17G OUR SONGBIBDS. [J^n., 



OUB SONGBIBDS. 



^HE EoBiN. — We do not place liim first because he is the best 

 singer, but because he is the greatest favourite. There is no bird 

 that sticks so close to foresters as the Eobin ; in winter especially 

 he is their constant attendant. It matters not to what lonely part of the 

 forest they may go, he is sure to turn up ; indeed it is quite a com- 

 mon thing, before the men get off their coats to begin work, to see 

 him perched on a spade or mattock handle. When he thus presents 

 himself he looks as if he expected something ; but there is nothing of 

 the * please to help ' about him, but an air of perfect intimacy, and 

 that he will be attended to as a matter of course. This mute appeal 

 is never in vain, for, over and above the grub which he finds in the 

 upturned soil, some one in the squad is sure to open his bag and throw 

 him some bread. His fighting instincts are well known, and if 

 another redbreast appears on the scene, war begins at once, the 

 point at issue being who is to claim that piece of ground for the day. 

 The robin fights with the whole race of small birds, and finds his 

 match only in the house-sparrow. It is a sight to see the two quar- 

 relling over a crumb, the robin, with bent head and flashing eye, 

 meaning to fight it fairly out ; but the sparrow is too much for him ; 

 for, watching his opportunity, he sidles up to the morsel as only a 

 sparrow can, and in a moment is off with it, leaving poor Cock Robin 

 to moralise over the degenerate times. 



The Eobin sings more or less throughout the whole year : in spring 

 he is foremost among the tuneful choir ; in autumn you may see him 

 perched in a tree, amidst a shower of falling leaves, singing out his 

 ditty bright and cheerful ; at intervals also throughout the winter they 

 may be heard answering to each other. The song of the Eobin is 

 very characteristic, being round, clear, and penetrating. 



The Blackbird. — We have no hesitation in placing Blackic at the 

 'top of the tree' as our best singing bird; for variety, richness, 

 combined with a sort of pawky humour, his song is unrivalled. 

 When listening to him, you have the idea that he is tantalizing you : 

 his opening notes seem to begin a flowing melody ; but before he has 

 gone far he suddenly stops, with a suppressed chuckle which sounds 

 at times very like a snigger. The Blackbird rarely repeats himself, 

 but generally has a new theme in all his solos; consequently you 

 never tire of his music, but are always wondering what is coming 

 next. When his nest is harried, he utters a piercing wail of grief, 

 quite different from any of his other notes. Unlike some other birds, 

 Blackie remains with us all the winter, and gets a share of what is 



