"In the sedge of the river the reed-sparrows build, And the peewit among the brown clods of the

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field;"

while the curlew, which also frequents the shore, "wisely" builds her nest upon the moor that 's highest." Certain birds build in communities; for instance,

"Swallows, that hatch Broods by the dwellings of men, Colonize chimney and thatch

Fresh from migration again."

Christ Church meadow, and congratulating the dark proprietors of the vil lage overhead that their fortunate settlement is within the protective influence of academic laws."

One of the first things that a visitor notices on the school grounds at Rugby is the rookery. He is at once reminded of the evening when Tom Brown and his "little chum " looked from the west window of the latter's sick-room "into the tops of the great feathery

martins, which

"cheeped in many a knot,
For they had ta'en a sandy plot
And scooped another Petra there."

Thomson observes that

"lofty elms and venerable oaks Invite the rook, who, high amid the boughs, In early spring, his airy city builds."

cling and clanging," young and old "talking in chorus;" of the boys' wonder as to whether the "old blackies" did talk or have prayers; and of Tom's pertinent conclusion, in view of some remorseful recollections which it is not difficult to surmise, that Doctor Arnold, for "stopping the slinging," must be

"cast their solemn shade around

Some village churchyard's hallowed ground;"

or, as Warton says,

"Where in venerable rows

Widely waving oaks inclose

The moat of yonder antique hall."

Often it is

"where the quenchless noise

Of jocund task-remitted boys, Well pleased, or busy hum of men, They hear, and back return again." The frequent selection by rooks of building sites near schools and colleges leads us to inquire whether there can be another reason for it than the one suggested above, that they enjoy the noise and bustle of such establishments. Rev. J. G. Wood, in My Feathered Friends, tells us that he had from the window of his "garret in college" a view of the topmost branches of some fine elmtrees, which contained rooks' nests, and adds that "the rooks are especially under the collegiate protection." The reminiscence of another Oxford graduate, well known in the scientific world, affords a similar hint: "Once more are we seated beneath the old rook-trees in

prayers. And we are inclined to speculate, half seriously, whether rooks place themselves consciously under the protection of academic laws.

Like towns terrestrial, these "towns aerial 'mid the waving tree" are of gradual growth. Poets have remarked that birds" mend" "and retrim their nests." As early as February the rook commences operations. According to Gilbert White,

"the cawing rook Anticipates the spring, selects her mate, Haunts her tall nest-trees, and with sedulous care Repairs her wicker eyrie, tempest-torn."

And Mant further notes the fact that the old birds reserve to themselves the easier task

"The ruins of the former year
Afresh to garnish,"

remorselessly imposing upon the younger members of the commonwealth the burden of constructing

"The fabric of their mansions new;" also that they combine to punish any thoughtless or lawless young citizen that may attempt to shirk and help himself to a house or materials already pre

On wooded isle, 'mid inland lake,
Aloft, a congregated town,"

or a "social city beside the moist fen."

It has been remarked that there is as much individuality in the nest as in the bird. The instinct that prompts the song thrush to build

"ere the sprouted foliage shield Her dwelling from the biting air Bids her no less her home prepare Impervious to the impending storm, A chinkless mansion, close and warm;" and, says Clare,

"often, an intruding guest, I watched her secret toils, from day to day: How true she warped the moss to form her nest, And modeled it within with wood and clay." The plastic substance and bits of decayed wood which compose the thin but water-tight lining of the thrush's nest are prepared, smoothed, and given a "cup-like" shape by the bird's own "plastic breast,

And bill with native moisture fraught." Another early builder is the blackbird :

"And see

His jetty breast embrowned; the rounded clay His jetty breast has soiled." Other birds make use of very different materials. The kingfisher

"builds his nest of the pearly fish-bone, Deep, deep in the bank, far retired and alone." One of the curiosities of bird architecture is the nest of the long-tailed titmouse: an "oval ball of moss," with a "window in the wall," and " as full of feathers as can be;" wrought by the little creature

"Without a tool to aid her skill, —
Nought but her little feet and bill;
Without a pattern whence to trace
This little roofed-in dwelling-place."

The blue tit fits up the interior of his domicile with some soft substance, and uses spiders' webs for finishing:

"And now look at his nest, made with exquisite care,

Of lichen, and moss, and the soft, downy feather, And the web of the spider to keep it together.

How he twists, how he turns, with a harlequin grace!

He can't lift a feather without a grimace; He carries the moss in his bill with an air, And he laughs at the spider he robs of his lair." The wren's nest, "close and vaulted o'er," with its "little gateway porch," and with the "finest plumes and downs" so" softly warped" within, is a marvel of skill, but the pictures of Grahame and Wordsworth scarcely fail of doing justice to the exquisite workmanship of the little architect. Not less interesting, perhaps, is Mary Howitt's description of the sparrow's "uncostly nest:

"Not neatly wove with tender care,
Of silvery moss and shining hair;
But put together, odds and ends,
Picked up
from enemies and friends."

Poets have observed the simple construction of the wood-pigeon's "sprigformed nest,"

"laid so thinly, that the light of day Is through it seen;"

and how

"The cushat and the turtle doves
On the tall fir of transverse sticks
Their artless dwelling rudely fix,
Where on the gazer's eye below

Gleam their twin eggs of drifted snow." Sometimes the furnishing within is of the most costly material. The eider duck, that rears her young on bleak northern islands, lines her nest thickly Iwith the beautiful down of her own breast; not once, merely, but, if the nest is plundered, until her own supply is exhausted, and then, says Hartwig in his Polar World, " with a plaintive voice she calls her mate to her assistance, who willingly plucks the soft feathers from his breast to supply the deficiency," the down furnished by the latter being recognized by those that rob these nests as whiter than that of the female. In the following extract, the soul of a lady in purgatory is represented as speaking:"For where the brown duck stripped her breast For her dear eggs and windy nest, Three times her bitter spoil was won For woman; and when all was done She called her snow-white piteous drake, Who plucked his bosom for our sake."

Surely

"With instinctive love is drest

The eider's downy cradle."

The author of The Paradise of Birds was not ignorant of their nesting habits: "See, here are burrows for the puffins' homes, Gray lichens whence the titmice build their domes,

Broad hawthorn for the chaffinches, and high Spruce for the rook, the ring dove, and the pie. Here, too, are streams, where, on the outreaching boughs,

The water-hen may hang her balanced house." Other British birds construct hanging

nests:

"There the wren, golden-crested, so lovely to see, Hangs its delicate nest from the twigs of the tree."

Revealed the best way to economize clay,
And bricks to combine with cement.
The knowledge withal of the carpenter's awl
Is drawn from the nuthatch's bill,

And the sand-martin's pains in the hazel-clad lanes

Instructed the mason to drill."

Nor are these examples found exclusively in modern poets, or those even since the time of Thomson. Marvell notes that the corn crake builds in a hollow" below the grass's root; " Milton, that

"the eagle and the stork On cliffs and cedar tops their eyries build;" Shakespeare, that

"the martlet

Builds in the weather on the outward wall,"

"woven cradle 'mid my trees

Of black Morelloes hang."

The nest of the chaffinch displays in a striking manner the protective power of instinct. It is," observes Morris (Nests and Eggs of British Birds), "usually so well adapted to the color of the place where it is built as to elude detection from any chance passer-by; close scrutiny is required to discover it." Sometimes it is, as described by another, "well disguised

With lichens grey, and mosses gradual blent, As if it were a knurle in the bough."

Hurdis calls attention to the apparent disadvantages under which a bird labors:

"No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join; his little beak was all." But Courthope makes the birds claim that the advantages of knowing how to use both tools and materials are with them rather than with man :

tress," and "coigne of vantage; " and a hundred years before, Skelton had observed that the nest of the stork was made on "chymneyes to rest." That birds occasionally are found nesting in very unexpected places has been sometimes taken advantage of by poets. Leigh Hunt's The Trumpets of Doolkarnein and Cowper's The Chaffinch's Nest are notable examples of this.

So far from its being true that this wonderful chapter in bird history has been almost wholly neglected by British poets, it could hardly be too much to say that any one wholly ignorant of the subject might become quite well informed as to the nesting habits of British birds by a careful reading of British poetry. Some of the most apt expressions employed by ornithological writers, even of the present day, seem almost to have originated with the poets.

The author's assertion that the turtle dove is "habitually described as lamenting her dead 'stock dove,' or 'ring dove,'" and the fact that his quotations from the poets do not show even an attempt to prove it, have been mentioned. He goes on to say that she is "as such condoled with, while all the time the bird has just come from Syria, where it hatched a brood of young ones only

three months ago, and now, mated to another spouse, is again the happy mother of another couplet."

Three months before the arrival of the turtle dove in England, the last of April or beginning of May, it is in its winter haunts. That, as a rule, birds do not nest in their winter quarters seems to be evident. Once a year, as is well known, birds have the impulse to This impulse is accompanied by a remarkable physical vigor, which produces very striking changes in their appearance and habits:

mate.

"The raven croaks a softer way, His sooty love to woo." Peculiar gestures are observed, which Professor Newton speaks of as "akin to the song." The beginning, duration, and ending of this season vary, lasting with some species until two or three broods are hatched. These are matters of common observation in respect to the resident British birds, among which are numbered many of the most familiar species. After this term is past, the seasonal plumes and tufts and the exceptional brilliancy of plumage disappear, the song for the most part ceases,

and there is no recurrence of them until another spring. It is said to be a fact (Blackwall's Researches in Zoology) that "most songsters are absolutely unable to continue their melodious strains beyond the latter end of July or the beginning of August." Whatever prolongation of this period there may be in the case of cage birds and domestic fowls is thought to be due to the constant supply of nutritious and suitable food, and it is probable that occasional irregularities in the nesting of wild birds may be in part thus explained.

At this season many birds have the instinct to migrate,

"Strange yearnings come

For the unknown shelter by undreamed of shores." The winter habits of some of the migratory birds are well known, for they leave the north to winter in England. These birds do not nest in England in the winter, but return in spring to the northern regions, and rear their young ones in their own old homes. The number of birds that remain in New England throughout the year, or that migrate from the north to winter with us, is comparatively small, but no winter. nesting has been noticed here. Obviously, then, we must infer that the birds that come from the south to enliven the spring of Great Britain and New England by their beauty and their song return in the autumn mute and "sobersuited," sometimes to moult, at any rate to rest, but not to nest, in their winter quarters; in other words, that the nesting impulse is annual, and that birds do not mate a second time in their places of winter resort.

The correctness of this inference is confirmed by the reports of residents and explorers in the countries which become the winter homes of migra tory birds. tory birds. Dr. Klunzinger, for many years resident in Egypt, whose volume on Upper Egypt includes sketches of natural history, says that "on the whole the singing of birds is not heard in

Egypt, as the birds that pass through or winter in the country do not sing in the winter season." The late Professor A. L. Adams (Notes of a Naturalist in the Nile Valley and Malta) speaks of certain song birds as 66 mute from their arrival [at Malta] in October up to the beginning of March."

During a winter passed in Tennessee, Mr. Wilson Flagg gave particular attention to the birds in the woods near Nashville, and he remarks that "not one was heard to sing." Florida is on the route of passage for the migratory birds of Northeastern America, and becomes the winter abiding place of many of them. Mr. J. A. Allen has written a comprehensive paper on the winter birds of East Florida, based on the observations of Messrs. Maynard and Boardman as well as his own, the researches of the three being, he thinks, equivalent to the labors of a single individual constantly in the field for at least four or five winters. But Mr. Allen's record shows no winter nesting of these birds. Audubon, who spent so many years in extensive journeyings over our continent, sometimes with the special design to trace the migrations. of birds, could not have failed to note a circumstance so interesting as the nest ing in a Southern State of the winter migrants there. The specimens of nests, eggs, or skins of young birds of migratory species contained in our large museums of natural history have not been obtained from their winter retreats. Brehm (Bird - Life) states his opinion very positively in regard to this: "Not a single migratory bird makes a new home; not one builds a nest or breeds in a foreign land;" and Seebohm (Siberia in Europe) says, "We may lay it down as a law, to which there is probably no exception, that every bird breeds in the coldest regions of its migrations. . . . The well-authenticated stories of birds breeding a second time in the place of their winter migration

probably have the same scientific value as the stories of swallows having been found hibernating in caves and hollow trees, or of toads having been found in the recesses of otherwise solid rocks." Still, a rule which is general may not be universal, and some naturalists take exception to so unqualified a statement of this law. Harting (Our Summer Migrants) even thinks that many birds which summer in England and nest there," must also nest in what we term their winter quarters." But he draws this conclusion from some cases that seem to him to be authenticated, and from certain inferences of his own respecting a few other birds. One instance is that of the red-backed shrike, said by Andersson (Birds of Damara Land) and others to nest in South Africa in our winter. Mr. Harting also mentions two species of sand martin. One of them, the ordinary representative of the English sand martin (our bank swallow) in India and the countries eastward, is vouched for by Mr. Edward Blyth, a field naturalist of much experience, and for more than twenty years curator of the Asiatic Society's Museum in Calcutta. "The only birds known to me," writes Mr. Blyth, "that breed in their winter quarters are two species of sand martin. In India I have been familiar enough with birds in their winter quarters, and have no hesitation in asserting that migratory species (with the remarkable exceptions named) do not even pair until they have returned to their summer haunts. Were they to do so, I could not but have repeatedly noticed the fact, and must needs have seen very many of their nests and young. . . That our British sand martin breeds in Egypt during the winter months," continues Mr. Blyth, "is noticed in the Proceedings of the Zoological Society for 1863 (page 288)." This case I find to be on the authority of Canon Tristram, whose language is, "I found it breeding in Egypt in Feb

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