THE SLEEPING-PLACES OF BIRDS. 



IT IS difficult to imagine a spot with 

 fewer domestic features to adorn 

 the home than a piece of the bare 

 ceiling of atropical veranda; butthe 

 attachment of animals to their chosen 

 sleeping-places must rest on some pref- 

 erence quite clear to their own con- 

 sciousness, though not evident to us. 

 In some instances the ground of choice 

 is intelligible. Many of the small blue 

 British Butterflies have grayish spotted 

 backs to their wings. At night they 

 fly regularly to sheltered corners on 

 the chalk downs where they live, alight 

 head downwards on the tops of the 

 grasses which there flourish, and clos- 

 ing and lowering their wings as far as 

 possible, look exactly like seed-heads 

 on the grasses. If the night is cold 

 they creep down the stem and sleep in 

 shelter among the thick lower growth 

 of grass. The habits of birds in regard 

 to sleep are very unlike, some being 

 extremely solicitous to be in bed in 

 good time, while others are awake and 

 about all night. But among the former 

 the sleeping-place is the true home, 

 the domus et penetralia. It has nothing 

 necessarily in common with the nest, 

 and birds, like some other animals and 

 many human beings, often prefer com- 

 plete isolation at this time. They want 



a bedroom to themselves. Sparrows, 

 which appear to go to roost in com- 

 panies, and sometimes do so, after a 

 vast amount of talk and fuss, do not 

 rest cuddled up against one another, 

 like Starlings or Chickens, but have 

 private holes and corners to sleep in. 

 They are fond of sleeping in the sides 

 of straw-ricks, but each Sparrow has 

 its own little hollow among the straws, 

 just as each of a flock of sleeping 

 Larks makes its own "cubicle" on the 

 ground. A London Sparrow for two 

 years occupied a sleeping-home almost 

 as bare of furniture as the ceiling which 

 the East Indian Butterfly frequented. 

 It came every night in winter to sleep 

 on a narrow ledge under the portico of 

 a house in Onslow Square. Above was 

 the bare white-washed top of the por- 

 tico, there were no cosy corners, and 

 at eighteen inches from the Sparrow 

 was the gas-lit portico lamp. There 

 every evening it slept, and guests leav- 

 ing the house seldom failed to look up 

 and see the little bird fast asleep in its 

 enormous white bedroom. Its regular 

 return during two winters is evidence 

 that it regarded this as its home; but 

 why did it choose this particular por- 

 tico in place of a hundred others in 

 the same square? — Spectator. 



Bird Courtships. — When he (the 

 Flicker) wishes to charm his sweet- 

 heart he mounts a very small twig near 

 her, so that his foreparts shall not be 

 hidden as he sits upright in regular 

 Woodpecker attitude, and he lifts his 

 wings, spreads his tail, and begins to 

 nod right and left as he exhibits his 

 mustache to his charmer, and sets his 

 jet locket first on one side of the twig 

 and then the other. He may even go 

 so far as to turn his head half around 

 to show her the pretty spot on his 

 "back hair." In doing all this he per- 



forms the most ludicrous antics, and 

 has the silliest of expressions of face 

 and voice, as if in losing his heart, as 

 some one phrases it, he has lost his 

 head also. For days after she has evi- 

 dently said yes, he keeps it up to as- 

 sure her of his devotion, and, while 

 sitting crosswise on a limb, a sudden 

 movement of hers, or even a noise 

 made by one passing, will set him to 

 nodding from side to side. To all 

 this she usually responds in kind. — 

 Baskett. 



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