More about Birds. 113 



red ones seem to be the young birds, the yellow-green ones 

 old hens, and the brown ones old cocks ; at least this has 

 been the case in those which I have had an opportunity of 

 examining. The cry of the crossbill is very peculiar ; it is 

 sharper than that of the greenfinch, and louder and not so 

 much of a chuck as that of the linnet : generally, while sitting, 

 they are silent and very quiet birds, a number of them sitting in 

 a Scotch pine, and remaining in it even a whole day, at any 

 rate, if not disturbed, till every cone had been pried into, and 

 the seeds taken out. They do not take the cone off; it may, 

 perhaps, sometimes fall while being robbed, from over-ripe- 

 ness. The holding of a, cone in their claw, and extracting 

 the seeds with their beak, must have been suggested by some 

 wag to a credulous naturalist, and has been too " beautiful a 

 fact" for compilers to let slip. After finishing the produce of 

 one tree, they fly off in a jerking chuckling train, to some other. 

 On the wing they always chuckle, as though talking, and, on 

 settling again, give one or two loud notes, as the chaffinch 

 does, as if to give notice of his arrival. 



The Sislcin \_Aberdevine~\ is always a regular winter visiter 

 with us, keeping company with the little redpoles, which 

 abound wherever there are alders along the banks of the Wey : 

 they are almost entirely females, at least in the proportion of 

 fifty or sixty to one ; in this respect resembling the chaffinch, 

 so aptly and beautifully named by Linnaeus cce v lebs, or the 

 bachelor ; immense flocks of the females migrating, and 

 leaving their mates during the winter. What a tact this 

 great naturalist possessed of recording habit or peculiarity 

 in a name ! 



The Mountain Finch occasionally visits us, but at no stated 

 periods. 



Hie Twite, a bird perfectly distinct from the linnet, is now 

 and then shot on Munsted Heath. 



The Blackcap is abundant with us: it comes on the 13th 

 April, and stays and sings all the summer through. Nothing 

 ever delights me more than the song of this bird. He has 

 decidedly more compass and variety than any other English 

 bird, except the nightingale : he begins with a soft low melo- 

 dious whistle, like the voice of the nightingale heard afar off, 

 or the whistle of a countryman at a distance, softened into 

 melody by the surrounding hills ; it comes nearer and nearer, 

 it rises up, up, up, without any pause, louder, and louder, and 

 louder, a continued series of varied, rich, liquid, and sonorous 

 notes, till all at once you are astonished to find the little bird, 

 from whose throat such surpassing melody is poured, is 



Vol. VI. — No. 32. *i 



