98 
G. HOOPER-BIRDS : THEIR NESTS AND HABITS. 
flops along, and the harrier quarters the fields, hnnting like a setter 
dog; the owl flits, still and graceful, dropping ever and anon upon 
the mouse all unconscious of its silent approach. Moorhens and 
coots fly along the surface of the water, with outstretched legs, by 
way of balance to the rest of their body, their wings being placed 
too far forward from the centre of gravity. 
There is, however, nothing in which birds differ so much from 
each other as in the character of their nests, and the situation in 
which they are placed. The Irishman’s cabin does not differ more 
from the Viceregal Lodge, than does the filthy heap of fish-bones 
on which the kingfisher lays her eggs, from the compact, well- 
constructed domed nest of the magpie. You perhaps know the 
fable, how the magpie was sent by Jupiter to teach the other birds 
how to build their nests. She began her lesson—“ You must lay one 
stick thus.” “ Of course,” said the jay, “ every one knew that.” 
“ Then,” proceeded the magpie, “ you must lay another stick thus 
across it.” “I knew that before,” said the jackdaw. In short, 
there were so many interruptions by conceited birds, wbo thought 
they knew all about it, that the magpie flew away in disgust. In 
consequence the birds have since only built half a nest. 
The outside of a bird’s nest may sometimes in a trifling degree vary 
from that of its special kind; but the lining never. ISo bird that 
uses bents for lining ever resorts to feathers, nor do birds that use 
feathers ever utilise moss, wool, or hair. The lining of the thrush’s 
nest is beautifully finished; it is formed of clay and cow-dung, kneaded 
together, and polished by the bird’s body being turned round and 
round in it. The blackbird lines her nest with bents, the missel- 
thrush with wool, the swallow with feathers, the’ crow and all 
predatory birds with moss, hair, and wool. The dabchick, the little 
brown bird, a pair or two of which are still left near the St. Albans 
bridge, has a curious habit, entailing apparently a vast deal of 
unnecessary trouble. The bird lines its nest with water-weeds, and, 
though any quantity may be floating on the surface, prefers to dive 
down and bring up from the bottom every particle used. 
The nests are generally proportionate in size to that of the birds 
themselves. The kite’s nest is a nearly flat structure, three feet over 
at least, built with substantial sticks, and whether the hen-bird be 
sitting or the young birds hatched, furnished with an ample larder 
of headless rats, leverets, and rabbits. I have taken three or four 
kites’ nests in my young days, and I think that no one else in this 
room has ever done so, I fear never will, for that beautiful bird is 
almost if not quite extinct. The water-ouzel makes, in proportion 
to its size, an enormous nest. It is frequently built under a bridge, 
where it has exactly the appearance of a mass of drift weed, or under 
a steep bank over which the water drops. Last year I found one on 
the bough of a tree; it was very large, more than three feet round, 
and contained four lovely eggs, white and transparent. By the way, 
all birds that lay white eggs, except the wood-pigeon, either build 
domed nests or breed in holes, a provision of nature to protect them 
from observation. I do not think that the fact of the water-ouzel 
