Of this gay-plumaged stranger, a male and female were seen in March of the present year, in that wild and magnificent gorge, called the Boca-guas, near Spanish Town. The brilliant appearance of the male, attracted the admiration of passers by, and he was at length shot, and brought to Mr. Hill.

About three weeks after this, a male, also in summer dress, occurred to my own observation, hopping about the small fruit-trees, on the banks of Bluefields River. He was very fearless, allowing me to sit and watch him within half-pistol-shot; now and then he flew down to the ground, by the side of the water, and remained a few moments peeping about; then he would fly up into a shrub, and presently be down again to drink; for the season was parched with drought. I watched him full half an hour, before he flew away.

Both these instances show that the Scarlet Tanager, occasionally at least, takes our lovely island, in his spring migration from Central America to the north. He certainly does not winter with us, having been until this season unknown to Mr. Hill, who for many years has paid close attention to the migrant birds. Yet D’Orbigny states, that it winters in Cuba; perhaps, however, but casually.

RED-THROATED BLUE TANAGER.[65]
Orange-quit.
Feather-tongue or Sour-sop bird.—(Rob. MSS.)

The tongue of this species, pencilled and barbed at the tip, might give it a place among the Honey-suckers. It does not climb, however, nor cling by its feet, but perches. It is not a very common bird in the lowlands; but in the mountains I have found it rather plentiful. It frequents berry-bearing trees of various species, in small parties, with no very strong sociality; its only note is a single chirp, sharp and shrill. Towards the end of the year, when the dark and glossy foliage of the orange groves is relieved by the profuse golden fruit, reminding the beholder, of the fabled gardens of the Hesperides, this Tanager becomes numerous, hopping about the twigs, and pecking holes in the ripe fruit. Many are then readily caught by smearing the twigs in the vicinity of a half-eaten orange, with bird lime, or “gum,” as it is called, the inspissated milk that exudes from an unripe naseberry. Females seem to predominate in these foraging parties, in the proportion of two or three to one; unless the young males have the same livery as their mothers.

Near the Hallow-well at Content, on a bush whose glossy black berries have obtained for it the name of wild pimento, but which is better known as rod-wood, we found a nest of the Orange Quit, in June. It was a very deep cup, of a coarse texture, rather rudely formed of blades of grass, and the leaves of Olyra latifolia, interwoven with stalks of grass. It was built on a horizontal branch, at the divergence of two twigs, but did not embrace them. Four small eggs, ¹³⁄₂₀ inch by ⁵⁄₁₀, contained at that time embryos half matured: they were white, splashed with dull red, thinly, except at the larger end, where the spots were numerous and confluent. The male probably assists in incubation; for he was seen to emerge from the nest.

BLUE QUIT.[66]

A short stumpy bird, and rather inelegant from the shortness of its tail, the Blue Quit reminds me of the Nut-hatches. It is very common about homesteads, where it frequents fruit-trees, particularly the sops: it is, however, nowise infrequent in the woods, both on the mountains and in the lowlands. It hops busily about the twigs and fruits, picking in any position, back or belly, head or tail, uppermost. When the sour-sop is ripe, they flock to it in such numbers, that the tree appears covered with them: the negro children then set limed twigs for them, and I have had them brought to me thus as fast as they could be taken down. The boys cut diagonal notches into the bark of a naseberry tree, (Achras), or score an unripe fruit; a white milk exudes, so abundant as to drop quickly, and is caught on a leaf. At first it has the consistence of thin cream, but half an hour’s exposure thickens it, and gives it tenacity enough to be drawn into threads; when they consider it “ripe.” A twig smeared with this “gum,” is stuck into the half-eaten sour-sop or custard-apple, presenting a very inviting perch to the hungry birds. One soon hops on the fatal twig, and is in an instant fluttering helplessly, fast at the feet. Banana birds, Mocking birds, and Cashew birds are also taken in this way. The appearance of the intestinal viscera at such a season, is very singular, being distended with the white pulp throughout their length, perfectly visible from the transparency of the intestines. At first the stomach seems to be wanting, and this much surprised me; but the fact is, that organ is simply a thin membranous sac, or rather canal, differing in no apparent respect from the intestine, save in slightly increased capacity.

The musical powers of our little Blue Quit are considerable: it is a sweet and constant song-bird. It has various notes; frequently it chirps pertinaciously, like the Humming birds; at other times it utters a long “twee,” like the Chicken-Hawk; sometimes it delights in a soft warbling repetition of a single note; sometimes its voice is closely like the plaintive mewing of a kitten. But besides these it has a real song, sweet and musical. In March at Spanish Town, I heard two, apparently both males, warbling close together on a genip-tree opposite my window, very sweetly but hurriedly. When one flew to another twig the other presently followed. By and bye they ceased that melody, and one took to a strain consisting of about a dozen rapid repetitions of the same note, ending with one elevated note, with a jerking abruptness. This strain he repeated several times.

About the middle of April, a pair of Blue Quits built a nest on one of the topmost branches of a high fiddle wood in the yard of Bluefields house. The tree was much infested with that parasite called Old man’s beard, large bunches of which grew on most of the limbs and boughs, so numerously as to touch each other in long successions. Two of these contiguous bunches the birds had managed to separate, either by picking away portions, or by pushing them apart, so as to open a large hollow, and in this they built a very snug domed nest. It was globular in form, about as large as an infant’s head, with an opening in one side, composed of dry grass, the dried stems of the Tillandsia, tendrils of passion-flower, bits of rag, profusely intermixed with cotton and the down of plants; yet these soft substances were not used to line the structure, the grass only appearing in the inside. Perhaps it was not finished, for the birds were passing in and out, and thus betrayed its existence, for so identified was it in appearance with the bunches around, that but for this ingress and egress, and the little opening, I could not have detected it. I sent up a lad to examine it, but in so doing, he partially broke the branch, causing it to hang down; and this I presume awakened suspicion, for the birds deserted it, and in a few days I had it taken down. It was empty.

Mr. Hill has favoured me with the following interesting memorandum. “Feb. 5. 1838. Near the piazza of my house a cotton-bush has flung out its knots of white filaments. Hither come the birds at this season to gather materials for constructing their nests. The Blue Sparrow, a pretty little frugivorous bird that sings in our fruit trees, all the year round, its merry twittering song, has been busily engaged with his mate collecting bills-full of cotton. It did not seem to be a thing immediately settled that they should set to work and gather their materials at once. They had alighted on the tree as if they had very unexpectedly found what they were seeking. The male began to twitter a song of joy, dancing and jumping about, and the female, intermingling every now and then a chirp, frisked from stem to stem, and did very little more than survey the riches of the tree: at least she plucked now and then a bill-full of the filaments, and spreading it to flaunt to the wind tossed it away, as if she had been merely shewing that it every way answered the purpose in length and softness, and was in every respect the thing they wanted. At each of these displays of the kind and quality of the materials, the male intermingled his twittering song with a hoarse succession of notes, which were always the same, chu, chu, chu, chu, chwit; to which the female chirped two or three times in succession; then grasping another bill-full of cotton, tossed it away as before, and obtained from the male the same notes of attention and approval. At last they set to work in earnest, gathered a load of the materials drawn out as loosely as they could get it, and filling their bills, started away to the tree, wherever it was, in which they had determined to build their nest.”

TICHICRO.[67]
Grass Pink, or Savanna bird.—Rob.

Intermediate between C. Henslowi and C. passerinus, the Tichicro differs from the former in its unspotted breast, its nearly even tail, the secondaries considerably short of the primaries, the bill arched, the deep colour of the head and the coronal streak. From the latter, by the tail feathers being acute, by the third and fourth quills being longest, and by having more chestnut on the wings. In the admeasurements it differs from both.

This modest little bird is not common, except in certain localities; it is sometimes seen in open pastures, running on the ground, but more frequently in fields of guinea-grass. In a grass-piece at Peter’s Vale, it may be found at all times of the year, frequently rising from behind a tussock just before the traveller’s feet, flying a little way with feeble wing, and then sinking among the high grass, where it will remain, until one again come close to it, for it seems little inclined to flight. I have several times seen a single one by the sides of the road to Savanna-le-Mar, where it passes through the marshy flats of Paradise; and occasionally one frequents the pasture of Bluefields. I have never observed it on a tree, nor even on a bush, except on one occasion, early in March, when one was sitting on the log-wood fence at Paradise, warbling sweetly, and fearlessly continuing its song, though myself and two other persons stood looking at it within two or three yards. More frequently it utters its warbling chant sitting on a flat stone, or on the bare ground among the grass tufts. Its song is melodious, but simple; consisting of a few notes rapidly repeated in a single strain, pettichee, pettichee, pettichee, when it is silent for a moment, and begins again. This, as far as I am aware, is peculiar to the vernal season; at other times it has a singular call, as it skulks in its grassy coverts, cro-cro-tichicro, whence its provincial name.

I have been able to learn nothing of the nidification of this Sparrow; its small size, sombre plumage, and retiring habits have prevented its obtaining much notoriety; indeed it was unknown to Mr. Hill, until I happened to shoot one when in company with him at St. Thomas in the Vale. I suspect it makes its nest in the midst of a grass tuft, or on the ground among them; where it would be very unlikely to be met with, as these tufts are never cut, nor are they eaten down by stock to within eighteen inches of the ground.

One day in April, when the sun was pouring down his unmitigated rays, I observed a Tichicro walking towards a little rain-puddle in the middle of the road. Seeing me, however, it retired to the wayside, and did not fly away, though within a few feet of my horse, but stood looking wistfully at the puddle. I thought it had been going to drink, but as it began to ruffle its plumage and shake its wings, I saw that it had been bathing. I then rode on a few steps, leaving the pool clear, when it immediately ran to the edge, and walked into the shallow water, bending its legs and sitting down in it; then it immersed its head, and shook the water over its body, with the pretty action common to birds bathing. It seemed greatly to enjoy the relief from the heat, and only reluctantly left the water on the approach of another passenger.

The Tichicro is certainly a perennial inhabitant of the island, and seems confined to the lowland districts, or to hills of moderate elevation.

GOLDEN-CROWNED CANARY.[68]

This very beautiful Finch is rather common in the large park-like pastures of Mount Edgecumbe, Auchindown, Culloden, and Peter’s Vale, situated at the eastern extremity of Westmoreland. It is not at all shy, but hops about the grass, or flits to and fro among the pimento and orange trees, in parties of three or four, now and then sitting among the branches, and uttering a monotonous chip, chip, pertinaciously repeated by both sexes without variation. This is the only note I have heard from them.

These birds are believed in Jamaica to be the descendants of some pairs of the common Canary turned out. “A gentleman of the colony named Shakspeare,” observes Mr. Hill, “many years ago, touching at Madeira on his voyage to this island, is said to have procured several male and female Canaries, which he set at large in the fields about the rectory at Black River, where they have multiplied, and have become wild birds of the country. Many of our grasses produce farinaceous seeds, extremely nutritious, and supply quite a substitute for the canary-seed of the African islands. I presume our birds derive their intensity of colour from this sort of food. They are a beautiful variety of the natural stock. Of their song I have never been able to learn anything very distinct, except that heard in the thickets with other birds, it sounds neither loud nor thrilling, and can barely be recognised as that of the bird of the aviary. It is said to have lost all its versatility with its power. Though these imported Canaries have increased so much, as to be perceptibly common, they are confined to a very small range of country, being observed nowhere but in the neighbourhood of the place where the first colony was established. A friend writes me, between Bluefields and Black River.”

The evidence of the origin of these birds, seems thus very distinct; and yet the plumage is that never known to be assumed by the true Canary, while it agrees exactly with the Brazilian species, which, Spix says, “inhabits the fields of Minas Geraes, and is named Canary.” The plumage of the wild Canary, in its native islands, is said to be less vivid than that of caged specimens. It is possible that the Brazilian birds may have descended from imported birds; or, on the other hand, that the Madeira parents of ours may have been imported from Brazil thither; a case the more probable, from the fact of both being Portuguese colonies.

YELLOW-BACK FINCH.[69]

Though hitherto undescribed, this pretty species is not rare: among the dark green pimento groves of Mount Edgecumbe, it may be almost always met with, and the contrast of its black head and yellow back, renders it conspicuous. Various seeds and small berries afford it food; in April I have seen it eagerly picking off the little crimson berries of the fiddlewood, and swallowing them; and in autumn I have shot one engaged in feeding on the seeds of the prickly-yellow tree. Probably grass-seed forms a part of its nutriment; late in the year when the guinea-grass is ripe, I have observed them flitting about from tussock to tussock.

Its musical powers are but small. I have never heard any note proceed from it, but tsip, tsip, tseep, tēēsp, loud and shrill, repeated at short intervals, as it hops from twig to twig.

Early in June I found a nest of the Yellow-back. Over a gap leading out of a negro yard into the high road, at the back of Content cottage, hung down a dead limb of a large logwood, that was almost covered by bunches of Tillandsia usneoides. Just at the extremity of the depending twigs, not more than five feet from the ground, and in the very path frequented by the people and the animals, in the midst of a large cluster of the tillandsiæ, the Finch had constructed her nest. It was a neat dome, somewhat like the head-part of a cradle, formed of dried grass, with a few bits of white cotton interwoven, but profusely set on the outside with the tillandsia, the down of which gave it a very woolly appearance. It contained three eggs, white, splashed with dull red, having a tendency to form a crown round the large end. On this, as well as another occasion, the male was seen to enter the nest, as well as his mate, so that both probably assist in incubation. In the evening I went cautiously to the spot, and putting a gauze net suddenly before the nest, secured the female, which darted out into the net. Having identified her, I let her go, but in the morning, early, when I went again to the nest, there were no eggs within, but fragments of the shell of one lay on the ground at some little distance, which must have lain there sometime, for they were cleaned out by ants, and dry inside. Was this done by the female at finding the nest desecrated? or by the male, at not finding his mate? for on letting the bird go in the darkness, she in her fright flew in the opposite direction, and perhaps did not find the nest.

YELLOW FACE GRASS-QUIT.[70]

Immediately behind the homestead of Bluefields, a lane, confined for a mile or two between dry-stone walls, leads to the road which winds in a zig-zag line to the top of the Bluefields ridge. This lane possesses many attractions. By the wall on each side grow trees, which afford grateful shade, and many of them load the evening air with dewy fragrance. Orange-trees, profusely planted, give out in spring gushes of odour from their waxen blossoms, and in autumn tempt the eye with their “golden fruitage.” The Pride of China, lovely in its graceful leaves and spikes of lilac blossoms, and not less sweet-scented than the orange; the pimento, dense and glossy, with another, but not inferior, character of beauty; are varied by the less showy, but still valuable, cedar and guazuma. The various species of echites trail their slender stems and open their brilliant flowers, along the top of the wall, and the pretty Banisteria displays its singular yellow blossoms, or scarlet berries at its foot; while near the top of the lane, tangled and matted masses of the night-blowing cereus depend from the trees, or sprawl over the walls, expanding their magnificent, sun-like flowers, only to “the noon of night.” Here and there huge black nests of termites look like barrels built into the wall, whose loose stones, grey with exposure, and discoloured with many-tinted lichens, afford a sombre relief to the numerous large-leafed arums that climb and cluster above them. To the left the mountain towers, dark and frowning; the view on the right is bounded by a row of little rounded hills, studded with trees and clumps of pimento. But between the traveller and either, extend the fields of guinea-grass, which are enclosed by these boundary walls. In the autumn, when the grass is grown tall, and the panicles of seed waving in the wind give it a hoary surface, the little Grass-quits, both of this and the following species, throng hither in numerous flocks, and perching in rows on the slender stalks, weigh them down, while they rifle them of the farinaceous seeds.

In March, I have found the stomach of the Yellow-face full of seeds of the common pasture grasses; and I have been struck with the enormous dilatation of the membranous craw, which, as in the Gallinaceæ, occupies the hollow of the furcula.

D’Orbigny, who has given a good figure of it, in Sagra’s Cuba, alludes to its prevalence in all the great Antilles. At the Havanna, he says it is frequently caged, being very docile, and readily learning to sing. I have never heard from it any other note than a quivering chirrup as it flits from bush to bush.

Mr. Hill has favoured me with the following note. “Nests of the Grass-bird are frequently brought to me, but without distinguishing between the yellow and the black-throated species. A nest in the garden, built in a Nerium oleander, by the latter, [in July,] enables me to set down a remark or two. I see no difference in the structure of the nests of the two species. They are both domed nests, made of pliable dry grass, and lined with horse-hair. This nest is built between the forks of the long vertical stems of the oleander, or South Sea rose. Three other vertical stems press it close, and the leaves quite canopy it over. The substratum of the nest, on which it may be said to be bedded, is a mass of long linen rags, wound in and round the forked branch. It is quite true that the Grass-bird very frequently selects a shrub, on which the wasps have built, fixing the entrance close to their cells. I saw a nest in this secure situation a few years ago; it was pointed out to me as illustrating a habit of the yellow-throated species.

“The Grass-birds remind me much of the European Sparrow. They are very social, have a strong predilection for the house-garden, and when feeding by half-dozens and dozens together, are very noisy. They have a peculiar shrill chirp; and in the season when the grasses are in seed, their diminutive bodies, for they are smaller than wrens, may be seen weighing down the culm of the grass, everywhere about.

“On one occasion, some twenty or thirty of the Yellow-throated Grass-bird constructed a mass of nests, within the wide crutch of a baobab tree, and lived in common.”

BLACK-FACE GRASS-QUIT.[71]

Both of these birds are permanent inhabitants of Jamaica; their habits are so similar, that the detailed history of one will apply to the other. Both are quite common, and familiar; and both are unmusical: the present is more silent than the former; yet in spring its note may be heard, as it makes its short flights, a single harsh guttural squeak, difficult to indicate by words, and difficult to imitate.

To the remarks of Mr. Hill’s in the preceding article, I will merely add the description of another nest of the Black-face, which in June was built between three contiguous stalks of maize, and an ear. It was a dome composed of slender stalks of grass and weeds woven into a globose form, flattened in front, on which side was the opening. The dried beard of the corn entered into the structure, and a small frond of fern, and a tendril or two of passion-flower adorned the entrance. Three eggs were laid, measuring ⁷⁄₁₀ by ½ inch; pointed; white, splashed with dull red, chiefly at the larger end, where confluent.

BAY-SIDED GRASS-QUIT.[72]

Of this very plain and unpretending species, but a single specimen has fallen into my hands; which I shot on the 9th of August 1845, hopping with others about logwood trees at Grand Vale. It may be a female of an unrecorded species, but its fawn-coloured sides distinguish it from the females of the preceding two species, with which in other respects it well agrees, as they do still more with each other.

The name of Quit is applied without much discrimination by the negroes of Jamaica, to several small birds, such as the Banana Quit, which is a Creeper, and the Blue Quit, and Grass Quits which are finches; it is probably an African designation.

COTTON-TREE SPARROW.[73]
Black Bulfinch, Rob.——Coffee-bird.

One of those gigantic and hoary cotton trees which are the pride of a Jamaican forest, or some other tree equally tall, is usually selected by this Bulfinch, for its abode. At the extremity of an immense horizontal limb, it builds a nest of rude materials, as large as a half-bushel measure, the opening being near the bottom. I have seen the bird enter this monstrous structure, but have had no opportunity of examining it. Dr. Robinson observes that “the Black Bulfinch builds a nest as big as a Blackbird’s cage, and by the artful contrivance of this little volatile, the whole has the simple appearance of a heap of trash, flung on some bough of a tree, as it were by accident, so that nobody would suppose it to be anything else.” And in another passage he records having found the nest at Negril, on the 22nd of April, 1761, at the summit of a Cabbage-palm, eighty-one feet high, which he had caused to be felled: “Among the spadices of this tree was fixed, how I cannot tell, the nest of the Black Bulfinch, made up of various matter; viz. old cane-trash fibres, silk-cotton, some dry leaves, and at the bottom many tendrils of climbing shrubs, and a very small species of epidendrum, or green wyth, common in this parish. In it I found one egg, about an inch long, in colour like that of a common duck, that is, of a sullied white.” (MSS. i. 72.)

Mr. Hill saw one building in a vale in Clarendon in August. It had begun a domed nest of dried grass, rather loosely interwoven, then about as large as a child’s head, but probably it would have been larger. It was in a fork of an outer limb of a logwood tree at the edge of a thicket, about seven feet from the ground. The bird went and came, bringing materials repeatedly, while my friend was watching it.

Sam maintains that he has repeatedly seen it enter large cumulative nests, on high cotton-trees, having exactly the same appearance as those of the Black Shrike, (p. 190,) and that he has heard them utter the same remarkable cry. The suspicion was obvious, considering that both birds are black, and nearly of one size, that he had confounded the one with the other. Yet against this, I may state, that he is perfectly familiar with both species, that he is accustomed to discriminating observations, and that he asserts that it was impossible for him to be mistaken in one of the cases. I would add, that notwithstanding colour and size, the appearance of the two birds is very different. Yet on the 16th of June, a lad brought me a nest of small size and cup-like form, which he named as the nest of the “Black Sparrow,” and described the bird which frequented the nest, and which he had driven from it when about to take it, as being wholly black, except the throat which was red; a description which will apply to no other than this. Moreover, the nest was placed on a coffee-tree, agreeing with the fact that in some districts the species is named “Coffee-bird.” It is a rather deep cup, about 2½ inches wide in the clear, made of very coarse materials, such as dried and half-decayed leaves of trees, the long broad leaves of rushes or flags, intermingled with stalks of grass and herbaceous weeds, and with slender roots: there is a slight lining of thatch-threads, and of blades of grass torn into narrow strips, and arranged circularly. From such materials, it may be supposed that the workmanship was loose and slovenly. Three eggs were found in it, of an elongated form, measuring 1 inch by ¹³⁄₂₀; of a pale glaucous white, thickly strewn with longitudinal dashes of pale reddish-brown, confluent at the larger end.

The Black Bulfinch is said to frequent coffee trees, for the purpose of feeding on the ripe berries. The stomachs of such as I have examined, contained farinaceous seeds, comminuted into a pudding-like mass.

It has a simple but rather sweet song, which may be imitated by rapidly pronouncing the syllables wis, wis, wis, wis, weē, the last much protracted. It can hardly be distinguished from the note of the Black Shrike. Early in the morning in spring, he delights in a rapid vibratory strain, which I can compare to nothing, for tone and duration, so well as to the sound produced by one turn of the key in winding up a musical snuff-box.

One day in April, as I was riding past the cliffs at Cave, on the road to Savanna-le-Mar, I observed two Cotton-tree Sparrows, whose motions arrested my attention. They were both males in adult plumage. One presented himself to the other, opening his beak to the utmost; when the other seized something in his mouth, and tugged at it; this action was repeated several times, but whatever was the object pulled at, it appeared pretty firmly attached to the lower mandible, and refused to come away. From the evident desire of the one operated on, I conjecture that it was an application for the removal of some extraneous object which had accidentally stuck into the flesh of the mouth, and gave pain or inconvenience. But if so, how interesting an instance of intelligence communicated; for intelligence, and combined action, there certainly was. At length the operator, having done what he could, flew off: but the poor unsuccessful patient, after a few seconds, followed him, and sought him again in the bush, while I rode on my way.

A male which I shot, and but slightly wounded, displayed much energy, and some ingenuity, in its persevering efforts to escape, in which, after being twice captured, it at length succeeded. When I attempted to seize it, it bit at me fiercely, and pinched my finger so forcibly as I could not have anticipated. The beak is very powerful, doubtless for the sake of opening or crushing hard seed-vessels.

I have dissected a female at the end of April, with eggs in the ovary as large as pigeon-shot, the plumage of which differed from that of the male, only in the black being not quite so bright. The name violacea, is a strange misnomer, as there is not the slightest tinge of violet.

Robinson has mentioned the prevalence of these birds on the Liguanea mountains, in a passage so interesting, that I quote it entire. “In ascending from Mr. Elletson’s estate called Merryman’s Hill, about four miles from Hope River plantation, after you get about a mile and a half beyond the said Merryman’s Hill, the air suddenly turns cool, and the plants and trees are entirely different from what you observed before, excepting two or three, which continue all the way up. There also you hear the Black Bulfinches first begin to whistle, which are continued all the way up to the top of the mountains; and, indeed, they are the only birds you hear, for there are hardly any Nightingales; but they have the Grey-eyed Thrush, whose notes are not much inferior in sweetness but longer. In these mountains hardly any cockroaches are seen, but a very small kind. The wood-ant, that destructive insect, is also a stranger to these mountains.” (MSS. iii. 131.) By the Grey-eyed Thrush, I suspect he means the Glass-eye: or else the White-eyed Flycatcher.

In the valuable drawings of the Doctor, he has one carefully executed, of a bird considerably larger than this, which he calls the Pied Bulfinch of the mountains, but which I have supposed to be the present bird in the partial albinism, to which all black birds seem subject. There are, however, some details which make this rather uncertain. The whole plumage, including the red gorge, (which is rather crimson than ferruginous) is studded with large white patches; beside which there is a large square spot of white, occupying the middle of the wing: the outmost two tail-feathers on each side are also white, and the forehead is pale yellow. Should it prove to be distinct, I propose for it the name of Pyrrhula Robinsonii.

To these Fringilladæ, I would add, on the authority of Mr. Hill, the Rose-breasted Grosbeak of Wilson, (Guiraca Ludoviciana, Sw.).

Order.—SCANSORES. (Climbers.)

Fam.—PSITTACIDÆ. (The Parrots.)

YELLOW-HEADED MACAW.[74]