Birds. 2483 



winter had stilled his song and ruffled his plumage, came hopping to 

 our door, lightly printing the untrodden snow in his footstep, and up- 

 turning ever and anon his eye to solicit a boon "with that mute elo- 

 quence which passeth speech." No bird seems so equally distributed 

 over this district as the redbreast. Let a man shoulder his spade and 

 go forth into the woods or far-off fields, and commence upturning the 

 fresh moist mould, and quickly from the tree that overshadows him 

 will descend this welcome guest to share his solitude and procure an 

 humble meal. He hops and looks and looks and hops with fearless- 

 ness and familiarity, — picks up the writhing worm or close-rolled 

 chrysalis, and seems peculiarly shielded from harm under man's pro-* 

 tection. His appetite appeased, he again ascends the tree and re- 

 pays his benefactor with a song. 



During the breeding-season they fight most obstinately ; and I 

 once saw a conflict between two males in which one left his antago- 

 nist on the ground quite dead. On January 2, 1844, the snow was 

 six inches deep, but a readbreast was in full song. Young birds 

 hatched in spring make an essay at singing about the middle of Au- 

 gust — oftentimes before they have received the red tinge on their 

 breast. Their first essays are of a low, pleasing, inward, warbling 

 character, but towards October they become tolerable songsters. 



Redstart {Sylvia phoenicurus) . Two or three pairs may be found 

 here every summer. The young are fed with soft green grubs. After 

 the breeding-season they retire from the village and are little seen. 



Stonechat (Sylvia rubicola). Before Melbourne Common was en- 

 closed this bird remained here all the year, wintering amongst the 

 gorse and fern and hillocks made by the rabbits. Since that period 

 its numbers have considerably decreased, and it is now only known 

 as a very rare summer visitant. It frequents the coldest clay lands 

 or bleak uplands ; and if startled, makes a short undulating flight, 

 settling again upon the most prominent clod of earth, uttering at the 

 same time its melancholy notes. One killed here on December 13, 

 1844, on the common, the weather being intensely cold and frosty — 

 a circumstance which doubtless forced the bird to leave its more 

 northern haunts. 



Whinchat (Sylvia rubetra). 



Wheatear (Sylvia cenanthe). A few pairs reach us annually ; but 

 cultivation is fast banishing this bird from our fauna. They formerly 

 abounded amongst the rabbit-warrens on the common, and bred in 

 the deserted holes. Now they frequent the meadows at a distance 

 from the village; and having fixed upon a certain spot, rarely wander 



