A CHAT ABOUT BIRDS. 



WHENEVER I take up my pen to write an article on birds, 

 or when I converse about them, I am always possessed with 

 a desire to wax eloquent respecting the sights, sounds, and 

 conditions which prevail. There is a something connected with 

 their being that I cannot adequately put into words. It may 

 be that thinking of rural surroundings and rustic environments 

 affords me pleasure and contentment when I am amidst the 

 work-a-day world and the busy turmoil of City life. 



I picture the thatched cottage with the lattice window on 

 which the climbing roses love to entwine themselves ; the natural 

 garden ; the box or evergreen hedge ; birds flitting hither and 

 thither, and the snow-white blossoms in the orchard. Perhaps 

 this is one reason why my heart and soul desire to burst into 

 attempted eloquence when birds are the subject of our discourses 

 and writings. 



Their innocence and usefulness; their powers of flight and 

 the sweetness of their voices ; their delicately woven homesteads 

 and the beautiful variations in the colouring of their eggs ; their 

 exquisite robes of beauty and their sombre garbs ; their curious 

 and interesting mannerisms, all these cast a halo of attraction 

 around them which should in the mind of every lover of Nature 

 hold an abiding sway. 



There always appears to be something different in the habits 

 of birds, no matter how many constitute a species. Take the 

 Titmice family, for instance ; one possesses a note of very low 

 compass, another pours out a beautiful little song ; then there 

 is the bell-like note of the Great Tit, and I might go on enumer- 

 ating the diversity which exists in the nature of their vocal 

 powers. 



The various modes in which their nests are constructed 

 affords us also food for meditation. Take a Yellow Bunting's, 

 a Whitethroat's, or a Blackcap's how simple and plain is 



