THE KINGFISHER. 167 



tions of the Kingfisher, and so are the clear blinks that break 

 out, still warm and shiny, when the weather is unsettled, and the 

 process of evaporation is suspended. These are genuine ' halcyon 

 days ;' days on which the Kingfisher is out and active : but the 

 bird has, of course, no more to do with the producing of them, 

 or of the storm which generally follows, than a Lapland witch 

 has to do with the producing of that fair wind which she sells to 

 the credulous mariner ; and if the delivery of which did not often 

 follow the sale, her trade would soon be at an end. Her expe- 

 rience leads her, from present appearances, to infer what is to 

 come next, and therein the certainty of her success depends on 

 the soundness and length of her experience. The Kingfisher, 

 on the other hand, comes on the water, because that and the 

 atmosphere are in a certain state at the time, and the Creator of 

 tlie bird has made that state the stimulus of the bird's instinct." 



GOULD observes, that " the young of this bird do not leave the 

 hole until fully fledged and capable of flight ; when seated on 

 some neighbouring branch, they may be known by their clamo- 

 rous twitting, greeting their parents as they pass, from whom 

 they impatiently expect their supplies ; in a short time, however, 

 they commence feeding for themselves, assuming at this early 

 age nearly the adult plumage." The superstition alluded to by 

 MUDIE, which gives to this bird the power of calming the 

 winds and waves during the period of incubation, is a very old 

 one. Allusions to it are frequent in the ancient poets, and the 

 phrase " Halcyon days," yet in use, serves constantly to remind 

 us of it. Every schoolboy is acquainted with the story of Ceyx 

 and Alcyone, who, according to OVID, were changed into King- 

 fishers, and endowed with this supernatural power over the 

 winds and waves. 



There was also another fabulous belief attached to this bird, to 

 which SHAKSPEABE and others of our old dramatists allude. It 

 was supposed that the bird, when dead, if carefully balanced and 

 suspended by a single thread, would always turn its beak to that 

 point of the compass from which the wind blew. Thus, Kent, in 

 King Lear, speaks of rogues who 



" Turn their Halcyon beaks 

 With every gale and vary of their masters." 



And MARLOWE, in his Jew of Malta, has this 



" But how now stands the wind ? 

 Into what quarter peers my Halcyon's hill ?" 



CHABLOTTK SMITH, in her Natural History of Birds, says that 

 she has once or twice seen a stuffed bird of this species hung up 

 to the beam of a cottage ceiling, to serve the purpose of an in- 



