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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



only the eaves and half-built nests, but even the 

 tower itself, battlements, weathercock, and all 

 are deserted, till a return of fine weather, when 

 the Starlings too return and the work again pro- 

 ceeds. At length the nests are built, the eggs 

 laid, and the young ones hatched. Then a new 

 scene of noise, and activity, and bustle com- 

 mences, increasing of course as the nestlings 

 become older and more voracious. Then it is 

 that the lawn becomes a favorite resort; hitherto 

 a few idlers may have hopped and pecked up a 

 stray worm or two, but now the search is a 

 matter of serious occupation. 



Down they come — the sober-colored hen, and 

 the cock with the sun glittering on its spangled 

 feathers, with claws and beaks as busily employed 

 as if their very existence depended upon it. All 

 however in good social harmony, never quarrel- 

 ing with the shy and less intrusive Thrush or 

 Blackbird; or with the lively Wagtails, con- 

 tenting themselves with the lighter fare of the 

 myriads of minute flies and beetles hovering over 

 the fresh-mown turf. 



The noise and bustle go on incessantly, till the 

 young ones are fledged, when for a day or two 

 they may be seen fluttering about the building, 

 or taking short flights. At length, their strength 

 being matured, old and young collect on the 

 tower, and then wheel away over the neigh- 

 boring fields, as if practising for future and 

 more important evolutions. But still the evening 

 finds them roosting near the place of their birth. 

 At last, however, a day comes when all is 

 hushed. No hungry guests are feasting on the 

 lawn, no clamorous throats are calling aloud for 

 food, no twitterings are heard from bough or 

 battlement, not even a straggler is to be seen on 

 the pinnacle of the weathercock. 



The joyous assembly is broken up. The 

 Starlings are gone,* and till the Autumn, with 

 scarcely an exception, we shall see them no 

 more. Then, about the third week in September, 

 again on their favorite perch — the weathercock, 

 one, or two, or three, may chance to appear to- 

 wards evening, not with the merry note of Spring, 

 but uttering that monotonous, plaintive, long- 

 drawn, whistling cry, as cheerless as the cheer- 

 less season for which they seem to bid us prepare. 

 That these, and the few other stragglers occa- 

 sionally occupying the same post, are our Spring 

 friends is most probable; for a lame Starling 

 was observed for eight years to return to the 

 same nest, and every observation we have made 

 tends to prove that this is a general instinctive 

 custom of, we believe, every bird whatever. 



Having thus given some report of our Starlings 

 for the greater part of the year, we will endea- 

 vor to follow the main body for the remaining 

 months, as yet unaccounted for. To do this 

 effectually would be no easy matter, as we be- 

 lieve that they are partially migratory, i. c, 

 quitting one part of the kingdom for another, 

 more fitted for their usual mode of life ; never- 

 theless; enough remain within the sphere of our 



* The abandonment of their breeding-place depends, 

 of course, upon the season. Tn 1833, the month of May 

 having been remarkably warm, it occurred on the sixth 

 of June ; but we have known it to be delayed till the 

 second week in July ; the whole of June having been 

 very unseasonable and stormy. 



observation, and are to be met with in little 

 flocks during the Summer in favorite meadows, 

 where food is plentiful, associating with their old 

 friends the Crows, the Rooks, and Jackdaws. 



As winter approaches however, they follow 

 the example of some other birds, such as Larks, 

 Buntings, &c., and congregate in larger quanti- 

 ties. Not far from the church we have men- 

 tioned, there is a considerable sheet of water, 

 occupying nearly thirty acres; flanked and 

 feathered on the eastern side by some old 

 beechwood. Its western margin is bounded by 

 an artificial dam, which, as the water is upon 

 a much higher level, commands an extensive 

 view over a flat, rich country, the horizon termi- 

 nated by the faint outline of the first range of 

 Welsh mountains. This dam, on the finer even- 

 ings of November, was once the favorite resort 

 of many persons, who found an additional at- 

 traction in watching the gradual assemblage of 

 the Starlings. About an hour before sunset 

 little flocks, by twenties or fifties, kept gradually 

 dropping in, their numbers increasing as daylight 

 waned, till one vast flight was formed, amounting 

 to thousands, and at times we might almost say 

 to millions. Nothing could be more interesting 

 or beautiful than to witness their graceful evo- 

 lutions. 



At first they might be seen advancing high in 

 the air, like a dark cloud, which in an instant, as 

 if by magic, became almost invisible, the whole 

 body by some mysterious watchword or signal 

 changing their course, and presenting their 

 wings to view edgeways, instead of exposing, as 

 before, their full-expanded spread. Again, in 

 another moment, the cloud might be seen descend- 

 ing in a graceful sweep, so as almost to brush the 

 earth as they glanced along. Then once more 

 they were seen spiring in wide circles on high ; 

 till at length, with one simultaneous rush, down 

 they glided, with a roaring noise of wing, till the 

 vast mass buried itself unseen, but not unheard, 

 amidst a bed of reeds, projecting from the bank 

 adjacent to the wood. For no sooner were they 

 perched than every throat seemed to open itself, 

 forming one incessant confusion of tongues. 



If nothing disturbed them, there they would 

 most likely remain ; but if a stone was thrown, a 

 shout raised, or more especially if a gun was 

 fired, up again would rise the mass with one un- 

 broken, rushing sound, as if the whole body 

 were possessed but of one wing to bear them in 

 their upward flight. In the fens of Cambridge- 

 shire and Lincolnshire, where reeds are of 

 considerable value for various purposes, the 

 mischief they occasion is often very considerable, 

 by beating clown and breaking them; as many as 

 can find a grasping hold clinging to the same 

 slender stem, which, of course, bends and plunges 

 them in the water, from whence they rise to join 

 some other neighbors, whose reed is still able to 

 bear their weight. This perpetual jostling and 

 breaking down is the probable cause of the in- 

 cessant clatter, which continues for a considerable 

 time; indeed, till all have procured dry beds, 

 and a firm footing. 



It has been remarked (adds Dr. Stanley), that 

 the flights of these birds have of late years much 

 diminished, a fact to which we can speak from 

 our own experience; for the assemblages which 



