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THE MIGRATORY INSTINCT.


By Reginald Phillipps.


In our magazine for April, at page 65, referring to the restlessness of

some birds at night during the season of migration, Dr. Butler rejects the

old fashioned idea that it is caused by the migratory instinct, and advances

a theory to account for it which is new to me. When a novel proposition is

brought before us. we naturally test it by our own experiences; and I am

bound to remark that if I were to go to my bird-room (and I frequently go

to the bird-room at all hours of the day and night) at roosting or any other

time, and endeavour to stare my pets out of countenance, I should get

worsted in the encounter. Commencing with Cherry, whom I have already

introduced to you, they would one and all cosy their heads between their

shoulders, and leave me decidedly out in the cold. And Dr. Butler’s theory

does not meet the more frequent cases of birds going quietly to roost, but

knocking themselves about during the night, without any human eye being

present either to disturb them or to witness what actually does take place.

Many of these cases, however, as is well known, may be accounted for—

who can say how many or how few—by a visit from our common foe, the

mouse.


Nevertheless, cases of restlessness amongst birds at night do occur

which cannot be accounted for either by fear of the mice or of the evil eye.

Ret me mention some which I can speak of as fadts.


First let us consider the Cuckoo ; not, indeed, the uninteresting

Cuckoo referred to by Dr. Butler at page 64, for a Cuckoo may be rendered

intensely uninteresting by its human jailor, but a well brought up bird,

which I know from many years of experience makes a most interesting pet.

When I place such a Cuckoo in a large cage facing a window, or loose in

the bird-room, it goes to roost quite peaceably, night after night, for some

w T eeks. But alas for its beauty, a change alwa} r s conies sooner or later.

Although quiet all the da}', going up to its roosting place as usual at even,

after a while it seems to get up steam, to work itself into a fever, and it

launches forth against the wires of its cage, or against the wire-protected

window, time after time, during the greater part of the night, caring

nought for its self-inflicted injuries, and regarding my presence as lightly

as my absence, Now if you will look back to the first number of our

magazine, at page 11, you will see that, partly for the sake of the migratory

birds, I usually have a lamp burning in my bird-room all night. How does

the light affect the Cuckoo, and how does the bird behave under these

altered circumstances? For a time, as before, there is not any disturbance

at night; but the old weird change unfailingly comes on at the usual

season. Not long after night-fall, it leaves its roosting-place, and quietly

flies on to the perch nearest to the window, and directly in front of it.

Always on this perch, and always facing the window, which can no longer

attract it bv its light—but the clever bird knows well it is there -with neck

stretched out to its fullest extent, hour after hour it sits on that perch

beating the air wildly with its wings, ever just on the point of dashing

forward, but rarely actually flying. And if the bird be in a large cage,

although I cannot see it, yet for hours I can hear the swish, swish, swish, of

those magnificent wings. Usually when there is a light, whether in a cage

or loose, it quiets down towards midnight, and goes to sleep.


This remarkable restlessness of the Cuckoo, which is almost painful

to behold, lasts longer with some specimens than with others, but never

fails to develop itself when the birds are in good condition and kept as

described. It continues more or less into the winter, but does not re-occur

to any serious extent as the birds grow older. As a rule, the males are

taken with the complaint, whatever it may be, very much worse than the

females.


Then there is the Hoopoe. For a time the nights pass quietly by ; but

before the autumn has grown very old a change conies over it as in the case of

the Cuckoo. When there is not a light in the room, the bird flounders about,

takes reckless flights from time to time, but passes so much of the night



