TURDUS MUSICUS. 255 



nests, or their cheerful songs heard in our gardens, or on the 

 tall trees in St Andrews for some years afterwards, for it was 

 far in April till the snow thawed. To show that there is no 

 invariable time for birds to sing, or starve, or build their nests : 

 Early in January 1889 — only two years before this long storm 

 — thrushes' nests were got with eggs, and on the 27th of 

 April I saw young mavises fly out of their nest in a pear tree at 

 Greenside Place. They may be starving in December and 

 January the one year, the next singing in the dead of winter — 

 such is the singular providence of Nature. But hard frost is 

 more fatal to the soft-billed thrushes than snow if there is 

 thaw. I once saw a mavis break its bill in trying to peck 

 amongst ice, and as a proof that frost is worse than snow, we 

 erect a board with food for birds ; during frost it is thronged, 

 but when thaw comes, even though the fields are covered with 

 snow, they disappear, and return again if frost sets in. But of 

 all the thrushes the delicate redwing suffers most, as I have 

 seen more of them lying dead in severe winters along the sea- 

 shore and on Kinkell Braes than any of the rest. And, as the 

 crew of the " Merlin" were drowned by the sea, many of the soft- 

 billed thrushes were starved by the ice and snow. I observed 

 that those left were not so shy that year — even in their summer 

 haunts. The long storm and nearer contact with man seem to 

 have had a taming influence — or the lateness of the season — 

 (nearly two months after their usual time) made them build 

 more openly, and less heedful of man than usual, which 

 reminds me of Clare's beautiful lines — 



"Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 



That overhung a molehill large and round, 

 I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush 



Sing hymns to sunrise, while I drank the sound 

 With joy ; and often an intruding guest, 



I watched her secret toils from day to day. 

 How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest, 



And modell'd it within with wood and clay, 

 And, by and bye, like heath bells gilt with dew, 



There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, 

 Ink spotted over shells of green and blue ; 



And there I witnessed in the summer hours 

 A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, 



Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky." 



These again remind me of Burns' lovely lines on "Logan 



Braes"— 



" Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush 

 Amang her nestlings sits the thrush, 

 Her faithfu' mate will shai'e her toil, 

 Or wi* his sang her cares beguile." 



