
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
85 

out since the storm occurred, anxious to ascertain 
the fate of my feathered favorites, in this unlooked- 
for visitation of churlish winter. The effects have 
been serious to the nesting birds, particularly the 
ground-builders, as larks, grouse, &c. A handsome 
cock whinchat had been brought to me, starved to 
death, and numbers of eggs were found cold in the 
deserted nests. To my great surprise, on passing 
down the fields to the Old Mill, I found the birds 
were neither chilled into torpitude, nor voiceless. 
The tree pipit, green linnet, and storm-cock, were 
singing merrily about the gardens and fields. The 
snow was fast melting away from the neighboring 
slopes, but laid white and cold on the distant hills ; 
there having been a partial frost during both nights 
afterthe snow. An unusually large flood had filled 
the Dearne valley. The water still covered the 
Fleets like a miniature lake. Rooks, skylarks, 
meadow pipits, swallows and thrushes, were flying 
over the waters, or picking up insects or worms on 
patches which the flood had left. On the near 
bushes, the whinchat, the sedge warbler, the willow 
wren, and the jenny wren were singing merrily ; 
and in the Cliff Wood, lower down, the blackbird, 
the whitethroat, and the blackcap, were tuning 
their mellow pipes ; as if no unseasonable visitation 
had but a few hours before taken place, leaving 
its traces still on the fresh leaves and blossoms of 
spring. 
May 16.—I accompanied the Temperance Pro- 
cession to Stainbro’ Park. The visitors were, as 
usual, not numerous in the fore part of the day; 
but before evening were estimated at 1,500 to 
2,000. The amount taken at the gates, at the 
small admission fee, was near £15, leaving a profit 
of £7 clear, towards the beneficent object of the 
society. The day was as fine as could be desired 
for this exhilarating and rational mode of spending 
Whitsun holidays. 
In sad contrast to this genial weather, and the 
budding promises of summer, were the devastating 
traces of the late heavy snow-storm. The fine 
beech trees we had so much admired the week 
before,—one below the canal partially leafed, and 
the one a little beyond the bridge, which we had 
contemplated as a perfect model of this noble tree, 
so ample in bulk, the trunk being about twelve feet 
in diameter, and so graceful in the proportion of its 
bold, leafy branches,—exhibited now a sad wreck 
of their former beauty and stateliness. In taking 
the round of the park, to preserve order among the 
““irregulars ” always mingling in such companies, 
restraining the juveniles from pelting the swans, 
or running the timid hares and deer,—lI found 
constant traces of the devastating storm. 
The branches of many trees of the rookeries 
in the menagerie, and amid the tall oaks near 
Queen Anne’s Lodge, were broken down by the 
weight of snow, increased by the quantity of nests 
they supported. In many cases, the branches, 
nests, and young birds, had come down in a confused 
mass. ‘The ravages made on the trees near the 
Gamekeeper’s cottage were still greater ; but this 
was said to be nothing to the destruction experi- 
enced in the woods about Rockley. The splendid 
avenues of beeches, the admiration of all beholders, 
had many of their finest branches—some of them 
comparable to trees in themselves—fairly borne 
down on all sides by the superincumbent masses 


of snow. It was, therefore, with feelings of pain 
and pleasure, that the diversified scenes of this 
fine park were surveyed on that day—pain at the 
devastation produced by one day’s snow—pleasure 
in the sight of the fair flowers and trees bursting 
into vernal beauty, as if eager to outgrow and 
efface, by their luxuriance, the temporary check 
that vegetation had sustained. It was truly the 
union of the hopefulness of spring with the ravages 
of winter—emblematic of human life, with its 
smiles and tears, its mingled sorrows and joys. 
I had little leisure to search for rare birds; the 
nuthatch abounded in the pleasure-grounds. The 
pied flycatcher was yet invisible, as on my last 
visit. The late cold, changeful weather, may have 
retarded its arrival in this its only haunt in our 
neighborhood, Beyond the temple, I saw some 
boys pelting what they called “‘jinties,” one of 
their names for the jenny wren. 1 soon perceived 
that they were the tree-creepers, running busily 
around the boles of the huge oaks. I let the lads 
see them through the telescope ; the amusement of 
which softened down their persecuting instinct 
| into a sort of admiration for these tiny interesting 

creatures. The Gamekeeper, who had supplied me 
with some eggs of daws and other birds, had re- 
served for me the eggs of what he called the blue 
hawk, which he, with the fatal antipathy of his 
profession, had shot on the nest, but not captured. 
Comparing them with Morris’s colored plates, I 
ascertained at once that they belonged to the 
sparrow-hawk, the blue tint on the back of the 
male bird gaining it the above title. It could be 
no other bird; as the blue hawk, the hen harrier, 
setting aside the color of the eggs, would not have 
been found here—it having become, with many 
more of its doomed race, extinct in this country, 
owing to the rapacity of scientific collectors, and 
the undying hate of game protectors. 
This keeper maintains that the kestrel preys on 
birds as well as mice. He is backed out by others 
of his class, one of whom states that he has seen 
the kestrel devouring a partridge: unless the mer- 
lin or hobby, both of which occur, though rarely, 
in this part, has been mistaken for this bird, the 
statement is at variance with the views of most 
writers. I lean to the book opinion, that with 
respect to destroying game, this hawk is as harm- 
less as it is handsome. 
We have also the testimony of the most 
observing field-naturalist, Waterton, as to its harm- 
lessness, and utility to the farmer and landed pro- 
prietor. The excellent remarks of his, quoted in 
the article on Persecuted Animals by Dr. Morris, 
editor of the Naturalist, appearing in Kipp’s 
pleasng JournaL oF Natura History, are 
surely sufficient to settle this point, both with the 
learned and unlearned world. 
What with vulgar prejudices, and wanton de- 
structiveness towards eggs and birds, encouraged 
instead of being checked by the scientific in their 
over-anxiety for making collections, and a grudging 
jealousy of losing a few brace of game,—our hawks 
and eagles will follow the fate of the vanishing 
bittern and extinct bustard; and instead of being 
admired in their living state, be known only to a 
future race, like the dinorsis of New Zealand, by 
their wasting skeletons. 
T. Lister, 

