multitudes of them exposed for sale for the table, in company indeed with swallows, martins, and other small birds, but looked upon as far superior to all the rest.

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In the years 1821, 1836, 1837, and 1838, these crossbills visited England in considerable force. In 1791 many were taken at Bath. Mr. Yarrell remarks, that in 1828 they appeared at Westmoreland; that in 1829 they were numerous in Yorkshire; and that they have been, he might also say. plentiful in various parts of England from the winter of 1835, to January 1839 (when he wrote his history of the species), probably induced, as he observes, to remain longer in this country now than formerly, by the greater abundance of fir plantations, to which they particularly resort for their principal food in winter. In April 1839, Mr. Charlesworth exhibited at the meeting of the Zoological Society, the nest, eggs and young, so long in vain sought for, from the neighbourhood of Farnham, in Surrey. Nests had before been seen near Dartford, in Kent, and near Saffron Walden; in the first case, on a pine-tree in the last, in an apple-tree. No eggs, however, were laid in either case; but, according to Mr. Joseph Clarke, of Saffron Walden, a pair some years ago completed a nest in the aviary at Audley-End, and the hen laid five eggs, but did not sit. The specimens exhibited by Mr. Charlesworth, were accompanied by notes relating to their discovery, by H. L. Long, Esq., who stated that the nest was lodged close to the central stem of a Scotch fir, about thirty inches below its highest point, at the base of the shoots of the year 1837: it was supported beneath by five or six ascending lateral branches of the tree, which so completely con. cealed it, that it could have scarcely been perceptible from the ground, and the retreat of the parent birds was only betrayed by their occasional visits. Mr. Yarrell observed that the eggs very nearly resembled those of the greenfinch, but that they were larger, and had a smaller portion of red-colouring, and this not confined to the larger end of the egg. It is not stated of what the nest was composed; but that built at Audley-End was of a loose texture, not unlike that of the greenfinch, "though not nearly so well, or so carefully built, and the eggs contained in it were not unlike those of that bird, but larger."

The nestling

The plumage varies greatly at different periods. is dark green, with blackish longitudinal marks. The young birds in June and July have the head, neck, and all the under parts of the body streaked longitudinally with dusky brown, and then resemble the hen siskin; but the streaks in the male crossbills are much more distinct and bright than they are in the females. In September, the colour of the males is more uniform,

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and the stripes more diffused. At the first autumnal moult, some change to red only, or yellow only, and others to red and yellow mixed.

The young hens at the same period become greenish-yellow on the crown of the head, and on the whole of the under parts, mixed with greyish-brown primrose-yellow, tinged with green, on the rump and upper tail-coverts, and of the same colour as the male on the wings, tail, and legs.

never

But the most curious part of the organization of the crossbills is the structure of the beak, the mandibles of which cross each other at the extremity from right to left, or from left to right. Buffon, who is ever too ready to charge nature with a fault, speaks of this structure as a deformity. A more admirable instrument for the purpose it has to accomplish was invented. In the nestlings the mandibles do not cross at all, because in that state their crossing would interfere with the sure reception of the food brought to them by their parents; their bills, therefore, are straight, and the under mandible shuts within the upper one. But as soon as the bird is arrived at an age when it must provide for itself, the mandibles cross to form a fitting tool for splitting apples, and even almonds, and for opening fir-cones. Mr. Townson kept some in captivity, and had an opportunity of witnessing how perfectly the disposition of the mandibles enables the bird to tear or wrench open what is presented to it. His pets would often come on the table whilst he was writing, and carry off his pencils, little chip-boxes in which he occasionally kept insects, and other similar objects, and tear them to pieces in a minute. Their mode of operation was first to peck a little hole, into which they inserted their bill, and then split or tore the object by a force exercised laterally. When he treated them with almonds in their shells, they got at the kernel in the same manner, namely, by first pecking a hole in the shell, and then enlarging it by wrenching off pieces by the lateral power. Mr. Yarrell mentions a pair kept by Mr. Morgan, which were impatient and restless under confinement, climbing over the wires of their cage with their beak and claws, like parrots. One of their principal occupations was twisting out the ends of the wires of their prison-a feat which they performed with ease and dexterity. Then there was a short, flat-headed nail which confined some strong net-work, and was an object on which they especially delighted to try their strength. The male, who was the leader in every exploit, worked at this nail till he drew it out of the wood; not, however, without breaking off the point of his bill in the experiment. At last their

patron, wearied out by their incessant destruction of cages, was obliged to banish them. With this same formidable instrument they can pick up the smallest seeds, and shell hemp and similar grains, notwithstanding Buffon's rash assertion to the contrary. The beautiful disposition of the muscles by which the beak is worked, and the exquisitely-adapted tongue, with its horny scoop for the reception of the dislodged seed, directed, are figured and described in a masterly manner by Mr. Yarrell in the Zoological Journal," and in his British Birds.'

There is an odd superstition connected with these birds in Thuringia, which makes the wood-cutters very careful of the nests. The crossbills in captivity are subject to many diseases, such as weak eyes, swelled and ulcerated feet, &c., arising probably from the heat and accumulated vapours of the stoveheated rooms where they are kept. The Thuringian mountaineer believes that these wretched birds can take upon themselves any diseases to which he is subject, and always keeps some near him. He is satisfied that a bird whose upper mandible bends to the right, has the power of transferring colds and rheumatisms from man to itself; and if the mandible turns to the left, he is equally certain that the bird can render the same service to women. The crossbill is often attacked with epilepsy, and the Thuringians drink every day the water left by the bird as a specific against that disease.

The parrot crossbill (Loxia pityopsittacus) which is much larger than the common crossbill, and the white-winged crossbill (Loxia falcirostra) are both occasionally seen in this country.

Passing by those wagtails (Motacilla) that visit this country-for they have no song beyond call-notes-we approach a family modest and even sombre in their attire, but in which the full power of bird-music is developed. The Sylviada, or warblers, afford examples of almost every degree of song, from the oftenrepeated double-note from which the chiffchaff takes its English name, to the rich and varied melody of the black-cap and the diapason of the nightingale.

The chiffchaff (Sylvia hippolais) is the smallest of the British visiters, and we have received one in a cover, together with a written half-sheet of paper, franked by the penny stamp, which now affords such extensive communication on subjects of business or pleasure. It is a welcome little bird; for it is one of the earliest heralds of spring, generally arriving early in March it has been heard in the very beginning of February. Its snug nest is generally made on or near the ground, sometimes in the ivy

that covers a wall, and is framed of dried grass, withered leaves, and moss on the outside, with an abundant warm lining of feathers, on which the six tiny white eggs scantily speckled with dark purplish red, are deposited. This sprightly species lingers long with us, and as he brings fine weather with him, so he does not depart till the middle of October, after which the winter generally comes rapidly upon us. Nay, so attached is the bird to its summer quarters, that Colonel Montagu saw it in the winters of 1806 and 1808 in the mild climate of Devonshire. a wild state it is of infinite service in gardens, the neighbourhood of which it haunts, and is indefatigible in clearing the rose-trees and honeysuckles of the aphides which so often disappoint the hopes of the florist.

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Confinement does not seem to affect it painfully; for one caught by Mr. Sweet took to feeding directly, and learned to drink milk out of a spoon. In three or four days it took a fly from his hand, and would wing its way round the room after the person who carried the spoonful of milk, of which beverage it was so fond, that it would perch on the hand that held the spoon, without manifesting the least fear. Every now and then it would rise to the ceiling and bring down a fly every time.

At last the confiding little bird became so very tame, that it would sit and sleep on Mr. Sweet's knee by the fire; and when the windows were open, it never attempted to fly out. Mr. Sweet then ventured to entice it out into the garden, to see if it would return. It was with difficulty that the bird was induced to come out at the door by the lure of its favourite spoonful of milk; twice it returned into the room: the third time it flew into a little tree, from which it came and perched on Mr. Sweet's hand, and drank milk out of the spoon: from thence it flew to the ground on some chickweed, where it washed itself, and got into a holly-bush to dry.

Here the instinct of migration seems to have overcome all the domestic comforts which its kind-hearted master had provided for it, and to which it had become so attached; for, after the little bird had got among the holly-leaves, Mr. Sweet could see it no more, though he heard it call several times.

"I suppose," says he, after it got quite dry, that it left the country directly, as I could never see or hear it afterwards; and it was then the end of November, when all the others had left for some time."*

The willow-warbler, willow-wren, or hay-bird (Sylvia Tro

"British Warblers."

The ear

chilus) generally arrives about the middle of April. liest arrival noted in "White's Calendar" is the 19th of March, and the latest is the 13th of April. Markwick's periods are the 30th of March and the 16th of May, and he records it as sitting on the 27th of May, and as last seen on the 23rd of October.

The nest, which is built on the ground, often in the bank of a hedge skirting a wood, is a curious piece of architecture. It is oval or rounded, and made of moss and grass externally, so that it is with difficulty detected among the long grass and herbage in which it is generally concealed. It is lined with feathers, and the bird enters at the side. The six or seven eggs are generally white, plentifully but minutely speckled with pale red but they have been found of a pure white.

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Of the strong attachment of this lively bird to its nest a lady gives a very striking account in the "Field Naturalist."

She was walking, in the spring, through an orchard, when her attention was attracted by something on the ground in the form of a large ball composed of dried grass. She took it up and found that it was the domed nest of the willow-wren. Regretting her precipitation she restored it, as nearly as she could, to the place where it had been found, but with small hope that the owner would ever claim it again after such an attack. To her agreeable surprise, the little occupier was next day proceeding with its work. In a few days two eggs were laid, and the kind lady now hoped that her little friends were safe from harm; when lo! an invading army of splay-footed ducks marched straight upon the nest (which was conspicuous, for the grass had not grown high enough to hide it), and with their broad shovels of bills spread the nest quite open, displaced the eggs, and left the neat and snug little domicile a complete ruin. The lady now almost despaired; but having driven away the waddling intruders, she did her best to restore the nest to something like its proper form, and placed the eggs inside. Her perseverance was rewarded; for that same day she was astonished to find an additional egg, and in about a week, four more. The birds sat, and ultimately brought out seven young ones. It almost seems as if this persecuted pair looked upon the lady as their guardian angel, and that, confident in her protection, under the most adverse circumstances, they were determined not to abandon their nest.

Mr. Yarrell speaks of the song of the willow-warbler as being soft and pleasing, sometimes given from a high tree, and occasionally while passing on the wing from place to place, but as