OF BIRDS. 239 



weakest rays of light that appear. The worm is 

 its food too, and few that move upon the surface 

 escape its notice. The cheerful melody of the 

 wren is the next we hear, as it bustles from its 

 ivied roost; and we note its gratulation to the 

 young-eyed day, when twilight almost hides the 

 little minstrel from our sight. The sparrow roosts 

 in holes, and under the eaves of the rick or shed, 

 where the light does not so soon enter, and hence 

 is rather a tardy mover ; but it is always ready for 

 food, and seems to listen to what is going forward. 

 We see it now peeping from its penthouse, inqui- 

 sitively surveying the land ; and, should provision 

 be obtainable, it immediately descends upon it 

 without any scruple, and makes itself a welcome 

 guest with all. It retires early to rest. The black- 

 bird quits its leafy roost in the ivied ash ; its 

 " chink, chink" is heard in the hedge ; and, 

 mounting on some neighbouring oak, with mellow, 

 sober voice it gratulates the coming day. " The 

 plain-song cuckoo gray" from some tall tree now 

 tells its tale. The lark is in the air, the " martin 

 twitters from her earth-built shed," all the choris- 

 ters are tuning in the grove ; and amid such tokens 

 of awakening pleasure it becomes difficult to note 

 priority of voice. These are the matin voices of 

 the summer season : in winter a cheerless chirp, or 

 a hungry twit, is all we hear ; the families of voice 

 are away, or silent ; we have little to note, and per* 

 haps as little inclination to observe. 



