your story;-for judging by what I have already heard, I am certain it must contain many diverting incidents, and I long to hear how you became a barber in Miguel Estaban, and so great an admirer of Don Quixote." "As for my admiration of the invention of Cervantes," replied the barber, "I believe there is no one in La Mancha, no one in Castile, scarcely any one in Spain, who thinks less highly of it, or more highly of it than myself; and as for the circumstance that settled me as a barber in Miguel Estaban, I ought to have told you in the beginning of my story, that although my father and my mother lived in Manzanares, my grandfather and his father and grandfather before him, were barbers in Miguel Estaban." "Then," said I, interrupting the barber, "I am possibly at this moment speaking to the identical descendant of Master Nicholas!" "Tis that possibility," replied the barber, "that fixed me in Miguel Estaban; for when I came to know the history of the Knight of La Mancha, and reflected that I might be the descendant of Master Nicholas, and that the line of barbers was broken, I felt it a duty to step into my grandfather's shoes when he died, at the age of eighty, in the identical house where you first accosted me; but before continuing my story, and returning to the cura Cirillo, I find I must indulge myself with a nap, for I have dined heartily, and feel heavy; jog me when I have slept long enough, and you shall then, since it pleases you, hear the continuation of my story." And so for the present, the barber lies sleeping under a tuft of trees; I will allow him half an hour for his siesta, and then, we shall open Chapter the Third of these rambles. BIRD-NESTING. BY A FIELD NATURALIST. EVERY Schoolboy that ever rambled forth on a spring holiday, neither knowing nor caring whither away, hurrying, like a pet spaniel let loose from his chain, with aimless impatience, through fields, lanes, and copses, leaping hedges, clambering over styles and five-barred gates; now threading his way among tangled brambles, and anon bounding across some intervening brook, would be apt, if at all poetical, (a very rare occurrence among boys,) to exclaim— "Is there a heart which Nature cannot charm?" The freedom from restraint brings with it a buoyant hilarity—an overflowing impulse to be "up and doing," it matters not what to go, it matters not whither; an eagerness to surmount every thing that may impede his wayward course, with no other motive than to try the right such a "chartered libertine" thinks he ought to possess, of showing that he is unfettered, by trampling upon every obstacle; for as "all impediments to fancy's course are motives to more fancy," so is it with the unchainable spirit of liberty, which Dryden has finely characterised, when he says that "Were even Paradise itself my prison, Still I should long to leap the crystal walls." The contrast which the schoolboy feels so vividly between confinement in the noisy and dusty school-room, between his stern, unforgiving task-master, with "The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word; The daily drug which turns The sickening memory ;" and often between his still more tyrannical fag-master, who robs him even of the brief hour of play, and the boundless joy of wandering abroad unrestrained through the green fields, is closely akin to what I have often experienced between the perusal of the books of naturalists, and looking into the great book of nature. In the books, for example, of the Linnæan school, we meet with little besides hard terms, and dry, lifeless, marrowless catalogues, arranged in endless divisions and sub-divisions, each ticketed with some sesquipedalian or barbarous name, the whole exhibiting a great wilderness of words, in which the works of creation appear in the form of petty scraps, out of all proportion, compared with the originals, and no less vague than grossly inaccurate in the details. The productions of the more modern schools again, which put forth arrogant claims to be exclusively natural, are filled with the most fanciful and utterly worthless analogies, frittering down all the glorious beauties of exuberant nature, to the measured standard of a false and petty logic, in a similar spirit, but much more blameable, than the rules by which Aristotle tried to trim down the poetry of the drama; and hence we have those who number animals by groups of two, of five, or of seven, according as they are attached to this or the other coterie; and each will fight for their peculiar number, two, five, or seven, with the most rancorous hostility, and pour upon an opponent the lowest epithets of abuse:† and hence also the press teems with those choice productions yclept monographs, whose main object usually is to give currency to the shibboleth of a party, or to show the dexterity of the writers in transforming classical Greek into barbarous Latin. I claim no merit for placing all such paltry productions upon the same level as the schoolboy does his (for the most part) absurd and unintelligible classbooks; since to every rational reader not infected with the mania for this sort of frippery, arrogantly and falsely called science, it must appear in the same light. Pitying the dry drudgery of the authors who have spent their hours in thus nibbling down nature to their own narrow measurements, and laying their works on the shelf, where they are destined to remain unopened, I bid them a long farewell, and hurrying "forth," as Solomon did of old, "to the field," I can revel with "ever new delight" in The boundless store Which bounteous Nature to her vot'ries yields; And all that echoes to the song of even. It is impossible to take a single step in a lane, a field, or a wood, without meeting with something worthy of being investigated and admired; but above all, the industry of animals frequently attracts the attention of the most incurious, particularly some of those which are by comparison very small. The ant, for example, among insects, and the wren, among birds, far excel their brethren in the neatness and ingenuity of their workmanship, and the unwearied activity of their labour. I have just been watching the proceedings of a pair of wrens, who had made choice of a rather singular spot for their nest-an exposed corner of a hedge-bank, which the jutting out of an elm root, had prevented the labourer's spade from beating down to the level of the sloping turf around it; and the only apparent inducement they could have had for constructing their Nothing is more common than to find in the works of Linnæus and his disciples, the male and the female described as different species. The fringe-footed bee, (Anthophora retusa,) for example, the ruff, (Tringa pugnax,) the latter being multiplied by the dividing genius of Dr. Latham into no less than four species. The leopard, (Felis leopardus,) by mistaking the age and sex, has also been described by the cabinet name-naturalists, as the panther, the ounce, the ocelot, the jaguar, the guepard, and even as a tiger.-(See TEMMINCK, Mammalogie, iv.)!!! + See A Letter on the Dying Struggle of the Dichotomus System. By W. S. Mac Leay, Esq., M. A.; 8vo, R. Taylor, London. 1830. A most disgraceful pro duction. "procreant cradle" here, was a tapestry of green moss, with which the root was covered, for otherwise it offered no "coign of vantage," either as a shelter from the weather, or as concealment or protection from enemies. On the contrary, it faced the public pathway, to which it was so near, that it had no little chance of being demolished by the first passing lounger who should dangle his walking stick or his umbrella hither and thither, for want of other amusement, to keep time with the monotonous, pendulum-swing of his cogitations. If it was the vicinity, however, of the bed of green moss that had first attracted the wrens to this elm-root, calculating on an abundant supply from it of building materials, they had afterwards found it too firmly matted into the bark to be procured, or otherwise unsuitable for their purpose, as they used very little of it in the structure, but carried what they wanted from some distance. It might be, indeed, that the passengers on the footway so frequently scared them, that they chose rather to look for a bit of moss where they could pick and choose undisturbed in the next field; and it was not a little painful to see the tiny creatures hopping from branch to branch of the hedge, carrying a bundle of stuff half as bulky as themselves, anxiously waiting for some slow-walking passenger to move away from their vicinity, before they ventured to work. For though the wren is far from being a timid bird, as it will allow one to come almost within arm's length of it, while it is popping about in pursuit of flies; it is no less wary than other birds respecting its nest, and will scold most outrageously calling "check! check!" of course meaning thereby, stop! stop! when any one intrudes within its boundaries, and will even pursue a boy or a polecat to some distance, with loud manifestations of anger-" tantæne animis exiguis iræ." As I was eager to see the little architects at work on their nest, and had stationed myself so as to be within view, without disturbing them, I was tantalised to perceive that more than two-thirds of their time was spent in scolding the chance passengers, who had no thoughts of intrusion, and cared nothing about the wrens, nor the little moss-dome they were building for their family dwelling. One part of the wall I observed them very careful in rendering smooth and firm; it was that portion immediately under the entrance, which, as most people have seen a wren's nest, it is scarcely necessary to remind the reader is an oval or roundish hole, in the side of the edifice immediately under the dome. Now, it being obvious, that this part of the wall has to support, not only the weight of the old birds when at home, and of the numerous family of young ones when hatched, but the wear and tear of passing in and out, it must require to be more firmly constructed than the dome and the back wall, which are not in the same circumstances. In the nest in question, the requisite strength was given to this part by cross bars of birch twigs, tough slender roots, and bits of straw, all of which were worked into the moss in such a manner as to have their ends raised, while the middle was curved downwards in a manner by no means inelegant, the whole forming a sort of basketwork, in front of the main wall. Some of these twigs and straws were as long or longer than the little creatures who were seen carrying them from the hedge, sometimes at the risk of being tumbled head over heels by the weight; and it required all their skill to bring them into the proper position in the wall of the nest. I have frequently seen the leaf-cutter bee in similar difficulty, when carrying a heavy piece of rose-leaf, which sometimes she is even compelled to drop, and cannot again recover, for she has to carry it edge-wise between her legs, as she clips it off from the leaf; and when its weight compels her to let it drop, it falls on its flat surface. The wrens, on the other hand, never abandon a twig, but if it fall into the hedge, pounce after it with as much eagerness as if there was not another to be found. From what I have already detailed of this nest, it may be inferred, that the straws and twigs did not correspond in colour, either with the moss of the nest or that on the elm-root, contrary to the theory promulgated in all the books of natural history, which maintains that birds are always careful to adapt the colour of materials to a particular locality, for the purpose of concealment. This is a fancy which could only have been started from some individual instance, and which the slightest real acquaintance with nests, must at once dissipate. Nothing can more strikingly illustrate the difference between the closet fancies of mere book naturalists, and the actual facts which any body, who will be at the trouble of observing, may verify, than the following passage from the highly lauded article, “Ornithology," in Rees's Cyclopædia, ascribed to Dr. Macartney, of Dublin. "Birds of the same species," says the Doctor, "collect the same materials, arrange them in the same manner, and make choice of similar situations for fixing the places of their temporary abodes. Wherever they dispose themselves, they always take care to be accommodated with a shelter; and if a natural one does not offer itself, they very ingeniously make a covering of a double row of leaves, down the slope of which the rain trickles, without entering into the little opening of the nest that lies concealed below." Now I would remark that the author, in asserting that "birds" (meaning birds in general) "take care to be accommodated with a shelter," entirely forgets the numerous families which lay their eggs on the bare ground, and often even leave them exposed the greater part of the day on the sands of the desert, the sea beach, or isolated rocks; but we further learn that "they" (meaning all birds) “make a covering of a double row of leaves;" yet, so far from all birds doing this, I am not acquainted with an individual species that does so. It is impossible that the author could ever have seen any nest in the woods and fields, which would give the least colour to such fancies. It will be refreshing to turn from this nonsense to the observations of a genuine naturalist; and it would not be easy to select a more lively and interesting narrative connected with the architecture of birds, than M. Levaillant has given of a pair of small African birds (Sylvia macroura), which he had contrived, by tempting tit bits, to render so familiar, that they entered his tent several times a day, and even seemed to recognise him as he passed along. "The_breeding season had no sooner arrived," (I translate from his splendid work, LES OISEAUX D'AFRIQUE,)" than I perceived the visits of my two little guests to become less frequent, though whether they sought solitude, the better to mature their plans, or whether, as the rains had ceased, and insects had become so abundant, that my tit bits were less relished, I cannot tell, but they seldom made their appearance for four or five successive days; after which, they unexpectedly returned, and it was not long before I discovered the motives that had brought them back. During their former visits, they had not failed to observe the cotton, moss, and flax, which I used to stuff my birds with, and which were always lying upon my table. Finding it, no doubt, much more convenient to come and furnish themselves with these articles there, than to go and pick the down from the branches of plants, I saw them carry away in their beaks, parcels of these much larger in bulk than themselves. "Having followed and watched them, I found the place which they had selected for constructing the cradle which should contain their infant progeny. In a corner of a retired and neglected garden, belonging to the good Slaber, there grew, by the side of a small spring, beneath the shelter of the only tree which ornamented that retreat, a high plant, called by the colonists of the Cape, Capoc-bosche; in this shrub they had already laid a part of the foundation with moss, for the fork of the branches chosen the reception of the nest being already bedded there with it. "The first materials were laid on the 11th of October. The second day's labour presented a rude mass, about four inches in thickness, and from five to six inches in diameter. This was the foundation of the nest, which was composed of moss and flax, interwoven with grass, and tufts of cotton. On the "I passed the whole of the second day by the side of the nest, which the female never quited from the moment my windows were opened in the morning, till nearly ten o'clock, and from five o'clock in the evening till seven. morning of the 12th, the male made twenty-nine journies to my room, and in the evening only seventeen. He gave great assistance to the female in trampling down, and pressing the cotton with his body, in order to make it into a sort of felt work. "When the male arrived with parcels of moss and cotton, he deposited his load either on the edge of the nest, or upon branches within the reach of the female. He made four or five trips of this kind without interruption, and then set about helping his mate in the execution of her work. "This agreeable occupation was often interrupted by innocent and playful gambols, though the female appeared to be so actively and anxiously employed about her building, as to have less relish for trifling than the male, and she even punished him for his frolicks by pecking him well with her beak; he on the other hand, fought in his turn, pecked, pulled down the work which they had done, prevented the female from continuing her labours, and in a word, seemed to tell her-" You refuse to be my playmate on account of this work; therefore, you shall not do it!" It will scarcely be credited, that entirely from what I saw, and knew respecting these little altercations, I was both surprised and angry at the female. "In order, however, to save the fabric from spoliation, she left off working, and fled from bush to bush, for the express purpose of teasing him. Soon afterwards, having made matters up again, the female returned to her labour, and the male sang during several minutes, in the most animated strains. After his song was concluded, he began again to occupy himself with the work, and with fresh ardour, carried such materials as his companion required, till the spirit of frolic again became buoyant, and a scene, similar to that which I have just described, recurred. I have witnessed eight interruptions of this kind in one morning. How happy birds are! They are certainly the privileged creatures of nature! Thus to work and sport alternately as fancy prompts them. "On the third day, the birds began to rear the walls or sides of the nest, after having rendered the bottom compact, by repeatedly pressing the materials with their breasts, and turning themselves round upon them in all directions. They first formed a plain border, which they afterwards trimmed, and upon this they piled tufts of cotton, which was felted into the structure by beating and pressing with their breasts and the shoulders of their wings, taking care to arrange any projecting corner with their beaks, so as to interlace it into the tissue and render it more firm. The contiguous branches of the bush were enveloped, as the work proceeded, in the side walls, but without deranging the circular cavity of the interior. This portion of the nest required many materials, and I was really astonished at the quantity which they used. On the seventh day their task was finished, and anxious to examine the interior, I determined that day to introduce my finger into it when I felt an egg, that had probably been laid that morning; for on the previous evening, I could see there was no egg in it, as it was not quite covered in. This beautiful edifice, which was as white as snow, was near nine inches in height on the outside, whilst in the inside it was not more than five. Its external form was very irregular on account of the branches, which it had been found necessary to enclose; but the inside exactly resembled a pullet's egg, placed with the small end upwards. Its greatest diameter was five inches, and the smallest four. The hole, which served as an entrance, was two-thirds or more of the whole height, as seen on the outside, but within it almost reached the arch of the ceiling above. It was quite round, and an inch and a half in width. "The interior of this nest was so neatly worked and felted together, that it might have been taken for a piece of fine cloth, a little worn: the tissue being so compact and close, that it would have been impossible to detach a particle of |