the brood went on; but no nest could be found, till Mr. White happened to take up a large bundle of long green moss, which had been thrown, as it were, carelessly over the nest, in order to mislead the eye of any impertinent intruder.

Mr. White distinguished no fewer than three varieties of the Willow Wren. “I have now,” he writes, “past dispute, made out three distinct species of the Willow Wrens, which constantly and invariably use distinct notes.” “I have specimens of the three sorts now lying before me, and can discern that there are three gradations of sizes, and that the least has black legs, and the other two, flesh-coloured ones. The yellowest bird is considerably the largest, and has its quill feathers and secondary feathers tipped with white, which the others have not. The last haunts only the tops of trees and high beechen woods, and makes a sibilous grasshopper-like noise, now and then, at short intervals, shivering a little with its wings when it sings.” Mr. Markwich, however, declared that he was totally unable to discover more than one species.

Is the smallest of British birds, measuring only three inches and a half in length. It is of an olive colour, with a beautiful crest of golden yellow feathers on its head. This charming little bird is generally found in fir woods; it feeds on insects, and has a soft and pleasing song.

There is not a brook purling along two flowery banks, not a rivulet winding through the green meadow, which is not frequented by this beautifully coloured and elegantly shaped little creature. We even see them in the streets of country towns, following with quick pace the half-drowned fly or moth, which the road-side streamlet carries away. Next to the robin redbreast and the sparrow, they are the boldest in approaching our habitations. The Wagtails are much in motion; seldom perch, and perpetually flirt their long and slender tails, (whence they derive their name,) principally after picking up some food from the ground, as if that tail were a kind of lever, or counterpoise, used to balance the body on the legs. They are observed to frequent, more commonly, those streams where women come to wash their linen; probably not ignorant that the soap, the froth of which floats upon the water, attracts those insects which are most acceptable to them.

There are two common species of Wagtails, the Grey kind and the Pied Wagtail. The Grey Wagtail is retiring in its habits, and much slower in its motions; its breast is yellow, and its wings grayish, but the Pied Wagtail, which is a very lively little bird, and seems always in a bustle, is black, softening into ash-colour and white; it is also bold, and will take the food thrown to it with as much confidence as a robin redbreast.

The Yellow Shepherdess (Budytes flava) is another species of Wagtail. The male is olive-green on the back, and yellow on the lower part of the body, but the breast of the female is nearly white. These birds do not frequent the banks of rivers, but are generally found walking among the grass of meadows, and following sheep. They are summer visitors to England.

White says, that “while the cows are feeding in the moist, low pastures, broods of Wagtails, white and grey, run round them, close up to their noses, and under their very bellies, availing themselves of the flies that settle on their legs, and probably finding worms and larvæ that are roused by the trampling of their feet. Nature is such an economist that the most incongruous animals can avail themselves of each other.”

“Interest makes strange friendships!”

“From the low-roof’d cottage ridge
   See the chattering Swallow spring;
 Darting through the one-arch’d bridge,
   Quick she dips her dappled wing.”

Cunningham.

Swallows are easily distinguished from all other birds, not only by their general structure, but by their twittering note and mode of flying, or rather darting from place to place.

They appear in Britain in April, and build in some outhouse, or, in part of a human dwelling, where they lay their eggs and hatch their young. About August they disappear, and do not return till the following spring. Swallows kept in a cage moult about Christmas, and seldom live till spring.

There are several species of the Swallow: the general characters of which are a small beak, but large, wide mouth, for the purpose of swallowing flying insects, their natural food; and long forked tail and extensive wings, to enable them to pursue their prey. The common Swallow builds under the eaves of houses, or in chimneys, near their top; it is frequently called the Chimney Swallow from its preference for the last-mentioned rather singular situation; the Martin also builds under eaves, and most commonly against the upper corner or side of our very windows, and seems not afraid at the sight of man, yet it cannot be tamed, or even kept long in a cage. The nature of the Swallow’s nest is worthy of close observation: how the mud is extracted from the sea-shores, rivers, or other watery places; how masoned and formed into a solid building, strong enough to support a whole family, and to face the “pelting storm,” are wonders which ought to raise our mind to Him who bestowed that instinct upon them.

It is related that a pair of Swallows built their nest for two successive years on the handle of a pair of garden shears, that were stuck up against the boards of an outhouse; and, therefore, must have had their nest spoiled whenever the implement was wanted. And what is still more strange, a bird of the same species built its nest on the wings and body of an owl that happened to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn, and so loose as to be moved by every gust of wind. This owl, with the nest on its wings, and with eggs in the nest, was taken to the museum of Sir Ashton Leaver as a curiosity. That gentleman, struck with the singularity of the sight, furnished the person who brought it with a large shell, desiring him to fix it just where the owl had hung. The man did so; and in the following year a pair of Swallows, probably the same, built their nest in the shell and laid eggs.

Modern poets have not been unmindful of the Swallows; and our immortal Shakspeare mentions the Martin, in Macbeth, in the following manner:

          “This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting Martlet, does approve,
By his loved mansionry, that the Heaven’s
Breath smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coigne of ’vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,
The air is delicate.”

“The Swallow,” writes Sir Humphry Davy, “is one of my favourite birds, and a rival of the nightingale, for he cheers my sense of seeing as much as the other does my sense of hearing. He is the glad prophet of the year, the harbinger of the best season—he lives a life of enjoyment amongst the liveliest forms of nature—winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn for the myrrh and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa; he has always objects of pursuit, and his success is secure. Even the beings selected for his prey are poetical, beautiful, and transient. The ephemeræ are saved by his means from a slow and lingering death in the evening, and killed in a moment when they have known nothing but pleasure. He is the constant destroyer of insects, the friend of man, and may be regarded as a sacred bird. His instinct, which gives him his appointed season, and teaches him when and where to move, may be regarded as flowing from a divine source; and he belongs to the oracles of nature, which speak the awful and intelligible language of a present Deity.”

The Chimney Swallow is, on the head, neck, back, and rump, of a shining black colour, with purple gloss and sometimes with a blue shade; the throat and neck are of the same colour; the breast and belly are white, with a dash of red. The tail is forked, and consists of twelve feathers. The wings are of the same colour with the back. Swallows feed upon flies and other insects; and generally hunt their prey on the wing:

“Away! away! thou summer bird;
 For Autumn’s moaning voice is heard,
 In cadence wild, and deepening swell,
 Of winter’s stern approach to tell.”

The Martin is something less than the swallow, with a comparatively large head, and a wide mouth; the colour of the upper parts a bluish black, the rump and all the under parts of the body white, the bill black; the legs covered with short white down.

These birds begin to appear about the middle of April, and for some time pay no attention to the business of nidification, but sport and play about as if to recruit themselves from the fatigue of the journey.

Should the weather prove favourable, it begins to build early in May, placing its nest generally beneath the eaves of a house, often against a perpendicular wall: without any projecting ledge to support any part of the nest, its utmost efforts are necessary to get the first foundation firmly fixed, so as to carry the superstructure safely. On this occasion, it not only clings with its claws, but partly supports itself by strongly inclining its tail against the wall, making that a fulcrum; and thus fixed, it plasters the materials into the face of the brick or stone. But that this work may not, while soft, sink by its own weight, the provident architect has the prudence and forbearance not to proceed too fast; but by building only in the morning, and dedicating the rest of the day to food and amusement, he gives it sufficient time to dry and harden. By this method, in about ten days, the nest is formed, strong, compact, and warm, and perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it is intended. But nothing is more common than for the house-sparrow, as soon as the shell is finished, to seize on it, eject the owner, and line it according to its own peculiar manner. Sometimes, however, the Martins prove too clever for the sparrow; when the intruder obstinately retained possession of the nest, the Martins have been known to collect from all parts of the neighbourhood, each bringing a pellet of mud, with which the orifice of the nest was soon securely closed, and the unfortunate sparrow was then left to die of starvation. The Martin will return for several seasons to the same nest, where it happens to be well sheltered and secured from the injuries of the weather. They breed the latest of all our swallows, often having unfledged young ones even so late as Michaelmas.

The first hatch consists of five eggs, which are white, inclining to dusky at the thicker end; the second, of three or four; and of a third, of only two or three. While the young birds are confined to the nest the parents feed them, adhering by the claws to the outside; but as soon as they are able to fly they receive their nourishment on the wing, by a quick and almost imperceptible motion.

“Welcome, welcome, feathered stranger,
   Now the sun bids Nature smile;
 Safe arrived and free from danger,
   Welcome to our blooming isle.”

Franklin.

Which is sometimes called the Black Martin, arrives in England later, and takes its departure earlier than any of our swallows. The Swift is the largest of the swallow tribe, and the most rapid in its flight. Its nest, which is generally built in the crevices of old towers and steeples, is constructed of dried grass, feathers, thread, and similar materials, glued together by a sort of spittle, with which the bird is provided. The bird collects them whilst on the wing, picking them up with great dexterity. They seldom alight upon the ground, and if by accident they fall upon a level surface, they recover themselves with difficulty, owing to the shortness of their legs, and the length of their wings. During the heat of the day they remain within their holes, and at morning and evening sally out in quest of food. They may then be seen in flocks, whirling round some lofty edifice, or describing in mid-air an endless series of circles upon circles. Swifts fly higher, and wheel with bolder wing than the swallows, with whom they never intermingle.

This curious bird, called also the Nightjar, and the Fern Owl, comes to this country from Africa about the middle of May and usually leaves by the end of August. These birds are generally found in low bushes, or amongst tufts of large ferns, and generally fly at night: hence their name of Fern Owl. The beak is furnished with bristles, and the middle toe of each foot has a claw toothed like a comb. The female lays her eggs upon the ground, without any nest, and lays only two. The name of Goatsucker originated in an absurd idea that this bird sucked the goat’s milk, from its habit of lying on the ground near cows or she goats, and catching the flies that torment them by fixing on their udders. Mr. Waterton, who is certainly the closest observer of nature who ever wrote on Natural History, states, in one of his very interesting works, that he has frequently seen the Goatsuckers catching insects in this manner, and thus proving themselves the best of friends to the animals they are accused of annoying.

“Go, tuneful bird, that gladd’st the skies,
   To Daphne’s window speed thy way;
 And there on quivering pinions rise,
   And there thy vocal art display.”

Shenstone.

The Skylark is distinguished from most other birds by the long spur on the back toe, the earthy colour of his feathers, and by singing as he mounts in the air. These birds generally make their nest in meadows among the high grass, and the tint of their plumage resembles so much that of the ground, that the body of the bird is hardly distinguishable as it runs along.

“The daisied lea he loves, where tufts of grass
 Luxuriant crown the ridge: there, with his mate,
 He founds their lonely house, of withered herbs,
 And coarsest spear-grass; next the inner work,
 With finer, and still finer fibres lays,
 Rounding it curious with his speckled breast.”

Grahame.

Larks breed twice a year, in May and July, rearing their young in a short space of time. They are caught in great quantities in winter, and are considered choice and delicate food. It is a melancholy observation, that man should feed upon, and indulge his sense of taste with those very birds which have so often delighted his sense of hearing with their songs, when they usher to the gladdened creation the return of their best friend, the sun. The instinctive warmth of attachment which the female Skylark bears towards her own species, even when not her nestling, is remarkable. “In the month of May,” says Buffon, “a young hen bird was brought to me, which was not able to feed without assistance. I caused her to be reared; and she was hardly fledged, when I received from another place a nest of three or four unfledged larks. She took a strong liking to these newcomers, which were but little younger than herself; she tended them night and day, cherished them beneath her wings, and fed them with her bill. Nothing could interrupt her tender offices. If the young ones were torn from her she flew to them as soon as they were liberated, and would not think of effecting her own escape, which she might have done a hundred times. Her affection grew upon her; she neglected food and drink; she at length required the same support as her adopted offspring, and expired at last, consumed with maternal solicitude. None of the young ones long survived her. They died one after another; so essential were her cares, which were equally tender and judicious.”

The Lark mounts almost perpendicularly, and by successive springs, into the air, where it hovers at a vast height. Its descent is in an oblique direction, unless threatened by some ravenous bird of prey, or attracted by its mate, when it drops to the ground like a stone. On its first leaving the earth, its notes are feeble and interrupted; but, as it rises, they gradually swell to their full tone. As the Lark’s flight is always at sun-rise, there is something in the scenery that renders its song peculiarly delightful: the opening morning, the landscape just gilded by the rays of the returning sun, and the beauty of the surrounding objects, all contribute to heighten our relish for its pleasing melody.

“—— Up springs the Lark,
 Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of morn,
 Ere yet the shadows fly, he, mounted, sings
 Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts
 Calls up the tuneful nations.”

Thomson.

“Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
 The bonnie Lark, companion meet!
 Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet!
          Wi’ speckled breast,
 When upward springing, blythe to greet
          The purpling east.”

Burns.

“Early, cheerful, mounting Lark,
 Light’s gentle usher, morning’s clerk,
 In merry notes delighting.”

Sir John Davis.

This species is smaller than the skylark, and its voice deeper; it has also a circle of white feathers encompassing the head, from eye to eye, like a crown or wreath, and the utmost feather of the wing is much shorter than the second, whereas in the common lark they are nearly equal. This bird sometimes emulates the nightingale; for which, when pouring forth his sweet melody in the grove, during a silent night, he is often mistaken. These birds sit and perch upon trees, unlike the common lark, which always keeps to the ground. They build their nest at the foot of a bush, near the bottom of a hedge, or in high dry grass. The number of their eggs is about four, of a pale bloom colour, beautifully mottled, and clouded with red and yellow. Like the skylark, they assemble in large flocks during frosty weather. Their usual food consists of small beetles, caterpillars, and other insects, as well as the seeds of numerous kinds of wild plants.

“Bright o’er the green hills rose the morning ray,
   The Woodlark’s song resounded on the plain,
 Fair nature felt the warm embrace of day,
   And smiled through all her animated reign.”

Langbourn.

The common Titmouse or Tom-tit is a very small bird, only four inches and a half in length. He has a blue head, with white cheeks and a white stripe over each eye; his back is greenish, his wings and tail blue, and the lower surface of his body yellow. This bird, and all the species related to it, live on insects, as well as on seeds. When kept in a cage, it is really amusing to see with what quickness the Titmouse darts at any fly or moth which comes imprudently within its reach. If this kind of food be deficient, as generally happens in winter, it feeds upon several kinds of seed, and particularly that of the sunflower, which it dexterously holds upright between its claws and strikes powerfully with its sharp little bill, till the black covering splits, and yields its white contents to the persevering bird. Its general food consists of insects, which it seeks in the crevices of the bark of trees, and when thus engaged, clinging in every possible position to the branches, it looks like a very diminutive blue parrot. In winter the Titmouse visits our gardens and orchards, where he is often seen picking the buds of fruit trees to pieces; but in doing this he inflicts little or no injury upon the gardener, his object being the capture of insects which would probably cause far more mischief in the ensuing summer. The nest of the Titmouse is built in the hole of a tree or wall; the female lays usually eight or ten eggs, and when sitting defends her nest with great courage, pecking at the fingers of boys so vigorously that in some parts of the country she is known by the name of Billy Biter. The Long-tailed Tit is also a common bird about hedges, orchards, and plantations. He is an active lively little fellow, and resembles the common Tit in his habits.

This bird is somewhat larger than the sparrow. Its head is of a greenish yellow, spotted with brown; the throat and belly are yellow; the breast and sides, under the wings, mingled with red. These birds build their nests on the ground, near some bush, where the female lays five or six eggs. The Yellowhammer may be sometimes seen perched on the finger of some poor man or woman in the streets of London, in a state of complete tameness; but this is the transitory effect of intoxication, and soon after the bird is bought and brought home, it dies, overcome by the power of the laudanum that has been given it.

This bird feeds on seeds and various sorts of insects, and is common in every lane, on every hedge, throughout the country, flitting before the traveller, and about the bushes. Happily for him, we have not yet acquired the taste of the natives of Italy, where the Yellowhammer falls a daily victim to the delicacy of the table, and where its flesh is esteemed very delicious eating. There he is often fattened, for the purpose of gratifying the palate of epicures.

The Ortolan, (Emberiza hortulana,) which is another species of the same genus, is common in the central and southern provinces of Europe, where it is thought exquisitely flavoured as an article of food. When first taken it is frequently very lean, but if supplied with abundance of food, it is said to be so greedy, that it will eat till it dies of repletion.

The Wheatear is one of our earliest visitants, and may be found in every part of Britain. In the North, it generally frequents heaps of stones, ruins, or the dry stone walls of burial-grounds, and though it is a very handsome bird, and in the early season sings sweetly, its haunts have obtained it a bad name. The common alarm-note resembles the sound made in breaking stones with a hammer, and as it utters that note from the top of the heap which haply covers the bones of one who perished by the storm, or his own hand, popular fancy has not unnaturally associated the Wheatear with the superstition that belongs to the place of graves. Beneath that heap of stones, or in some neighbouring fallow, its nest may be discovered, formed of moss and dried grass, lined with hair, feathers, or wool, and containing five or six eggs of a delicate bluish white. These birds congregate on the southern downs about the middle of July; they are then caught in vast numbers, in horse-hair nooses, which are set between two pieces of turf turned against each other.

The Whin Chat is a beautiful bird, compact in form, with a rich and elegant plumage. Its song, which is peculiarly soft and sweet, may be heard in spring on the bushy margins and gorse of extensive heaths. Its nest, constructed in thick tufts of grass and under bushes, is most carefully concealed. It is usually approached by a labyrinth to which the rising of the bird affords no clue, and it may long be sought in vain, though perhaps not more than a yard distant all the time. The eggs are bluish green, without any spots, and are never more than six in number.

The following lines, addressed to the English Ortolan, or Wheatear, by Mrs. Charlotte Smith, allude to the foolish timidity of that bird:

“To take you, shepherd boys prepare
 The hollow turf, the wiry snare,
 Of those weak terrors well aware,
   That bid you vainly dread
 The shadows floating over downs,
 Or murmuring gale, that round the stones
 Of some old beacon, as it moans,
   Scarce moves a thistle’s head.
 And if a cloud obscure the sun,
 With faint and fluttering heart you run
 Into the pitfall you should shun,
   And only leave when dead.”

This bird is, next to the robin redbreast, the boldest of the small feathered tribe which frequent our barns and houses: he is a courageous little creature, and fights undauntedly against birds ten times bigger than himself. Sparrows are accused of destroying a great quantity of corn, and in several counties the landlord or farmer puts a price on a Sparrow’s head; but the farmer is the person most injured by the plan, as the good Sparrows, in ridding land of caterpillars, more than compensate for the loss of grain they destroy. Mr. Bradley, in his Treatise on Husbandry and Gardening, shows, by a calculation, that a pair of Sparrows, during the time they have their young ones to feed, destroy on an average, every week, three thousand three hundred and sixty caterpillars.

This bird is easily tamed, and will hop about the house, and on the table with great familiarity. It will feed on anything, and is particularly fond of meat cut into small pieces. The song of the Sparrow, if we can so call its chirping, is far from agreeable: this arises, however, not from want of powers, but from its attending solely to the note of the parent bird. A Sparrow, when fledged, was taken from the nest and educated under a linnet: it also heard by accident a goldfinch; and its song was in consequence a mixture of the two. The male is particularly distinguished by a jet-black spot under the bill upon a whitish ground. Sparrows are found nearly in every country of the world.

Is about the size of the goldfinch; and compensates, by an extremely melodious voice, the want of variety in its plumage, which, except in the red-breasted species, is nearly all of one colour. Its musical talents are, like those of many other birds, repaid with captivity; for it is kept in cages on account of its singing.

The Redpole (Fringilla linaria) is a small species of Linnet, little more than four inches in length, distinguished by a deep blood-red spot on the crown of his head. He visits Britain in the autumn and stays with us during the winter, his favourite summer residence being far away in the north. Redpoles are taken in great numbers by the bird-catchers in the autumn. Their only song is a twittering note, but they are often attached by a brace and chain to an open cage and trained to draw their water in a bucket.

The Green Linnet is rather larger than the house sparrow. Its head and back are of a yellowish-green, the edges of the feathers grayish; the rump and breast more yellow. The plumage of the female is much less vivid, inclining to brown. Its song is trifling, but in confinement it becomes tame and docile, and will catch the notes of other birds.

As his name imports, this bird is a native of the Canary Islands; where, in his wild state, he has a dusky gray plumage, and a much stronger voice than when in a cage. In our northern countries his feathers undergo a great alteration; and the bird often becomes entirely white or yellow. Of this bird, Buffon says, “that if the nightingale is the chantress of the woods, the Canary is the musician of the chamber; the first owes all to nature, the second something to art. With less strength of organ, less compass of voice, and less variety of note, the Canary has a better ear, greater facility of imitation, and a more retentive memory; and as the difference of genius, especially among the lower animals, depends in a great measure on the perfection of their senses, the Canary, whose organ of hearing is more susceptible of receiving and retaining foreign impressions, becomes more social, tame, and familiar; is capable of gratitude and even attachment; its caresses are endearing, its little humours innocent, and its anger neither hurts nor offends. Its education is easy; we rear it with pleasure, because we are able to instruct it. It leaves the melody of its own natural note, to listen to the melody of our voices and instruments. It accompanies us, and repays the pleasure it receives with interest, while the nightingale, more proud of his talent, seems desirous of preserving it in all its purity, at least it appears to attach very little value to ours, and it is with great difficulty that it can be taught any of our airs. It despises them, and never fails to return to its own wild wood notes. Its pipe is a masterpiece of nature, which human art can neither alter nor improve; while that of the Canary is a model of more pliant materials, which we can mould at pleasure; and therefore it contributes in a much greater degree to the pleasures of society. It sings at all seasons, cheers us in the dullest weather, and adds to our happiness, by amusing the young and delighting the recluse, charming the tediousness of the cloister, and gladdening the soul of the innocent and captive.” It breeds generally twice a year when domesticated; and it sometimes happens that the female lays her eggs for the second time before the first brood is fledged. The male then good-naturedly takes her place on the eggs while she feeds the young ones, and feeds them in his turn, when she sits in the nest. They are very easily tamed, when brought up with attention and kindness, and take their food out of the hand, often perching on the shoulder of their mistress, and feeding out of her mouth. The Canary-bird is sometimes, and with success, matched with the linnet or the goldfinch; and the produce is a beautiful bird, partaking of the talents and plumage of both.

Canary-birds live twelve or thirteen years in our climate, and sing well to the end of their life.

The following curious anecdote of one of these birds is related by Dr. Darwin: “On observing a Canary-bird at the house of a gentleman near Tutbury, in Derbyshire, I was told it always fainted away when its cage was cleaned; and I desired to see the experiment. The cage being taken from the ceiling, and the bottom drawn out, the bird began to tremble, and turned quite white about the root of the bill: he then opened his mouth, as if for breath, and respired quick; stood up straighter on his perch, hung his wings, spread his tail, closed his eyes, and appeared quite stiff for half-an-hour; till at length, with much trembling and deep respirations, he came gradually to himself.”

Some years ago, a Frenchman exhibited in London twenty-four Canary-birds, many of which he said were from eighteen to twenty-five years of age. Some of these balanced themselves, head downward, on their shoulders, having their legs and tail in the air. One of them taking a slender stick in its claws, passed its head between its legs, and suffered itself to be turned round, as if in the act of being roasted. Another balanced itself, and was swung backward and forward on a kind of a slack rope. A third was dressed in military uniform, having a cap on its head, wearing a sword and pouch, and carrying a firelock in one claw: after some time sitting upright, this bird, at the word of command, freed itself from its dress, and flew away to the cage. A fourth suffered itself to be shot at, and falling down as if dead, was put into a little wheelbarrow, and wheeled away by one of its comrades!

The Chaffinch is of the same dimensions as the sparrow, but more lightly and elegantly formed. Its nest, which is of the most beautiful and elaborate construction, is composed of mosses and lichens, interwoven and lined with wool, hair, and feathers. “Four or five eggs,” says Mr. Waterton, “are the usual number which the Chaffinch’s nest contains, and sometimes only three. The thorn, and most of the evergreen shrubs, the sprouts on the boles of forest trees, the woodbine, the whin, the wild rose, and occasionally the bramble, are this bird’s favourite places for nidification. Like all its congeners, it never covers its eggs on retiring from the nest, for its young are hatched blind. There is something peculiarly pleasing to me in the song of this bird. Perhaps association of ideas may add a trifle to the value of its melody; for when I hear the first note of the Chaffinch, I know that winter is on the eve of its departure, and that sunshine and fine weather are not far off. The Chaffinch never sings when on the wing; but it warbles incessantly on the trees, and on the hedgerows, from the early part of February to the second week in July; and then (if the bird be in a state of freedom) its song entirely ceases.”

This is a very docile bird, and will nearly imitate the sound of a pipe, or the whistle of man, with its voice, the mellowness of which is really charming. It is, by bird-fanciers, considered to excel all other small birds, except the linnet, in the softness of its tones, and in the variety of its notes. In captivity, its melody seems to be as great a solace to itself, as it is a pleasure to its master. By day, and even when the evening has called for the artificial light of candles, the Bullfinch pursues his melodious exertions, and if there be any other birds in the apartment, awakes them gently to the pleasing task of singing in concert with him. His notes are upon one of the lowest keys of the gamut of birds.

The plumage of the Bullfinch is beautiful, though simple and uniform, consisting only of three or four colours. In the male, a lovely scarlet or crimson colour adorns the breast, throat, and jaws, as far as the eyes; the crown of the head is black; the rump and tail are white; the neck and back grey, or lead-coloured. The name of this bird originates from its head and neck being, like those of the bull, very large in proportion to the body. The female does not share with the male the brightness of colours in the plumage. Bullfinches build their nests in gardens and orchards, and particularly in places that abound in fruit-trees, as they are passionately fond of fruit, which they often destroy before it is ripe.

This bird is also called the Thistlefinch, from his fondness for the seeds of that plant. He is very beautiful, his plumage being elegantly diversified, his form small, but pleasing, and his voice not loud, but sweet. He is easily tamed, and often exhibited as a captive, with a chain round his body, drawing up with trouble, but yet with amazing dexterity, two small buckets, alternately, one containing his meat, the other his drink. If he is old when caught, the Goldfinch, after a few weeks, if well attended to, and gently treated, becomes as familiar as if he had been brought up by the hand of his keeper. Some have been taught to fire a small piece of artillery, and go through the drilling exercise, to the great astonishment of the spectators; but the cruel and severe treatment that animals undergo, when taught performances altogether contrary to their nature, should prevent us from encouraging such exhibitions.

This bird, as if conscious of the beauty of his plumage, likes to view himself in a glass, which is sometimes fixed for this purpose in the back of the cage. The art with which it composes and builds its nest is really worthy of admiration; it is generally interwoven with moss, small twigs, horsehair, and other pliant materials; the inside stuffed most carefully with fine down, and tufts of cotton grass. There the female deposits five or six eggs, which are whitish, marked at their upper end with purple dots.

“The Goldfinch weaves, with willow down inlaid,
 And cannach tufts, his wonderful abode;
 And oft suspended at the limber end
 Of plane-tree spray, among the broad-leaved shoots,
 The tiny hammock swings to every gale.
 Sometimes in closest thickets ’tis concealed;
 Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the brier,
 The bramble, and the plum-tree branch
 Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the flowers
 Of climbing vetch, and honeysuckle wild.”

Grahame.

The following lines were written by Cowper on a Goldfinch starved to death in his cage. The Goldfinch speaks:—

“Time was when I was free as air,
 The thistle’s downy seed my fare,
   My drink the morning dew;
 I perched at will on every spray,
 My form genteel, my plumage gay,
   My strains for ever new.

“But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
 And form genteel were all in vain,
   And of a transient date;
 For caught and caged, and starved to death,
 In dying sighs my little breath
   Soon passed the wiry grate.

“Thanks, gentle author of my woes,
 Thanks for this most effectual close
   And cure of every ill.
 Never your cruelty repress!
 For I, if you had shown me less,
   Had been your prisoner still.”

The Crossbill is a native of the vast pine forests of northern Europe, and is by no means abundant in England. The bill of this singular bird is of considerable length, and the mandibles towards the point are very sharp and strong, curved in opposite directions, so that when closed the points cross each other, from which the bird derives his name. This curious organization enables them to obtain their food, which chiefly consists of the seeds of the cones of the fir, with the greatest facility. These seeds, for a considerable time after they have ripened, are so firmly enclosed within their ligneous scales, that the bill of no ordinary bird could reach them. Fixing itself across the cone, the Crossbill brings the mandibles of its beak immediately over each other, and insinuates them between the scales, then forcing them laterally, the scales open. The mandibles are again brought in contact, between the scales, and the bird then picks out the seed with their tips. It is very interesting to find that a structure so anomalous as that of the bill of the Crossbill is really beneficial to the creature, and not, as was formerly rather flippantly asserted, a defect or error of nature.

Is about the size and shape of a blackbird; the tips of the feathers on the neck and back are yellow; the feathers under the tail of an ash-colour; the other parts of the plumage are black, with a purple or deep blue gloss, changing as it is variously exposed to the light. In the hen, the tips of the feathers on the breast and belly, to the very throat, are white; which constitutes a material point in the choice of the bird, as the female is no singer. She lays four or five eggs, lightly tinctured with a greenish cast of blue. Starlings build in hollow trees and clefts of rocks and walls, are very easily tamed, and can add to their natural notes any words or modulations which they are taught.

In the winter season Starlings collect in vast flocks, and may be known at a great distance by their whirling mode of flight. The evening is the time when they assemble in the greatest numbers, and betake themselves to fens and marshes. Sterne has immortalized the Starling in his “Sentimental Journey:” “The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his head against it, as if impatient.—‘I fear, poor creature,’ said I, ‘I can’t set thee at liberty.’—‘No,’ said the Starling, ‘I can’t get out.’ ‘Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery,’ said I, ’still thou art a bitter draught!’”

This singular bird was first brought before the notice of the public by Mr. Gould, in his splendid work, the “Birds of Australia,” from which the following extracts are given by permission of its author. The most remarkable circumstance relating to this bird, is its construction of a bower-like tenement, the object of which, it should seem, is a sort of playing-ground, or hall of assembly.

“The Satin Bower-bird,” says Mr. Gould, “is not a stationary species, but appears to range from one part of a district to another, either for the purpose of varying the nature, or of obtaining a more abundant supply of food. Judging from the many specimens I dissected, it would seem that it is altogether granivorous and frugivorous; or, if not exclusively so, that insects form but a small portion of its diet. The brushes it inhabits are studded with enormous fig-trees, some of them towering to the height of two hundred feet; among the lofty branches of which the Satin Bower-bird finds, in the small wild fig with which the branches are loaded, an abundant supply of a favourite food: this species also commits considerable depredation on ripening corn. It appears to have particular times in the day for feeding, and when thus engaged among the low shrub-like trees, I have approached within a few feet without creating alarm; but at other times I have found this bird extremely shy, especially the old males, which not unfrequently perch on the topmost branch of the loftiest tree, whence they can survey all around, and watch the movements of the females and their young in the brush below. Besides the loud liquid call peculiar to the male, both sexes frequently utter a harsh, unpleasant, guttural note, indicative of surprise or displeasure. The old black males are exceedingly few in number, as compared with the females and young male birds in the green dress, from which, and other circumstances, I am led to believe that at least two, if not three years, elapse before they attain the rich satin-like plumage, which, when once perfectly assumed, is, I believe, never again thrown off. The extraordinary bower-like structures alluded to above, are usually placed under the shelter of the branches of some overhanging tree in the most retired part of the forest, and differ considerably in size. The base consists of an extensive and rather convex platform of stick, firmly interwoven, on the centre of which the bower itself is built: this, like the platform on which it is placed, and with which it is interwoven, is formed of sticks and twigs, but of a more slender and flexible description, the tips of the twigs being so arranged as to curve inwards and nearly meet at the top: in the interior of the bower the materials are so placed, that the forks of the twigs are always presented outwards, by which arrangement not the slightest obstruction is offered to the passage of the birds. The interest of this curious bower is much enhanced by the manner in which it is decorated at and near the entrance with the most gaily-coloured articles that can be collected, such as the blue tail-feathers of the Rose-bill and Pennantian parrots, bleached bones, the shells of snails, &c.; some of the feathers are stuck in among the twigs, while others with the bones and shells are strewed about near the entrances. The propensity of these birds to pick up and fly off with any attractive object, is so well known to the natives, that they always search the runs for any small missing article, as the bowl of a pipe, &c., that may have been accidentally dropped in the brush. I myself found at the entrance of one of them a small neatly-worked stone tomahawk, of an inch and a half in length, together with some slips of blue cotton rags, which the birds had doubtless picked up at a deserted encampment of the natives. For what purpose these curious bowers are made is not yet, perhaps, fully understood; they are certainly not used as a nest, but as a place of resort for many individuals of both sexes, which, when there assembled, run through and around the bower in a sportive and playful manner, and that so frequently, that it is seldom entirely deserted.”

“The Raven sits
   On the raven-stone,
 And his black wing flits
   O’er the milk-white bone;
 To and fro, as the night-winds blow,
   The carcass of the assassin swings:
 And there alone, on the raven-stone,
   The Raven flaps his dusky wings.
 The fetters creak—and his ebon beak
   Creaks to the close of the hollow sound:
 And this is the tune by the light of the moon,
   To which the witches dance their round.”

Byron’s Manfred.

The Raven is about twenty-six inches in length, and his weight about three pounds. The bill is strong, black, and hooked at the tip. The plumage of the whole body of a shining black, glossed with deep blue; the back of the lower part inclining to a dusky colour. He is of a strong and hardy disposition, and inhabits all climates of the globe. He builds his nest in trees; and the female lays five or six eggs of a palish green colour, spotted with brown. It is said that the life of this bird extends to a century; and even beyond that period, if we can believe the accounts of several naturalists on the subject. The Raven unites the voracious appetite of the crow to the dishonesty of the daw and the docility of almost every other bird. He feeds chiefly on small animals; and is said to destroy rabbits, young ducks, and chickens, and sometimes even lambs, when they happen to be dropped in a weak state. In the northern regions, he preys on carrion, in concert with the white bear, the arctic fox, and the eagle. The faculty of scent in these birds must be very acute; for in the coldest of the winter days, at Hudson’s Bay, when every kind of effluvium is almost instantaneously destroyed by the frost, buffaloes and other beasts have been killed, where not one of these birds was seen; but in a few hours scores of them have been found collected about the spot, to pick up the blood and offal. The Raven possesses many diverting and mischievous qualities; he is active, curious, sagacious, and impudent; by nature a glutton, by habit a thief, in disposition a miser, and in practice a rogue. He is fond of picking up any small piece of money, bits of glass or any thing that shines, which he carefully conceals under the eaves of roofs, or in any other inaccessible place. He is easily tamed; and, like the parrot and starling, can imitate the human voice, in articulating words. At the seat of the Marquis of Aylesbury, in Wiltshire, a tame Raven, that had been taught to speak, used to ramble about in the park, where he was commonly attended and beset with crows, rooks, and others of his inquisitive tribe. When a considerable number of these were collected round him, he would lift up his head, and with a hoarse and hollow voice shout out Holloa! This would instantly put to flight and disperse his sable brethren; while the Raven seemed to enjoy the fright he had occasioned. When domesticated, the Raven is of great service, both as a scavenger and in keeping watch, in the last of which he is more alert and vigilant than almost any other animal. The Raven was the ensign of the invading Danes, and the prejudice thereby engendered against the bird is not yet quite extinct. Of its perseverance in the act of incubation, Mr. White relates the following singular anecdote:

“In the centre of a grove near Selborne, there stood an oak, which, though on the whole shapely and tall, bulged out into a large excrescence near the middle of the stem. On this tree a pair of Ravens had fixed their residence for such a series of years, that the oak was distinguished by the title of ‘The Raven-tree.’ Many were the attempts of the neighbouring youths to get at this nest: the difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each was ambitious of surmounting the arduous task; but when they arrived at the swelling, it jutted out so in their way, and was so far beyond their grasp, that the boldest lads were deterred and acknowledged the undertaking to be too hazardous. Thus the Ravens continued to build, nest upon nest, in perfect security, till the fatal day on which the wood was to be levelled. This was in the month of February, when those birds usually sit. The saw was applied to the trunk, the wedges were inserted into the opening, the wood echoed to the heavy blows of the mallet, the tree nodded to its fall; but still the dam persisted in sitting. At last, when it gave way, the bird was flung from her nest; and though her parental affection deserved a better fate, was whipped down by the twigs, which brought her dead to the ground!”

The croaking of the Raven was formerly considered a note of ill omen:

“The Raven croaked as she sat at her meal,
   And the old woman knew what he said;
 And she grew pale at the Raven’s tale,
   And sickened and went to her bed.”

This bird is less in size than the raven. The bill is strong, thick, and straight. The general colour is black, except the extremities of the feathers, which are of a greyish tint. His delight is to feed upon carcasses and dead animals, or malefactors exposed on the gibbet. He roosts upon trees, and takes both animal and vegetable food. Crows, like rooks, are gregarious, and often fly in large companies in the fields or in the woods. On the upland moors, Crows occupy the place which rooks fill in the low country; and as the Crow has a very coarse and uncouth voice, the Lowlanders of Scotland are in the habit of saying that the Highland rooks “speak Gaelic.” They are great destroyers of partridges’ eggs, as they often pierce them with their bills, and carry them in that manner through the air to a great distance to feed their young. The female lays five or six eggs.

Mr. Montagu states that he once saw a Crow in pursuit of a pigeon, at which it made several pounces, like a hawk; but the pigeon escaped by flying in at the door of a house. He saw another strike a pigeon dead from the top of a barn. The Crow is so bold a bird that neither the kite, the buzzard, nor the raven, can approach its nest without being driven away. When it has young ones, it will even attack the peregrine falcon, and at a single pounce sometimes bring that bird to the ground.

The cawing of these birds, on the tops of high trees near gentlemen’s houses, and in the middle of cities, is not very pleasing; yet old habits, to which we are reconciled, have as much influence upon us as if they were productive of amusement. Hence it has been seldom attempted to destroy a rookery; although the noise and other inconveniences that accompany these birds render their vicinity often troublesome. They feed entirely on corn and insects, and are little bigger than the common crows. In Suffolk, and in some parts of Norfolk, the farmers find it their interest to encourage the breed of Rooks, as the only means of freeing their grounds from the grub, which produces the cockchafer, and which in this state destroys the roots of corn and grass to such a degree, that instances have been known where the turf of pasture land might be turned up with the foot. The farmers in a northern county, a good many years ago, waged a war of extermination against the Rooks, but the very next year the crops were so completely cut up by grubs, that the same proprietors were at considerable expense in getting Rooks back again. Young Rooks are good eating, but should be skinned before they are dressed. The colour is black, but brighter than that of the crow, which the Rook resembles in shape. The female lays the same number of eggs; and the male shares with her the trouble of fetching sticks, and interweaving them to make the nest, an operation which is attended with a great deal of fighting and disputing with the other Rooks.

New comers are often severely beaten by the old inhabitants, and are even frequently driven quite away; of this an instance occurred near Newcastle, in the year 1783. A pair of Rooks, after an unsuccessful attempt to establish themselves in a rookery at no great distance from the Exchange, were compelled to abandon the attempt, and take refuge on the spire of that building; and, though constantly interrupted by other Rooks, they built their nest on the top of the vane, and reared their young ones, undisturbed by the noise of the populace below. The nest and its inhabitants were of course turned about by every change of the wind! They returned and built their nest every year on the same place, till 1793, soon after which year the spire was taken down. A small copperplate was engraved, of the size of a watchpaper, with a representation of the spire and the nest; and so much pleased were the inhabitants and other persons with it, that as many copies were sold as produced to the engraver a profit of ten pounds. The woodcut by Bewick, in the title-page to his Select Fable gives, a view of the old Exchange, with the Rook’s nest on the vane.

It is amusing to see Rooks coming at sunset as thick as a cloud hovering over a grove, and, after several eddies described in the air, and incessant cawings, each repairing to its own nest, and settling in a few minutes to rest, till the dawn calls them up again to their pasture in the neighbouring fields.

Dr. Darwin has remarked, that an instinctive feeling of danger from mankind is much more apparent in Rooks than in most other birds. Any one who has in the least observed them will see that they evidently distinguish that the danger is greater when a man is armed with a gun, than when he has no weapon with him. In the spring of the year, if a person happened to walk under a rookery with a gun in his hand, the inhabitants of the trees rise on their wings, and scream to the unfledged young to shrink into their nests from the sight of the enemy. The country people observing this circumstance so uniformly to occur, assert that Rooks can smell gunpowder.

This bird is much less than the crow. He has a large head and long bill, in proportion to the size of his body. The colour of the plumage is black, but on some parts inclining to a bluish hue; the fore part of the head is of a deeper black. The Jackdaw feeds upon nuts, fruits, seeds, and insects; and builds in ancient castles, towers, cliffs, and all desolate and ruinous places. The female lays five or six eggs, smaller, paler, and marked with fewer spots than those of the crow.

Jackdaws are easily tamed, and may with little difficulty be taught to pronounce several words. They conceal such parts of their food as they cannot eat, and often, along with it, small pieces of money or toys, frequently occasioning, for the moment, suspicions of theft in persons who are innocent. In Switzerland there is found a variety of the Jackdaw, which has a white ring round its neck. In Norway, and other cold countries, they have been seen entirely white. In a state of nature, jackdaws and rooks frequently feed together, and the Jackdaws come to meet the rooks in the morning, and also accompany them for some distance on their retreat at night.

“From bough to bough the restless Magpie roves,
 And chatters as he flies.” Gisborne.

This bird resembles the daw, except in the whiteness of the breast and wings, and the length of the tail. The black of the feathers is accompanied with a changing gloss of green and purple. It is a very loquacious creature, and can be taught to imitate the human voice as well as any of the feathered creation.

Plutarch relates a singular story of a Magpie belonging to a barber at Rome, which could imitate, to a wonderful extent, almost every noise that it heard. Some trumpets happened one day to be sounded before the shop; and for a day or two afterwards the Magpie was quite mute, and seemed pensive and melancholy. This surprised all who knew it; and they supposed the sound of the trumpets had so stunned the bird as to deprive it at the same time of voice and hearing. This, however, was not the case; for, says the writer, the bird had been all the time occupied in profound meditation, and was studying how to imitate the sound of the trumpets; accordingly, in the first attempt, it perfectly imitated all their repetitions, stops, and changes. This new lesson, however, made it entirely forget everything that it had learned before.

The Magpie feeds on everything; worms, insects, meat, cheese, bread, milk, and all kinds of seeds, and also on small birds, when they come in its way: the young of the blackbird and of the thrush, and even a strayed chicken, often fall a prey to its rapacity. It is fond of hiding pieces of money or wearing apparel, which it carries away by stealth, and with much dexterity, to its hole. Its cunning is also remarked in the manner of making its nest, which it covers all over with hawthorn branches, the thorns sticking outward; within, it is lined with fibrous roots, wool, and long grass, and then plastered all round with mud and clay. The canopy above is composed of the sharpest thorns, woven together in such a manner as to deny all entrance except at the door, which is just large enough to permit egress and regress to the owners. In this fortress the birds bring up their brood with security, safe from all attacks, but those of the climbing schoolboy, who often finds his torn and bloody hands too dear a price for the eggs or the young ones.

There are many superstitions respecting Magpies; and it is singular that in all the southern and middle districts of England, two Magpies together are thought to betoken luck; while in Lancashire, and other northern counties, they are thought to betoken misfortune. The chattering of Magpies was formerly supposed to foretell the arrival of strangers.

Is like the jackdaw in shape and colour, but somewhat larger. The bill and legs are of a red colour, and hence the bird is frequently called the red-legged Crow. It is an inhabitant of Cornwall, Wales, and all the western coasts of England, and is generally to be found among rocks near the sea, where it builds, as well as in old ruinous castles and churches on the sea-side. The voice of the Chough resembles that of the jackdaw, except that it exceeds it in hoarseness and strength.

Mr. Montagu describing a Chough in the possession of a friend, says, “his curiosity is beyond bounds, never failing to examine everything new to him: if the gardener be pruning, he examines the nail-box, carries off the nails, and scatters the shreds about. Should a ladder be left against the wall, he instantly mounts, and goes all round the top of the wall: and if hungry descends at a convenient place, and immediately travels to the kitchen window, where he makes an incessant knocking with his bill, until he is fed or let in. If allowed to enter, his first endeavour is to get up-stairs; and if not interrupted, goes as high as he can, and gets into any room on the attic story; but his intention is to get upon the top of the house. He is excessively fond of being caressed, and would stand quietly by the hour to be smoothed; but resents an affront with violence and effect, by both bill and claws, and will hold so fast by the latter, that he is with difficulty disengaged.”

Is less than the magpie, and resembles him more in the habits of his life than in the shape and colour of his body. Like him he is talkative, and ready to imitate all sounds, but boasts of ornamental colours, which the magpie is deprived of. The ablest painter can produce no colour to equal the brightness of the chequered tablets of white, black, and blue, which adorn the sides of his wings. His head is covered with feathers, which are moveable at will, and the motion of which is expressive of the internal affections of the bird, whether he is stimulated by fear, anger, or desire.

A Jay, kept by a person in the north of England, had learned at the approach of cattle to set a cur dog upon them, by whistling and calling him by his name. One winter, during a severe frost, the dog was by this means excited to attack a cow that was big with calf, when the poor thing fell on the ice, and was much hurt. The Jay was complained of as a nuisance, and its owner was obliged to destroy it.

The hen lays five or six eggs, of a dull white colour, mottled with brown.

Is about the size of the jay. Its bill is black, sharp, and somewhat hooked. The head is of a dirty green, mingled with blue; of which colour is also the throat, with white lines in the middle of each feather; the breast is of a pale blue, like that of the pigeon; the middle of the back, between the shoulders, is red; the rump and lesser coverts of the wings are dark blue; the feet are short, and, like those of a dove, of a dirty yellow colour.

The Roller is wilder than the jay, and frequents the thickest woods; it builds its nest chiefly on birch-trees. It is a bird of passage, and migrates in the months of May and September. In Africa, it is said to fly in large flocks in the autumn, and is frequently seen on cultivated grounds, with rooks and other birds, searching for worms, insects, seeds, berries, roots, and in cases of necessity, small frogs.

Is the Halcyon of the ancients, and his name recalls to our mind the most lively ideas. It was believed, that, as long as the female sat upon her eggs, the god of storms and tempests refrained from disturbing the calmness of the waves, and Halcyon days were, for navigators of old, the most secure times to perform their voyages:

“As firm as the rock, and as calm as the flood,
 Where the peace-loving Halcyon deposits her brood.”

But although this bears analogy to a natural coincidence between the time of breeding assigned to the Kingfishers and a part of the year when the ocean is less tempestuous, yet Mythology would exercise her fancy, and turn into wonders that which was nothing else than the common course of nature.

This bird is nearly as small as a common sparrow, but the head and beak appear proportionally too big for the body. The bright blue of the back and wings claims our admiration, as it changes into deep purple or lively green, according to the angles of light under which the bird presents itself to the eye. It generally haunts the banks of rivers, for the purpose of seizing small fish, on which it subsists, and which it takes in amazing quantities, by balancing itself at a distance above the water for a certain time, and then darting on the fish with unerring aim. It dives perpendicularly into the water, where it continues several seconds, and then brings up the fish, which it carries to land, beats to death, and afterwards swallows. When it cannot find a projecting bough, it sits on some stone near the brink, or even on the gravel; but the moment it perceives the fish, it takes a spring upwards of twelve or fifteen feet, and drops from that height upon its prey.

The Kingfisher lays its eggs, to the number of seven or more, in a hole in the bank of the river or stream that it frequents. Dr. Heysham had a female brought alive to him at Carlisle by a boy, who said he had taken it the preceding night when sitting on its eggs. His information on the subject was, that “having often observed these birds frequent a bank upon the river Peteril, he had watched them carefully, and at last he saw them go into a small hole in the bank. The hole was too narrow to admit his hand; but, as it was made in soft mould, he easily enlarged it. It was upwards of half a yard long; at the end of it the eggs, which were six in number, were placed upon the bare mould, without the smallest appearance of a nest.” The eggs were considerably larger than those of the yellow-hammer, and of a transparent white colour. It appears, from a still later account, that the direction of the holes is always upward; that they are enlarged at the end, and have there a kind of bedding formed of the bones of small fish, and some other substances, evidently the castings of the parent animals. This bedding is generally half an inch thick, and mixed with earth; and on it the female deposits and hatches her eggs. When the young ones are nearly full-feathered they are extremely voracious; and as the old birds do not supply them with all the food they can devour, they are continually chirping, and may be discovered by their noise.

There are several distinct species of these birds, of which the best known are the large and small Emerald Birds of Paradise, which are very similar in appearance, and are both imported into Europe as ornaments for ladies’ dress. Their appearance when flying in their native forests is said to be most beautiful. M. Lesson, a French naturalist, gives the following account:—“Soon after our arrival on this land of promise (New Guinea) for the naturalist, I was on a shooting excursion. Scarcely had I walked some hundred paces in those ancient forests, the daughters of time, whose sombre depth was, perhaps, the most magnificent and stately sight that I had ever seen, when a Bird of Paradise struck my view: it flew gracefully and in undulations; the feathers of its sides formed an elegant and aërial plume, which, without exaggeration, bore no remote resemblance to a brilliant meteor. Surprised, astounded, enjoying an inexpressible gratification, I devoured this splendid bird with my eyes; but my emotion was so great that I forgot to shoot at it, and did not recollect that I had a gun in my hand till it was far away.”

The head is small, but adorned with colours which vie with the brightest hues of the feathered tribe; the neck is a beautiful fawn, and the body very small, but covered with long feathers of a browner hue, tinged with gold: the two middle feathers of the tail are little more than filaments, except at the point and near the base. Although the body is no larger than that of a thrush, the total length is two feet. This bird has long been esteemed by ladies as a head-dress; and as those sent to Europe for this purpose always had the legs cut off for the convenience of packing, it was reported, and at one time believed, that the Bird of Paradise had no legs, but that it lived always on the wing. Indeed, a very fierce controversy arose on this subject among the earlier naturalists.

The native place of these birds is New Guinea and the neighbouring islands, where they are generally found in flocks of thirty and forty, roosting on fig or teak trees. They always fly against the wind, that it may not ruffle their light and spreading plumage, as, if the wind came from behind, it would blow their long tails over their back. They take shelter from storms in the most dense thickets, and feed principally on figs, the berries of the teak, and insects. The note of the Bird of Paradise is very unpleasant, and resembles the cawing of a raven; it is chiefly heard in windy weather, when they dread being thrown on the ground.

Is less than the chaffinch. The head, neck, and beak are of an ash-colour; the sides under the wings red; the throat and breast of a pale yellow; the chin white, and the feathers under the tail red, with white tips. The Nuthatch feeds upon insects and also upon nuts, which he hoards in the hollow part of a tree; and it is pleasing to see him fetch a nut out of the hole, place it first in a chink, and standing above it with his head downwards, striking it with all his might, break the shell, and catch up the kernel. The hen is so attached to her brood, that, when disturbed from her nest, she flutters about the head of the depredator, and hisses like a snake. The Nuthatches are shy and solitary birds, and like the woodpeckers frequent woods, and run up and down the trees with surprising facility. They often move their tails in the manner of the wagtail. They do not migrate, but during the winter approach nearer to inhabited places, and are sometimes seen in orchards and gardens. The female lays her eggs in holes of trees.

The Creepers are dispersed through most countries of the globe, and feed chiefly on insects, in search of which they run in a spiral direction round the stems and branches of trees, with great agility.

The Common Creeper is about five inches in length; its colour is tawny, the quills being tipped with white or light brown. Its nest is formed of dry grass and bark, and is placed in the hollow of some decayed tree.

Is larger than a house-sparrow. It has a long, slender, black bill; the head, neck, and back are of an ash-colour, the front of the neck and throat being a deep black; the breast is white; the wings a compound of lead-colour and red. It is a brisk and cheerful bird, and has a pleasant note. Clefts and crevices of rocks and the walls of old edifices are its favourite haunts, and sometimes, but very rarely, the trunks of trees. It feeds on insects, and is especially fond of spiders and their eggs. The nest is made in clefts of the most inaccessible rocks, and in the crevices of ruins, at a great height.

This bird is found in New South Wales, near Port Philip, but it is the male only that possesses the splendid tail whence it derives its name. It feeds on snails, and builds a nest like a magpie.

“Of all the birds I have ever met with,” says Mr. Gould, “the Menura is by far the most shy and difficult to procure. While among the brushes, I have been surrounded by these birds, pouring forth their loud and liquid calls, for days together, without being able to get a sight of them; and it was only by the most determined perseverance and extreme caution that I was enabled to effect this desirable object; which was rendered the more difficult by their often frequenting the almost inaccessible and precipitous sides of gullies and ravines, covered with tangled masses of creepers, and umbrageous trees: the cracking of a stick, the rolling down of a small stone, or any other noise, however slight, is sufficient to alarm it; and none but those who have traversed these rugged, hot, and suffocating brushes, can fully understand the excessive labour attendant on the pursuit of the Menura. Independently of climbing over rocks and fallen trunks of trees, the sportsman has to creep and crawl beneath and among the branches with the utmost caution, taking care only to advance when the bird’s attention is occupied in singing, or in scratching up the leaves in search of food: to watch its actions, it is necessary to remain perfectly motionless, not venturing to move even in the slightest degree, or it vanishes from sight, as if by magic. Although I have said thus much on the cautiousness of the Menura, it is not always so alert: in some of the more accessible brushes through which roads have been cut, it may frequently be seen, and even on horseback closely approached, the bird apparently evincing less fear of those animals than of man. At Illawarra it is sometimes successfully pursued by dogs trained to rush suddenly upon it, when it immediately leaps upon the branch of a tree, and its attention being attracted by the dog which stands barking below, it is easily approached and shot. Another successful mode of procuring specimens is, by wearing a tail of a full-plumaged male in the hat, keeping it constantly in motion, and concealing the person among the bushes, when the attention of the bird being arrested by the apparent intrusion of another of its own sex, it will be attracted within the range of the gun: if the bird be hidden from view by the surrounding objects, any unusual sound, as a shrill whistle, will generally induce him to show himself for an instant, by causing him to leap with a gay and sprightly air upon some neighbouring branch to ascertain the cause of the disturbance: immediate advantage must be taken of this circumstance, or the next moment it may be half-way down the gully. So totally different is the shooting of this bird to anything practised in Europe, that the most expert shot would have but little chance, until well experienced in the peculiar nature of the country, and the habits of the bird. The Menura seldom, if ever, attempts to escape by flying; it easily eludes pursuit by its extraordinary power of running. None are so efficient in obtaining specimens as the naked black, whose noiseless and gliding steps enable him to steal upon it unheard and unperceived, and with the gun in his hand, he rarely allows it to escape, and in many instances he will even kill it with his own weapons.

“The Lyre-bird is of a wandering disposition, and although it probably keeps to the same brush, it is constantly engaged in traversing it from one end to the other, from mountain-top to the bottom of the gullies, whose steep and rugged sides present no obstacle to its long legs and powerful muscular thighs: it is also capable of performing extraordinary leaps; and I have heard it stated, that it will spring ten feet perpendicularly from the ground. It appears to be of solitary habits, as I have never seen more than a pair together, and these only in a single instance; they were both males, and were chasing each other round and round with extreme rapidity, apparently in play, pausing every now and then to utter their loud shrill calls; while thus employed they carried the tail horizontally, as they always do when running quickly through the bush, that being the only position in which this great organ could be conveniently borne at such times. Among its many curious habits, the only one at all approaching to those of the Gallinacæa, is that of forming small round hillocks, which are constantly visited during the day, and upon which the male is constantly trampling, at the same time erecting and spreading out his tail in the most graceful manner, and uttering his various cries, sometimes pouring forth his natural notes, at others mocking those of other birds, and even the howling of the native dog, or dingo. The early morning and the evening are the periods when it is most animated and active.”

There is another kind of Lyre-Bird, also found in New South Wales, to which Mr. Gould has given the name of Menura Alberti, in honour of the late Prince Consort.

There are numerous species of Humming-Birds, but that represented above, is one of the most common. They are abundant in South America, particularly in Brazil; and are so small and so brilliant in their colours, that when seen fluttering about in the brilliant rays of a tropical sun, they look like flying gems. They are extremely active, darting about, and thrusting their long beaks and flexible tongues into every flower they see, in search of food. Sometimes they will remain suspended in the air for a long time together, vibrating their wings with such velocity, that they cannot be seen distinctly, but appear like a mist round the body of the bird, while they make that curious humming noise from which the bird takes its name. Sometimes they quarrel, when their little throats become distended, their crest, tails, and wings expand, and they fight with inconceivable fury, till one of them falls exhausted on the ground. The most common species is Trochilus colubris, the Ruby-throated Humming-Bird, and one of them has been kept alive in a cage for more than three months, by feeding it with sugar and water. This species is found in North America, where it migrates to the north in summer, and is there seen even in Canada and the country of Hudson’s Bay.

This is a small bird, measuring no more than twelve inches from the point of the bill to the end of the tail. The bill is sharp, black, and somewhat bending. The head is adorned with a very beautiful, large moveable crest, a kind of bright halo, the radiation of which places the head nearly in the centre of a golden circle. This pleasing ornament, which the bird sets up or lets fall at pleasure, is composed of a double row of feathers, reaching from the bill to the nape of the neck, which is of a pale red. The breast is white, with black streaks tending downwards; the wings and back are varied with white and black cross-lines. The food of the Hoopoe consists chiefly of insects, with the remains of which its nest is sometimes so filled as to become extremely offensive. This beautifully-crested bird is not at all common in this country, and is solitary, two of them being seldom seen together, while in Egypt, where Hoopoes are very common, they are often seen in small flocks. The female generally constructs her nest in a hollow tree, the materials employed, in addition to the remains of their food, being very scanty, consisting in fact of a few dried grass stalks and feathers. She lays from four to seven eggs at a time, of a pale lavender grey, about an inch and a half long. The young are generally hatched in June; it is said, however, that two or three broods are produced in the course of the year. The name alludes to the note of the bird, which resembles the word “hoop” repeated several times in a low voice.

Though this bird is found occasionally both in England and Scotland, it rarely breeds with us. It is common in Italy, where its strange startling cry is often heard, without the bird being seen, as it keeps itself concealed among trees. It is also not uncommon on the banks of the Garonne in France, where it may be seen skimming along the ground amongst the willows in search of the insects upon which it feeds.

There are several species of this magnificent family. The most brilliant is undoubtedly the Upupa Superba, or Grand Promerops of New Guinea. “There does not perhaps exist,” says Sonnerat, “a more extraordinary bird. Its body is delicate and slender, and, although it is of an elongated form, appears excessively small in comparison with the tail. Nature seems to have pleased herself in painting this being, already so singular, with her most brilliant colours. The head, the neck, and the belly are a glittering green; the feathers which cover these parts have the lustre and softness of velvet to the eye and to the touch; the back is changeable violet; the wings are of the same colour, and appear, according to the lights in which they are held, blue, violet, or deep black, always however imitating velvet.” This bird is rare, and a specimen is seldom seen even in the most complete collections.