Then it must be his Biography of Birds which has raised the stranger so high in the estimation of Mr. Bull? No doubt whatever: and were the Biography of Birds really the production of Mr. Audubon's own pen, I should not be tardy in praising its literary merit, notwithstanding its ornithological faults. But, having compared the style of the Biography of Birds with that of the article on the habits of the Vúltur Aúra, I came to the conclusion that these two productions could not have been written by the same person, though they both have the name of Audubon attached to them. The first is that of a finished scholar; the second that of a very moderately-educated man.

Mr. Audubon, to be sure, tells us, in his introductory address, that a friend aided him; not, says he, in writing the book, but in completing the scientific details, and in smoothing down the asperities of his ornithological biographies. I confess that I cannot exactly understand how he could have been aided in the scientific details, and in smoothing down the asperities of the ornithological biographies, and still not be considered to have been aided in writing the very book which contains those details, and which had those asperities. Certainly his acknowledgment of such important aid, and his avowal of such humiliating corrections (the latter so totally unnecessary if Mr. Audubon were really a scholar), tend to put his claim both to ornithology and to literature in a somewhat dubious point of view, and cause me to take Professor Rennie's recommendation to "read the works of Audubon cum grano salis.

In one part of the introductory address, Mr. Audubon seems to wish to impress his readers with an idea of his extreme abhorrence of those who put their names to works which they never wrote. He says, "There are persons whose desire of obtaining celebrity induces them to suppress the knowledge of the assistance which they have received in the composition of their works. In many cases, in fact, the real author of the drawings, or the descriptions, in books on natural history is not so much as mentioned, while the pretended author assumes to himself all the merit which the world is willing to allow him. This want of candour (continues Mr. Audubon) I could never endure." Now, I possess undeniable proof that, when Mr. Audubon was in England, he did actually apply to a gentleman to write his history of the birds for him. The gentleman at first consented to write it; but the agreement subsequently fell to the ground, on account of Mr. Audubon insisting that his own name

should be given to the world as the author of the work. To this the gentleman would by no means listen, having probably in mind the old verse, which would have suited his case admirably, with a trifling alteration:

Has volucrum vitas scripsi, " tulit alter honores."

'Twas I who put these birds in story;

Another wears my wreath of glory.

Mr. Audubon's application to this gentleman clearly shows the consciousness of his own inability to write the work which now bears his name. Indeed, had this proof been wanting, his ill-written paper on the Vúltur Aúra tells us, in language not to be mistaken, what a sorry biography of birds we should have had, if Mr. Audubon had not taken the wise precaution to get it done by proxy. He acknowledges that his book received aid from a friend; but where, I ask, are the amended parts? In what quarter of the Biography of Birds can the reader trace the friendly tutor's hand? Throughout the whole of the work, I am unable to detect the presence of any interpolation of good amongst bad. From the beginning of the first page to the end of the last, there is the decided appearance of the same masterly hand at composition; and I defy the keenest eye to discover how much of the work Mr. Audubon has written, or how many asperities his friend has rasped away. Again; while Mr. Audubon acknowledges to have received assistance in the scientific details, and in smoothing down the asperities of his ornithological biographies, he says not one single word of aid afforded in his numerous episodes; for example, that of the Ohio, &c. Now, the style of writing the very same style of writing-which appears in those, appears equally in these. Pray, how are we to account for this?

–

In fine, the whole work, from beginning to end, bears evident and undeniable marks of being the produce of one pen. One hand alone has directed that pen. Has this hand been that of the reputed author? No. His former application to get his book written for him shows how fearfully he must have mistrusted his own way of writing; while the faulty paper on the Vúltur Aúra proves its worthlessness. I request the English reader to weigh well in his own mind what I have stated; and I flatter myself that he will agree with me, when I affirm that the correct and elegant style of composition which appears throughout the whole of the Biography of Birds cannot possibly be that of him whose

name it bears; we have undoubted facts to prove that it is far beyond the reach of Audubon.

ART. VI. On the Migration of a Species of Thrush. By W. L. of Selkirkshire.

"And thou, mellow mavis, that hail'st the night-fa'."

Burns.

FOR these many years I have been forced to conclude that we have an additional species of thrush not generally noticed by naturalists. Being in the Island of Harris, somewhat more than twenty years ago, in the early part of June, I was greatly surprised to hear the heathy and rocky shores every where resounding with the unintermitting notes of, I may say, thousands of thrushes. It was impossible to take for granted that these "were all the same as our own southcountry mavises that sung in our hawthorn and hazel banks; yet the song was much like, if it was not more mellow.

Mr. McGillivray has not long since made the same observation, and, moreover, almost ascertained that they subsisted upon whelks and small shell-fish, of which I have no doubt. Some years after my seeing these in the Lewis, I observed a pair, as I thought, of the same kind of thrush, on the top of Braidhills, near Edinburgh. They seemed to have their nest among some whin bushes, and the cock sung with great glee, sitting upon the top of one of them. As I was well aware that the thrushes in Lewis and Harris, and thereabouts, came all away in winter, notwithstanding the mildness of the climate, I made no doubt that those I saw on Braidhills, were a pair that had somehow fallen behind, in the great spring migration.

Four years ago, coming down the Yarrow one morning in the month of April, I was much interested, as I rode along, to see every grass field within my observation from the road, in a manner occupied with thrushes. It was curious to observe that, like sheep grazing, there were seldom two of them together, although there might, perhaps, be at the rate of fifty or more in every ten-acre field. As a thrush, like a tiger, is a predaceous creature, of course they look for their

prey singly. Here every field seemed to be alive by the constant "bob forward" that perhaps one half at least, were making at the same time, as they either sprang upon, or looked for, a worm. This motion, which is compounded of three jumps, is peculiar to all the genus that I have seen, and, when at such a distance as not to be discovered otherwise, they may be known by it.

It occurred to me, that the extraordinary irruption of these birds (for the whole valley was possessed by them, for more than nine miles in length; and of this fact I was a witness) was nothing else but a part of the immense flock that annually take their journey to the shores of the lochs on the west of Ross and Sutherland, Harris, Lewes, and probably the Orkney and Shetland Isles. They are evidently different from our common mavis, being considerably less, darker in the plumage, and less conspicuously mottled on the breast.

I have every year since observed these birds resting and feeding on their way, but never in such numbers as in 1829. In 1831, they passed the junction of the Ettrick with the Tweed about the middle of March; as on the 14th I find that small flocks of them were seen feeding in the parks at Abbotsford.* Several observations made from year to year have convinced me of the regularity of this migration, and that the bird will turn out a distinct species. I suspect that they fly during the night only, and rest and feed during the day. February, 1833.

ART. VII. On the pendulous Nests of the Indian Baya Bird (Lóxia philippina L.). By A Subscriber.

As the descriptions, even in modern publications, of the pendulous nest of the Indian baya (Lóxia philippina L.) give no very definite idea of its form, I send a rough sketch (fig. 22. a) of one of the most perfect I ever happened to notice, with a section (b) to show its interior arrangement; and sketches (c, d), from recollection, of one in progress of being built: the figures are one tenth of the natural size, the extreme length being 15 in. The materials are usually fibres of the fronds of the palmyra (Borássus flabellifórmis L.), cocoa nut palm (Cocos nucifera L.), and wild date of India (Elate sylvestris L.), sometimes mixed with grass, and occasionally made entirely of grass where palms are not to be found these are neatly interlaced, and form a texture of

:

* The fieldfares did not pass until a month after.

extraordinary strength. The nest is suspended as represented in the sketch: if from a palm, from the tip of a frond; and, if from any other tree, from the extremity of a slender branch, those overhanging water being always preferred. It will be seen by the section (b) that it consists of only one chamber, with a long tubular passage leading to it; and I am at a loss to imagine what could have given rise to the idea of two or three separate apartments, unless, indeed, it may have been a hasty glance at the half-finished nests: new ones are never added to the old. I have often heard, from natives of India, of the baya's lighting up its nest with fire-flies, but never myself had an opportunity of noticing it. The pipe forming the entrance is seldom so long as here represented: it often does not pass the bottom of the nest more than three or four inches, and the mouth, or extremity, is always left in an apparently unfinished state. The baya lays from four to six white eggs (e, natural size). For what reason I know not, many nests are always left unfinished, as in c and d. Bayas seem to be of a very social disposition; numbers build on the same tree, or on neighbouring trees, and sing in concert during the breeding season, with a very pleasing effect, though there is no variety in their notes. The nests do not seem to