REDBREAST 61 



from their smoothness, intensity, and fulness of articulation ; rapid 

 and crowded at one moment, as if some barrier had suddenly given 

 way, then as suddenly pausing, and scintillating at intervals bright, 

 tapering shafts of sound. It stops and hesitates, and blurts out its 

 notes like a stammerer ; but when they do come, they are marvel- 

 lously clear and pure. I have heard green hickory-branches thrown 

 into a fierce blaze jet out the same fine, intense, musical sounds on 

 the escape of the imprisoned vapours in the hard wood as charac- 

 terise the robin's song.' 



The robin is an early breeder, and makes its nest beneath a 

 hedge, or in a bank, or in a close bush not far above the ground ; it is 

 formed of dry grass, leaves, and moss, and lined with feathers. Six 

 or seven eggs are laid, reddish white in ground-colour, clouded or 

 blotched, and freckled with pale red. When the nest is approached 

 the old birds express their anxiety by a very curious sound a 

 prolonged note so acute that, like the shrill note of some insects 

 and the bat's cry, it is inaudible to some persons. Two, and even 

 three, broods are raised in the season. 



At the end of summer the old birds disappear from their usual 

 haunts to moult ; and during this perhaps painful, and certainly 

 dangerous, period, they remain secluded and unseen in the thickest 

 foliage. When they reappear in new and brighter dress, restored 

 to health and vigour, a fresh trial awaits them. The young they 

 have hatched and fed and protected have now attained to maturity, 

 and are in possession of their home. For it is the case that every 

 pair of robins has a pretty well-defined area of ground which they 

 regard as their own, jealously excluding from it other individuals of 

 their own species. The young are forthwith driven out, often not 

 without much fighting, which may last for many days, and in which 

 the old bird is sometimes the loser. But in most cases the old 

 robin reconquers his territory, and the young male, or males, if not 

 killed, go otherwhere. And here we come upon an obscure point 

 in the history of this familiar species; for what becomes of the 

 young dispossessed birds is not yet known. It has been conjectured 

 that they migrate, and that not many return from their wanderings 

 beyond the sea. And it is not impossible to believe that the 

 migratory instinct may exist in the young of a species, although 

 obsolete at a later period of life. 



