The wagtail
Every time

up as he skims over the grass, or threads the stream. runs right and left in a prompt, successful sort of way. he makes one of those sudden little charges, he has caught and disposed of his prey. See the thrush, with long elastic hops, busy among the vegetables. He is revelling in caterpillars, or perhaps he is snail-hunting. See, he has got one, and trips on one side to settle matters with him. He can't swallow a snail, shell and all; so the thrush proceeds to get rid of this incumbrance. Seizing the snail, by what we will call the nape of the neck, he whacks him, with all his might, on a stone. Off comes a great piece of shell. Whack again. Poor snail! it must be very unpleasant for you; we won't watch the whole process. Presently Mr. Thrush hops gaily out into the world again, with a smile on his countenance, and begins to look for another. The appetite of these birds is prodigious, their digestion powerful and rapid. Beside those I have mentioned, think of the crowd of soft-billed birds, all grubhunting. What numbers, whose very name is 'Flycatchers!' How many are classed under the title of 'Insectivora!'

There are some wild birds which, I grant you, must provoke the farmer immensely. A flock of wood-pigeons in a field of ripe peas really consume a valuable share of the expected crop. But the rook is shamefully libelled. I have read with the deepest indignation of their destruction by poison. No doubt they like a change of diet sometimes; but if you want to know what they love, look at a field being ploughed. See how eagerly the rooks pounce down upon the fresh-turned furrow. They are then doing incalculable good to the farmer-they are saving his crop from the wire-worm; and in return he poisons a rookery. The birds fall from their familiar trees, where they have bred and cawed in security for years. One after another yields to the mysterious influence. The many-wintered crow loses his foothold, and comes writhing down. The mother of the summer's brood drops beneath her nest. The

:

charm of a country-house is poisoned. Farmer Numskull has "sarved out them there thieves of rooks at last," he says. I'll tell you what I wish somebody could persuade him to make a pie of a few; a little uneasiness under that great waistcoat of his would serve him right; and, if I had the curing of him when thus disturbed, I would take measures calculated to impress the recovery upon him. No homoeopathic infinitesimal doses would I prescribe; but I would give him, and repeat the dose, if he could be approached a second time, let me see-I hardly know what just now, but it should be something like a horseball.

But seriously, this destruction of small birds is a grave question. In France legal measures have been taken to stop the mischief from proceeding, and to remedy the past. Here, in England, the police could hardly interfere. The common sense and common observation of residents in the country must be aroused and appealed to. Above all, let the farmer reflect upon the questions, how do small birds live during that great portion of the year in which they can get no grain? how are their broods fed? If you really believe, as you do, that small birds affect your crop, is it not worth while to look for yourselves, and see what they and their families consume so busily during the spring? Is it not worth while to calculate what those grubs and insects would produce and consume during the summer? They are more voracious than even the sparrows, and they do, most unquestionably, feed upon the produce of your land. And yet you destroy those quick little eyes, which alone can spy them out, and put poison in those nimble beaks which alone can reach them. In them you have living microscopes and tweezers, which hop about and manage themselves with inimitable accuracy and unwearied success. Do you think you could replace them with clumsy thumbs, hired at sixpence a day?

D

i

THE SWALLOW AND ITS MIGRATIONS. REFERENCE is made by sacred writers to instances of sagacity and tractableness afforded by animals in the domesticated state, which are among the wildest in their native condition. This is in order strongly to represent and rebuke the ingratitude and perverseness of men, as rebels to their God, though in the possession of reason and conscience, while spared by his mercy and sustained by his love.

"The ox knoweth his owner,

And the ass his master's crib:
But Israel doth not know,

My people doth not consider."-Isa. i, 3.

With the same object in view, allusion is made to the feathered rovers of unfettered wing, who are invariably obedient to the immutable dictates of their nature:

"Yea, the stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed times;

And the turtle and the crane and the swallow observe the time

of their coming;

But my people know not the judgment of the Lord.”—Jer. viii. 7.

Such lessons of admonition from the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, are as much needed by mankind at present as in bygone ages.

The swallow, mentioned by the prophet, is one of our best-known birds. Four species of the tribe are periodical visitors, two of which are numerous as to the individual flutterers. Courting the society of man, and building on his dwelling-place, or contiguous to it, they furnish the most popularly-noticed example of the wonderful habit of migration. Owing to their innocence and beauty, swift flight and graceful activity, confidence in mankind and remarkable instinct, they are everywhere long-established favourites, and have been repeatedly the theme of song ever since the old Greek indited the strain :

"Gentle bird, we find thee here;

When nature wears her summer vest,
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest;
And when the chilling winter lowers,
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours of verdure smile."

"The swallow," remarked Sir Humphry Davy, "is one of my favourite birds, and a rival of the nightingale, for he cheers my sense of sight as much as the other does my sense of hearing. He is the glad prophet of the year-the harbinger of the best season. He lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature. Winter is unknown to him, and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn for the myrtle and orange groves of Italy, and the palms of Africa." And then it is pleasant to remember that the departure is only for a season.

"The birds the winter's storms exile

Shall all come back again with spring."

Probably the species referred to in the Sacred Writings is the one commonly called with us the chimney swallow, the Hirundo rustica of ornithology.

The arrival of the swallows is always an interesting event, as much so to age familiar with it, as to childhood, to whom it is novel. It marks the return of more genial weather; antedates the gladsome, flowery, and fruit-bearing portion of the year; increases the number of beautiful living creatures around us, with very graceful motions; and revives in the mind of the old man recollections of early days, pleasant, though with a saddening tinge. We are certain beforehand that the birds will come, and not be far out of time, for they are sagacious meteorologists and excellent travellers. They discern, with unfailing precision, the approach of spring, and the coming on of winter; and, whether coming or departing, they need no chart, compass, or pilot to guide their course through the empire of the clouds, over vast tracts of land and sea

"What makes thee seek a milder clime?
What bids thee shun the wintry gale?
How know'st thou thy departing time?
Hail, wondrous bird !-hail, swallow, hail!
Sure something more to thee is given
Than myriads of the feathered race,

Some gift divine, some spark from heaven,

That guides thy flight from place to place."

While these birds are our summer visitors from the warmer south, to which they retire through our winter months, others come, as they depart, from the colder north, to return thither when the rigorous season is over.

The migrating habit distinguishes many of the feathered tribes, with the fish of the sea, and some land animals. It has in view the preservation and continuance of the species, with the sustenance and gratification of man; for the arrangement obviously secures a more