THE ROBIN, 49 



these are now silent ; many have left our shores for 

 warmer winter- quarters. The Thrush still holds 

 his own ; the Blackbird, Chaffinch, and Wren warble 

 at intervals by fits and starts, as it were. But the 

 Lark seldom sings so late in the year, and the 

 monotonous notes of the Common Bunting and the 

 Yellowhammer are heard no more. The Nightin- 

 gale has fled ; so also have the Blackcap, Tree 

 Pipit, Whitethroat, and Garden Warbler. We miss 

 the continuous trill of the Grasshopper Warbler, 

 and the noisy, babbling, rapid notes of the Sedge- 

 birds. The feathered choir, indeed, is deprived of 

 its leading vocalists, and only the second-rate artistes 

 remain behind to attract the notice which was 

 denied them in the presence of more accomplished 

 rivals. 



It is at this period of the year that the song of 

 the Robin strikes us more particularly than at any 

 other season, although it must be admitted that, 

 from charitable motives, this familiar little bird 

 claims a large share of our attention at Christmas. 



Those who have listened attentively to the song 

 of the Robin at this season of the year will be 

 prepared to admit that there is something plaintive, 



E 



