THE BIRDS OF THE GARDEN. 



Anon he spies a bee-eater capturing a goodly moth, and, 

 after a hot chase, forces it to deliver up its booty. Should 

 the skulking figure of a mungoose show itself, the stirring 

 tones of his voice will rouse every bird in the garden, 

 and send the abashed criminal helter-skelter back to its 

 hole, under a perfect storm of public indignation. He is 

 prudent, however, as well as dashing, and lets the Satbhai, 

 or "Seven Brothers," alone. They are too shrewd and 

 knowing to be made fun of, and there is a clannishness 

 among them which makes them dangerous. Among them- 

 selves they will quarrel by the hour, and bandy foul 

 language like fishwives ; but let a stranger treat one of 

 their number with disrespect, and the other six are in 

 arms at once. The Satbhai see as far through a stone 

 wall as any birds, and the recollection of how they out- 

 witted me about their nests when oology was my mania, 

 keeps me humble to this day. They positively set up a 

 fictitious nest for my benefit, and broke into a guffaw as 

 they saw me climbing the tree. Each Presidency of India 

 has its own branch of this strange family. Here they are 

 brothers, and in Bengal they are sisters ; but everywhere, 

 like Wordsworth's opinionative child, they are seven. 



These are a few, but only a few, of the birds ; and ii 



