EMBERIZA SCHCENICULUS. 385 



amongst light sandy soil for rye ; eggs and nest like the reed 

 bunting's. Having said thus much about some of our feathered 

 friends, I feel induced to add a note written at the time. 



On the Birds I Saw in a Walk to Kinaldy. 



"June 3rd, 1855, a lovely morning ; I am going out for a 

 ramble to see what birds I meet on the road to Kinaldy wood — 

 about four miles south from where I live in Market Street. 

 First, there are two sparrows sitting on the high dyke opposite 

 my house, the male crying yellup, yellup, and his wife chiming 

 in with yellup, yellup, ehir, chir, r, r. On my way down by 

 Abbey Park a pretty male green linnet is perched upon that 

 elm tree, mute, and his wife on the next tree, also mute ; but 

 I have heard the male sing a very sweet low song. When near 

 the shore bridge I heard the chink, chink of the chaffinch — he 

 is a favourite of mine, as much for his lively habits as for his 

 lovely plumage. I have heard him sing as sweet a low song as 

 any of our birds. I have lain at the foot of a tree in April and 

 heard the sweetest little song I ever heard, and have been surprised 

 to see it came from a male chaffinch amusing himself and his little 

 bride — almost ' wasting its sweetness on the desert air,' as Gray 

 has it — half hidden by the branches over my head. Going up 

 by the Grange hedges, there goes the deil, deil, deil tak' thee, of 

 the yellow hammer — another favourite of mine common here ; 

 though bird-nesting boys, like the rifle brigade, give no quarter 

 to eggs or young — 'conscience making no cowards' of them 

 when at their murderous work ; yet it is plentiful, a proof that 

 Nature is no enemy to the bonny yellow bunting now sitting on 

 the highest twig emitting its long melancholy chee-ee. There is 

 another bird with a black head sitting on the hedge further up 

 the brae ; it is the reed bunting, but all I hear him utter is a 

 short cheep. He will surely have some other note to express 

 the joys and sorrows of life than that ; the trees 'clap their 

 hands,' the rivulet has its murmur, and the reed bunting will 

 surely have some other way of expressing its gratitude for life 

 than that unmusical cheep. Ah ! there are the sky-larks 

 soaring and pouring out their cheerful joy above these grassy 

 parks — sending forth louder praise in their varied but ever- 

 cheerful song. And below them I see two common white- 

 throats popping out and into that hedge, the male singing a loud 

 and consequential song ; there, I have alarmed it, and, as if to 

 try bass, hoarsely cries to-ioy, to-wy. These fussy little birds 



