189 



CHARACTERISTICS OF COMMON BIRDS. 



BY 0. S. ROUND, ESQ. 



No I. 



In my former papers on this subject, I have chiefly considered those 

 of the feathered race which are as familiar to us as household objects; 

 for the Sparrow that sits on the house-top, or the Redbreast that hops 

 about our path, are surely no less usual to our eye than pussy as she 

 purs on the hearth, or Toby as he snores on the mat. There are, 

 however, as I have also remarked, common birds which we must go abroad 

 to see, and which are equally well known to those who saunter in the 

 cool shade, or traverse the open field or down. But let us descend into 

 the valley, and here we meet with yet another class; for there is no valley 

 of any extent which has not its stream, and here, beside and over the 

 cool waters, music and nesting, so inseparable in spring and summer-time, 

 are carried on by that intermediate class of songsters, for songsters they 

 almost always are, which have their homes by the river or its tributaries. 

 First and foremost of these is the Reed Wren, (Motacilla salicaria,) the 

 Salicaria of our friend Gilbert White; and it is no slight proof that it 

 could not have been common, in the ordinary sense, in the moist hollows 

 of that sweet locality, abounding in streams as it does, from the interesting 

 discussions which its identity gave rise to in his scientific correspondence. 

 I think, however, that this may be easily accounted for by the fact that 

 it is not numerous on the banks of mere streams, whilst the true and 

 bond fide river and its branches can shew you as many as you choose to 

 watch or listen to in an hour's ramble. I have, indeed, met with them 

 far away from Father Thames, and in the near vicinity of the great 

 metropolis, even at its very threshold, but these were wandered pairs, and 

 there was nothing like the merry twittering and chirping which every eyot 

 and osier-bed can furnish on the parent water. 



I remember almost the first time I had heard this bird to perfection 

 it made a great impression on me, and I can never recall the memory 

 without deriving from it a certain soothing influence. It was many years 

 since, when suburban railways first enabled gasping, pent-up Londoners to 

 breathe July temperature through a purer medium than London streets; 

 a holiday enabled me to spend the day a few miles from town; it was 

 extremely hot, and, taking an early train, I spent the sultry hours under 

 the shade of green woods as much as might be, but still hot, very hot it 

 was, and when the sun sunk to rest in unclouded glory, the clear sky and 

 cool stillness were exceedingly refreshing, and I can call to mind, as though 

 it were yesterday, sitting on a seat near the A station awaiting the 



VOL. VII. 2 C 



