LIFE IN FOREIGN LANDS. 
421 
thing can be killed is destroyed;—the townsman leaves 
his trade, the lazy priest and greasy monk his cloister; 
in short, everyone is on the watch for the unfortunate 
birds of passage. Spain, indeed, is but little better; and 
if the Greek does not participate in the universal 
slaughter, it- is by reason of his laziness solely. Those 
birds which have safely run the gauntlet of the murderous 
bands of Southern Europe, are still in no small danger 
from the sea, which engulphs many thousands of 
exhausted victims. 
Unconscious of danger and, therefore, free from care, 
the bird of passage wings its way. It soon becomes accus¬ 
tomed to the change of climate, as well as of food; sharp 
and quick it soon selects the most desirable localities in 
the south, wherein to take up its abode: in short, it 
understands the art of travelling and living abroad; and 
yet life abroad is not its true life, and the bird is well 
aware of the fact that it is not at home. As long as the 
wandering lasts, so long is the cheerful, happy spirit 
wanting; the little travellers are only really happy when 
living in pairs, when love speaks in every note of the 
springtide song,—when in their real home. 
Most birds assemble in bands while on the passage; 
many species moult; all are silent: no songster gives 
utterance to a note. Not a single migratory bird makes 
a new home ; not one builds a nest or breeds in a foreign land l 
They seem to await with impatience the hour of departure 
for home. They become more cheery as the time 
approaches; they seem inspired with fresh life; the old 
spirit of song is awakened, and they sing. Is it love which 
has this strange power ? or is it joy at the speedy return 
in prospect,—the sweet hope nourished amid home¬ 
sickness ? Their joy is unmistakable. As early as January 
