THE RINGDOVE. 149 



ingly put together, that the eggs are easily seen 

 through it by an eye habituated to look for them. 

 On inspecting this apparent commencement or rem- 

 nant of a nest, one is led to surmise, at the first 

 glance, that the young are necessarily exposed to 

 many a cold and bitter blast during the spring of 

 this ever-changing climate. " But God tempers the 

 wind," said Maria, "to the shorn lamb;" and in 

 the case before us, instinct teaches the parent bird 

 to sit upon its offspring for a longer period after 

 they are hatched than, perhaps, any other of the 

 feathered tribe. In the mean time, the droppings 

 of the young, which the old birds of some species 

 carefully convey away, are allowed to remain in the 

 nest of the ringdove. They soon form a kind of 

 plaster strong and scentless. This adds consistency 

 to the nest, producing, at the same time, a defence 

 against the cold. The ornithologist, while going 

 his autumnal beats, in quest of knowledge, on seeing 

 this, will know immediately that the nest has con- 

 tained young: should this be wanting, he may con- 

 clude that the nest has been abandoned at an early 

 period. As he will find but very few nests with 

 this species of plaster in them, he may conclude, to 

 a certainty, that the ringdove has a host of enemies 

 in this country, and that it is seldom fortunate 

 enough to rear its young to that state in which the 

 faculty of flying saves them from destruction. 



No bird in the British dominions seems to resort 

 to so many trees and shrubs for the purpose of incu- 

 bation as the ringdove. Not a tree, from the tow- 

 ering pine to the lowly thorn, ever comes amiss to 

 L 3 



