400 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
leave again in the early spring, taking with them doubtless some 
of their ’Mudian brethren, for no perceptible accession of strength 
is apparent during the ensuing summer. This is, to my mind, the 
most delightful of birds, and certainly the flower of the limited 
flock of Bermuda residents; its brilliant plumage, vivacious 
manners, and pleasant warble, render it an object of interest to 
all; while its confiding and fearless nature in the breeding season, 
and the number of noxious insects it destroys, cause it to be 
strictly protected throughout the islands. The male bird in spring, 
when the sun’s rays illumine his dazzling blue plumage, is perfectly 
lovely: he flashes across the road like a ray of azure light, and 
seems actually to blaze with intense colour from among the sombre 
foliage of the cedars. His spouse is far more sober in her attire ; 
but she too puts on nuptial attire and looks uncommonly smart in 
April and May, when she acquires an unusually vivid blue, and 
much suffusion of reddish brown about the head. I accidentally 
shot one in this plumage one afternoon, thinking it was a stranger, 
so much did it differ from the ordinary female. They breed twice, 
and, I believe, in some cases thrice: I have seen fresh eggs on 
April 4th, and as late as June 19th. Eggs four or five, delicate 
pale blue, unspotted, *85 in. by ‘68 in. Nest of grasses and bents, 
in all manner of places. I have found them commonly in holes in 
old quarries or roadside cuttings; also in crevices of walls; in 
rocks, even when some little distance from the shore; in holes in 
trees; on the branches of trees; in stove- and water-pipes; in 
calabashes, boxes, &c., hung up for them in the verandahs of 
houses; in the folds of a canvas awning outside the door of one of 
the officers’ quarters at Prospect Camp; and in several other 
curious situations. The female sits close, and I have caught her 
on the nest. The young are strikingly spotted till their first moult. 
The males sing much in the early morning in spring, both 
stationary and on the wing, and continue their song, though with 
diminished ardour, till an hour or so before sunset. A warm 
sunry day in winter, however, is the time to hear them in 
perfection, when a favourite cedar grove will resound with their 
combined melody, each songster perched on the very topmost twig 
of atall cedar. The song is merely a short, but sweet, wild little 
stave, sounding to me not unlike that of the Blue Thrush, Monticola 
cyaneus, as | used to hear it from the heights, far away above my 
head, on the rock of Gibraltar. The call-note is a soft twitter; 
