THE ZooLocist—NoveMBER, 1872. 3303 
hawks, thinking they would kill and eat them, but on going to them 
next morning I was surprised to find the swallows all alive and 
nestling under the hawks: I took one of them, and after killing it 
tore it up, giving a portion to each of the hawks: just then my 
attention was drawn to a pair of old swallows by the noise they 
made overhead ; it directly struck me that the little prisoners were 
their offspring. I retired a short distance under an archway, when 
I saw immediately afterwards the old birds go through the wires 
(it was wire netting commonly used for rabbits) and feed their 
young below the hawks: this they did several times before I left 
off watching them. I of course left the happy family as they were, 
and sought other food for the hawks, the swallows continuing to 
feed their young until the 83rd of July, when I saw them flying 
inside the cage; I let them out, to the great joy of their parents. 
Poor things! what strength of affection was here shown by them. 
It was very curious to see the birds all nestled together, each hawk 
with a swallow stuck in head-foremost between its legs. This 
circumstance was mentioned to an eminent naturalist, who said 
he was quite at a loss to make out why the hawks did not kill 
them, unless it was that they did not care to taste the flesh of a 
bird they would never be able to catch. I tried them by putting 
a swallow into the cage in the September following: the male bird 
killed it immediately. I may add my reasons for keeping these 
birds in confinement: it was partly to witness the change in their 
plumage, but more especially to find out whether, as stated by 
Selby, the female would kill and eat the male. I had two females 
and one male; I let one of the females out in October. I never saw 
anything but a skirmish between them, and then only when I fed 
them: the male was generally the first to get hold of what was 
given ; he was by far the quickest and wildest of the two, and never 
got the least tame. I hungered them purposely sometimes, to see 
whether she would attack him, but she never did, and after 
satisfying myself I let them go. 
The kestrels mentioned were taken in June, 1869. I had 
climbed up a rock to the nest and was standing on a ledge 
examining one of the young birds (it contained three, an addled egg 
and a mouse), when all at once the rock gave way, and I with it; I 
fell about five feet straight and had a rough slide of about ten feet 
more, landing in the water, with the rock by my side and the bird 
in my hand. The poor bird was not fit to take, but I did not care to 
