THE REDBREAST. 
difficulty of procuring them, as for the purpose of assimilating 
them more nearly to the appearance of the objects which sur- 
round them.” 
With regard to the song of the redbreast opinion greatly 
varies, inasmuch that a correspondent in the “Natural History 
Magazine ” calls attention to the superior notes of the robin, 
and even goes so far as to compare them with the song of the 
nightingale, — not much in favour of the latter. I cannot, 
however, agree with such a notion ; and if Philomel has no 
greater opponent to the throne of song than he of the red 
breast, he need not fear the loss of the “purple.” Setting aside 
any such lofty pretension, the robin must be considered as a 
very lively and pretty songster; he sings nearly all the year round 
— the depth of winter excepted, — and even then he does not 
altogether deprive us of his pleasant harmony. Even in the 
winter months, a bright sunny day is apt to excite the robin to 
perch upon a twig, and pour forth a sweet, though broken, 
melody. 
The redbreast sings very often after daylight has faded, 
and it is recorded that one was heard piping in the most 
joyous manner in the middle of a moonlight night. Sometimes 
several of them may be heard singing in unison, which often, 
like the harmonious meetings of a sister nation, ends in a 
regular “ row ” and fight. Although the robin is so susceptible 
of cold, he will often be heard in the coldest season trilling 
forth his notes, when all the other birds have long since de- 
serted us. 
Like the chaffinch, the redbreast ranks somewhat as a 
pugilist among his feathered friends ; and a curious instance of 
this is related by Thompson : — 
“ Their (the robins) being so wholly absorbed during combat 
as to be regardless of all else, was ludicrously evinced at 
Springvale, by a pair fighting from the air downwards to the 
earth, until they disappeared in a man’s hat, that happened to 
be lying on the ground, and in which they were both captured.” 
The same authority relates one or two more anecdotes of the 
robin’s pugnacity, which, as they are somewhat remarkable 
— and, without doubt, strictly veracious, — I shall quote them 
for the delectation of my readers. “On one occasion,” says he, 
“ two of these birds, caught fighting in a yard at Belfast, were 
kept all night in separate cages. One was given its liberty 
early in the morning, and the other being more tame — possibly 
from having been the better beaten of the two, — was kept with 
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