120 WASTE GROUND AND SUBURBAN BIRD-LIFE. 



yards of the granite steps, which were then thronged with people 

 going to morning service. The fieldfare is more conspicuous in 

 point of numbers, though of wilder habit. I have seen it on a 

 foggy morning near the old city boundary heading northwards, 

 but apparently confused by its surroundings. 



The blackbird {Tardus meruld) remains a plentiful species with 

 us, despite the fact of its nest falling an easy prey to the hordes of 

 boys who regularly patrol the outskirts of the city in spring and 

 early summer. His clarion call note is familiar at all seasons, and 

 the flute-like notes of his song may be heard in perfection by the 

 middle of February. 



The song-thrush (Turdus musicus) is not so abundant as the 

 last-named, but occasionally appears in large numbers as the 

 result of local migration. 



Sylviid.e. — The hedge-sparrow (Accentor modularis) is very 

 common, and I have no doubt still breeds within the late bound- 

 aries of the city, where for several years past I have frequently in 

 early spring heard his cheerful song delivered from a billposter's 

 hoarding or the roof of a joiner's shop, his choice of a perch in 

 such localities being limited. I have heard him in full song as 

 early (or as late?) as the 28th of December. 



The redbreast (Erithacus rubecula) is a familiar species, and 

 extends his outposts well within the city's bounds in winter. His 

 song is not infrequently the one bright element to redeem the 

 sullenness of a winter day. Almost our only winter songster, his 

 is also the dominant note of autumn, and at this season the chorus 

 of robins in the hedges about our clay-holes is such as to surprise 

 some who are not neglectful of " natural knowledge." 



The whinchat (Saxicola rubetrd) is occasionally to be seen on 

 the waste ground south of Polmadie, and a few wheatears 

 (S. cenanthe) usually appear on their return early in spring in the 

 same locality, remaining in the neighbourhood for a few weeks. 

 On the 27th of March, 1892, I saw my first wheatear of the year 

 at the clay pits at Polmadie. There was snow on the ground, the 

 result of a blizzard of great severity which had set in on the after- 

 noon of the previous day, and in which a number of persons 

 perished throughout Scotland. I was much interested at seeing 

 one of our summer migrants appearing under such untoward 

 circumstances. 



