and affects the banks of quiet streams: loving to wander in the warm and cold regions of the globe, as well in Africa as in Russia, but carefully avoiding bleak and woodless Siberia, and the stern inhospitable plains of Norwegian Lapland; migrating from the fields of Britain, yet stationary among the Welsh and Scottish mountains.—And has this annual visitant no attendant in the same

flowery season of the year? Yes; the greater pettichaps (motacilla hippolais) and field lark (alauda campestris) accompany her flight. The first preceding his female companion, as if to prepare the woodlands for her reception; the second, chiefly affecting Wiltshire and the southern parts of England, and bringing up her young among high grass, or in fields of waving corn, where the poppy and the blue-bell grow wild and high, and the timid leveret loves to hide. With these arrives the reed-warbler (motacilla salicaria) that hangs her simple nest between three or four tall reeds, or in the spreading leaves of the water-dock, that sweeps along the coast of Kent or Sussex, from Sandwich to Arundel, and among the reedy pools and ditches of Romney heath. The wood warbler also, a sweet vivacious songster, arrives at least ten days before his feathery mates have touched the British shores.

The common fly-catcher (muscicapa grisola) is

also here, that pleasing little bird, which is the mutest and most familiar of all our summer visitors. It is often seen among the cherry-trees watching for its prey; and as soon as the young are hatched, the parents retire with them into the deepest beech woods, where they sport among the higher branches, sinking and rising perpendicularly to catch the flies that hum below.

The common goatsucker, (caprimulgus Europeus,) a kind of nocturnal swallow, accompanies the hirundines; and when their cheerful voices are hushed at the approach of evening, she makes the woods resound with a loud humming noise, resembling the sound of a spinning-wheel. Nor is England the only scene of her migrations; she is found in different parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa.

Waterton tells us that this harmless, unoffending bird has been in disgrace with man, ever since

the time of Aristotle. Father has handed down to son, and author to author, that this nocturnal thief subsists by milking the flocks. Poor innocent little bird of night! how sadly hast thou suffered, and how foul a stain has inattention to facts put on thy character! Thou hast never robbed man of any part of his property, nor deprived the kid of a drop of milk.

When the moon shines bright, you may judge of this statement for yourself. You will see the goatsucker close by the goats, cows, and sheep, jumping up every now and then. Approach a little nearer, he is not shy; he fears no danger, for he knows no sin. See how the nocturnal flies are tormenting the herd, and with what dexterity he springs up and catches them, as fast as they alight on the poor harassed animals. Observe how quietly they stand, and how sensible they seem of his good offices: for they neither strike at him, nor hit him with their tails, nor tread on him, nor try to drive him away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, and inspect his stomach, you would find no milk there. It is full of the flies which have been annoying the herd.*

I once saw this strange nocturnal bird in a solitary glen near the village. He was perched on a stem with the head lower than the tail, and so in* Waterton's "Wanderings," p. 139–142.

that a

tent was he in uttering his strange song, sensible vibration was perceptible in the bough. He seemed as if disquieted by gloomy apprehensions, and while he looked full in my face, and the clear cold moon shone upon him, his cries and gestures alike conspired to entreat me to do him no wrong. I could almost fancy that he said, "Have pity on me, I am in pain and sorrowful; cast not a stone at me, nor chase me from my favourite haunt. I have never hurt one living creature."

The hobby (falco subbuteo) is likewise here. In Sweden, her arrival is accompanied by that of the white wagtail, at which time frogs begin to croak, and the snowdrop, the violet, and meadow saffron peep above the ground. The grey and red butcher-birds follow in the train of their voracious relative. The woodchat also prefers the month of May, and departs in autumn with her whole brood.

The nests, that were begun at the latter end of April, are now finished, and have received the usual complement of eggs. Now commences the important business of warming them into life. An animal formed for liberty, delighting to fly abroad in the open air, to spring from bough to bough, and to fill the woods with her tuneful voice, submits to confinement at the most joyous

K

season of the year. She remains contentedly sitting upon her eggs, apparently without the slightest inclination to move away; and if she occasionally leaves them, to provide for her necessary subsistence, how punctually does she return before they have time to cool! how anxiously does she watch and look around, to observe if any loitering school-boy or prowling animal approaches! “For my own part," says Paley, "I never see a bird on her nest, without recognizing an invisible hand detaining the contented prisoner from the fields and woods, for a purpose the most important, the most beneficial."

But the loss of liberty is not the only inconvenience, which the watchful bird sustains. Harvey tells us that he has often seen a female almost wasted by sitting on her eggs. Even the calls of hunger are frequently insufficient to induce her to move abroad, or the most pressing danger to drive her from the nest. But at length the great era of her happiness commences. Pliny elegantly observes, that blossoms are the joy of trees, in producing which they assume a new aspect, and seem to vie with each other in beauty and luxuriance. So it is with birds, as respects the enlargement of their instinctive faculties, when their young have emerged from the shell. They are all spirit and industry; fatigue and anxiety seem in a moment to