MIL FOBSTEK ON THE HABITS OF THE UONBY BUZZARD. 1 73 



On the Habits of the Honey Buzzard in Confinement. 



By GOBDON Jos. FORSTER, Esq. 



The Honey Buzzard now in my possession was wounded 

 in the wing, and taken about three months ago. It was at 

 first confined in a small garden house, and for a day or two 

 refused to eat anything, but at last began to feed upon small 

 birds, but would not touch raw flesh or any kind of offal, 

 nor has it yet done so, although it has not the smallest ob- 

 jection to a rat or a frog. Many birds of prey, after eating 

 the muscular parts of any animal or bird, leave the entrails 

 untouched ; the Honey Buzzard, on the contrary, generally 

 begins by opening the carcase, and then devouring everything 

 it finds within it. It is very fond of the honeycomb of the 

 wild bee, and when hungry will swallow large pieces of the 

 comb containing the grub or larvae, but when its appetite is 

 not very keen it usually separates the cells, extracts the grub, 

 and throws the wax away. There has been little honey in 

 the combs this year, but when perchance any has dropt from 

 the cells upon the ground, I have seen the bird repeatedly 

 thrust its bill into the earth, where it appeared to be mois- 

 tened by the honey. Unless very hungry it will not attempt 

 to tear open a large bird, but is exceedingly fond of a fresh 

 herring. There is something capricious in the appetite of 

 birds, as well as in that of the human race. I had an eider 

 duck for three years, and during that time, it never could be 

 prevailed upon to taste shell-fish ; its favourite food was 

 barley bread, though if grain of any kind was thrown down 

 to it, it would devour it in the same manner and with the 

 same rapidity as the common ducL Of all the birds of prey 

 with which I am acquainted, the Honey Buzzard is appa- 

 rently the gentlest, the kindest, and the most capable of at- 

 tachment ; it seems to possess little of the fierceness of that 

 warlike tribe. It will follow me round the garden, cowering 

 and shaking its wings, though not soliciting food, uttering at 

 the same time a plaintive sound, something like the whistle 

 •of the golden plover, but softer and much more prolonged. 



