ERYTHACA RUBECULA. 289 



Tennyson truly says — 



" In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast ; 

 In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest." 



His winter song is more of a pleasing warble than a passionate 

 love-song. In comparing himself to the feathered robin, Burns 

 says to his patron, Graham of Fin tray, about politics — 



" For, your poor friend the bard, afar 

 He hears, and only hears the war — 



A cool spectator purely ; 

 So, when the storm the forest rends, 

 The robin in the hedge descends, 



And, sober, chirps securely." 



Of all birds the robin is the most popular. In winter it seems 

 to take us into its confidence, with something like the use of 

 reason ; its shy, yet pert, hopping near us, with quick jerk of 

 tail and intelligent black eye have something in them I have not 

 observed in any other bird. Its apt selection to cover the babes 

 in the wood in the pretty fairy tale is a happy one — for the 

 good feeling begun in the nursery follows us through life. 

 Even Wordsworth, that poet of philosophy, exclaims — 

 " O, pious bird ! whom man loves best." 



It is a self-reliant, solitary bird, never congregating — even in 

 winter ; but each, with a noble spirit of independence, leaves its 

 summer haunts, draws to the proximity of man; and, like Hal 

 o' the Wynd, fights the battle of life single-handed, instinctively 

 trusting man. It will hop on a window sill, fly into a room, 

 and pick up crumbs from his table ; and, when hard pressed, if 

 it sees a man eating amongst snow, it will sometimes hop near 

 him — like Nature's beggar — expecting the proffered crumb. It 

 is more afraid of a dog than a man. One visits us regularly 

 each winter in our boat-shed at the harbour, comes quite close, 

 and hops on the bench beside us ; and, what would be deemed 

 pert impudence in the sparrow, is called trusting confidence in 

 the robin. On 14th December 1878, a severe winter, when the 

 ground was covered with snow, on going out to Kinkell by the 

 sea-beach, I passed several redwings lying dead. On resting at 

 Boarhills lifeboat-house to give my dog some bread, a robin 

 eyeing the tempting " staff of life," hopped close to my feet and 

 would have picked up the crumbs, but was afraid of the dog. 

 I held out my hand with crumbs, and it flew up and fed itself. 

 I left some on the snow and resumed my journey. I do not know 

 if that severe winter had anything to do with where the robins 



