THE ROBIN. 



his habits may be observed at all seasons : he is not shy, 

 and his sharp notes will be heard soon after you enter 

 his haunt. If we tarry long in one situation, be it the 

 wood, coppice, field, or garden, the Robin is almost sure 

 to visit us, and, provided we remain quiet, and it is not 

 the moulting season, approach closely and pour out his 

 rich and plaintive song. 



There is not a songster in Great Britain, no, not even 

 the sweet Nightingale himself, that possesses a song so 

 rich and plaintive as this little red-breasted chorister. 

 So plaintive are some of his notes, that they border on 

 sadness, and never fail to fill the lover of animated 

 nature with ecstasy, as they pour, O so sweet, from his 

 little throat. His song cannot fail to awaken a thrill of 

 pleasure even in the casual observer — cannot fail to con- 

 vince him of the trustful familiarity displayed in his 

 various motions. He will approach you closely, and 

 pour out his sweet song within a few feet of your head, 

 or perched up in the spreading branches of the stately 

 oak under which you are standing, his flaming breast 

 contrasting beautifully with the sober tints of the lugged 

 bark, and his bright eyes looking trustfully at you, he 

 will greet you with his melody. The Robin daily visits 

 the same perching-place to sing his evening song, and 

 strictly guards it from any intrusion. Here every even- 

 ing in the cheerless month of November a Robin comes 

 and sits upon the topmost branches of a mulberry tree 

 and gives forth his even-song ; while another comes 

 nightly to perch on a stick projecting from a haystack ; 

 and a third chooses as his perching-place a heap of 

 timber in a farmyard. Very often two Robins may be 

 heard singing in concert. First one will pour forth his 

 loudest and clearest tones, his little throat swelling with 

 the exertion ; then the other stationed near at hand will 



