CHAPTER XXXIII.

AVES (Birds).

Continued.

WE well remember the wondering delight with which, in childish days, we gazed on a Chaffinch's nest. An elder companion had found it in the fork of an oak, and climbing up to the place, he drew aside the leafy twigs and revealed the beautiful little dwelling to our eager eyes. The particular construction of that particular one, we cannot, of course, pretend to describe, for it is a great many years ago, and the note-book was not then so familiar to our hand as it has been since, but a vivid impression of the general appearance remains. Indeed, the spruce, smart little Chaffy builds one of the prettiest of British nests; the Goldfinch's is somewhat more compact, and, being composed more of one substance, is neater, but we scarcely know whether we do not more admire the Chaffinch's. Of course you have seen both; Chaffy's certainly, because it is so common and so easily found.

What a beautiful cup of interwoven moss it is!—at least the frame-work, the exterior! The pretty feathermoss (Hypnum) is chosen for this, because it grows in long strings, and binds well together; but this is only the outer

wall. Wool is the staple; you may see the busy birds in spring collecting the straggling tufts of wool that hang on the thorn-bushes around the sheep-pasture, and carrying off the prizes in their bills: watch one home, and you will have no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of its domestic economy. But be merciful; look, but touch not! Well does the skilful little architect know the felting properties of wool! how, when the fibres are placed in contact, and rubbed and pressed, they unite and bind together into a cloth-like texture, like the substance of a hat, or a piece of drugget. God has put into her feeble sensorium this instinctive knowledge, and how effectively she uses it! Tuft after tuft of wool is brought, pulled and spread out thin, and applied to the interior of the mossy cup, each layer placed evenly round, so that the thickness shall grow uniformly, and each addition united to the fixed portion by the pressure of the bird's breast, she sitting in the hollow and moving briskly round and round, pressing the wool with all the force of which she is capable. A sort of sewing process goes on at the same time; for individual fibres of the wool are passed around projecting branches of the moss, and, being inserted into the walls by means of the bill, are seized on the opposite side, drawn tight, and passed through again and again, every effort adding to the strength, compactness, and neat appearance of the growing nest. The united cobwebs of the spiders that lurk in hedges and banks are also brought into requisition for this sewing work; bits of cotton and thread from the neighbouring dwellings, and many other substances and thus the house is made. But it is not quite ready yet; it must be strengthened on the outside, by intertwining

long strings of moss around the contiguous branches, and binding them with felted wool, thus weaving the bush itself into the common structure. It is because of this connexion that it is next to impossible to take a nest without so damaging it as nearly to destroy all its beauty; it cannot be removed without being almost torn to pieces. Then it must be adorned with little bits of gray and yellow and green lichens, stuck on the outside and bound down with cobweb, which doubtless greatly improve the beauty of their house in the eyes of the tasteful owners-Mr and Mrs Chaffy.

Well, then, the exterior is finished :-now it must be lined. Moss and wool are soft and warm, but something softer and warmer must be procured before it is a fit cradle for five naked tender birdlings. Besides, it must be made smoother than it is. Now the birds go a-searching

along the lanes and over the commons for stray hairs, especially those of cows and of rabbits and hares; these they introduce, and, coiling them round the cavity, render it beautifully smooth and globular. The soft small bodyfeathers of other birds are then sought, particularly those of the ducks in the farm-yard, and interwoven with the hair; and the structure, now complete, is looked on with complacency by the industrious pair. The Chaffinch, however, does not make so much use of feathers for lining as some other of our small birds.

The Goldfinch, as we have said above, makes a more compact structure than this, as it is careful not to leave a single projecting sprig of moss or filament of down, binding down the whole into a smoothly felted surface. It is fond of moss and wool, but does not much use hair or

feathers for a lining, preferring the down of catkins, of the coltsfoot, cotton-grass, and other downy plants of the season. It has been, however, observed, that birds will commonly take the materials for building which they can most easily procure, within certain limits of resemblance of course, and always having regard to their suitability, and to the general plan and style of the building. "On the 10th of May, 1792," says Bolton, "I observed a pair of Goldfinches beginning to make their nest in my garden; they had formed the groundwork with moss, grass, &c., as usual, but on my scattering small parcels of wool in different parts of the garden, they in a great measure left off the use of their own stuff, and employed the wool. Afterwards I gave them cotton, on which they rejected the wool, and proceeded with the cotton; the third day I supplied them with fine down, on which they forsook both the other, and finished their work with this last article. nest, when completed, was somewhat larger than is usually made by this bird, but retained the pretty roundness of figure and neatness of workmanship which is proper to the Goldfinch."

The

But we, in this country, have no nest that can compare for neatness with the tiny structures built by the Humming-birds of the Western hemisphere. That of the smallest of birds, the Vervain Humming-bird (Mellisuga humilis) of Jamaica, we have often had an opportunity of seeing in those lovely hesperidan glades. It is usually affixed to the upper side of a horizontal twig of bamboo, just over a joint, so that the diverging twigs are embraced by its foundation. Fancy a little hemispherical cup, about as big as

"Harmonia Ruralis," i. Pref

the half of a walnut, made of a bay-coloured down, the produce of the silk-cotton tree, most compactly interwoven, and mingled with the glossy down of an Asclepias. Externally it is quite covered with spiders' webs, crossed and recrossed in every direction, and made to adhere by some viscous substance, evidently applied after the web was placed, probably the saliva of the bird. These webs are used to confine little bits of pale-green lichen, which are stuck about here and there, and impart a rustic prettiness to it. To see a bird sitting in a cup like this is very amusing. Small as is the species, it seems impossible that it should be able to crumple itself up sufficiently to be contained in so tiny a cavity, especially when two eggs are lodged in the bottom; but the incubation is managed. The head and tail are both excluded, the latter projecting erect; the belly and feet alone are contained within the circumference, which they completely fill.

A volume of great interest has been written, devoted exclusively to the various kinds, forms and materials of birds' nests; and the subject is far from exhausted. We, as yet, know comparatively little of the nests which are constructed by the hundreds of species of birds from foreign, especially intertropical, countries, that crowd the shelves of our museums. Yet, among those with which intelligent travellers have made us acquainted, are found some of the most curious and admirable examples of the constructive faculty.

Thus the Baya, or Indian Sparrow (Ploceus Philippensis), described by Sir William Jones and others, is said to make a nest "of grass, which he weaves like cloth, and shapes

*Rennie's " Architecture of Birds." London, 1831.