this phenomenon; but does not the influence of man contribute also to the effect*?"

66

Goldsmith gives a very different turn to the matter, denying, in fact, that song-birds are found in wild places. Speaking of small birds, he says, as they are the favourites of man, so they are chiefly seen near him. All the great birds dread his vicinity, and keep to the thickest darkness of the forest, or the brow of the most craggy precipice; but these seldom resort to the thicker parts of the wood; they keep near its edges, in the neighbourhood of cultivated fields, in the hedge-rows of farm-grounds, and even in the yard, mixing with the poultry. It must be owned, indeed, that their living near man is not a society of affection on their part, as they approach inhabited grounds merely because their chief provision is to be found there. In the depth of the desert, or the gloom of the forest, there is no grain to be picked up; none of those tender buds that are so grateful to their appetites; insects themselves, that make so great a part of their food, are not found there in abundance, their natures being unsuited to the moisture of the place. As we enter, therefore, deeper into uncultivated woods, the silence becomes more profound; everything carries the look of awful stillness; there are none of those warblings, none of those murmurs that awaken attention, as near the habitations of men; there is nothing of that confused buzz, formed by the united, though distant, voices of quadrupeds and birds; but all is profoundly dead and solemn. Now and then, indeed, the traveller may be roused from this lethargy of life, by the voice of a heron, or the scream of an eagle; but his sweet little friends and warblers have totally forsaken him. There is still another reason for these little birds avoiding the depths of the forest; which is, that their most formidable enemies are usually *Wood's Buffon, xi. 14.

there. The greater birds, like robbers, choose the most dreary solitude for their retreats; and, if they do not find, they make a desert all around them. The small birds fly from their tyranny, and take protection in the vicinity of man, where they know their more unmerciful foes will not venture to pursue them*."

Understanding this to be laid down as a general principle, it is far from being consistent with fact; though it is partially true, as we shall elsewhere endeavour to show, that birds often follow the tract of cultivation. In the pine forests of Hudson's Bay, one of the wildest and most deserted places which could be mentioned, the pine grosbeak (Pyrrhula

on the sea-coast *. "Among the natives," says Marsden, I have heard some assert that these (nests, which are dark-coloured,) are the work of a different species of bird t." M. Lamouroux is farther decidedly of opinion that the white nests of the smallest species are chiefly composed of sea plants belonging to his Gelidia, the second division of his Thalassiophytes, which, by boiling or maceration, can be almost wholly reduced to a gelatinous substance. The larger inland species, distinguished by the want of down upon the legs, on the other hand, make use of opaque materials, and never of marine plants +.

Latham is inclined to think there are more than one species which construct the edible nests; the one from Sumatra, presented to him by Sir Joseph Banks, being the size of the bank swallow, that is, four inches and a half long, of dusky, glossy black on the upper, and of a pale ash-colour on the under parts, and the legs bare of feathers. De Vrie says specifically, that it is as large as a swallow, and black. A drawing of the nest and bird, by Mr. Dent, makes the latter three inches and a half long, greenish black above, sprinkled with white, beneath inclining to blue, with a mixture of white.

It would be presumptuous, amidst so many conflicting opinions, for us to pronounce at all upon the materials of these nests; yet we think it probable that M. Lamouroux's account comes nearest the truth. If the nests, however, are formed of Gelidia, they are most assuredly cemented with salivary gluten into the uniform consistency which they ultimately

assume.

* Essai sur les Thalassiophytes, 4to. Paris, 1813, p. 41, note. Sumatra, i. 260.

Nouv. Dict. d'Hist. Nat., art. Hirondelle.

In speaking of the wood-thrush (Turdus melodus) of America, Wilson indignantly repels the assertions of Buffon, who represents this bird as destitute of any note but a single scream, and hence draws an argument for his absurd theory of its being the song-thrush of Europe, degenerated by food and climate, so that its cry is now harsh and unpleasant, as are, he says, the cries of all birds that live in wild countries, inhabited by savages. Wilson's description of the song of this bird is well worth giving. "This sweet and solitary songster," he says, " inhabits the whole of North America, from Hudson's Bay to the Peninsula of Florida. He arrives in Pennsylvania about the 20th of April, or soon after, and returns to the South about the beginning of October. But at whatever time the wood-thrush may arrive, he soon announces his presence in the woods. With the dawn of the succeeding morning, mounting to the top of some tall tree, that rises from a low thick-shaded part of the woods, he pipes his few but clear and musical notes in a kind of ecstacy; the prelude or symphony to which strongly resembles the double-tongueing of a German flute, and sometimes the tinkling of a small bell; the whole song consists of five or six parts, the last note of each of which is in such a tone as to leave the conclusion evidently suspended; the finale is finely managed, and with such charming effect, as to soothe and tranquillize the mind, and to seem sweeter and mellower at each successive repetition. Rival songsters, of the same species, challenge each other from different parts of the wood, seeming to vie for softer tones and more exquisite responses. During the burning heat of the day they are comparatively mute; but in the evening the same melody is renewed and continued long after sunset. Those who visit our woods, or ride out into the country at these hours, during the months of May

take these two statements from the additions to the English translation of Cuvier's Animal Kingdom*. As there are no references in this work to the original documents, we cannot tell whether M. Reinwardt only conjectured that the bird had large parotid glands, or actually discovered these by dissection.

In the notes which we took in 1814 of the specimens of the swallows and their nests in Bullock's Museum, we find the bird described as small and slender, not greater than the hay-bird (Sylvia trochilus), with the wings greatly longer than the tail; whereas, in M. Poivre's bird (figured in page 292, above), the wings do not reach one-third of the length of the tail. The upper part of Bullock's bird, which is not very different from Latham's description, was blackish olive, and the breast brownish grey. There were two sorts of the nests, one composed wholly of chips of sticks, dexterously interwoven; and, from being larger, appeared to us to be intended as a frame-work for the smaller nest, which was of a semicircular form, seemingly composed of a fine paste, the interior exhibiting a sort of irregular net-work, interwoven without order, as if some glutinous substance had been drawn out into threads from one side to another of the nest. It was of a yellowish white colour, and very thin. Another nest, which was thicker and blackish, was not so finely netted; but there was also a black one of a thin texture. In the specimens of these nests now in the British Museum, there are several of the white ones, of what is reckoned the first quality in commerce; besides one which differs from all we have met with, either in descriptions or in cabinets. The one we allude to is lined with a number of dark lead-coloured feathers, placed rather loosely, while * Vol. vi. page 135,