KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



227 



would we raise our pen by way of " argu- 

 ment," but we might as well argue with a 

 drunkard. 



We are compelled to acknowledge, that 

 the English are at heart a very cruel, 

 and worse than thoughtless people. They are 

 condemned by their own acts. 



BIBDS OF SONG. 



No. XXX.— THE WHITE-THROAT. 



Whilst we now write, the season is 

 rapidly advancing. The winds are heard in 

 all the majesty of their great power. The 

 rains have been falling heavily. The clouds 

 are full of fitful gusts, and the face of nature 

 undergoes a hundred changes in as many 

 hours. Still do we love to wander abroad 

 between the showers ; and we delight much 

 in the month of October. 



The autumnal crops are now all housed, 

 and the fields are beginning to show new 

 signs of life in the return of their former 

 inhabitants — the birds. It is a pretty sight, 

 to view them in all the pride and dignity of 

 their new and becoming plumage ; and no 

 less pleasant is it to listen to their song. It 

 seems to savor, by its energy and sweetness, 

 of gratitude and thankfulness to the Creator 

 for this renewal of His great power. At all 

 events, we may harmlessly imagine so. 

 ^ It is with regret we have to record, as 

 faithful historians of what is passing in the 

 field, that with the advent of September, 

 man's better nature gave way, as usual, to 

 the overpowering seductions of the gun. 

 It has ever since been, almost unceas- 

 ingly, heard recording its wanton butcheries. 

 Partridges which, until then, had been luxu- 

 riating with their happy families in the corn, 

 and enjoying the prescriptive privileges of 

 freedom unmolested, are now savagely and 

 unceasingly hunted from morning till night ; 

 and their lives either taken by a well-aimed 

 shot (merciful, this !), or their limbs are 

 shattered by some cockney sportsman, who 

 has accidentally contrived to bring some 

 part of their extended person within the 

 radius of his well-spreading and heavily- 

 charged gun barrel. 

 " See! in the sun the circling covey bask 



Their varied plumes; and, watchful everyway, 

 Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. 

 Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat 

 Their idle wings, entangled more and more; 

 Nor on the surges of the boundless air, 

 Though borne triumphant, are they safe; the 



Glanced just, and sudden, from the fowler's 



eye, 

 O'ertakes their sounding pinions ; and again, 

 Immediate, brings them from thetoweringwing, 

 Dead to the ground ; or drives them, wide- 



dispers'd, 



Wounded, and wheeling various, down the 

 wind." 



Manly sport this, truly ! especially when 

 we reflect upon the very many maimed suf- 

 ferers which escape, and which groan out 

 their final agonies under cover of the brush- 

 wood. But, as our own Thomson sweetly 

 sings, when bewailing the ravages made by 

 these boasting, blood-thirsty Cossacks — 



These are not subjects for the peaceful Muse, 

 Nor will she stain with such her spotless song; 

 Then most delighted, when she social sees 

 The whole mix'd animal creation round 

 Alive and happy. 



Let us then at once resume the thread of 

 our discourse, and speak of our little hero 

 the White-throat. 



This bird, commonly known in our south- 

 ern parts as the Peggy White-throat, some- 

 what resembles the black-cap in its appear- 

 ance ; but it has a longer tail and shorter 

 wings. Its head, too, is dissimilar, being of 

 an ashy grey color. Its throat and under 

 parts are of a greyish white color (sometimes 

 a clear white,) and its legs are pale brown. 

 The hen differs little from the male ; she is, 

 however, of smaller proportions, less 

 sprightly, and her colors are more dingy. 



The white-throat (Silvia cinerea) visits us 

 about the middle of April, and at once takes 

 up his quarters in our hedges, fields, and 

 coppices. He is a familiar little fellow, and 

 very soon after his arrival he sets about the 

 one great business of his life — the building 

 of a house, and the rearing of a family. He 

 generally selects, as the most convenient site 

 for his nest, a quiet, lone, or unfrequented 

 field. Here, in a thick low bush, he sets 

 his architectural ingenuity to work, and con- 

 structs a local habitation —of the fibres of 

 roots, goose-grass, and moss ; the interior 

 being lined with horse-hair. The nest, we 

 should observe, is very slight, and rather 

 useful than elegant. As regards the provi- 

 sion made for warmth — the architect seems 

 to leave this to the sun. The eggs vary in 

 number from four to six ; they are of a 

 whitish color, inclined to green, and are 

 marked with delicate spots of olive green. 



These birds are seen to far more advan- 

 tage when at large, than when they are 

 confined in a cage. They are of a lively, 

 joyous disposition ; and whilst singing, they 

 rise on the wing, describe a circle in the air, 

 and again resume their seat upon the bush 

 from whence they started. Their notes, 

 though of moderate compass, are very sweet, 

 and rapidly uttered, and when you are near 

 enough to them to judge of their vocal 

 abilities, you will pronounce them first-rate. 

 They seem quite aware of their excelling 

 powers, and take a proud stand among the 

 other orchestral performers of the grove. 



