would not willingly pass by the thrush—that joyous herald of the joyous spring. In the very dawn of spring he pours forth his sweet and varied strains from the tops of the highest trees. Before the primroses have unfolded their pale blossoms, or the bursting buds begun to tinge the woods with a shade of green, we hear his full clear notes. To us, the continued and far heard song of the early thrush, is associated with our earliest enjoyment of the pure air and sunshine, on the pleasant mornings of spring. In those cheering hours of brightness, which break on us after the clouds and darkness of the winter, fraught with hopeful anticipations and images of coming joy, who is there that has not welcomed the thrush's song with delight? As his animated strains resound through the valley, he seems to call on the other warblers of the grove to rouse from their lethargy, and join their notes of rejoicing with his.

There are four species of thrush in this country. The song-thrush, the missel-thrush, the redwing, or wind-thrush, and the fieldfare. The songthrush is the most common species, both in this country and in France, where it commits great havoc in the vineyards on the approach of the vintage season, by feeding on the ripe grapes. In France it is certainly a migratory bird, quit

ting that country immediately after the vintage is over; but with us this does not seem to be the case. It is said, there are no birds for which more snares are set, than thrushes; and this not merely to secure them as singing birds, but also as articles of food. They are considered a delicacy when in good condition.

With us, the thrush is heard as early as February, and continues to sing till the end of July, or beginning of August. And here we cannot but confess the chagrin we feel at being compelled to relinquish a delightful anecdote of the thrush which we had extracted from the Magazine of Natural History, and prepared for our own especial purpose. But, lo! the writer of the Architecture of Birds, has forestalled us, and appropriated the story to his own use. We are half inclined to quarrel with him for this, much as we are disposed to commend his book. Alas! for us, in the present day of endless scribbling and countless authorship, every ill-fated writer is in danger of treading on the heels of another, and feels himself forced either to keep contentedly in the back-ground, or push his fellow-traveller uncivilly from the pavement. Eh bien ! of the two evils the first mentioned is, in our estimation, the least. So, adieu to the thrush story for us! Our readers will find it in the Magazine

ants, hooded.

When the prey was seen, the falconer removed the hood, and at his cry of leurre, the noble bird sprung into the air, and discerning, amid the birds, the species he had been trained to hunt, he selected his victim, pursued with rapid wing, struck it to the ground, and then returned at his master's call, to resume his station on his hand.

The falcon can be trained in fifteen days or a month for the chase, when taken from the nest. The merlins, however, are by far the most familiar and docile of the race. They do not require to be hooded, and are easily trained to hunt larks, blackbirds, quails, and partridges. This bird was particularly appropriated to the use of the ladies; and when the fair huntress rode forth on her palfrey, amid the gallant train from her father's hall, the merlin sat on her wrist, while the less gentle species obeyed the call, and rested on the glove of the knight, who rode at her side. This sport was the chosen amusement of our kings and princes, from the time of Alfred, to the reign of king John. But it especially prevailed in this country, from the days of that mighty hunter, William the Conqueror, down to the time of the last-mentioned monarch. "The figure of a hawk upon the left hand," the left hand," says Henry, the historian," was the mark by which painters

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