THE GRAY LINNET. 79 



ing and rising, and by the entire flock simultaneously uttering 

 their short pleasing cry when disturbed. 



On the approach of spring the flocks break up and the in- 

 dividuals betake themselves to their breeding quarters, in- 

 differently choosing the bleak hill or the wayside bush ; they 

 but rarely select the garden or shrubbery as a nursery for 

 their young. 



During spring also great numbers of linnets are captured 

 by professed bird-catchers, indefatigable shoemakers, and 

 tailors, all three of whom we see on Sunday mornings wend- 

 ing their way home, laden with well-filled cages and their 

 other requisites. The great proportion of these are captured 

 with bird-lime and a call-bird, for one of which, on the 

 authority of an English naturalist, the sum of five guineas 

 has been given. 



After the breeding season is over, another bird-lime battue 

 is commenced upon the young birds, then denominated 

 44 branchers." 



When visiting some of those stores of song-birds, we have 

 unfortunately been pointed out, in many instances, some hap- 

 less linnet which, remarkable for its song, had been barba- 

 rously blinded, in the mistaken belief that the unfortunate 

 little minstrel would increase its melody, and, whether from 

 bewailing the sad loss it had sustained, or that it felt its cap- 

 tivity more lonely in its blindness, its plaintive song seems so 

 increased as if anxious to expire in the very delirium of 

 melody. 



An ornithological friend, corresponding with us from Achill, 

 writes of this species : u In my opinion the linnet has the 

 most melancholy song of all our native birds, as, indeed, I am 

 not ashamed to confess, it has occasionally moved me to tears: 

 many times I have been sitting by the heath side on the hills 

 of Achill, when the entire bosom of the Atlantic appeared 

 one molten sheet of silver, prismed with the rainbow reflections 

 of the setting sun ; and, suddenly heard breaking the solemn 

 silence of the place, fifty or a hundred linnets (which from their 

 numbers would even appear to have crossed from the main- 

 land to gain their last look of the setting sun) singing in one 

 united chorus a burst of seraphic melody. The shadow of the 

 sea eagle floating homeward to his eyrie never disturbed 

 them, but their minstrelsy of nature rung out heart-thrilling 

 until the sun had left but a broad glare in the horizon." 



Indigenous. 



