The nests of the various species of weavers are very dissimilar in shape and design; some very long, others very short; some having their entrance from below, others at the side, and others again from near the top. Some are made of delicate fibres, and others of coarse grass; some are of so loose a texture that the eggs can plainly be seen through them, while others are so strong and thick that they will bear the roughest handling without going to pieces. That of the Mahali Weaver, a pretty bird about as large as our common starling, resembles in shape a Florence oil-flask, but instead of being smooth on the exterior, the ends of the thick grass stalks of which it is made, protrude like ‘quills upon the fretful porcupine,’ and pointing towards the mouth of the nest, which hangs downwards, serve as eaves whereby the rain is thrown off the nest.

If the dwellings made by the generality of Weavers may be likened to detached villas, each built apart from its neighbour, those of the social Grosbeak of South Africa, an allied species, deserve the name of populous cities, for here we find hundreds of feathered architects uniting their labours in the construction of one vast nest often large enough to shelter five or six men.

The material used is the tough and wiry Bushman’s grass; the tree usually chosen for the suspension of the nest, is a species of acacia, the giraffe thorn, which derives its name from its constituting the chief food of the beautiful camelopard, and on account of its size and the umbrella-shaped disposition of its foliage is a great ornament to the arid wastes of Caffraria.

The instinct of the birds seems to have pointed out to them that it is peculiarly adapted for the purpose, as its smooth and polished bark keeps off many an enemy who, if he could ascend the stem, would be but too happy to give them a friendly call; and besides, the wood is extremely hard and tough, so that the branches are able to bear the great weight of the nests.

When about to make a new construction, the birds hang the Bushman’s grass over a suitable branch, and by means of weaving and plaiting it, form a roof of some little size. Under this cover are sheltered a quantity of nests, increasing in number with each new brood, for although the same nest-mass is occupied for several successive seasons, the birds never breed in the same nests a second time.

In consequence of this custom, when they have to provide for a new brood, they enlarge the roof, and build a second row of nests just like the combs of a hornet’s habitation. Layer after layer is thus added, until the mass, spreading out like an extended umbrella, attains so enormous a size as to be easily mistaken by the traveller for a thatched dwelling erected by the natives in arboreal elevation, as a defence against wild beasts. Ultimately the branch, however strong, breaks under the accumulated weight, and comes crashing to the ground; an accident which fortunately leaves the breeding months undisturbed, as it generally occurs during the rainy season after the dried grass has absorbed a vast quantity of moisture. One of the wonders of these prodigious nests is that the birds should be able so easily to find their way to their own particular home. Of all the hundreds of holes with which these nest-cities are frequently pierced, one is as like as possible to the other, yet notwithstanding this similarity the inmates glide in and out without any hesitation.

On turning to Asia we likewise find many admirable nest-builders. Among these the Baya, or Toddy Bird, is one of the most curious. In shape it resembles the sparrow, as also in the brown feathers of the back and wings; the head and breast are of a bright yellow, and in the rays of a tropical sun have a splendid appearance when the birds are flying by thousands in the same grove. They make a chirping noise, but have no song; they associate in large communities, and cover clumps of palmyras, acacias, and date-trees with their nests. These are formed in a very ingenious manner by long grass woven together in the shape of a bottle, and suspended by so slender a thread to the end of a flexible branch that even the squirrel dare not venture his body on so fragile a support, however his mouth may water at the eggs and prey within. These nests contain several apartments, appropriated to different purposes: in one the hen performs the office of incubation; another, consisting of a little thatched roof and covering a perch without a bottom, is occupied by the male, who cheers the female with his chirping note. The Hindoos are very fond of these birds for their docility and sagacity; when young, they teach them to fetch and carry, and at the time the young women resort to the public fountains their lovers instruct the baya to pluck the tica or golden ornament from the forehead of their favourite and bring it to their master.

The Tailor-bird of Hindostan (Sylvia sutoria) is equally curious in the structure of its nest, and far superior in the elegance and variety of its plumage, which in the male glows with the varied tints of the colibri. Selecting a suitable leaf, generally one which hangs from the end of a slender twig, the little artist pierces a row of holes along each edge, using his beak as a shoemaker uses his awl. When the holes are completed the feathered tailor next selects his thread, which is a long fibre of some plant, and passing it through the holes, draws the sides of the leaf towards each other, so as to form a kind of hollow cone, the point downwards. Generally a single leaf answers the purpose, but whenever the bird cannot find one sufficiently long, it sews two together, or even fetches another leaf and fastens it with the fibre. The interior of the hollow is then lined with a quantity of soft white down, and thus a warm, light, and elegant nest is constructed, scarcely visible among the foliage, and safe from the attacks of almost every foe but man. Who, on witnessing these miracles of instinct, would not exclaim with the poet:

The Honey Eaters of Australia and the neighbouring archipelagoes, where they seem to occupy the position which is taken in America by the humming-birds, and by the sun birds of Asia and South Africa, have thus been named from their feeding largely on the sweet juices of many flowers, although the staple of their diet consists of insects. Some are splendidly decorated, others captivate the ear by their melodious song. They are most lively and interesting birds, affording an endless fund of amusement to the careful observer. Never still, they traverse the branches of the trees with astonishing celerity, skipping from one to another, and probing every crevice with their needle-like tongue. Like the humming-birds they display great ingenuity in the building of their nests which the Singing and Painted Honey Eaters (Ptilotus sonorus; Entomophila picta) suspend from the long and slender branches of the pendulous Acacia, while the Lanceolate Honey Eater, thus named on account of the shape of its feathers, slings its hammock just as a seaman slings his oscillating couch.

The Lanceolated Honey Eater chooses for the site of its pendulous dwelling the thinnest twigs which grow at the summit of the enormous gum trees; where, owing to the great height at which it is placed and the surrounding leaves, even the eagle eye of the native Australian can with difficulty detect it; while the White Throated Honey Eater (Entomophila albogularis), detesting the wind, loves to frequent the dense mangrove thickets which edge the bays and creeks. In these places, often scarcely two feet from the water, and invariably so placed as to be under the protection of a spray of leaves, may be found its curious nest, which is about as large as a breakfast cup, and very much the same shape.

Besides the Honey Eaters, Australia has many other expert nest-builders, such as the Rock Warbler (Origma rubricata), which suspends its nest from the rocks in sheltered places, wherever an overhanging ledge affords protection from the elements; the Sericornis citreogularis, which constructs its dwelling in the centre of the large masses of moss which in the Australian forests often accumulate at the extremities of drooping branches, and the brilliantly coloured Swallow Dicæum (Dicæum hirundinaceum), which hangs its pretty nest from the tops of the tallest Casuarinas, where its minute body can scarcely be seen without the assistance of glasses; but nothing can be more extraordinary than the constructions of the Bower Birds, which are built not for the useful purpose of containing the young, but purely as a playing place or an assembly room.

‘The structures of the spotted bower bird,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘are in many instances three feet in length. They are outwardly built of twigs, and beautifully lined with tall grasses, so disposed that their heads nearly meet; the decorations are very profuse, and consist of bivalve shells, crania of small mammalia, and other birds. Evident and beautiful indications of design are manifest throughout the whole of the bower and decorations formed by this species, particularly in the manner in which the stones are placed within the bower, apparently to keep the grasses with which it is lined fixed firmly in their places. These stones diverge from the mouth of the run on each side, so as to form a little path, while the immense collection of decorative materials, bones, shells, &c., are placed in a heap before the entrance of the avenue, this arrangement being the same at both ends. I frequently found these structures at a considerable distance from the rivers, from the borders of which they alone could have procured the shells and small round pebbly stones; their collection and transportation must, therefore, be a task of great labour and difficulty. As these birds feed almost entirely upon seeds and fruits, the shells and bones cannot have been collected for any other purpose than ornament; besides, it is only those that have been bleached perfectly white in the sun, or such as have been roasted by the natives, and by this means whitened, that attract their attention.’ For what purpose these curious bowers are made is not yet, perhaps, fully understood; they are certainly not used as a nest, but as a place of resort, where the assembled birds run through and about the bower in a playful manner, and that so frequently that it is seldom entirely deserted.

The Talegalla or Brush-turkey is a no less interesting Australian bird. In appearance it is very like the common black turkey, but is not quite so large: the extraordinary manner in which its eggs are hatched constitutes its singularity. It collects together a great heap of decaying vegetables as the place of deposit of its eggs, thus making a hot-bed, arising from the decomposition of the collected matter, by the heat of which the young are hatched. This mound varies in quantity from two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyramidical form: it is not, however, the work of a single pair of birds, but the result of the united labour of many, and the same site appears to be resorted to for several years in succession. ‘The mode,’ says Mr. Gould, ‘in which the materials composing these mounds are accumulated is equally singular, the bird never using its bill, but always grasping a quantity in its foot, throwing it backwards to one common centre, and thus clearing the surface of the ground to a considerable distance so completely that scarcely a leaf or blade of grass is left.’ The heap being accumulated and time allowed for a sufficient heat to be engendered, the eggs, each measuring not less than four inches in length—an enormous size, considering the bulk of the bird—are deposited, not side by side, as is ordinarily the case, but planted at the distance of nine or twelve inches from each other, and buried at nearly an arm’s depth perfectly upright, with the large end upwards; they are covered up as they are laid, and allowed to remain until hatched. After six weeks of burial, the eggs, in succession and without any warning, give up their chicks—not feeble, but full-fledged and strong, so that at night they scrape holes for themselves, and lying down therein are covered over by the old birds and thus remain until morning. The extraordinary strength of the newly-hatched birds is accounted for by the size of the shell, since in so large a space it is reasonable to suppose that the young ones would be much more developed than is usually found in eggs of smaller dimensions. Other Australian birds, such as the Jungle-fowl (Megapodius tumulus), Duperrey’s Megapodius (M. Duperreyii), which inhabits the forests of New Guinea, and the Leipoas or native pheasants, construct similar mound-like nests. Those of the jungle-fowl, observed at Port Essington, are described as fifteen feet high, and sixty in circumference at the base, and so enveloped in thickly foliaged trees as to preclude the possibility of the sun’s rays reaching any part of it.

The tropical forests of the eastern hemisphere resound with bird-cries no less appalling, wild, or strange than those of the western world. In the close jungles of Ceylon one occasionally hears the call of the Copper-smith (Megalasara Indica), whose din resembles the blows of a smith hammering a cauldron, or the strokes of the great orange-coloured Woodpecker (Brachypterus aurantius), as it beats the decaying trees in search of insects; but of all the yells that fancy can imagine there is none to equal that of the Singhalese Devil-bird or Gualama. ‘Its ordinary cry,’ says Mr. Mitford, ‘is a magnificent clear shout like that of a human being, which can be heard at a great distance, and has a fine effect in the silence of the closing night. It has another cry like that of a hen just caught, but the sounds which have earned for it its bad name, and which I have heard but once to perfection, are indescribable; the most appalling that can be imagined, and scarcely to be heard without shuddering. I can only compare it to a boy in torture, whose screams are being stopped by being strangled. On hearing this dreadful note the terrified Singhalese hurries from the spot, for should he chance to see the bird of ill omen he knows that his death is nigh. A servant of Mr. Baker’s,32 who had the misfortune of seeing the dreaded gualama, from that moment took no food, and thus fell a victim to his superstitious despair. This horror of the natives explains the circumstance that it is not yet perfectly ascertained whether the devil-bird is an owl (Syrnium) or a night hawk.

As if to make amends for this screech, the robin of Nueraellia, the long-tailed thrush, the oriole, the dayal-bird, and some others equally charming, make the forests and savannas of the Kandyan country resound with the rich tones of their musical calls.

Besides the vast number of birds which, constantly attached to a sultry climate, breed and live within the tropics, there are others who at the approach of winter leave the uncongenial regions of the temperate or frigid zones, and in search of food and warmth migrate towards the equatorial world. Thus our house swallow annually wanders as far as the unknown heart of Africa, resting neither in Egypt nor in Nubia, nor even in the insect-teeming steppes and woods of Eastern Sudan, and the stork, who every spring appears as a welcome guest in the lowlands of Northern Germany, has frequently spent the previous winter months in South Nubia and Darfur. In Kordofan (16° 35 N. Lat.) the naturalist hears with astonishment the dactylic note of the quail, which may have sounded in summer in Great Britain or Sweden, or meets with our charming songster the nightingale, who, likewise, wings his flight towards unknown regions, far beyond the tropics, where however his voice is mute.