THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 333 
move upon the surface 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 gratu- 
lation to the young-eyed day, when twilight almost 
hides the little minstrel from our sight. 
" The sparrows roost 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 see it now peeping from its 
pent-house, inquisitively surveying the land ; and, 
should provision be obtainable, it immediately de- 
scends upon it without any scruple, and makes itself 
a welcome guest with all. It retires early to rest. 
The blackbird quits its leafy roost in the ivied ash ; 
its chink, chink, is heard in the hedge ; and, mounting 
on some neighbouring oak, with mellow, sober voice, 
it gratulates 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 plea- 
sure, it becomes difficult to note priority of voice. 
These are the matin voices of the summer season : 
