are full of mystery, and the tendency in our splendid open spaces at the present day is towards an increase of bird life.

The woodpigeons, loafers from the country, have only within recent years taken up a town residence in preference to their rural habitats, and the stock-dove seems to be following their example.

It is strange that the cheery jackdaw has never obtained a stronger footing in our centre, for in most of our old towns it haunts the church spires and cathedrals, taking the place there which the much crossed and recrossed domestic pigeon occupies in London. Although numerous in the near suburbs, where its

graceful flight and bright cry and cheery disposition are great attractions, the only colony that we can boast of is a small one in Kensington Gardens and Holland Park. There is also, I believe, a pair in residence in the tower of St. Pancras Church.

The only other remaining member of this family, the screeching and gaudy-plumaged jay, is not to be seen except in the open spaces on the borders, such as Wimbledon, Hampstead, and Wanstead.

It is with feelings of great regret that the bird-lover scans the steadily increasing list of species that have deserted or are deserting the British Islands. The causes are manifold, the great

increase of game preservation, and the reclamation of our marshes and waste lands being perhaps the chief ones. These changes have operated strongly on what is now known as the London area, for we have it on record that during the reign of Henry VIII. the spoonbills bred in the Bishop's Park at Fulham, still an open space for Londoners. That quaint bird has now completely disappeared from our shores as a breeding species, and those few wanderers which at odd times still find their way here pay for their recklessness at the hand of the heedless gunner or the remorseless collector.

In the sixteenth century there was also a well-established heronry in the same park at Fulham, and even now we have the

consolation of knowing that we need not go far out of the metropolis to find the bird nesting, for there are heronries in Richmond and Wanstead Parks, in both of which places they are rigorously protected. It was, too, in still more recent time that snipe were shot on the Lambeth Marshes, and no doubt the redshank and many another marsh-loving bird haunted the place, which is now built over.

Like the heron, the snipe is still to be found on the outskirts, and only last year I found three nests with eggs within fifteen miles of the City, and within two hundred yards of one of the

main roads from London.

Though these birds have been driven away by the encroachments of a great expanding city, it is a comfort to the bird-lover to see that within recent years other species have arrived to take their place. The moor-hens, or moat-hens, as they were called in bygone days, in their wanderings found our London parks eminently suited to their taste, and have spread to almost every suitable lake within our borders that possesses the attractions of reeds or overhanging undergrowth. They may be seen at all seasons of the year making their way quietly across the water with curious jerks of the head and tail, exposing the pure white feathers below. Often, too, they may be seen wandering in search of food on the grassy banks in company with the other waterfowl, and it is amusing

to watch them strutting about with the same peculiar jerky movement, and showing extreme resentment if too closely approached by their companions.

The bird is crepuscular in habits, and delights to croak and wander about in the twilight. It is possible that in consequence of its fondness for the hours of dusk the white of the underpart of the tail may play an important part in revealing its presence to its mate, in much the same manner that a rabbit is often only seen in the dark as it scuttles along by the glint of its white tail.

A still more interesting bird has taken up its abode in similar quarters. This is the little grebe or dabchick, which only thirty years ago was almost unknown to our parks. It has evidently

come to remain, for its return every spring is now regular; it stays on during the summer months to rear the brood in the floating nest of accumulated weeds, and to feed on the small fish fry of the ponds. On the approach of winter, in spite of their feeble powers of flight, the dabchicks take their departure for the running waters, probably of the Upper Thames and its backwaters, where there is no danger of their being frozen in in severe weather. I wonder if any Londoner watching these birds has ever seen them fly? It is not surprising that they never take to that form of escape from molestation, for their agility in diving and swimming beneath the water for considerable distances is ample compensation for their small and undeveloped wings.

The woodpigeon is another of the species that finds the protection of the parks and the easy acquisition of food to its benefit. It was not always with us. The colonisation movement evidently started from the appearance of a pair of birds in the Buckingham Palace gardens in 1883, and from that date onward they grew rapidly in numbers, attracting probably many of the birds that always were numerous in the open country just outside. At the present time they have spread to such an extent that they nest in the trees of the squares and gardens of Inner London, and often may the dweller in the Bloomsbury region awake in the early hours to the insistent cooing of the cushat:

The sound is like a breath of country air to the town dweller, and must awaken many an old memory of the green meadows and woodlands.

And what birds these London woodpigeons are-fat, sleek, and grimy compared with their rural relations! The old belief that the streets of London were paved with gold has brought many a Tom Tiddler into the city from the remote villages and towns, and the fact that the parks and open spaces are literally strewn with crumbs is just as strong an attraction to this shy country bird, shy everywhere except with us in the city. There are no dangers of lurking guns or hovering hawk; food at all seasons is easy to obtain, for it is often brought to them; and their nests, even when in the branches overhanging a busy street, are safe

from marauders, safe from weasel and polecat, and safe from the schoolboy raider. Food is not always so easily obtained in the country, and often the cushat has to subsist for a period on the ripened grass-seeds, the stalks of which are known as 'bents,' hence the proverbial saying:

Pigeons never do know woe
Until they do a-benting go.

But the woodpigeon in London knows no 'benting days.'

It is during those bright, invigorating days of spring that often burst suddenly in London after the seemingly long period of gloom of the murky, smoke-begrimed winter that one notices the smaller bird-dwellers in the parks and gardens. The starling, resplendent in its glossy plumage, which shows the rich metallic greens and purples in the bright sunshine, babbles and chatters more loudly