HISTORY OF BIUUS. 211) 



riicre. In the depth ot the desert, or the gloom of the forest, 

 there is no grain to be picked up ; none of those tender buds 

 that are so grateful to their appetites : insects themselves, that 

 make so great a part of their food, are not found there in abun- 

 dance ; their natures being unsuited to the moisture of the place. 

 As we enter, therefore, deeper into uncultivated woods the 

 silence becomes more profound ; every thing carries the look ot 

 awful stillness ; there are none of those warblings, none of those 

 murmurs, that awaken attention, as near the habitations of men ; 

 there is nothing of that confused buzz, formed by the united, 

 though distant voices of quadrupeds and birds ; but all is pro- 

 foundly dead and solemn. Now and then, indeed, the traveller 

 may be roused from this lethargy of life, by the voice of a heron, 

 or the scream of an eagle ; but his sweet little friends and war- 

 l)lers have totally forsaken him. 



There is still another reason for these little birds avoiding the 

 depths of the forests ; which is, that their most formidable ene- 

 mies usually reside there. The greater birds, like robbers, 

 choose the most dreary solitudes for their retreats ; and if they 

 do not find, they make a desert all around them. The small 

 birds fly from their tyranny, and take protection in the vicinity of 

 man, where they know their more unmerciful foes will not ven- 

 ture to pursue them. 



All birds, even those of passage, seem content with a certain 

 district to provide food and centre in. The red-breast or the 

 wren seldom leaves the field where it has been brought up, or 

 where its young have been excluded; even though hunted it flies 

 along the hedge, and seems fond of the place with an imprudent 

 perseverance. The fact is, all these small birds mark out a ter- 

 ritory to themselves, which they will permit none of their own 

 species to remain in ; they guard their dominions with the m est 

 M'atchful resentment ; and we seldom find two male tenants in 

 the same hedge together. 



Thus, though fitted by Nature for the most wandering life, 

 these little animals do not make such distant excursions, during 

 the season of their stay, as the stag or the leveret. Food seems 

 to be the only object that puts them in motion, and when that 

 is provided for them in sufficient plenty, they never wander. 

 But as that is seldom permanent through the year, almost every 

 l)ird is then obliged to change its abode. Some are called hirds 



