THE REDBREAST. 77 



flight. On the ground it advances by a few hops, then pauses with a 

 toss of the head, and a sidelong look, which is very peculiar; it feeds 

 on fruit, seeds, and berries, those of the elder and blackthorn seeming 

 bo be especial favourites; it sometimes captures insects on the wing, 

 but more commonly on the ground, or in the trees and shrubs. 



A very soft, sweet, and plaintive song is that of the Robin, heard 

 in winter time when few other sounds disturb the stillness of nature; 

 it has a soothing effect upon the mind, esp cially when we see how 

 familiar and confiding the little songster is, and how earnestly he pleads, 

 with his winning ways and sweetly warbled notes, for shelter and protection. 



Carrington, in his poem on Dartmoor, has some lines worth quoting 

 on this subject: 



" Sweet bird of Autumn, silent is the song 

 Of earth and sky, that in the summer hour 

 Kang joyously, and thou alone art left 

 Sole minstrel of the dull and sinking year. 

 But trust me, Warbler, lovelier lay than this, 

 Which now thou pourest to the chilling eve, 

 The joy-inspiring Summer never knew. 

 The very children love to hear thy tale, 

 And talk of thee in many a legend wild, 

 And bless thee for those touching notes of thine! 

 Sweet household bird, that infancy and age 

 Delight to cherish, thou dost well repay 

 The frequent crumbs that generous hands bestow; 

 Beguiling man with minstrelsy divine, 

 And cheering his dark hours, and teaching him 

 Through cold and gloom, Autumn and Winter, HOPE." 



Thomas Cooper, in his noble "Prison Rhyme," has some beautiful 

 stanzas to the Robin, all of which, as they are probably new to our 

 readers, we should like to quote, but for two of them only can we find 

 room : 



"Hasten, dear Robin; for the aged dame 

 Calls thee to gather up the honeyed crumbs 

 She scatters at her door; and, at thy name, 

 The youngsters crowd to see their favourite come. 

 Fear not Grimalkin! she doth sing 'three-thrum* 

 With happy half-shut eyes, upon the warm 

 Soft cushion on the corner chair: deaf, dumb, 

 And toothless, lies old Growler : fear no harm, 

 Loved Robin! thou shalt banquet bold without alarm. 



If thou return not, Gammer o'er her pail 

 Will sing in sorrow, 'neath the brindled cow, 

 And Gaffer sigh over his nut brown ale; 

 While evermore the petlings, with sad brow, 



