All these birds have had a very different education from that of the far-sailing albatross or the running ostrich. They have grown up in the midst of innumerable dangers; for enemies of all kinds—beasts and reptiles and other birds—live all round about them, making food scarce and destroying their young, so that of the millions born into the world thousands upon thousands perish every year before they grow up. We should expect, then, that these land birds would learn many devices for protecting themselves and their little ones. The guillemot can afford to lay her egg on the bare rock, for few animals can climb the high cliffs where she makes her home; and the penguin on her solitary island may lay hers in the mud on the ground. But the little lark must look carefully for high grass in which to build her nest, and the rook must weave a strong basket-work of twigs to make a home for her nestlings in the top of the high elm.

Moreover, the land birds cannot sleep safely on the ground, where weasels and stoats, foxes and wild cats, prowl by night in search of prey; they must take their rest on the boughs of the tall trees and cling on by their toes even when they are in the deepest slumber. This they could not do if they had the stumpy cushioned feet of the ostrich, the webbed feet of the duck, or the flat three-toed feet of the waders. It is the fourth toe turned backwards, and growing very long in many of the perching birds, which gives them their grasp; while a special muscle, beginning behind the thigh (th,  Fig. 33, p. 126), coming round over the front of the knee (k ), and then passing behind the heel (h ), and on to the toes, keeps them bent. Picture for a moment this muscle sending its cords or tendons from behind the leg over the knee, and then drawn back by the heel, and you will see that the more heavily the bird sleeps, pressing upon its legs, the more the knees will be bent forward, the tighter the cord must be stretched, and the stronger the grasp will be upon the bough.

Again, as to food, the land birds will be more closely pressed than those which can at all times fish in the sea. There is great scarcity of land food in the winter, while in summer whole flocks of newly-born fledgelings are clamouring for their daily bread. So we shall find that every kind of eatable thing is turned to account, and we have among land birds seed-eaters, vegetable-feeders, and fruit-eaters; insect-devourers, and feeders on slugs and worms and snails; and flesh-eaters which feed on other birds, or on mice, bats, and larger animals; while large flocks of birds of all kinds visit different parts of the earth in the various seasons, going north in summer to build their nests, and south in winter; in search of food. All these birds live chiefly in the air; while on the ground there are the scratchers—fowls, partridges, turkeys, and grouse, which rake out the hidden grains, and rarely rise into the air except when they are frightened, or to roost on the trees at night. And between these ground birds and the true tree birds we have the doves and pigeons, some of which feed on fallen seed and grains, and others on fruit. And each and all of these birds have some difference in beak and claw, in their manner of nest building and reailing their young, and in their habits and ways, which enables them to make the most of their lives.

Even nest building does not come to all land birds by nature, and, as we shall see, it depends very largely on the habits and the structure of the builders. Thus the Partridges, and their relations the Pheasants and Grouse, lay their eggs in the thick grass of the meadows or among the heather, and at most sometimes scratch together a few dry grass blades for a bed. In this they remind us much of the ostrich family, which also scrape a hole in the ground for their eggs and scratch food for their children; and in fact there is a group of curious heavily-flying birds, called Tinamous, in South America, which are so like quails and partridges on the one hand, and ostriches on the other, that they lead us to wonder whether it was not from the ancestors of such birds as these in ancient times that the heavy running birds started on one road, while the lighter and swifter birds took to the wing.

The wings of all the scratching birds are even now short and round, and their flight is feeble. Their chief home is on the ground, where they crouch among the thick herbage when the keen-eyed hawk is hovering overhead, never taking to their wings till no other chance is left them. The mother partridge runs many dangers as she sits upon her dark-coloured eggs in some sheltered spot, for weasels and stoats will attack her and steal her eggs if she leaves them for a moment, or kill her herself if they can take her unawares in the dark night. She could never hope to rear her young ones if they did not come out of the egg well covered with down, and able to run and pick by her side while she and the father scratch the ground with their short blunt claws to get ant-cocoons, and later on worms and insects for them.

Yet so well does scratching answer, in getting at buried food such as other birds cannot find, that there are a large number of these ground birds all over the world. The Guinea fowls of Africa, the spurred Peacocks, Pheasants, and Jungle fowls of India (from which last our tame fowls probably come), the wild Turkeys of America, the Quails which live in all parts of the old world from Australia to England, and the Ptarmigans of our northern countries, which put on their white plumage in winter—all these show how advantage has been taken of every nook in which ground birds could find shelter. We find them hiding in thick jungles and shady woods, or even in open ground among high grass and corn, scratching mother earth for their daily food; washing not in water but actually in the dust, by rolling in it, and then shaking it off; escaping many dangers by wearing a plumage very much the same in colour as the different grasses and leaves among which they hide; and feeding on insects, worms, and seeds, and whatever they can find upon the ground or under it.

And when we travel far off to Australia, we find ground birds which do not even sit on their eggs, nor take care of their young, but leave them as reptiles do to be hatched in the sun. The Brush-turkeys and Megapodes of Australia and the islands near, and the Maleos of Celebes—all of them scratching birds—come out of the thick jungle and lay their brick-red or pale-coloured eggs on the shore, never taking any more notice of them. The maleos simply scratch a hole in the sand and bury the eggs, the brush turkeys and megapodes scratch together all kinds of rubbish and dead leaves, carrying them in their long curved claws, and adding them to the heap till they have made a mound sometimes more than seven or eight feet high, and twenty feet across at the base; an astounding size, when we consider that the brush turkeys are not nearly as large as a good-sized turkey, and the megapodes not larger than hens. It is to these mounds that the mothers come about every ten days, and lay an egg up-right,  till each has laid eight or nine, and then she comes no more; but after many weeks the little chicks work their way out fully fledged, and fly away to get their own living. The probable reason, Mr. Wallace tells us, for this curious habit of mound-building, is that the eggs are so large that the mother can only lay one every ten days, so that if she sat upon them she would be worn out with fatigue and want of proper food before they were all laid and hatched.

We see then that the scratching birds live nearly all over the world, yet, no doubt, it is a disadvantage to them that in their ground life they have become so heavy that they cannot fly so lightly or so far as their near allies, the pigeons, which, like them, feed on the ground. For the Pigeons have already made many steps forward in life. Their wings are strong, so that they can fly for great distances; their toes are slender and well fitted for perching; and though it is true that our tame pigeons and the wild rock-pigeons from which they are descended do not build nests, but lay their eggs in dovecots or church towers, or, if they are wild, in holes in the rocks, yet the beautiful blue-gray wood-pigeon, with her pure white collar and soft cooing note, builds a nest in the trees—

though it is but a rough one, made, as well as her weak feet and bill can do it, of a few stout twigs, laid so loosely that her two little white eggs may be seen from below, and even sometimes fall through.

Yet, though but a beginner in nest building, she is a true tree bird, and her little ones are born naked and helpless, far out of reach of the ground, and must be fed and cared for till they can fly. So she feeds them with infant pap from her own mouth. The "crop" or bag in which the partridge or hen stores the grain she picks up is large and single; but the pigeon has two bags, one on each side of the throat, and when she is feeding her young these bags secrete a large quantity of milky fluid, which, mixing with the tender shoots she has pecked off in the spring, or with the oily seeds she has gathered for her autumn brood, makes a soft food, which she pours into the mouths of her nestlings till they fly and feed themselves.

In the pigeons, then, we are gradually rising from the ground birds,—where the father generally has many wives and the young ones run as soon as they are hatched,—to the tree birds, where father and mother, taught by the helplessness of their brood, share the cares of nest building and the pleasures of love. Even the pigeons did not all at once become tree birds, for we have them in all stages now from the ground to the air. Many years ago, in the island of Mauritius, there were heavy flat-breasted pigeons, the Dodos, which lived entirely on the ground without the power to rise, so that when the Dutch settled there, bringing rats with them in their ships, the Dodos soon fell victims to the intruders, and now there is not one left. Again, in New Guinea now, there are ground pigeons which fly heavily and slowly, and only go to the trees to roost. Then come our own tame pigeons, the rock-pigeons, and the stock-dove which builds in holes in the trees; and then our wood-dove and his relations, with their rude nests and their mixed food of grain and grass. And among these are the wonderful long-winged passenger pigeons of America, which fly in flocks of hundreds of thousands through Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana, in search of nuts and seeds, breaking down the boughs of the trees by their weight where they alight, and then darkening the whole sky as they start off again in a succession of vast multitudes to another forest where beech nuts, acorns, and chestnuts are plentiful, or to the rice-grounds of Carolina, to take their fill.

And, lastly, we come to the beautiful green fruit-eating pigeons of India and the East—the feeders on nutmegs and palm-fruits and juicy berries of all kinds. These are true tree birds, difficult even to find, so like are they to the colour of the leaves; yet they still build the loose untidy nests of their kind.

Nor need we wonder at this, for fine nest building requires both strength and delicacy in the bill and feet; and the next group of birds escapes it altogether by finding or making holes in trees and banks, and lining them with moss or leaves. This group is the Climbers, which come, as it were, between the ground birds and birds of active flight, for they clamber swiftly up the trunks and over the branches of trees in search of fruits and insects, seldom going down to the ground, but flitting from tree to tree to find fresh hunting grounds.

What is that green object, about as large as a small squirrel, which we see mounting the trunk of one of the elm trees, as we lie resting on the moss in some quiet wood? There it goes, dodging now to this side, now to that, with its head well lifted and its stiff tail bent against the trunk. It is the green woodpecker at his work. His long large feet, with toes divided in pairs,  two in front and two behind, take firm hold of the tree with their sharp claws; his breast, which is flatter than that of most birds, lies close against the bark, as he mounts by a number of rapid jumps, which are made by pressing his strangely stiff horny tail against the trunk, while he hops forward with both feet, making a slight rustling noise, and moving so fast that it is difficult to see how he does it.

Now he pauses; it is to try a suspicious place in the bark, and tapping it with his beak he finds that it gives a hollow sound. This tells him at once that it is rotten, and there is an insect within; and pecking a hole with rapid blows of his chisel-like bill, he inserts his narrow bill, and darts a long gluey tongue, with barbed tip, into the dark passage, bringing out the intruder, which is swallowed in a moment. A strange tongue this is of the woodpecker, for it has two long bony branches at its roots, and each one is like a bow bent under and round the back of the bird's head, and as these bows are tightened or slackened by the slender muscles the tongue is drawn in, or thrust out to an extraordinary length. Moreover, it has at its tip a horny covering beset with tiny barbs, and every time it goes back to the mouth these are bathed in gluey slime to catch the next insect it may meet. Nor is the woodpecker obliged always to drill for his food. The tiny ants, as they wander up and down the trees, the beetles and bees settling on the branches—all may fear this gluey weapon, for all alike disappear within the long thin beak.

And now, perhaps, our friend has flown to another tree, and is some way up it. Where is he gone? Climb up and look, and you will find a small round hole, small outside but not inside, for the woodpecker has hollowed out the soft rotten wood, and within, if it be early summer, the mother is still sitting upon five or seven pure white eggs, out of which the naked little ones will soon creep. He is a clever fellow the woodpecker, but he is by no means the chief or most conspicuous of the climbers, for in this group we have some of the most gaudy and remarkable of birds. The brilliantly-coloured Barbets, the gaudy-headed Toucans, with their clumsy bills and long barbed tongues, and the gorgeously-tinted Parrots and Parroquets, with their soft fleshy tongues so well adapted for speech, are all climbers, with toes divided two and two, and they wander about the trees of South America and the East, feeding on fruits and seeds.

Where in any other part of the animal kingdom can we find so many brilliant colours crowded together as in the plumage of birds, and especially in birds of tropical countries? The large land animals cannot afford to wear such bright coats lest they should attract their enemies, nor can even birds often put on gay plumage in our northern climates, where the trees are bare for half the year. But in warm sunny latitudes, where the trees arc always green and the foliage thick and heavy, and where brilliant fruits and flowers often peep out among the leaves, the gaily-coloured birds can wander in comparative safety, and even the gaudy parrots are not easily detected as they clamber from bough to bough, using not their tail  like the woodpecker, but their beak,  as a third foot to hold on by as they climb.

None of these birds build nests; indeed, they could hardly do so with their clumsy beaks and thick heavy feet; they either, like the ground parrots, put together a few leaves in hollows of the earth or in ants' nests; or, like the fruit-eating parrots and toucans, they lay their eggs in tree-holes, where the bright-coloured mother is safely hidden till she is set at liberty again. Even the cuckoos which, though they are climbers, have taken much more to the wing than their associates, sometimes avoid the trouble of nest building by laying their eggs in the nests of other birds, as our own spring visitor always does. Some of them, however, in America and elsewhere, have contracted better habits, and build very respectable nests of their own.

Indeed, we shall now soon begin to make progress in nest building, for the next group of birds, which dart  at their food with wide-gaping mouth and seize it on the wing, have among them many clever little architects. It is true our English kingfisher builds in holes on the river bank, lining her nest with fishes' bones, and the Nightjar (wrongly called the goat-sucker), with her wide-gaping mouth, lays her egg on the ground. But both these are lowly Darters, for the kingfisher sits on a bough close above the water, and pounces down upon the fish or water-insects; and the lonely nightjar, with her strange wailing cry, flits among the bushes in the twilight, or often even creeps after her prey.

Neither of these birds can compare in flight Ni,ith the Swifts, as they dart upon the wing from some high pinnacle to collect a mouthful of insects, and come back to cat them, nor to the lovely little Humming Birds of America, which poise themselves so deftly on the wing, while their slender bill searches the long-tubed flowers for insects or seizes these as they pass. These living jewels of nature build beautiful and delicate nests of leaves and grass and spiders' webs interwoven like fairy cradles; while the swift makes a far stronger home of hair and feathers, grass and moss, glueing them together with saliva from his mouth, and fastening them under the caves or on the top of some tall waterspout. It is easy to see why the swift chooses such lofty spots, for his slender weak toes are ill-fitted for standing on the ground, and he rises with great difficulty when once he has alighted there, but from a height he can drop easily on to the wing, and skim the air for his food.

Now the swift, which visits us only in summer to build his nest, when insects are plentiful, and spends the rest of his time in Africa, is a type of a whole army of birds, lovely, bright, and gay, with short weak feet, long wings, and a gaping mouth surrounded by bristly hairs, which swarm in hot countries where insects are to be found all the year round. Among these are the beautiful little Bee-eaters and Rollers of the East and Africa, which revel in insect food, and sometimes visit us in the summer, coming over to the south of Spain, or even, in the case of the rollers, as far north as Sweden; while in South America the dull-coloured Puff-birds, the brilliant Jacamars with their metallic-looking feathers, the delicate little Todies, the bright green Motmots, and the lovely Humming-birds, swarm in countless numbers, hiding among the dense foliage, or darting in the bright sunshine after bee or butterfly, or other unwary insects.

But we must not pause too long among these smaller groups of birds, for the multitude of perching birds, which form nine-tenths of the whole bird kingdom, await us with their delicate nests and their happy family life. Ah! now we are really coming to nature's feathered favourites, for what can be sweeter than the song of the nightingale, the skylark, or the thrush? or more touching than the fact that the young ones learn from their father the loving notes; that they, in their turn, may be able to woo and win some gentle mate to share their nests and bring up their young ones? It is for this that they have gained that wonderful singing instrument which they have deep down in their throat. For they do not produce their sounds as we do, just below the back of the mouth, but at the lower end of the windpipe, just where it divides into two branches, one going to each lung. There, where the rush of the air is strongest, is found a complicated apparatus, moved by a whole set of muscles, upon which the little fellow plays, and seems never to be exhausted, so much air has he in all parts of his body. And as the song pours through the windpipe there again he can help to give it its soft mellow tones, for while in hoarse-crying birds, like the sea birds and the waders, this tube is long and stiff, in the sweet singing birds it is short, and the bony rings composing it are thin and far apart, with soft delicate membrane between them, which can be shortened or lengthened to modulate the tones. And so we hear them in the springtime pouring forth their full tide of song to tempt a young wife to come and help them to build a nest; or, in the full pleasure of success, trilling out their delight in the warm bright sunshine, and calling on all the world to be as happy as they.

Yet it is not by any means all the perching birds which have this wonderful gift of song. Even among our own birds, the jay, the crow, the raven, and others, use their musical instrument for talking in a way that is no doubt useful to them, but scarcely pleasant to hear; and in America there is a whole group of songless perching birds—the bright coloured chatterers, the fly-catching tyrant-birds, the American ant-thrushes, which have not even developed a true singing instrument in their throat, and only utter shrill or bell-like cries. Yet they all build nests and cherish their helpless young ones; and so large and varied is the group of perching birds, whether in the Old or New World, that they fill all the stray nooks and corners of bird-life, often imitating the habits of the other smaller groups so as to get at food of all kinds. Thus, while the Finches with their delicate matted nests, the Warblers, and a large number of the smaller birds, lead a true tree and bush life, feeding on fruits and insects, the Thrushes, Blackbirds, Crows, Redbreasts, and Larks are ground-feeders,  which, though they do not scratch with their feet like the partridges, turn up the ground with their bills and pick out the worms and grubs.

For this reason the Song-thrushes love to build their nest of twigs and moss lined with soft wood chips, in some thick hedge near to a meadow or garden, where they can drop down and pull up the unfortunate worms before they have gone home underground after their nightly rambles, or pounce upon unwary snails, and, taking them in their beak, crack the shell upon a stone, and carry off the dainty morsel to their brood; while the Lark, with her long hind toe, so well fitted for walking, hides her nest in a furrow on the ground; and the greedy cunning Magpie, feeding, as she often does, on young animals, seems to fear the same fate for her own brood, and builds a large egg-shaped dome of thorny branches, with the thorns sticking out on all sides, and lined with mud and soft roots, leaving only a small hole for a door. Lastly, the sagacious Rooks, though ground-feeders, build strong homes which last from scar to year, in the top of the high elms, and set out in companies in the early morning to their feeding grounds.

Then, as there are ground-feeders among the perchers, so, too, there are climbers,  for the Creepers, the Wryneck, and the Nuthatch, run up and down the trees, feeding on insects and nuts, which the nuthatch breaks so cleverly with his beak; and we might almost fancy them to be first cousins to the woodpeckers, if it were not for their three toes in front and long claw behind, and their short thick beak and tail. Even the little Wren, with her cocked-up tail, imitates the climbers as she creeps through the hedges and under-wood, though she is a true perching bird, and builds one of the most perfect of nests of moss and grass, woven into the shape of a ball, with a tiny hole for a door. Then, to match the darting  birds, we have the Swallow and the Fly Catcher which follow insects on the wing, so that the swallow and swift were long confounded together, though the skeleton of the swallow shows that it belongs to perching birds. Again, the Shrike imitates the birds of prey, feeding on small mice, reptiles, and birds, and impaling them upon a sharp thorn while he tears them to pieces with his beak. Yet he is a true percher, singing as beautifully as many of the smaller birds, and he is even said to use his power of song to lure victims within reach. Lastly, and perhaps most curious of all, the little Dipper or Water-Ouzel, with his clear loud song, and his structure so like to the thrushes, has actually taken to the habits of water-birds, and dives into the depths of the river, running along upon the bottom and feeding on water-snails and water-insects.

All these we find among English birds; and if we had space to speak of other countries, we should find the same history there, for the more we study bird-life the more we find that these Perchers arc its highest types, and have learned to make the most of their kingdom. It is they who build the most perfect nests, from the rough strong basketwork of the crow or the magpie, to the wren's thickly-woven ball, or the finches' matted cups; while in America the Hang-nests weave their lovely pear-shaped homes, and suspend them like fruit from the tips of the branches; and in India and China the Tailor-birds actually sew leaves together with cotton fibre or cobweb threads, which they draw through with their slender bill and strengthen with saliva.

The smaller the bird and the more delicate its feet and bill, the more closely woven, as a rule, is its nest. Yet all arc built with care; the mother bird, as a rule, choosing the position and laying the twigs, while the father helps her to collect the materials. So rapidly do these little creatures work, that among our smaller English birds the early morning sees the work begun, and by evening it is ended. Other birds arc longer, according to the amount of material they have to collect; but all labour industriously till the cradle is finished, and then begins the laying, the sitting, the tender care of the mother for her little nnes, and of the father for his wife and brood.

And indeed there is much need both of skill in nest building and of watchfulness for many a long day after, for if the perchers are the highest, they are not by any means the strongest of birds; and while they feed on insects and smaller creatures, they have to guard their little ones with anxious care against the larger birds of prey which rule as masters in the higher regions of the air. It is on rocky pinnacles and in the clefts of inaccessible heights among the mountains that we must look for the nests of the Eagle, the Vulture, and the Falcon. Strong, powerful, and untiring in flight, they sail majestically high up in the air, not to sing a joyful song like the lark, but with piercing eye to search every corner for miles around, for animals of all sizes, from the dead ox or mule to the tiny living mouse or bird, which can serve for a meal.

It needs only a glance at them to see that they are strong destroyers, with their powerful wings, their sharp hooked beaks, their long toes with pointed claws, and their strong muscular thighs; and because most men admire strength and power, we call such birds noble,  though their nobility chiefly consists in loving their little ones, and asking neither pity nor shelter from others, as they themselves are pitiless in return. Those which we are apt to like the least, the carrion-feeding Vultures of hot countries, are really the most useful and harmless, for they feed chiefly on dead animals and clear the land of carrion; and for this reason neither their beak nor their claws are as strong as those of the fighting birds. But though they arc grand in flight they are but repulsive-looking birds when compared with the lordly eagles. The beautiful Golden Eagle of Europe, with its dark ", "
", "center", "70", "5", "5", "[Illustration]", "Fig. 47
The Eagle bringing food to its young.—(From a coloured lithograph by Keulemann. )") ?> plumage and the golden sheen-on its back and tail, is indeed a splendid object, as

or still more, as he sweeps along with steady flight, circling round and glancing with searching eye over the plain beneath. Suddenly his attitude changes; he closes his wings, and, head downwards, drops to earth slantingwise with a rushing noise, seizing in his claws the startled fawn as it dashes by at full speed, the frolicking rabbit darting into its hole, or the terrified bird upon whom his choice has fallen. Then, with a powerful stroke he rises up again, and is lost to sight as he soars aloft and regains the rocky peak where his eyrie is built and his children are clamouring for food.

So, too, the dexterous Falcon swoops upon his prey swift as an arrow, his pointed wings striking the air, and then closing at once upon his body, while his long rounded tail guides him in his flight. Who would think that such a powerful and bold robber could have anything in common with the soft feathered owl which sits blinking its large eyes in the hollow of the tree till the twilight falls? And yet the Owl, with very little change in structure, has become as fitted to follow prey at night as the falcon is by day—

The soft, round, broad wings, which would serve badly for striking a quarry from on high, are exactly fitted for gliding in the silence of the night, as, guided by wide open eye and ear, he skims over the fields or round the stacks in the yard to pounce noiselessly upon the unwary mouse or to seize the flying beetles and bats. Then the sharp claws appear quickly from under the downy feathered feet, and clutch the smallest prey with needle-like precision; and away the owl flies to his nest, so quietly that even the other animals close by are not alarmed, but in ignorant security remain till he comes to strike again.

And as the day and the night by land have their relentless freebooters, so the sea too has its eagle king; for the Osprey, with its nest on a high rock, hovers over the open sea, and, dashing into the deep, returns with a large fish in its claws; and, as it tears the flesh from under the glittering scales, reminds us that there is no spot on the earth in which some bird does not seek its prey.

We have now in very brief outline followed the feathery tribe from the flightless penguin to the boldly-soaring eagle, the king of the air. Those feathers which in the swimming bird are scarcely more than finely-divided scales, and in the ostrich mere loose nodding plumes, have become in the albatross, the vulture, and the soaring falcon, flying instruments of such power and strength that the earth and the water are as nothing to them compared with the free ocean of air; while even the tiny graceful swallow flies for hundreds of miles to its winter home.

Indeed, we have here one of the great secrets of bird success; for while most animals must roam within limited districts, and get their food there as best they can, thousands and tens of thousands of birds set off, when the colder weather makes food scarce in any one region, and travel hundreds of miles to more genial climates, where insects are still to be found, and the trees are still covered with fruit and leaves. How strange it is to think that while we are making the best of our winter, the swallow has taken her unerring flight to Africa, the swans and cranes have long since made their southward journey, and myriads of small birds have gone in search of food and warmth, to return next spring as certainly to their old haunts, where they can breed in cool and comfortable quarters!

If we could only get the birds to tell us how they have learned the routes they take, and by what rules they are guided! One thing we know, that each kind of bird makes its nest in the coldest region which it visits, and where, at the time its young brood are ready, insect and other life is abundant; so that while the wild duck and goose, the woodcock, snipe, and field-fare, go to the far north to lay their eggs, and come to us in the sharper weather to feed when there is nothing but ice and snow in the home they have left, the swallow, the cuckoo, the swift, and the whcatear, on the other hand, visit us in the spring to build, and when autumn comes on take their flight to Africa and the East; and even many of the song-thrushes and robin-redbreasts which remain with us in England start off from Germany to warmer climates, Others, again, such as some of the Reed-warblers, the Stint, and the Ortolan Bunting, only make our island a house of call between the arctic regions where they breed in the summer when mosquitoes are swarming there, and the south where they winter after flying thousands of miles.

It would take too long to discuss here why and how they go, even if we knew it with certainty; but it is most probable that their ancestors first learned the routes now taken when Europe and Africa had not so wide a sea between them, and we can see that it must be a great advantage to be able to travel from climate to climate, so as to find a plentiful table spread at all times of the year; while they may return to the north to breed, not merely because there is food there, but also because in still earlier times, when the northern countries were much warmer than they are now, they doubtless lived there altogether, and, though now obliged to go south, have never lost the tradition of their old home.

Thus the birds, with their feathery covering and powerful wings, have left their early friends, the reptiles, far far behind. Taught by their many dangers, many experiences, and many joys, they have become warmhearted, quickwitted, timid or bold, ferocious or cunning, deliberate as the rook, or passionate as the falcon, according to the life they have to lead; or, in the sweet tender emotions of the little song-birds, have learned to fill the world with love and brightness and song. If mere enjoyment were all that could be desired in life, where could we expect to find it better than in the lighthearted skylark as she rises in the early summer morning to trill forth her song of joy, or in the happy chuckle of the hen as her little ones gather around her.

Yet we cannot but feel that, happy as a bird's life may be, it still leaves something to be desired; and that, with their small brain and their front limbs entirely employed in flying, they cannot make the highest use of the world. The air they have conquered; and among the woods and forests, over the wide sea, and above the lofty mountains, they lead a busy and happy existence, bringing flying creatures to their highest development, and showing how Life has left no space unfilled with her children. Yet, after all, it is upon the ground, where difficulties are many, conditions varied, and where there is so much to call for contrivance, adaptation, and intelligence, that we must look for the highest types of life; and while we leave the joyous birds with regret, we must go back to the lower forms among the four-footed animals, in order to travel along the line of those that have conquered the earth and prepared the way for man himself.