of their favourite _fruit_.

_Birds_.--We are not moved here with the deep mellow note of the
blackbird, poured out from beneath some low stunted bush; nor thrilled
with the wild warblings of the thrush, perched on the top of some tall
sapling; nor charmed with the blithe carol of the lark as we proceed
early afield; none of our birds at all rivalling these divine songsters
in realising the poetical idea of the "music of the grove;" while
"parrots' chattering" must supply the place of "nightingales' singing"
in the future amorous lays of our sighing Celadons. We have our lark
certainly, but both his appearance and note are a most wretched parody
upon the bird our English poets have made so many fine similes about.
He will mount from the ground, and rise fluttering upward in the same
manner, and with a few of the starting notes of the English lark; but
on reaching the height of thirty feet or so, down he drops suddenly and
mutely, diving into concealment among the long grass, as if ashamed of
his pitiful attempt. For the pert, frisky robin, pattering and pecking
against the windows in the dull days of winter, we have the lively
"superb warbler," with his blue shining plumage and his long tapering
tail, picking up the crumbs at our doors; while the pretty little
redbills, of the size and form of the goldfinch, constitute the sparrow
of our clime, flying in flocks about our houses, and building their soft
downy pigmy nests in the orange, peach, and lemon trees surrounding
them. Nor are we without our rural noters of the time, to call us to
our early task, and warn us of evening's close. The loud and discordant
noise of the _laughing jackass_, (or _settler's clock_, as he is
called,) as he takes up his roost on the withered bough of one of our
tallest trees, acquaints us that the sun has just dipped behind the
hills, and that it is time to trudge homewards; while the plaintive
notes of the curlew, and the wild and dismal screechings of the flying