240 . 
ers, especially the summer bird-catchers, they who do not 
capture birds when they have congregated in winter, when 
they have no mates or young ones to feel the effects of 
‘their loss, and are ready for the “ae of the epicure, but 
who take only singing birds, and take a wherever 
and whene aaa can, without regard to their having 
young, which may perish by their absence, or to that 
harsh change, from the full enjoyment of summer sunshine 
and pleasures to the captivity of the cage. When I see 
their nets spread in the fields wh birds resort, I wish 
them all manner of villainous ill-luck; and I never omit a — 
favourable opportunity of deranging or destroying their 
snares when they fall in my way. a 
There are none of our customs which more mark our 
selfishness than that of keeping singing birds in perpetual 
confinement, making the pleasure of our ears their misfor- 
“tune; and that sweet gift, which God has given them, 
wherewith to make themselves happy, and the country 
delightful, the curse of their lives. If we were content- 
ed, however, with taking and rearing young ones, which 
never knew the actual blessing of liberty, or of propa~_ 
gating them in cages or avaries, the evil would not be so 
enormous. But the practice of seizing singing bir 
which have always enjoyed the freedom of the earth 
air, im summer when they are busy with the pleasant cares 
of their nests or young broods, and subjecting them to a 
close prison, is detestable—doubly detestable in the case 
of migratory birds, which have not merely the common 
love of liberty, but the instinct of migration to struggle 
with. To behold a bird which God has created to fly from 
land to land to crown the pleasantness of spring with the 
most delicious music, or which he has made to soar, in the 
rapture of itsheart, up to heaven’s gates, “cribbed, cabined, 
and confined’’ in a narrow cage by man, is one of the priority of voice. These are the mati 
most melancholy objects on earth. Let those who have 
hearts for it keep th nd listen to them with what 
pleasure they may; for my part, while I am myself sensi- 
ble of the charms of freedom, and of the delights of the 
summer fields, I shall continue to prefer the ‘ wood notes 
wild”’ of liberty to a captive’s wail.—Book of on 
” 
~~ BARLY AWAKENING OF BIRDS. 
« 
Ma P 
Ar one periada my life, being an early waker and . 
io 
riser, my attent as frequently drawn < to songs of 
earliest birds;” and I r obse hat these creatures 
appeared abroad at very differen ods as the light ad- 
vanced. The rook is perhaps the first to e the open- 
ing morn; but this bird seems rather to rest than to sleep. 
*& _ 
THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, _ 
instantly the whole assemblage, not successively, but col- 
lectively. It is appointed to be aready mover. Its prin- 
cipal food is worms, which feed and crawl upon the humid 
surface of the ground in the dusk, and retire before the 
light of day; and, roosting higher than other birds, the 
first rays of the sun, as they peep = the horizon, be- 
come visible to it. The restless, inquisitive robin now is 
seen too. This is the last bird that retires in the even- 
ing, being frequently flitting about when the owl and bat 
are visible, arias so soon in the morning, that little 
‘rest seems required by it. Its fine large eyes are fitted 
to receive all, even the weakest rays of light that appear. 
The worm is its food too, and few that move upon the sur- 
face escape its notice. The cheerful melody of the wren 
is the next we hear, as it bustles from its ivied roost; and 
we note its gratulation to the young-eyed day, when twi- 
light almost hides the little minstrel from our sight. The 
sparrow roosts in holes, and under the eaves of the rick 
or shed, where the light does not so soon enter, and hence 
is rather a tardy mover; but it is always ready for food, 
and seems to listen to what is going forward. We s 
now peeping from its penthouse, inquisitively surveyi 
the land; and, 
diately descends upon it without any seruple, and makes 
itself a welcome guest with all. It retires early to rest. 
The black-bird quits its leafy roost in the ivied ash; its 
‘chink, chink,”’ is heard in the hedge; and, ire 
1 
i) 
3 
uld provision be obtainable, it imme- ~ 
some neighbouring oak, with mellow, sober voice, it gra- _ 
tulates the coming day. ‘‘ The plain-song cuckoo gray”’ 
from some tall tree now tells its tale. The lark is in the 
air, the “ martin twitters from her earth-built shed,”’ all 
the choristers are tuning in the grove; and amid such 
tokens of awakening pleasure it becomes difficult to note 
oices of the sum- 
mer season: in winter a cheerless chirp, or a hungry twit, 
is all we hear; the families of voice are away, or silent; 
we have little to note, and perhaps as little inclination to 
observe.—Jour. of a Naturalist. 
+ 
SINGULAR OCCURRENCE. 
weeks since, as one of our sportsmen was out 
" gunning, in the vicinity of this place, his dog started a “ 
wookcock, which he immediately fired at and hit, whilst 
flying rapidly with the wind; and such was the impetus it 
had acquired by the rapidity of its flight, that ag 
ing in nearly a horizontal line to the earth, it struck a corn 
stalk, which was penetrated entirely through by its dzd/, 
_by which it hung suspended to the corn stalk nd in whieh 
situation it was found by the gentleman whe shot it 
Always vigilant, the least alarm after retirement rouses [ Reading Chronicle. 
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