merrily, peer down through the open window with their bright little eyes, as who should say, "there you all are at breakfast in your old places, good luck t'ye."

In passing our feathered friends in rapid review, we think it better not to notice them in the order of their coming, but rather according to their powers of song: thus the Muscicapide, or fly-catchers, and the swallows, have no great pretensions to music, though musical to a certain degree they are, and we will commence with them.

The spotted fly-catcher (Muscicapa grisola) can hardly be said to be a song-bird, for a chirping call-note forms his whole musical stock; but it is one of the most welcome and constant of our migratory birds, and the untiring zeal with which it clears the neighbourhood of small insects, such as gnats, make it a cherished guest. Perched on the top of a stake, or a post, or an upper gate-bar, or an outlying branch, the bird remains motionless, till some luckless insect, humming his lay as carelessly as his brother water-fly," the dandy, hums the favourite air of the last new opera, comes within his range; off darts the fly-catcher, finishing the song and the life of the performer at the same instant, and returns to his station to repeat the exterminating process through the whole day. He is one of our latest visiters, seldom arriving till late in May,* and his quiet hair-brown coat and his dull white waistcoat, spotted and streaked with dark brown, are rarely seen till the oak leaf has well burst the bud. As soon as the bird arrives, it sets about the work of incubation.

"The fly-catcher," says the inimitable author of the "History of Selborne," "is of all our summer birds the most mute and the most familiar; it also appears the last of any. It builds in a vine or sweetbriar against the wall of a house, or in the hole of a wall, or on the end of a beam or plate, and often close to the post of a door, where people are going in and out all day long."

We observed a pair for several years, which built in a trellised porch covered with woodbine and the white sweet-scented clematis, undisturbed by the constant ingress and egress of the inmates, many of whom were children, or the early and late arrivals and departures of guests. Few places indeed come amiss to this familiar bird as a locality for its nest. Thus a pair— rather improvident architects those-built on the head of a garden rake, which had been left near a cottage. Two others made their nest in a bird-cage, which was suspended with the door open from a branch in a garden.‡ Another pair chose the angle

* In White's Calendar the earliest and latest periods noted, are May 10 and May 30 in Markwick's, April 29 and May 21. + Blackwall.

+ Magazine of Nat. Hist., vol. 1.

of a lamp-post in a street at Leeds, and there they reared their young.* A nest with five eggs was found on the ornamental crown of a lamp near Portland-place,† and this nest was seen by the well-known author of "British Birds and British Fishes," on the top of the lamp at the office of Woods and Forests, in Whitehall-place.

"Of three cup-shaped nests before me," says Mr. Yarrell, "one is formed on the outside of old dark-coloured moss, mixed with roots, the lining of grass stems, with only two or three white feathers; the second has the bottom and outside of fresh green moss, lined with a few grass bents, long horse-hairs, and several mottled feathers, apparently those of a turkey; the third is similar to the last in the outside, but lined with long horsehairs, wool, and feathers."

As a proof of the memory of this species, and something more, we may mention a fact recorded by Thomas Andrew Knight, Esq., the late lamented president of the Horticultural Society of London. A pair built in his stove for many successive years. Whenever the thermometer in the house was above 72°, the bird quitted her eggs; but as soon as the mercury sank below that point, she resumed her seat upon them. The four or five eggs of this interesting little bird are white, with a bluish tinge, spotted with a faint red, and the worthy male is most assiduous in feeding the female while she sits; and that as late as nine o'clock at night.‡

One word in favour of these poor little birds, which are too often mercilessly shot as fruit-eaters. That they may be seen about cherry and raspberry trees, when the fruit is ripe, there is no doubt, but Mr. Yarrell observes-correctly in our opinionthat they seem rather to be induced to visit fruit-trees for the sake of the flies which the luscious fruits attract, than for the sake of the fruits themselves, since, he tells us, on examination of the stomachs of fly-catchers killed under such circumstances, no remains of fruit were found.

But whence comes this insect-destroyer, so common on every lawn, and in every garden? From the arid regions of Africa, where its range extends to the west, and even to the south, as far as the Cape.

In the pied fly-catcher (Muscicapa atricapilla), a much more rare visitant, we have the powers of song more developed. Its notes, according to Mr. Blackwall, are varied and pleasing, and are compared by Mr. Dovaston to those of the redstart. The male of this pretty species, with his deep black back, and under covering of pure white, with which the forehead and wings are also

* Atkinson, Compendium of Ornithology.

† Jesse. + White.

marked, is, together with its more sombre partner, comparatively abundant near the charming lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland. Seven or eight eggs, of a uniform pale blue, are laid in a rather inartificial nest of grass and roots, dead bents, and hair, in holes of decayed trees, oaks principally. In feeding, it resembles the common fly-catcher. The south of Europe, particularly the countries that border the Mediterranean, abound with this species.

In the Hirundinide, or swallow family, we have another form of insect-scourge. The attacks of the fly-catchers are desultory, and may be compared to those of an enemy in ambush; but the swallows come upon the insect hosts in legions, charging and dashing through their ranks with their open fly-traps of mouths. The ranks close, as does a column of infantry or cavalry through which the cannon has cut a lane; but the winged foe wheels round again, and as the "insect youth" dance in the sun, annihilates hundreds. The survivors, like their brother mortals, pursue their dance, and in the midst of life are in death. It may seem strange at first sight to see the Hirundinide mentioned as songsters; but to say nothing of the exhilarating cry of the swift as he darts round the steeple, or of the twitter of the window-swallow and the bank or sand martin-sounds which all assist in making the air musical, and "aid the full concert"-the chimney-swallow, Hirundo rustica, can warble, softly indeed, but sweetly.

The swallow," says White, "is a delicate songster, and in soft sunny weather sings both perching and flying on trees in a kind of concert, and on chimney-tops.'

This charming bird, the harbinger of spring, has been welcomed in all countries, and will be so welcomed as long as the seasons last. The poets of all ages have hailed his advent; and our own Davy, with whose deep philosophy the poetical temperament was strongly mingled, has pronounced his history in a few bright and true words:

"He lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature: winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn for the myrtle and orange-groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa.*

The Hirundinide which visit this country are, the species last above mentioned, the martin (Hirundo urbica), the sand-martin (Hirundo riparia), the common swift (Hirundot apus), and—but very rarely-the alpine or white-bellied swift (Cypselus alpinus).

The chimney-swallow makes his appearance amongst us earlier or later, according to the mildness or severity of the season, but the

* Salmonia.

† Cypselus of modern authors.

10th of April appears to be the general average of the time of its arrival; the earliest period noted by White is the 26th of March, and the latest the 20th of April; the 7th of April and the 27th of that month, are the respective dates recorded by Markwick. The old French quatrain thus celebrates his habits:

"Dans les maisons fait son nid l'Hirondelle,

Ou bien souvent dans quelque cheminée :
Car à voler légèrement est née,

Tant qu'il n'y a oyseau plus léger qu'elle."

He who would hear the swallow sing must rise early, for the bird is a matutinal songster, as Apuleius well knew. It would be a waste of time to do more than hint at the exploded fables of swallows retiring under water in the winter, though from time to time some worthy goody or gaffer even now tries to revive them, not without some recipients of the tale, so prone is the human mind to catch at any thing wonderful, and so constantly does error again rise to the surface! but the evidence of the migration of the whole family is now so complete and irresistible, that it amounts to absolute proof. Again and again have they been seen crossing the sea, sometimes dropping into it to take a marine bath, and then pursuing their journey refreshed and exhilarated.

The martin, with his pure white lower back and under parts, most probably turns his neb northward, from Africa, at the same time with the swallow, but his powers of wing cannot keep pace with the extensive sail of the latter, and he generally arrives a few days later. The earliest and latest periods recorded by White are the 28th of March and the 1st of May, and those given by Markwick are the 14th of April and the 18th of May.

The sand-martin arrives earlier than either of the other two species. The earliest and latest dates noted by White are the 21st of March and the 12th of April; Markwick's are the 8th of April and the 16th of May. The average time of the arrival of the common-swift is early in May; but White saw it as early as the 13th of April, and the latest time noticed by him is the 7th of May. Markwick never saw it earlier than the 28th of April, and the latest arrival observed by him was the 19th of that month.

The great alpine-swift, which chooses the highest rocks and the most towering cathedrals for his nesting places, can only be considered as an accidental visiter to these islands, and does not appear to have been seen here earlier than in June.

The architecture of the three first species of this family here noticed, deserves attention. Early in the season the swallows and house-martins may be seen on the ground in moist places, or near the edges of ponds or puddles. They are then collecting the clay

or mortar, which, strengthened with straws and grass-stems to keep it together in the case of the swallow, is to form their nest. One course or raise only, as the Devonians call it, is laid on at a time, and that is left to settle and dry before the next is added, as men proceed in making a cob-wall, and thus the work proceeds, day after day, till the saucer-shaped nest of the swallow and the hemispherical cob-house of the martin are complete.

The sand-martin proceeds upon a different plan: he is a miner, and excavates his dwelling in the sand-bank, as the ancient Egyptian carved his temple out of the solid rock. Look at the bill of this little bird. Though small, it is hard and sharp, and well our sapper knows how to use it. Clinging to the face of the sandbank with its sharp little claws, and closing its bill, the bird works away with its natural pickaxe, till the hard sand comes tumbling down on all sides. Round he goes, now with his head up, now down, till he has planned his circular cave as regularly almost as compasses could do it; and yet he does not trace it out from a fixed point in the centre, but works from the circumference. When he has well broken ground, he tunnels away as truly as Sir Isambard himself, and while the bird works into his excavation, he shifts his position as the necessities of the case require; now he stands on the floor, now he clings to the roof with his back downwards, and how carefully does he remove the rubbish from the upward inclined floor with his feet, taking care not to disturb its solidity. But we must pause, and refer those who may be interested in the operations of this industrious little bird to Mr. Rennie's excellent description-we can vouch for its accuracy-in his "Architecture of Birds," a book in which every lover of nature will find amusement and instruction.

The nest of the common-swift is a farrago of bits of rag, a feather or two, dry grass-blades and stems, and fragments of straw : but these materials appear to be cemented or glued together. What this glue is composed of is not known, though some have supposed it to be the saliva, or a mucous secretion of the bird itself.

The nests of the Chinese-swallow, with which the brother of the sun and moon enriches his soup when they are clean and fair, and glues his bamboo-seat when they are dark and dirty, are said to owe their glutinous quality to Ulva, or sea-weeds, like our laver, worked up by the builders. But the nest of the common-swift, which is deposited under the eaves of the old house or church, in a hole in a steeple, or in some antiquated turret, has generally a very compressed appearance, the result of the pressure of generation after generation there hatched and reared.