AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 
81 
“ In a few days the sore assumed a healthy look, and in 
ten days was perfectly healed up — although, at times, I 
yet experience a heavy pain in the part from whence the 
worm has been taken. It had travelled on the periosteum, 
along the tibia for at least two inches. The severe pain 
which I experienced for those periods, I attribute to the 
irritation of some of the branches of the nerves distributed 
to the parts by the worm in its progress. Respecting this 
worm there are different opinions among the Spaniards and 
Creoles. Ouche is the name it is called by some, who say 
it is produced by a worm which crawls on the body, from 
the ground, and penetrating the skin, increases in size. 
Others maintain that they are produced from the sting of a 
winged insect which they call Zancudo , others call the 
insect Husano; for my part I am rather inclined to think 
that they are produced from the sting of a winged insect 
which deposites its egg. ” 
Larva of CEstrus Hominis. 
THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 
Rural sounds, the voices, the language of the wild crea- 
tures, as heard by the naturalist, belong to, and are in 
concord with the country only. Our sight, our smell, may 
perhaps be deceived for an interval by conservatories, hor- 
ticultural arts, and bowers of sweets; but our hearing can 
in no way be beguiled by any semblance of what is heard 
in the grove or the field. The hum, the murmur, the 
medley of the mead, is peculiarly its own, admits of no 
imitation, and the voices of our birds convey particular 
intimation, and distinctly notify the various periods of the 
year, with an accuracy as certain as they are detailed in our 
calendars. The season of spring is always announced as 
approaching by the notes of the rookery, by the jangle or 
wooing accents of the dark frequenters of its trees; and 
that time having passed away, these contentions and ca- 
dences are no longer heard. The cuckoo then comes, and 
informs us that spring has arrived; that he has journeyed 
to us, borne by gentle gales in sunny days; that fragrant 
flowers are in the copse and the mead, and all things telling 
of gratulation and of joy: the children mark this well- 
known sound, spring out, and cuckoo! cuckoo! as they 
gambol down the lane: the very plough-boy bids him wel- 
come in the early morn. It is hardly spring without the 
cuckoo’s song; and having told his tale, he has voice for 
X 
no more — is silent or away. Then comes the dark, swift- 
winged martin, glancing through the air, that seems afraid 
to visit our uncertain clime: he comes, though late, and 
hurries through his business here, eager again to depart, 
all day long in agitation and precipitate flight. The bland 
zephyrs of the spring have no charms with them; but bask- 
ing and careering in the sultry gleams of June and July, 
they associate in throngs, and, screaming, dash round the 
steeple or the ruined tower, to serenade their nesting mates; 
and glare and heat are in their train. When the fervour of 
summer ceases, this bird of the sun will depart. The even- 
ing robin, from the summit of some leafless bough, or pro- 
jecting point, tells us that autumn is come, and brings 
matured fruits, chilly airs, and sober hours, and he, the 
lonely minstrel now that sings, is understood by all. These 
four birds thus indicate a separate season, have no interfe- 
rence with the intelligence of the other, nor could they be 
transposed without the loss of all the meaning they convey, 
which no contrivance of art could supply; and, by long 
association, they have become identified with the period, 
and in peculiar accordance with the time. 
We note birds in general more from their voices than 
their plumage; for the carols of spring may be heard in- 
voluntarily, but to observe the form and decoration of these 
creatures, requires an attention not always given. Yet we 
have some native birds beautifully and conspicuously fea- 
thered; the goldfinch, the chaffinch, the wagtails, are all 
eminently adorned, and the fine gradations of sober browns 
in several others, are very pleasing. Those sweet sounds, 
called the song of birds, proceed only from the male; and, 
with a few exceptions, only during the season of incuba- 
tion. Hence the comparative quietness of our summer 
months, when this care is over, except from accidental 
causes, where a second nest is formed; few of our birds 
bringing up more than one brood in the season. The red- 
breast, blackbird, and thrush, in mild winters, may conti- 
nually be heard, and form exceptions to the general 
procedure of our British birds; and we have one little 
bird, the woodlark, (alauda arborea ) that, in the early parts 
of the autumnal months delights us with its harmony, and 
its carols may be heard in the air commonly during the 
calm sunny mornings of this season. They have a softness 
and quietness, perfectly in unison with the sober, almost 
melancholy, stillness of the hour. The skylark, also, sings 
now, and its song is very sweet, full of harmony, cheerful 
as the blue sky and gladdening beam in which it circles 
and sports, and known and admired by all; but the voice 
of the woodlark is local, not so generally heard, from its 
softness must almost be listened for, to be distinguished, 
and has not any pretensions to the hilarity of the former. 
This little bird sings likewise in the spring; but, at that 
