Here again we have strong evidence of the memory of birds. Dr. Jenner proved by the most irrefragable evidence, that the same pair of birds returned to the same nest year after year. Theirs is a chequered life. When the sun shines bright, and all the insect-world is stirring, the swifts are sporting in the brilliant summer-light, and sailing in the air in all the luxury of enjoyment; but let a windy, stormy time come- -where are they then? Laid up in solitude and darkness, hour after hour, in their gloomy nesting-places, to climb into which their short feet are admirably adapted, for all four of the toes are turned forward to aid them in creeping into their narrow dormitories.

We cannot quit this family without adverting to a charge made against some of the species-abandonment of their young. This has been proved against the swallow and the martin; and the swift has been suspected, whether justly or not we shall presently inquire.

There is no doubt that late broods of swallows have been left by their vagrant parents to perish in their nests by the most distressing of deaths; and as little that the martins are guilty of the same desertion. Dr. Jenner has recorded the fact against a pair of martins which hatched four broods in one year: the last hapless brood came into existence early in October, and about the middle of the month the old birds went off, and left their nestlings, then about half-fledged, to die. They returned to the nest on the 17th of May, in the next year, and threw the skeletons out. Mr. Blackwall* has put the frequent occurrence of this unparental act beyond doubt. Among many other evidences, he has seen a pair of house-martins, after taking possession of an old nest, draw out the dried bodies of three nearly full-fledged nestlings, before they established themselves therein. About the same time, and near the same place, another pair endeavoured to get rid of the dead bodies of the victims; their efforts to dislodge the carcasses were ineffectual, and they then closed up the aperture of the nest with clay, thus converting it into a sepulchre. At first Mr. Blackwall was disposed to attribute the untimely death of the nestlings to the accidental destruction of one or both parents; but the accumulated evidence forbade any other conclusion than that these cases of protracted suffering and ultimate dissolution, were the result of voluntary abandonment. May not the praises bestowed of old upon the swallow for its piety in burying its dead, have taken their origin from some such fact as one of those recorded by Mr. Blackwall ?

But how are we to account for this perversion of the parental

* Researches in Zoology.

feeling that all-absorbing affection for offspring which, in birds especially, is paramount? We find an answer in another law, stronger even than parental affection, the law of self-preservation. What were the unhappy parents to do? Beguiled by the sunny skies of a fine autumn, they hoped to rear their broods; but with the advancing season came churlish days and nipping frosts, destroying their insect food, and making their case desperate. Go they must, or perish likewise; and the love of life prevailed.

We have observed in the west of England, the extreme anxiety of the parent birds to get a late brood out of the nest in time for the general departure. Towards the end of September, 1840, a pair of martins seemed at their wit's end to get their nestlings to leave the nest over the porch of the dwelling-house. At last, one Sunday evening, all the martins in the parish seemed to be collected about the door, darting by the nest, wheeling in short circles near it, and uttering a call-note as they passed the aperture. It was as if the old martins had gone round to their friends and said, "For any sake do come and help to get these obstinate children out, or they will infallibly be left to starve."

The experiment succeeded, for next morning the young were gone.

In the case recorded by White, the male swift appears to have been guilty of desertion, but the more affectionate mother staid by her little ones till they were able to accompany her to more sunny climes.

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Our swifts, in general," says that delightful writer, "withdrew this year about the first day of August, all save one pair, which in two or three days was reduced to a single bird. The perseverance of this individual made me suspect that the strongest of motives, that of an attachment to her young, could alone occasion so late a stay. I watched, therefore, till the 24th of August, and then discovered that, under the eaves of the church, she attended upon two young which were fledged, and now put out their white chins from a crevice. These remained till the 27th, looking more alert every day, and seeming to long to be on the wing. After this day they were missing at once; nor could I ever observe them with their dam coursing round the church in the act of learning to fly, as the first broods evidently do. On the 31st I caused the eaves to be searched, but we found in the nest only two callow, dead, swifts, on which a second nest had been formed. The following remarks on this unusual incident are obvious. The first is, that though it may be disagreeable to swifts to remain beyond the beginning of August, yet that they can subsist longer is undeniable. The second is, that this uncommon event, as it was

owing to the loss of the first brood, so it corroborates my former remark, that swifts breed regularly but once."*

The purple martin of the United States (Hirundo purpurea), appears to be as great a favourite with our transatlantic brethren as the swallows and martins are with us.

'I never," says the celebrated Wilson, "met with more than one man who disliked the martins, and would not permit them to settle about his house. This was a penurious, close-fisted German, who hated them because, as he said, they ate his peas.' I told him he must be mistaken, as I never knew an instance of martins eating peas; but he replied with coolness, that he had many times seen them himself 'blaying near the hife, and going schnip schnap,' by which it was understood that his bees had been the sufferers, and the charge could not be denied."

We believe that all our species are guiltless of such depredation, though Virgil, in his fourth Georgic, distinctly charges the swallow with the act.

Before we take leave of these innocent and useful little birds, may we be pardoned for pleading in their favour against the wanton and cruel sport-if sport it must be called-of swallowshooting? We say nothing of the sudden deprivation of a life of utility and enjoyment in the case of the bird shot, for the mere amusement of any mischievous coxcomb who is master of a gunthough that is something: it is to the agonizing and lingering death to which this abominable practice condemns the nestlings that we would point attention and sure we are that there is no manly heart that will not shrink with horror from knowingly inflicting such suffering.

:

Another barbarous amusement-more practised, we are happy to say, in foreign countries than in our own-is angling for the Hirundinidæ from some lofty tower. The bait is a feather, at which the unsuspecting victim dashes to secure it as a prize for its nest. The tormentor-we cannot call him sportsman—every now and then drops small bits of white paper by way of attraction, as the punt-angler throws in his balls of clay and bran to collect the fish. The swallow not unfrequently takes the trout-angler's artificial fly, to the distress of the fisherman, and the destruction of the unfortunate bird.

The migratory Merulida which come to our coasts, are mostly winter visiters; but as the majority arrive at a period when they are mute as songsters, they do not claim more than a passing notice here. The rare White's thrush, of which the Earl of Malmsbury possesses so fine a specimen, was shot by his lordship

* Natural History of Selborne, vol. 11.

in January, on his estate at Heron Court, near Christchurch.

The field-fare and redwing are regular and annual winter visitants. The nest of the former has indeed been found occasionally, but very rarely, in England and Scotland. Norway, Sweden, Russia, and Siberia, are their summer quarters and they remain throughout the year in Poland, Prussia, and Austria. Harsh as is the call-note of the field-fare, the song is soft and melodious, and the bird sings agreeably in confinement, to which it soon becomes reconciled. Bechstein gives it a very different character, for he says that its song is a mere harsh disagreeable warble.

The redwings have been seen and heard in Surrey, Essex, and Yorkshire, as late as May, by Mr. Blyth and Mr. Williamson; and in a cold backward season, they lingered in Hampshire, according to White, till June. Nests have occasionally been found in Middlesex and Surrey; but these were evidently accidental exceptions to the general rule. The Red-wing's note, heard in Norway, is characterized by Mr. Hewitson as delightfully wild. Bechstein says its song is in no respect agreeable. Here, again, "who shall decide when, &c."

The ring-ouzel, which visits us in April, sings sweetly, according to Mr. Hewitson; clearly and powerfully, though the notes are few, according to Selby. This species is by no means widely dispersed; and the western and northern parts of our island seem to be preferred. Over Ireland they are generally distributed, according to Mr. Thompson. The nest, which is very like that of the common blackbird, is most frequently placed near the ground or on it, sheltered by some stone or bush, and sometimes on the sides of heathy banks, without such shelter.

Here we may notice the elegant and beautiful rose-ouzel (Pastor roseus), of rare occurrence in these islands. The song of this species appears to be peculiar. A wounded bird shot from a flock by a sportsman near Meiningen, in Suabia, was soon healed and tamed by the kindness of M. von Wachter, the rector of Frickenhausen, and it began to sing. Bechstein relates that its warbling consisted at first of only a few harsh sounds, pretty well connected; but this in time became more clear and smooth. A connoisseur who had heard the bird without seeing it, thought he was listening to a concert of two starlings, two goldfinches, and perhaps a siskin; and when he saw that it was a single bird that made this music, he could not conceive how it all came from the same throat. One of these birds is now in the aviary of the Zoological Society in the Regent's Park.

The flute-like notes of the golden-oriole (Oriolus galbula), the Frenchman's Père Loriot, has been heard in our orchards, but

very rarely. Bechstein states that its call-note, so familiar to the Spaniard and Italian, and not unfamiliar to the Frenchman and German, may be well expressed by the words " ye puhlo." The translator of Bechstein's interesting book says, that the natural song is very like the awkward attempts of a country boy with a bad musical ear to whistle the notes of a missel-thrush. But it is no bad mimic for Bechstein saw two golden-orioles that were reared from the nest, one of which, independently of the natural song, whistled a minuet, and the other imitated a flourish of trumpets. One of his neighbours saw two at Berlin, both of which whistled different airs.

Such accomplishments indicate a very correct ear; and, indeed, that organ is so nice in the oriole, that when the sportsman endeavours to approach it, whistling its note, the slightest mistake or false intonation warns the bird of the imposition, and it instantly flies away. The nest, which usually contains four or five white eggs, tinged with purple, and scantily spotted with ash-grey and claret, is generally suspended in a fork at the end of a bough; and the French have a saying purporting that the discovery of one bodes no good end to the finder.

But one regular visiter of the family Anthide, or pipit-larks, comes to these islands, and that is the tree-pipit (Anthus arboreus), so often confounded with the meadow-pipit (Anthus pratensis), which is a resident. The tree-pipit arrives late in April, and begins his pretty song on the top of a bush, or on a lofty branch of an elm. Presently up he goes, rising somewhat after the manner of a sky-lark, till he has ascended nearly as high again as the station from which he sprang; when, with outstretched wings and expanded tail, he makes a half circle in his slow descent, singing all the while, till he arrives at the spot from which he started, or reaches the top of some neighbouring tree; and this he will constantly repeat for many times in succession, if not disturbed. Mr. Yarrell saw these musical evolutions most frequently during and after a warm May shower, and we have watched the bird with the same success at the same periods; and it does make the heart glad to see him, and rejoice in his gladness, as he carols away with the bright sun shining on the emerald leaves, from which the rain-drops hang like diamonds, whilst the glorious rainbow tells of peace and good will to all creatures. The nest, formed of moss, fibrous roots, and dry grass, lined with grass stems, and sparingly with hairs, is usually placed on the ground; but Mr. Neville Wood once found one on the lowest branch of a small thick bush. The four or five eggs vary in colour in different nests, but the most usual tints are purplebrown, or purple-red clouds or spots on a greyish white ground.