358 THE RINGDOVE. 



transfer them from the nest to the kitchen. These marauders are 

 so perpetually on the watch, that it has never yet been my lot to find 

 a ringdove's nest in our neighbouring woods with full-fledged young 

 ones in it ; although I am continually in the habit of straying into 

 them, and looking for the nests with a careful and unwearied eye. 

 Wherefore, I conclude that our winter flocks receive migratory 

 individuals from distant regions. 



The ringdove, by not feeding on insects, renders no service to 

 man while visiting his fields. On the contrary, it is known to injure 

 him considerably in his crop of rising clover. As soon as this plant 

 begins, under the influence of the vernal sun, to expand its leaves, 

 the ringdove attacks the heart-shoot with fatal severity, and much 

 address is required on the part of the farmer to scare the birds from 

 their favourite food. Leaving, however, the sons of Ceres to fight 

 their own battles, I will merely add that this handsome bird is pro- 

 tected here. I love to listen to its soothing murmurs, and take 

 intense pleasure in observing its habits during the breeding season, 

 when it becomes fully as tame as the domestic pigeon. The house- 

 keeper often hints to me that a couple of them would look extremely 

 well on the table ; and the farmer calls them devouring vermin. I 

 receive the opinions of these respectable personages with perfect 

 indifference, and I sometimes soothe them by observing that where 

 the ringdove has one friend, it has a thousand enemies, ready to 

 prepare it for the spit, or to prevent for ever ts return to the clover 

 field. 



The ringdove lays two snow-white eggs on a nest which may be 

 termed a platform of sticks, so sparingly put together, that the eggs 

 are easily seen through it by an eye habituated to look for them. 

 On inspecting this apparent commencement or remnant of a nest, 

 one is led to surmise, at the first glance, that the young are neces- 

 sarily 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 meantime, the droppings of the young, which the old 

 birds of some species carefully convey away, are allowed to remain 



