Many of the grey partridges (Francolinus pondicerianus) are now nesting. This species is somewhat erratic in respect of its breeding season. Eggs have been taken in February, March, April, May, June, September, October, and November. The April eggs, however, outnumber those of all the other months put together. The nest is a shallow depression in the ground, lined with grass, usually under a bush. From six to nine cream-coloured eggs are laid.

Another bird which is now incubating eggs on the ground is the did-he-do-it or red-wattled lapwing (Sarcogrammus indicus). The curious call, from which this plover derives its popular name, is familiar to every resident in India. This species nests between March and August. The 122 eggs in the possession of Hume were taken, 12 in March, 46 in April, 24 in May, 26 in June, 4 in July, and 8 in August. Generally in a slight depression on the ground, occasionally on the ballast of a rail-road, four pegtop-shaped eggs are laid; these are, invariably, placed in the form of a cross, so that they touch each other at their thin ends. They are coloured like those of the common plover. The yellow-wattled lapwing (Sarciophorus malabaricus), which resembles its cousin in manners and appearance, nests in April, May and June.

The nesting season of the various species of sand-grouse that breed in India is now beginning. These birds, like lapwings, lay their eggs on the ground.

In April one may come across an occasional nest of the pied starling, the king-crow, the paradise flycatcher, the grey hornbill, and the oriole, but these are exceptions. The birds in question do not as a rule begin to nest until May, and their doings accordingly are chronicled in the calendar for that month.



MAY

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year. The Minstrelsy of the Woods.

Low from the brink the waters shrink; The deer all snuff for rain; The panting cattle search for drink Cracked glebe and dusty plain; The whirlwind, like a furnace blast, Sweeps clouds of darkening sand. WATERFIELD, Indian Ballads.

Now the burning summer sun Hath unchalleng'd empire won And the scorching winds blow free, Blighting every herb and tree. R. T. H. GRIFFITH.

May in the plains of India! What unpleasant memories it recalls! Stifling nights in which sleep comes with halting steps and departs leaving us unrefreshed. Long, dreary days beneath the punkah in a closed bungalow which has ceased to be enlivened by the voices of the children and the patter of their little feet. Hot drives to office, under a brazen sky from which the sun shines with pitiless power, in the teeth of winds that scorch the face and fill the eyes with dust.

It is in this month of May that the European condemned to existence in the plains echoes the cry of the psalmist: "Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest"—in the Himalayas. There would I lie beneath the deodars and, soothed by the rustle of their wind-caressed branches, drink in the pure cool air and listen to the cheerful double note of the cuckoo. The country-side in the plains presents a sorry spectacle. The gardens that had some beauty in the cold weather now display the abomination of desolation—a waste of shrivelled flowers, killed by the relentless sun. The spring crops have all been cut and the whole earth is dusty brown save for a few patches of young sugar-cane and the dust-covered verdure of the mango topes. It is true that the gold-mohur trees and the Indian laburnums are in full flower and the air is heavily laden with the strong scent of the nim blossoms, but the heat is so intense that the European is able to enjoy these gifts of nature only at dawn. Nor has the ripening jack-fruit any attractions for him. He is repelled by its overpowering scent and sickly flavour. Fortunately the tastes of all men are not alike. In the eyes of the Indian this fruit is a dish fit to be set before the gods. The pipal trees, which are covered with tender young leaves, now offer to the birds a feast in the form of numbers of figs, no larger than cranberries. This generous offer is greedily accepted by green pigeons, mynas and many other birds which partake with right goodwill and make much noise between the courses. No matter how intense the heat be, the patient cultivator issues forth with his cattle before sunrise and works at his threshing floor until ten o'clock, then he seeks the comparative coolness of the mango tope and sleeps until the sun is well on its way to the western horizon, when he resumes the threshing of the corn, not ceasing until the shades of night begin to steal over the land.

The birds do not object to the heat. They revel in it. It is true that in the middle of the day even they seek some shady tree in which to enjoy a siesta and await the abatement of the heat of the blast furnace in which they live, move and have their being. The long day, which begins for them before 4 a.m., rather than the intense heat, appears to be the cause of this midday sleep. Except during this period of rest at noon the birds are more lively than they were in April.

The breeding season is now at its height. In May over five hundred species of birds nest in India. No individual is likely to come across all these different kinds of nests, because, in order to do so, that person would have to traverse India from Peshawar to Tinnevelly and from Quetta to Tenasserim. Nevertheless, the man who remains in one station, if he choose to put forth a little energy and defy the sun, may reasonably expect to find the nests of more than fifty kinds of birds. Whether he be energetic or the reverse he cannot fail to hear a great many avian sounds both by day and by night. In May the birds are more vociferous than at any other time of year. The fluty cries of the koel and the vigorous screams of the brain-fever bird penetrate the closed doors of the bungalow, as do, to a less extent, the chatter of the seven sisters, the calls of the mynas, the towee, towee, towee of the tailor-bird, the whoot, whoot, whoot of the crow-pheasant, the monotonous notes of the coppersmith and the green barbet, the uk, uk, uk of the hoopoe, the cheerful music of the fantail flycatcher, the three sweet syllables of the iora—so be ye, the tee, tee, tee, tee of the nuthatch, the liquid whistle of the oriole and, last but not least, the melody of the magpie-robin. The calls of the hoopoe and nuthatch become less frequent as the month draws to a close; on the other hand, the melody of the oriole gains in strength.

As likely as not a pair of blue jays has elected to rear a brood of young hopefuls in the chimney or in a hole in the roof. When this happens the human occupant of the bungalow is apt to be driven nearly to distraction by the cries of the young birds, which resemble those of some creature in distress, and are uttered with "damnable reiteration."

All these sounds, however, reach in muffled form the ear of a human being shut up in a bungalow; hence it is the voices of the night rather than those of the day with which May in India is associated. Most people sleep out of doors at this season, and, as the excessive heat makes them restless, they have ample opportunity of listening to the nightly concert of the feathered folk. The most notable performers are the cuckoos. These birds are fully as nocturnal as the owls. The brain-fever bird (Hierococcyx varius) is now in full voice, and may be heard, both by day and by night, in all parts of Northern India, east of Umballa. This creature has two calls. One is the eternal "brain-fever, brain-fever, BRAIN-FEVER," each "brain-fever" being louder and pitched in a higher key than the previous one, until the bird reaches its top note. The other call consists of a volley of descending notes, uttered as if the bird were unwinding its voice after the screams of "brain-fever." The next cuckoo is not one whit less vociferous than the last. It is known as the Indian koel (Eudynamis honorata). This noble fowl has three calls, and it would puzzle anyone to say which is the most powerful. The usual cry is a crescendo ku-il, ku-il, ku-il, which to Indian ears is very sweet-sounding. Most Europeans are agreed that it is a sound of which one can have too much. The second note is a mighty avalanche of yells and screams, which Cunningham has syllabised as Kuk, kuu, kuu, kuu, kuu, kuu. The third cry, which is uttered only occasionally, is a number of shrill shrieks: Hekaree, karee, karee, karee.

The voice of the koel is heard throughout the hours of light and darkness in May, so that one wonders whether this bird ever sleeps. The second call is usually reserved for dawn, when the bird is most vociferous. This cry is particularly exasperating to Europeans, since it often awakens them rudely from the only refreshing sleep they have enjoyed, namely, that obtained at the time when the temperature is comparatively low. The koel extends into the Punjab and is heard throughout Northern India.

The third of the cuckoos which enlivens the hot weather in the plains is the Indian cuckoo (Cuculus micropterus). This species dwells chiefly in the Himalayas, but late in April or early in May certain individuals seek the hot plains and remain there for some months. They do not extend very far into the peninsula, being numerous only in the sub-Himalayan tracts as far south as Fyzabad. The call of this cuckoo is melodious and easily recognised. Indians represent it as Bouto-taku, while some Englishmen maintain that the bird says "I've lost my love." To the writer's mind the cry is best represented by the words wherefore, wherefore, repeated with musical cadence. This bird does not usually call much during the day. It uplifts its voice about two hours before sunset and continues calling intermittently until some time after sunrise. The note is often uttered while the bird is on the wing.

Scarcely less vociferous than the cuckoos are the owls. Needless to state that the tiny spotted owlets make a great noise in May. They are loquacious throughout the year, especially on moonlight nights. Nor do they wait for the setting of the sun until they commence to pour forth what Eha terms a "torrent of squeak and chatter and gibberish."

Almost as abundant as the spotted owlet is the jungle owlet (Glaucidium radiatum). This species, like the last-mentioned, does not confine its vocal efforts to the hot weather. It is vociferous throughout the year; however, special mention must be made of it in connection with the month of May, because it is not until a human being sleeps out of doors that he takes much notice of the bird.

The note of this owl is very striking. It may be likened to the noise made by a motor cycle when it is being started. It consists of a series of dissyllables, low at first with a pause after each, but gradually growing in intensity and succeeding one another at shorter intervals, until the bird seems to have got fairly into its stride, when it pulls up with dramatic suddenness. Tickell thus syllabises its call: Turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, tukatu, chatatuck, atuckatuck.

Another sound familiar to those who sleep out of doors at this season is a low, soft "what," repeated at intervals of about a minute.

The writer ascribes this call to the collared scops owl (Scops bakkamoena). Mr. A. J. Currie, however, asserts that the note in question is that emitted by spotted owlets (Athene brama) when they have young. He states that he has been quite close to the bird when it was calling.

A little patient observation will suffice to decide the point at issue.

It is easy to distinguish between the two owls, as the scops has aigrettes or "horns," which the spotted owlet lacks.

The nightjars help to swell the nocturnal chorus. There are seven or eight different species in India, but of these only three are commonly heard and two of them occur mainly in forest tracts. The call of the most widely-distributed of the Indian goatsuckers—Caprimulgus asiaticus, the common Indian nightjar—is like unto the sound made by a stone skimming over ice. Horsfield's goatsucker is a very vociferous bird. From March till June it is heard wherever there are forests. As soon as the shadows of the evening begin to steal across the sky its loud chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk cleaves the air for minutes together. This call to some extent replaces by night the tonk, tonk, tonk of the coppersmith, which is uttered so persistently in the day-time. In addition to this note Horsfield's nightjar emits a low soft chur, chur, chur.

The third nightjar, which also is confined chiefly to forest tracts, is known as Franklin's nightjar (C. monticolus). This utters a harsh tweet which at a distance might pass for the chirp of a canary with a sore throat.

Other sounds heard at night-time are the plaintive did-he-do-it pity-to-do-it of the red-wattled lapwing (Sarcogrammus indicus), and the shrill calls of other plovers.

As has already been said, the nesting season is at its height in May. With the exception of the paroquets, spotted owlets, nuthatches, black vultures and pied kingfishers, which have completed nesting operations for the year, and the golden-backed woodpeckers and the cliff-swallows, which have reared up their first broods, the great majority of the birds mentioned as having nests or young in March or April are still busily occupied with domestic cares.

May marks the close of the usual breeding season for the jungle crows, skylarks, crested larks, finch-larks, wood-shrikes, yellow-throated sparrows, sand-martins, pied wagtails, green barbets, coppersmiths, rollers, green bee-eaters, white-breasted kingfishers, scavenger vultures, tawny eagles, kites, shikras, spur-winged plovers, little ringed plovers, pied woodpeckers, night herons and pied chats. In the case of the tree-pies, cuckoo-shrikes, seven sisters, bank-mynas and blue-tailed bee-eaters the nesting season is now at its height. All the following birds are likely to have either eggs or nestlings in May: the white-eyes, ioras, bulbuls, tailor-birds, shrikes, brown rock-chats, Indian robins, magpie-robins, sunbirds, swifts, nightjars, white-eyed buzzards, hoopoes, green pigeons, blue rock-pigeons, doves, sparrows, the red and yellow wattled lapwings, minivets, wire-tailed swallows, red-headed merlins, fantail flycatchers, pipits, sand-grouse and grey partridges. The nests of most of these have been described already.

In the present month several species begin nesting operations. First and foremost among these is the king-crow or black drongo (Dicrurus ater). No bird, not even the roller, makes so much ado about courtship and nesting as does the king-crow, of which the love-making was described last month. A pair of king-crows regards as its castle the tree in which it has elected to construct a nest. Round this tree it establishes a sphere of influence into which none but a favoured few birds may come. All intruders are forthwith set upon by the pair of little furies, and no sight is commoner at this season than that of a crow, a kite, or a hawk being chased by two irate drongos. The nest of the king-crow is a small cup, wedged into the fork of a branch high up in a tree.

The Indian oriole (Oriolus kundoo) is one of the privileged creatures allowed to enter the dicrurian sphere of influence, and it takes full advantage of this privilege by placing its nest almost invariably in the same tree as that of the king-crow. The oriole is a timid bird and is glad to rear up its family under the aegis of so doughty a warrior as the Black Prince of the Birds. The nest of the oriole is a wonderful structure. Having selected a fork in a suitable branch, the nesting bird tears off a long strip of soft pliable bark, usually that of the mulberry tree. It proceeds to wind one end of this strip round a limb of the forked branch, then the other end is similarly bound to the other limb. A second and a third strip of bark are thus dealt with, and in this manner a cradle or hammock is formed. On it a slender cup-shaped nest is superimposed. This is composed of grasses and fibres, some of which are wound round the limbs of the forked branch, while others are made fast to the strands of bark. The completed nest is nearly five inches in diameter. From below it looks like a ball of dried grass wedged into the forked branch.

The oriole lays from two to four white eggs spotted with dull red. The spots can be washed off by water; sometimes their colour "runs" while they are in the nest, thereby imparting a pink hue to the whole shell. Both sexes take part in nest construction, but the hen alone appears to incubate. She is a very shy creature, and is rarely discovered actually sitting, because she leaves the nest with a little cry of alarm at the first sound of a human footfall.

May and June are the months in which to look for the nests of that superb bird—the paradise flycatcher (Terpsiphone paradisi). This is known as the rocket-bird or ribbon-bird because of the two long fluttering tail feathers possessed by the cock. The hen has the appearance of a kind of bulbul, being chestnut-hued with a white breast and a metallic blue-black crest. For the first year of their existence the young cocks resemble the hens in appearance. Then the long tail feathers appear. In his third year the cock turns white save for the black-crested head. This species spends the winter in South India. In April it migrates northwards to summer in the shady parts of the plains of Bengal, the United Provinces and the Punjab, and on the lower slopes of the Himalayas. The nest is a deep, untidy-looking cup, having the shape of an inverted cone. It is always completely covered with cocoons and cobweb. It is usually attached to one or more of the lower branches of a tree. Both sexes work at the nest and take part in incubation. The long tail feathers of the sitting cock hang down from the nest like red or white satin streamers according to the phase of his plumage. In the breeding season the cock sings a sweet little lay—an abridged version of that of the fantail flycatcher. When alarmed both the cock and the hen utter a sharp tschit.

May is perhaps the proper month in which to describe the nesting of the various species of myna.

According to Hume the normal breeding season of the common myna (Acridotheres tristis) lasts from June to August, during which period two broods are reared. This is not correct. The nesting season of this species begins long before June. The writer has repeatedly seen mynas carrying twigs and feathers in March, and has come across nests containing eggs or young birds in both April and May. June perhaps is the month in which the largest numbers of nests are seen. The cradle of the common myna is devoid of architectural merit. It is a mere conglomeration of twigs, grass, rags, bits of paper and other oddments. The nesting material is dropped haphazard into a hole in a tree or building, or even on to a ledge in a verandah. Four beautiful blue eggs are laid.

At Peshawar Mr. A. J. Currie once found four myna's eggs in a deserted crows' nest in a tree.

As has already been stated, the nest of the bank-myna (A. ginginianus) is built in a hole in a well, a sandbank, or a cliff. The birds breed in colonies; each pair excavates its own nest by means of beak and claw. Into the holes dug out in this manner the miscellaneous nesting materials are dropped pell-mell after the manner of all mynas. The breeding season of this species lasts from April to July, May being the month in which most eggs are laid.

The black-headed or brahminy myna (Temenuchus pagodarum) usually begins nesting operations about a month later than the bank-myna; its eggs are most often taken in June. The nest, which is an untidy, odoriferous collection of rubbish, is always in a cavity. In Northern India a hole in a tree is usually selected; in the South buildings are largely patronised. Some years ago the writer observed a pair of these birds building a nest in a hole made in the masonry for the passage of the lightning conductor of the Church in Fort St. George, Madras.

May marks the commencement of the breeding season of the pied starlings (Sturnopastor contra). In this month they begin to give vent with vigour to their cheerful call, which is so pleasing as almost to merit the name of song.

Throughout the rains they continue to make a joyful noise. Not that they are silent at other seasons; they call throughout the year, but, except at the breeding period, their voices are comparatively subdued.

The nest is a bulky, untidy mass of straw, roots, twigs, rags, feathers and such-like things. It is placed fairly low down in a tree.

Many of these nests are to be seen in May, but the breeding season is at its height in June and July.

The grey hornbills (Lophoceros birostris) are now seeking out holes in which to deposit their eggs. The hen, after having laid the first egg, does not emerge from the nest till the young are ready to fly. During the whole of this period she is kept a close prisoner, the aperture to the nest cavity having been closed by her mate and herself with their own droppings, a small chink alone being left through which she is able to insert her beak in order to receive the food brought to her by the cock.

Mr. A. J. Currie gives an interesting account of a grey hornbill's nest he discovered at Lahore in 1910. About the middle of April he noticed a pair of paroquets nesting in a hole in a tree. On April 28th he saw a hornbill inspecting the hole, regardless of the noisy protests of the paroquets. On the 30th he observed that the hole had become smaller, and suspected that the hornbills had taken possession. On May 1st all that was left of the hole was a slit. On May 6th Mr. Currie watched the cock hornbill feeding the hen. First the male bird came carrying a fig in his bill. Seeing human beings near the nest, he did not give the fig to the hen but swallowed it and flew off. Presently the cock reappeared with a fig which he put into the slit in the plastering; after he had parted with the fig he began to feed the hen by bringing up food from his crop. During the process the beak of the hen did not appear at the slit.

On May 7th Mr. Currie opened out the nest. The hole was sixteen feet from the ground and the orifice had a diameter of three inches; all of this except a slit, broadest at the lower part, was filled up by plaster. This plaster was odourless and contained embedded in it a number of fig seeds.

The nest hole was capacious, its dimensions being roughly 1 foot by 1 foot by 2 feet. From the bottom five handfuls of pieces of dry bark were extracted. Three white eggs were found lying on these pieces of bark. The sitting hen resented the "nest-breaking," and, having pecked viciously at the intruder, tried to escape by climbing up to the top of the nest hole. She was dragged out of her retreat by the beak, after an attempt to pull her out by the tail had resulted in all her tail feathers coming away in her captor's hand!

The young green parrots have all left their nests and are flying about in noisy flocks. They may be distinguished from the adults by the short tail and comparatively soft call.

Most pairs of hoopoes are now accompanied by at least one young bird which is almost indistinguishable from the adults. The young birds receive, with squeaks of delight, the grubs or caterpillars proffered by the parents. Occasionally a pair of hoopoes may be seen going through the antics of courtship preparatory to raising a second brood.

In scrub-jungle parties of partridges, consisting of father, mother and five or six little chicks, wander about.

As the shades of night begin to fall family parties of spotted owlets issue from holes in trees or buildings. The baby birds squat on the ground in silence, while the parents make sallies into the air after flying insects which they bring to the young birds.

The peafowl and sarus cranes are indulging in the pleasures of courtship. The young cranes, that were hatched out in the monsoon of last year, are now nearly as big as their parents, and are well able to look after themselves; ere long they will be driven away and made to do so. The display of the sarus is not an elaborate process. The cock turns his back on the hen and then partially opens his wings, so that the blackish primaries droop and the grey secondary feathers are arched. In this attitude he trumpets softly.

The water-hens have already begun their uproarious courtship. Their weird calls must be heard to be appreciated. They consist of series of kok, koks followed by roars, hiccups, cackles and gurgles.

Black partridges, likewise, are very noisy throughout the month of May. Their nesting season is fast approaching.

Even as April showers in England bring forth May flowers, so does the April sunshine in India draw forth the marriage adornments of the birds that breed in the rains. The pheasant-tailed jacanas are acquiring the long tail feathers that form the wedding ornaments of both sexes.

The various species of egret and the paddy bird all assume their nuptial plumes in May.

In the case of the egret these plumes are in great demand and are known to the plumage trade as "ospreys."

The plumes in question consist of long filamentous feathers that grow from the neck of the egret and also from its breast. In most countries those who obtain these plumes wait until the birds are actually nesting before attempting to secure them, taking advantage of the fact that egrets nest in colonies and of the parental affection of the breeding birds. A few men armed with guns are able to shoot every adult member of the colony, because the egrets continue to feed their young until they are shot. As the plumes of these birds are worth nearly their weight in gold, egrets have become extinct in some parts of the world.

The export of plumage from India is unlawful, but this fact does not prevent a very large feather trade being carried on, since it is not difficult to smuggle "ospreys" out of the country.

Doubtless the existing Notification of the Government of India, prohibiting the export of plumage, has the effect of checking, to some extent, the destruction of egrets, but there is no denying the fact that many of the larger species are still shot for their plumes while breeding.

In the case of cattle-egrets (Bubulcus coromandus) the custom of shooting them when on the nest has given place to a more humane and more sensible method of obtaining their nuchal plumes. These, as we have seen, arise early in May, but the birds do not begin to nest until the end of June. The cattle-egret is gregarious; it is the large white bird that accompanies cattle in order to secure the insects put up by the grazing quadrupeds. Taking advantage of the social habits of these egrets the plume-hunters issue forth early in May and betake themselves, in parties of five or six, to the villages where the birds roost. Their apparatus consists of two nets, each some eight feet long and three broad. These are laid flat on the ground in shallow water, parallel to one another, about a yard apart. The inner side of each net is securely pegged to the ground. By an ingenious arrangement of sticks and ropes a man, taking cover at a distance of twenty or thirty yards, by giving a sharp pull at a pliable cane, can cause the outer parts of each net to spring up and meet to form an enclosure which is, in shape, not unlike a sleeping-pal tent. When the nets have been set in a pond near the trees where the cattle-egrets roost at night and rest in the day-time, two or three decoy birds—captured egrets with their eyes sewn up to prevent them struggling or trying to fly away—are tethered in the space between the two nets; these last, being laid flat under muddy water, are invisible. Sooner or later an egret in one of the trees near by, seeing some of its kind standing peacefully in the water, alights near them. Almost before it has touched the ground the cane is pulled and the egret finds itself a prisoner. One of the bird-catchers immediately runs to the net, secures the victim, opens out its wings, and, holding each of these between the big and the second toe, pulls out the nuchal plumes. This operation lasts about five seconds. The bird is then set at liberty, far more astonished than hurt. It betakes itself to its wild companions, and the net is again set. Presently another egret is caught and divested of its plumes, and the process continues all day.

The bird-catchers spend six weeks every year in obtaining cattle-egret plumes in this manner. They sell the plumes to middle-men, who dispose of them to those who smuggle them out of India.

If stuffed birds were used as decoys and the plumes of the captured birds were snipped off with scissors instead of being pulled out, the operation could be carried on without any cruelty, and, if legalised and supervised by the Government, it could be made a source of considerable revenue.



JUNE

'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun Darts on the head direct his forceful rays; O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.

* * * * *

All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath, And on my throbbing temples potent thus Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow, And still another fervent flood succeeds. Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,

* * * * *

Thrice happy he who on the sunless side Of a romantic mountain, forest crown'd Beneath the whole collected shade reclines. J. THOMSON.

With dancing feet glad peafowl greet Bright flash and rumbling cloud; Down channels steep red torrents sweep; The frogs give welcome loud;

* * * * *

No stars in skies, but lantern-flies Seem stars that float to earth. WATERFIELD, Indian Ballads.

There are two Indian Junes—the June of fiction and the June of fact. The June of fiction is divided into two equal parts—the dry half and the wet half. The former is made up of hot days, dull with dust haze, when the shade temperature may reach 118 degrees, and of oppressive nights when the air is still and stagnant and the mercury in the thermometer rarely falls below 84 degrees. Each succeeding period of four-and-twenty hours seems more disagreeable and unbearable than its predecessor, until the climax is reached about the 15th June, when large black clouds appear on the horizon and roll slowly onwards, accompanied by vivid lightning, loud peals of thunder and torrential rain. In the June of fact practically the whole month is composed of hot, dry, dusty, oppressive days; for the monsoon rarely reaches Northern India before the last week of the month and often tarries till the middle of July, or even later.

The first rain causes the temperature to fall immediately. It is no uncommon thing for the mercury in the thermometer to sink 20 degrees in a few minutes. While the rain is actually descending the weather feels refreshingly cool in contrast to the previous furnace-like heat. Small wonder then that the advent of the creative monsoon is more heartily welcomed in India than is spring in England. No sound is more pleasing to the human ear than the drumming of the first monsoon rain.

But alas! the physical relief brought by the monsoon is only temporary. The temperature rises the moment the rain ceases to fall, and the prolonged breaks in the rains that occur every year render the last state of the climate worse than the first. The air is so charged with moisture that it cannot absorb the perspiration that emanates from the bodies of the human beings condemned to existence in this humid Inferno. For weeks together we live in a vapour-bath, and to the physical discomfort of perpetual clamminess is added the irritation of prickly heat.

Moreover, the rain brings with it myriads of torments in the form of termites, beetles, stinking bugs, flies, mosquitoes and other creeping and flying things, which bite and tease and find their way into every article of food and drink. The rain also awakens from their slumbers the frogs that have hibernated and aestivated in the sun-baked beds of dried-up ditches and tanks. These awakened amphibia fill the welkin with their croakings, which take the place of the avian chorus at night. The latter ceases with dramatic abruptness with the first fall of monsoon rain. During the monsoon the silence of the night is broken only by the sound of falling raindrops, or the croaking of the frogs, the stridulation of crickets innumerable, and the owlet's feeble call. Before the coming of the monsoon the diurnal chorus of the day birds begins to flag because the nesting season for many species is drawing to a close. The magpie-robin still pours forth his splendid song, but the quality of the music in the case of many individuals is already beginning to fall off. The rollers, which are feeding their young, are far less noisy than they were at the time of courtship. The barbets and coppersmiths, although not so vociferous as formerly, cannot, even in the monsoon, be charged with hiding their lights under a bushel. Towards the end of June the chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk of Horsfield's nightjar is not often heard, but the bird continues to utter its soft churring note. The iora's cheerful calls still resound through the shady mango tope. The sunbirds, the fantail flycatchers, the orioles, the golden-backed woodpeckers, the white-breasted kingfishers and the black partridges call as lustily as ever, and the bulbuls continue to twitter to one another "stick to it!" With the first fall of rain the tunes of the paradise flycatchers and the king-crows change. The former now cry "Witty-ready wit," softly and gently, while the calls of the latter suddenly become sweet and mellow.

Speaking generally, the monsoon seems to exercise a sobering, a softening influence on the voices of the birds. The pied myna forms the one exception; he does not come into his full voice until the rains have set in.

The monsoon transfigures the earth. The brown, dry, hard countryside, with its dust-covered trees, becomes for the time being a shallow lake in which are studded emerald islets innumerable. Stimulated by the rain many trees put forth fresh crops of leaves. At the first break in the downpour the cultivators rush forth with their ploughs and oxen to prepare the soil for the autumn crops with all the speed they may.

There is much to interest the ornithologist in June.

Of the birds whose nests have been previously described the following are likely to have eggs or young: white-eyes, ioras, tailor-birds, king-crows, robins, sparrows, tree-pies, seven sisters, cuckoo-shrikes, Indian wren-warblers (second brood), sunbirds (second brood), swifts, fantail flycatchers (second brood), orioles, paradise flycatchers, grey horn-bills, and the various mynas, bulbuls, butcher-birds, doves, pigeons and lapwings. The following species have young which either are in the nest or have only recently left it: roller, hoopoe, brown rock-chat, magpie-robin, coppersmith, green barbet, nightjar, white-eyed buzzard, pipit, wire-tailed swallow, white-breasted kingfisher, grey partridge, kite, golden-backed woodpecker (second brood), and the several species of bee-eater and lark.

With June the breeding season for the blue rock and green pigeons ends. In the sal forests the young jungle-fowl have now mostly hatched out and are following the old hens, or feeding independently.

Some of the minivets are beginning to busy themselves with a second brood.

The breeding operations of a few species begin in June.

Chief of these is that arch-villain Corvus splendens—the Indian house-crow. Crows have no fine feathers, hence the cocks do not "display" before the hens. To sing they know not how. Their courtship, therefore, provides a feast for neither the eye nor the ear of man. The lack of ornaments and voice perhaps explains the fact that among crows there is no noisy love-making. Crows make a virtue of necessity. Any attempt at courtship after the style of the costermonger is resented by the whole corvine community. The only amorous display permitted in public is head-tickling. The cock and the hen perch side by side, one ruffles the feathers of the neck, the other inserts its bill between the ruffled feathers of its companion and gently tickles its neck, to the accompaniment of soft gurgles.

Crows are the most intelligent of birds. Like the other fowls of the air in which the brain is well developed, they build rough untidy nests—mere platforms placed in the fork of a branch of almost any kind of tree. The usual materials used in nest-construction are twigs, but crows do not limit themselves to these. They seem to take a positive pride in pressing into service materials of an uncommon nature. Cases are on record of nests composed entirely of spectacle-frames, wires used for the fixing of the corks of soda-water bottles, or pieces of tin discarded by tinsmiths.

Four, five or six eggs are laid; these are of a pale greenish-blue hue, speckled or flaked with sepia markings. The hen alone collects the materials for the nest, but the cock supervises her closely, following her about and criticising her proceedings as she picks up twigs and works them into the nest.

From the time of the laying of the first egg until the moment of the departure of the last young bird, one or other of the parents always mounts guard over the nest, except when they are chasing a koel. Crows are confirmed egg-lifters and chicken-stealers; they apply their standard of morality to other birds, and, in consequence, never leave their own offspring unguarded. A crow's nest at which there is no adult crow certainly contains neither eggs nor young birds.

As has already been stated, crows spend, much time in teasing and annoying other birds. Retribution overtakes them in the nesting season. The Indian koel (Eudynamis honorata) cuckolds them. The crows either are aware of this or have an instinctive dislike to this cuckoo. The sight of the koel affects a crow in much the same way as a red cloth irritates a bull. One of these cuckoos has but to perch in a tree that contains a crow's nest and begin calling in order to make both the owners of the nest attack him. The koel takes full advantage of this fact. The cock approaches the nest and begins uttering his fluty kuil, kuil. The crows forthwith dash savagely at him. He flies off pursued by them. He can easily outdistance his pursuers, but is content to keep a lead of a few feet, crying pip-pip or kuil-kuil, and thus he lures the parent crows to some distance. No sooner are their backs turned than the hen koel slips quietly into the nest and deposits an egg in it. If she have time she carries off or throws out one or more of the legitimate eggs. When the crows return to the nest, having failed to catch the cock koel, they do not appear to notice the trick played upon them, although the koel's egg is smaller than theirs and of an olive-green colour. Through the greater part of June and July the koels keep the crows busy chasing them. Something approaching pandemonium reigns in the neighbourhood of a colony of nesting crows: from dawn till nightfall the shrieks and yells of the koels mingle with the harsh notes of the crows.

Sometimes the crows return from the chase of the cock koel before the hen is ready, and surprise her in the nest; then they attack her. She flees in terror, and is followed by the corvi. Her screams when being thus pursued are loud enough to awaken the Seven Sleepers. She has cause for alarm, for, if the raging crows catch her, they will assuredly kill her. Such a tragedy does sometimes occur.

Not infrequently it happens that more than one koel's egg is laid in a crow's nest.

The incubation period of the egg of the koel is shorter than that of the crow, the consequence is that when, as usually happens, there is one of the former and several of the latter in a nest, the young koel is invariably the first to emerge. It does not attempt to eject from the nest either the legitimate eggs or the young crows when they appear on the scene. Indeed, it lives on excellent terms with its foster brethren. But to say this is to anticipate, for as a rule, neither young koels nor baby crows hatch out until July.

The crow-pheasants (Centropus sinensis), which are cuckoos that do not lead a parasitic existence, are now busy with nursery duties. The nest of the crow-pheasant or coucal is a massive structure, globular in shape, with the entrance at one side. Large as the nest is, it is not often discovered by the naturalist because it is almost invariably situated in the midst of an impenetrable thicket. Three or four pure-white eggs are laid.

The white-necked storks or beef-steak birds (Dissura episcopus) are busy at their nests in June. These birds build in large trees, usually at a distance from water. The nest is rudely constructed of twigs. It is about one and a half feet in diameter. The eggs are placed in a depression lined with straw, grass or feathers. White-necked storks often begin nest-building about the middle of May, but eggs are rarely laid earlier than the second week of June. House-crows nest at the same time of year, and they often worry the storks considerably by their impudent attempts to commit larceny of building material.

The breeding season of the paddy-birds has now fairly begun. These birds, usually so solitary in habit, often nest in small colonies, sometimes in company with night-herons. The nest is a slender platform of sticks placed high up in a tree, often in the vicinity of human habitations. Nesting paddy-birds, or pond-herons as they are frequently called, utter all manner of weird calls, the one most frequently heard being a curious gurgle.

Some of the amadavats build nests in June, but the great majority breed during the winter months.

As soon as the first rains have fallen a few of the pheasant-tailed jacanas begin nesting operations, but the greater number breed in August; for this reason their nests are described in the calendar for that month.

In June a very striking bird makes its appearance in Northern India. This is the pied crested cuckoo (Coccystes jacobinus). Its under parts are white, as is a bar in the wing. The remainder of the plumage is glossy black. The head is adorned by an elegant crest. The pied cuckoo has a peculiar metallic call, which is as easy to recognise as it is difficult to describe. The bird victimises, not crows, but babblers; nevertheless the corvi seem to dislike it as intensely as they dislike koels.

By the beginning of the month the great majority of the cock bayas or weaver-birds have assumed their black-and-golden wedding garment; nevertheless they do not as a rule begin to nest before July.

The curious excrescence on the bill of the drake nukta or comb-duck is now much enlarged. This betokens the approach of the nesting season for that species.

If the monsoon happen to burst early many of the birds which breed in the rains begin building their nests towards the end of June, but, in nine years out of ten, July marks the beginning of the breeding period of aquatic birds, therefore the account of their nests properly finds place in the calendar of that month, or of August, when the season is at its height.



JULY

Alas! creative nature calls to light Myriads of winged forms in sportive flight, When gathered clouds with ceaseless fury pour A constant deluge in the rushing shower. Calcutta: A Poem.

In July India becomes a theatre in which Nature stages a mighty transformation scene. The prospect changes with kaleidoscopic rapidity. The green water-logged earth is for a time overhung by dull leaden clouds; this sombre picture melts away into one, even more dismal, in which the rain pours down in torrents, enveloping everything in mist and moisture. Suddenly the sun blazes forth with indescribable brilliance and shines through an atmosphere, clear as crystal, from which every particle of dust has been washed away. Fleecy clouds sail majestically across the vaulted firmament. Then follows a gorgeous sunset in which changing colours run riot through sky and clouds—pearly grey, jet black, dark dun, pale lavender, deep mauve, rich carmine, and brightest gold. These colours fade away into the darkness of the night; the stars then peep forth and twinkle brightly. At the approach of "rosy-fingered" dawn their lights go out, one by one. Then blue tints appear in the firmament which deepen into azure. The glory of the ultramarine sky does not remain long without alloy: clouds soon appear. So the scene ever changes, hour by hour and day by day. Had the human being who passes July in the plains but one window to the soul and that the eye, the month would be one of pure joy, a month spent in the contemplation of splendid dawns, brilliant days, the rich green mantle of the earth, the majesty of approaching thunderclouds, and superb sunsets. But, alas, July is not a month of unalloyed pleasure. The temperature is tolerably low while the rain is actually falling; but the moment this ceases the European is subjected to the acute physical discomforts engendered by the hot, steamy, oppressive atmosphere, the ferocity of the sun's rays, and the teasing of thousands of biting and buzzing insects which the monsoon calls into being. Termites, crickets, red-bugs, stink-bugs, horseflies, mosquitoes, beetles and diptera of all shapes and sizes arise in millions as if spontaneously generated. Many of these are creatures of the night. Although born in darkness all seem to strive after light. Myriads of them collect round every burning lamp in the open air, to the great annoyance of the human being who attempts to read out of doors after dark. The spotted owlets, the toads and the lizards, however, take a different view of the invasion and partake eagerly of the rich feast provided for them. Notwithstanding the existence of chiks, or gauze doors, the hexapods crowd into the lighted bungalow, where every illumination soon becomes the centre of a collection of the bodies of the insects that have been burned by the flame, or scorched by the lamp chimney. Well is it for the rest of creation that most of these insects are short-lived. The span of life of many is but a day: were it much longer human beings could hardly manage to exist during the rains. Equally unbearable would life be were all the species of monsoon insects to come into being simultaneously. Fortunately they appear in relays. Every day some new forms enter on the stage of life and several make their exit. The pageant of insect life, then, is an ever-changing one. To-day one species predominates, to-morrow another, and the day after a third. Unpleasant and irritating though these insect hosts be to human beings, some pleasure is to be derived from watching them. Especially is this the case when the termites or white-ants swarm. In the damp parts of Lower Bengal these creatures may emerge at any time of the year. In Calcutta they swarm either towards the close of the rainy season or in spring after an exceptionally heavy thunderstorm. In Madras they emerge from their hiding-places in October with the northeast monsoon. In the United Provinces the winged termites appear after the first fall of the monsoon rain in June or July as the case may be. These succulent creatures provide a feast for the birds which is only equalled by that furnished by a flight of locusts. In the case of the termites it is not only the birds that partake. The ever-vigilant crows are of course the first to notice a swarm of termites, and they lose no time in setting to work. The kites are not far behind them. These great birds sail on the outskirts of the flight, seizing individuals with their claws and transferring them to the beak while on the wing. A few king-crows and bee-eaters join them. On the ground below magpie-robins, babblers, toads, lizards, musk-rats and other terrestrial creatures make merry. If the swarm comes out at dusk, as often happens, bats and spotted owlets join those of the gourmands that are feasting while on the wing.

The earth is now green and sweet. The sugar-cane grows apace. The rice, the various millets and the other autumn crops are being sown. The cultivators take full advantage of every break in the rains to conduct agricultural operations.

As we have seen, the nocturnal chorus of the birds is now replaced by the croaking of frogs and the stridulation of crickets. In the day-time the birds still have plenty to say for themselves. The brain-fever birds scream as lustily as they did in May and June. The koel is, if possible, more vociferous than ever, especially at the beginning of the month. The Indian cuckoo does not call so frequently as formerly, but, by way of compensation, the pied crested cuckoo uplifts his voice at short intervals.

The whoot, whoot, whoot of the crow-pheasant booms from almost every thicket. The iora, the coppersmith, the barbet, the golden-backed woodpecker, and the white-breasted kingfisher continue to call merrily. The pied starlings are in full voice; their notes form a very pleasing addition to the avian chorus. Those magpie-robins that have not brought nesting operations to a close are singing vigorously. The king-crows are feeding their young ones in the greenwood tree, and crooning softly to them pitchu-wee. At the jhils the various waterfowl are nesting and each one proclaims the fact by its allotted call. Much strange music emanates from the well-filled tank; the indescribable cries of the purple coots, the curious "fixed bayonets" of the cotton teal and the weird cat-like mews of the jacanas form the dominant notes of the aquatic symphony.

In July the black-breasted or rain-quail (Coturnix coromandelica) is plentiful in India. Much remains to be discovered regarding the movements of this species. It appears to migrate to Bengal, the United Provinces, the Punjab and Sind shortly before the monsoon bursts, but it is said to arrive in Nepal as early as April. It would seem to winter in South India. It is a smaller bird than the ordinary grey quail and has no pale cross-bars on the primary wing feathers. The males of this species are held in high esteem by Indians as fighting birds. Large numbers of them are netted in the same way as the grey quail. Some captive birds are set down in a covered cage by a sugar-cane field in the evening. Their calls attract a number of wild birds, which settle down in the sugar-cane in order to spend the day there. At dawn a net is quietly stretched across one end of the field. A rope is then slowly dragged along over the growing crop in the direction of the net. This sends all the quail into the net.

Very fair sport may be obtained in July by shooting rain-quail that have been attracted by call birds.

July marks the end of one breeding season and the beginning of another. As regards the nesting season, birds fall into four classes. There is the very large class that nests in spring and summer. Next in importance is the not inconsiderable body that rears up its broods in the rains when the food supply is most abundant. Then comes the small company that builds nests in the pleasant winter time. Lastly there are the perennials—such birds as the sparrow and the dove, which nest at all seasons. In the present month the last of the summer nesting birds close operations for the year, and the monsoon birds begin to lay their eggs. July is therefore a favourable month for bird-nesting. Moreover, the sun is sometimes obscured by cloud and, under such conditions, a human being is able to remain out of doors throughout the day without suffering much physical discomfort.

With July ends the normal breeding season of the tree-pies, white-eyes, ioras; king-crows, bank-mynas, paradise flycatchers, brown rock-chats, Indian robins, dhayals, red-winged bush-larks, sunbirds, rollers, swifts, green pigeons, lapwings and butcher-birds.

The paradise flycatchers leave Northern India and migrate southwards a few weeks after the young birds have left the nest.

Numbers of bulbuls' nests are likely to be found in July, but the breeding time of these birds is rapidly drawing to its close. Sparrows and doves are of course engaged in parental duties; their eggs have been taken in every month of the year.

The nesting season is now at its height for the white-necked storks, the koels and their dupes—the house-crows, also for the various babblers and their deceivers—the brain-fever birds and the pied crested cuckoos. The tailor-birds, the ashy and the Indian wren-warblers, the brahminy mynas, the wire-tailed swallows, the amadavats, the sirkeer cuckoos, the pea-fowl, the water-hens, the common and the pied mynas, the cuckoo-shrikes and the orioles are all fully occupied with nursery duties. The earliest of the brain-fever birds to be hatched have left the nest. Like all its family the young hawk-cuckoo has a healthy appetite. In order to satisfy it the unfortunate foster-parents have to work like slaves, and often must they wonder why nature has given them so voracious a child. When it sees a babbler approaching with food, the cuckoo cries out and flaps its wings vigorously. Sometimes these completely envelop the parent bird while it is thrusting food into the yellow mouth of the cuckoo. The breast of the newly-fledged brain-fever bird is covered with dark brown drops, so that, when seen from below, it looks like a thrush with yellow legs. Its cries, however, are not at all thrushlike.

Many of the wire-tailed swallows, minivets and white-browed fantail flycatchers bring up a second brood during the rains. The loud cheerful call of the last is heard very frequently in July.

Numbers of young bee-eaters are to be seen hawking at insects; they are distinguishable from adults by the dullness of the plumage and the fact that the median tail feathers are not prolonged as bristles.

Very few crows emerge from the egg before the 1st of July, but, during the last week in June, numbers of baby koels are hatched out. The period of incubation for the koel's egg is shorter than that of the crow, hence at the outset the baby koel steals a march on his foster-brothers. Koel nestlings, when they first emerge from the egg, differ greatly in appearance from baby crows. The skin of the koel is black, that of crow is pink for the first two days of its existence, but it grows darker rapidly. The baby crow is the bigger bird and has a larger mouth with fleshy sides. The sides of the mouth of the young koel are not fleshy. The neck of the crow nestling is long and the head hangs down, whereas the koel's neck is short and the bird carries its head huddled in its shoulders. Crows nest high up in trees, these facts are therefore best observed by sending up an expert climber with a tin half-full of sawdust to which a long string is attached. The climber lets down the eggs or nestlings in the tin and the observer can examine them in comfort on terra firma. The parent crows do not appear to notice how unlike the young koels are to their own nestlings, for they feed them most assiduously and make a great uproar when the koels are taken from the nest. Baby crows are noisy creatures; koels are quiet and timid at first, but become noisier as they grow older.

The feathers of crow nestlings are black in each sex. Young koels fall into three classes: those of which the feathers are all black, those of which a few feathers have white or reddish tips, those which are speckled black and white all over because each feather has a white tip. The two former appear to be young cocks and the last to be hens. Baby koels, in addition to hatching out before their foster-brethren, develop more quickly, so that they leave the nest fully a week in advance of the young corvi. After vacating the nest they squat for some days on a branch close by; numbers of them are to be seen thus in suitable localities towards the end of July. At first the call of the koel is a squeak, but later it takes the form of a creditable, if ludicrous, attempt at a caw. The young cuckoo does not seem to be able to distinguish its foster-parents from other crows; it clamours for food whenever any crow comes near it.

Of the scenes characteristic of the rains in India none is more pleasing than that presented by a colony of nest-building bayas or weaver-birds (Ploceus baya). These birds build in company. Sometimes more than twenty of their wonderful retort-like nests are to be seen in one tree. This means that more than forty birds are at work, and, as each of these indulges in much cheerful twittering, the tree in question presents an animated scene. Both sexes take part in nest-construction.

Having selected the branch of a tree from which the nest will hang, the birds proceed to collect material. Each completed nest contains many yards of fibre not much thicker than stout thread. Such material is not found in quantity in nature. The bayas have, therefore, to manufacture it. This is easily done. The building weaver-bird betakes itself to a clump of elephant-grass, and, perching on one of the blades, makes a notch in another near the base. Then, grasping with its beak the edge of this blade above the notch, the baya flies away and thus strips off a narrow strand. Sometimes the strand adheres to the main part of the blade at the tip so firmly that the force of the flying baya is not sufficient to sever it. The bird then swings for a few seconds in mid-air, suspended by the strip of leaf. Not in the least daunted the baya makes a fresh effort and flies off, still gripping the strand firmly. At the third, if not at the second attempt, the thin strip is completely severed. Having secured its prize the weaver-bird proceeds to tear off one or two more strands and then flies with these in its bill to the nesting site, uttering cries of delight. The fibres obtained in this manner are bound round the branch from which the nest will hang. More strands are added to form a stalk; when this has attained a length of several inches it is gradually expanded in the form of an umbrella or bell. The next step is to weave a band of grass across the mouth of the bell. In this condition the nest is often left unfinished. Indians call such incomplete nests jhulas or swings; they assert that these are made in order that the cocks may sit in them and sing to their mates while these are incubating the eggs. It may be, as "Eha" suggests, that at this stage the birds are dissatisfied with the balance of the nest and for this reason leave it. If the nest, at this point of its construction, please the weaver-birds they proceed to finish it by closing up the bell at one side of the cross-band to form a receptacle for the eggs, and prolonging the other half of the bell into a long tunnel or neck. This neck forms the entrance to the nest; towards its extremity it becomes very flimsy so that it affords no foothold to an enemy. Nearly every baya's nest contains some lumps of clay attached to it. Jerdon was of opinion that the function of these is to balance the nest properly. Indians state that the bird sticks fireflies into the lumps of clay to light up the nest at night. This story has found its way into some ornithological text-books. There is no truth in it. The present writer is inclined to think that the object of these lumps of clay is to prevent the light loofah-like nest swinging too violently in a gale of wind.

Both sexes take part in nest-construction. After the formation of the cross-bar at the mouth of the bell one of the birds sits inside and the other outside, and they pass the strands to each other and thus the weaving proceeds rapidly. While working at the nest the bayas, more especially the cocks, are in a most excited state. They sing, scream, flap their wings and snap the bill. Sometimes one cock in his excitement attacks a neighbour by jumping on his back! This results in a fight in which the birds flutter in the air, pecking at one another. Often the combatants "close" for a few seconds, but neither bird seems to get hurt in these little contests.

Every bird-lover should make a point of watching a company of weaver-birds while these are constructing their nests. The tree or trees in which they build can easily be located by sending a servant in July to search for them. The favourite sites for nests in the United Provinces seem to be babul trees that grow near borrow pits alongside the railroad.

In the rainy season two other birds weave nests, which are nearly as elegant as those woven by the baya. These birds, however, do not nest in company. They usually build inside bushes, or in long grass.

For this reason they do not lend themselves to observation while at work so readily as bayas do. The birds in question are the Indian and the ashy wren-warbler.

The former species brings up two broods in the year. One, as has been mentioned, in March and the other in the "rains."

The nest of the Indian wren-warbler (Prinia inornata) is, except for its shape and its smaller size, very like that of a weaver-bird. It is an elongated purse or pocket, closely and compactly woven with fine strips of grass from 1/40 to 1/20 inch in breadth. The nest is entered by a hole near the top. Both birds work at the nest, clinging first to the neighbouring stems of grass or twigs, and later to the nest itself when this has attained sufficient dimensions to afford them foothold. They push the ends of the grass in and out just as weaver-birds do. Like the baya, the Indian wren-warbler does not line its nest. The eggs are pale greenish-blue, richly marked by various shades of deep chocolate and reddish-brown. As Hume remarks: "nothing can exceed the beauty or variety of markings, which are a combination of bold blotches, clouds and spots, with delicate, intricately woven lines, recalling somewhat ... those of our early favourite—the yellow-hammer."

The ashy wren-warbler (Prinia socialis) builds two distinct kinds of nest. One is just like that of the tailor-bird, being formed by sewing or cobbling together two, three, four or five leaves, and lining the cup thus formed with down, wool, cotton or other soft material. The second kind of nest is a woven one. This is a hollow ball with a hole in the side. The weaving is not so neat as that of the baya and the Indian wren-warbler. Moreover, several kinds of material are usually worked into the nest, which is invariably lined.

The building of two totally different types of nest is an interesting phenomenon, and seems to indicate that under the name Prinia socialis are classed two different species, which anatomically are so like one another that systematists are unable to separate them. Both kinds of nests are found in the same locality and at the same time of the year. Against the theory that there are two species of ashy wren-warbler is the fact that there is no difference in appearance between the eggs found in the two kinds of nest. All eggs are brick-red or mahogany colour, without any spots or markings.

Many of the Indian cliff-swallows, of which the nests are described in the calendar for March, bring up a second brood in the "rains."

Needless to state that in the monsoon the tank and the jhil are the happy hunting grounds of the ornithologist.

In July and August not less than thirty species of waterfowl nidificate. Floating nests are constructed by sarus cranes, purple coots and the jacanas. The various species of egrets breed in colonies in trees in some village not far from a tank; in company with them spoonbills, cormorants, snake-birds, night-herons and other birds often nest. The white-breasted waterhen constructs its nursery in a thicket at the margin of some village pond. The resident ducks are also busy with their nests. These are in branches of trees, in holes in trees or old buildings, or on the ground.

When describing the nesting operations of waterfowl in Northern India it is difficult to apportion these between July and August, for the eggs of almost all such species are as likely to be found in the one month as in the other. A few individuals begin to lay in June, the majority commence in July, but a great many defer operations until August. There is scarcely an aquatic species of which it can be said: "It never lays before August." Nor are there many of which it can be asserted: "Their eggs are never found after July."

Individuals differ in their habit. A retarded monsoon means that the water-birds begin to nest later than usual. The first fall of the monsoon rain seems to be the signal for the commencement of nesting operations, but by no means every pair of birds obeys the signal immediately.

The nearest approach to a generalisation which it is possible to make is that the egrets and paddy-birds are usually the first of the monsoon breeders to begin nest-building, while the spot-billed duck, the whistling teal and the bronze-winged jacana are the last. In other words, the eggs of the former are most likely to be found in July and those of the latter in August.

As the calendar for this month has already attained considerable dimensions, a description of the nests of all these water-birds is given in the August calendar. It is, however, necessary to state that the eggs of the following birds are likely to be found in July: purple coot, common coot, bronze-winged and pheasant-tailed jacana, black ibis, white-necked stork, cormorant, snake-bird, cotton teal, comb duck, spot-billed duck, spoonbill, and the various herons and egrets.



AUGUST

See! the flushed horizon flames intense With vivid red, in rich profusion streamed O'er heaven's pure arch. At once the clouds assume Their gayest liveries; these with silvery beams Fringed lovely; splendid those in liquid gold, And speak their sovereign's state. He comes, behold! MALLET.

The transformation scene described in July continues throughout August. Torrential rain alternates with fierce sunshine. The earth is verdant with all shades of green. Most conspicuous of these are the yellowish verdure of the newly-transplanted rice, the vivid emerald of the young plants that have taken root, the deeper hue of the growing sugar-cane, and the dark green of the mango topes.

Unless the monsoon has been unusually late in reaching Northern India the autumn crops are all sown before the first week in August. The sugar-cane is now over five feet in height. The cultivators are busily transplanting the better kinds of rice, or running the plough through fields in which the coarser varieties are growing.

The aloes are in flower. Their white spikes of drooping tulip-like flowers are almost the only inflorescences to be seen outside gardens at this season of the year. The mango crop is over, but that of the pineapples takes its place.

At night-time many of the trees are illumined by hundreds of fireflies. These do not burn their lamps continuously. Each insect lets its light shine for a few seconds and then suddenly puts it out. It sometimes happens that all the fireflies in a tree show their lights and extinguish them simultaneously and thereby produce a luminous display which is strikingly beautiful. Fireflies are to be seen during the greater part of the year, but they are far more abundant in the "rains" than at any other season.

As in July so in August the voices of the birds are rarely heard after dark. The nocturnal music is now the product of the batrachian band, ably seconded by the crickets.

During a prolonged break in the rains the frogs and toads are hushed, except in jhils and low-lying paddy fields. Cessation of the rain, however, does not silence the crickets.

The first streak of dawn is the signal for the striking up of the jungle and the spotted owlets. Hard upon them follow the koels and the brain-fever birds. These call only for a short time, remaining silent during the greater part of the day. Other birds that lift up their voices at early dawn are the crow-pheasant, the black partridge and the peacock. These also call towards dusk. As soon as the sun has risen the green barbets, coppersmiths, white-breasted kingfishers and king-crows utter their familiar notes; even these birds are heard but rarely in the middle of the day, nor have their voices the vigour that characterised them in the hot weather. Occasionally the brown rock-chat emits a few notes, but he does so in a half-hearted manner. In the early days of August the magpie-robins sing at times; their song, however, is no longer the brilliant performance it was. By the end of the month it has completely died away.

The Indian cuckoo no more raises its voice in the plains, but the pied crested-cuckoo continues to call lustily and the pied starlings make a joyful noise. The oriole's liquid pee-ho is gradually replaced by the loud tew, which is its usual cry at times when it is not nesting.

The water-birds, being busy at their nests, are of course noisy, but, with the exception of the loud trumpeting of the sarus cranes, their vocal efforts are heard only at the jhil.

The did-he-do-its, the rollers, the bee-eaters, two or three species of warblers and the perennial singers complete the avian chorus.

Numbers of rosy starlings are returning from Asia Minor, where they have reared up their broods. The inrush of these birds begins in July and continues till October. They are the forerunners of the autumn immigrants. Towards the end of the month the garganey or blue-winged teal (Querquedula circia), which are the earliest of the migratory ducks to visit India, appear on the tanks. Along with them comes the advance-guard of the snipe. The pintail snipe (Gallinago stenura) are invariably the first to appear, but they visit only the eastern parts of Northern India. Large numbers of them sojourn in Bengal and Assam. Stragglers appear in the eastern portion of the United Provinces; in the western districts and in the Punjab this snipe is a rara avis. By the third week in August good bags of pintail snipe are sometimes obtained in Bengal. The fantail or full-snipe (G. coelestis) is at least one week later in arriving. This species has been shot as early as the 24th August, but there is no general immigration of even the advance-guard until quite the end of the month.

The jack-snipe (G. gallinula) seems never to appear before September.

Most of the monsoon broods of the Indian cliff-swallow emerge from the eggs in August. The "rains" breeding season of the amadavats or red munias is now over, and the bird-catcher issues forth to snare them.

His stock-in-trade consists of some seed and two or three amadavats in one of the pyramid-shaped wicker cages that can be purchased for a few annas in any bazaar. To the base of one of the sides of the cage a flap is attached by a hinge. The flap, which is of the same shape and size as the side of the cage, is composed of a frame over which a small-meshed string net is stretched. A long string is fastened to the apex of the flap and passed through a loop at the top of the cage. Selecting an open space near some tall grass in which amadavats are feeding, the bird-catcher sets down the cage and loosens the string so that the flap rests on the earth. Some seed is sprinkled on the flap. Then the trapper squats behind a bush, holding the end of the string in his hand. The cheerful little lals inside the cage soon begin to twitter and sing, and their calls attract the wild amadavats in the vicinity. These come to the cage, alight on the flap, and begin to eat the seed. The bird-catcher gives the string a sharp pull and thus traps his victims between the flap and the side of the cage. He then disentangles them, places them in the cage, and again sets the trap.

Almost all the birds that rear up their young in the spring have finished nesting duties for the year by August. Here and there a pair of belated rollers may be seen feeding their young. Before the beginning of the month nearly all the young crows and koels have emerged from the egg, and the great majority of them have left the nest. Young house-crows are distinguished from adults by the indistinctness of the grey on the neck. They continually open their great red mouths to clamour for food.

The wire-tailed swallows, swifts, pied crested-cuckoos, crow-pheasants, butcher-birds, cuckoo-shrikes, fantail flycatchers, babblers, white-necked storks, wren-warblers, weaver-birds, common and pied mynas, peafowl, and almost all the resident water-birds, waders and swimmers, except the terns and the plovers, are likely to have eggs or young. The nesting season of the swifts and butcher-birds is nearly over. In the case of the others it is at its height. The wire-tailed swallows and minivets are busy with their second broods. The nests of most of these birds have already been described.

The Indian peafowl (Pavo cristatus) usually lay their large white eggs on the ground in long grass or thick undergrowth. Sometimes they nestle on the grass-grown roofs of deserted buildings or in other elevated situations. Egrets, night-herons, cormorants, darters, paddy-birds, openbills, and spoonbills build stick nests in trees. These birds often breed in large colonies. In most cases the site chosen is a clump of trees in a village which is situated on the border of a tank. Sometimes all these species nest in company. Hume described a village in Mainpuri where scores of the above-mentioned birds, together with some whistling teal and comb-ducks, nested simultaneously. After a site has been selected by a colony the birds return year after year to the place for nesting purposes. The majority of the eggs are laid in July, the young appearing towards the end of that month or early in the present one.

The nest of the sarus crane (Grus antigone) is nearly always an islet some four feet in diameter, which either floats in shallow water or rises from the ground and projects about a foot above the level of the water. The nest is composed of dried rushes. It may be placed in a jhil, a paddy field, or a borrow pit by the railway line. A favourite place is the midst of paddy cultivation in some low-lying field where the water is too deep to admit of the growing of rice. Two very large white eggs, rarely three, are laid. This species makes no attempt to conceal its nest. In the course of a railway journey in August numbers of incubating saruses may be seen by any person who takes the trouble to look for them.

"Raoul" makes the extraordinary statement that incubating sarus cranes do not sit when incubating, but hatch the eggs by standing over them, one leg on each side of the nest! Needless to say there is no truth whatever in this statement. The legs of the sitting sarus crane are folded under it, as are those of incubating flamingos and other long-legged birds.

Throughout the month of August two of the most interesting birds in India are busy with their nests. They are the pheasant-tailed and the bronze-winged jacana. These birds live, move and have their being on the surface of lotus-covered tanks. Owing to the great length of their toes jacanas are able to run about with ease over the surface of the floating leaves of water-lilies and other aquatic plants, or over tangled masses of rushes and water-weeds.

In the monsoon many tanks are so completely covered with vegetation that almost the only water visible to a person standing on the bank consists of the numerous drops that have been thrown on to the flat surfaces of the leaves, where they glisten in the sun like pearls.

Two species of jacana occur in India: the bronze-winged (Motopus indicus) and the pheasant-tailed jacana or the water-pheasant (Hydrophasianus chirurgus). They are to be found on most tanks in the well-watered parts of the United Provinces. They occur in small flocks and are often put up by sportsmen when shooting duck. They emit weird mewing cries. The bronze-winged jacana is a black bird with bronze wings. It is about the size of a pigeon, but has much longer legs. The pheasant-tailed species is a black-and-white bird. In winter the tail is short, but in May both sexes grow long pheasant-like caudal feathers which give the bird its popular name. The bronze-winged jacana does not grow these long tail feathers.

The nests of jacanas are truly wonderful structures. They are just floating pads of rushes and leaves of aquatic plants. Sometimes practically the whole of the pad is under water, so that the eggs appear to be resting on the surface of the tank. The nest of the bronze-winged species is usually larger and more massive than that of the water-pheasant. The latter's nest is sometimes so small as hardly to be able to contain the eggs—a little, shallow, circular cup of rushes and water-weeds or floating lotus leaves or tufts of water-grass. The eggs of the two species show but little similarity. Both, however, are very beautiful and remarkable. The eggs of the bronze-winged jacana have a rich brownish-bronze background, on which black lines are scribbled in inextricable confusion, so that the egg looks as though Arabic texts had been scrawled over it. This species might well be called "the Arabic writing-master." The eggs of the water-pheasant are in shape like pegtops without the peg. They are of a dark rich green-bronze colour, and devoid of any markings.

The nest of the handsome, but noisy, purple coot (Porphyrio poliocephalus) is a platform of rushes and reeds which is sometimes placed on the ground in a rice field, but is more often floating, and is then tethered to a tree or some other object. From six to ten eggs are laid. These are very beautiful objects. The ground colour is delicate pink. This is spotted and blotched with crimson; beneath these spots there are clouds of pale purple which have the appearance of lying beneath the surface of the shell.

The white-breasted water-hen (Gallinula phoenicura) is a bird that must be familiar to all. One pair, at least, is to be found in every village which boasts of a tank and a bamboo clump, no matter how small these be. The water-hen is a black bird about the size of the average bazaar fowl, with a white face, throat and breast. It carries its short tail almost erect, and under this is a patch of brick-red feathers. During most seasons of the year it is a silent bird, but from mid-May until the end of the monsoon it is exceedingly noisy, and, were it in the habit of haunting our gardens and compounds, its cries would attract as much attention as do those of the koel and the brain-fever bird. As, however, water-hens are confined to tiny hamlets situated far away from cities, many people are not acquainted with their calls, which "Eha" describes as "roars, hiccups and cackles." The nest is built in a bamboo clump or other dense thicket. The eggs are stone-coloured, with spots of brown, red and purple. The young birds, when first hatched, are covered with black down, and look like little black ducklings. They can run, swim and dive as soon as they leave the egg. Little parties of them are to be seen at the edge of most village tanks in August.

The resident ducks are all busy with their nests. The majority of them lay their eggs in July, so that in August they are occupied with their young.

The cotton-teal (Nettopus coromandelianus) usually lays its eggs in a hole in a mango or other tree. The hollow is sometimes lined with feathers and twigs. It is not very high up as a rule, from six to twelve feet above the ground being the usual level. The tree selected for the nesting site is not necessarily close to water. Thirteen or fourteen eggs seem to be the usual clutch, but as many as twenty-two have been taken from one nest. Young teal, when they emerge from the egg, can swim and walk, but they are unable to fly. No European seems to have actually observed the process whereby they get from the nest to the ground or the water. It is generally believed that the parent birds carry them. Mr. Stuart Baker writes that a very intelligent native once told him that, early one morning, before it was light, he was fishing in a tank, when he saw a bird flutter heavily into the water from a tree in front of him and some twenty paces distant. The bird returned to the tree, and again, with much beating of the wings, fluttered down to the surface of the tank; this performance was repeated again and again at intervals of some minutes. At first the native could only make out that the cause of the commotion was a bird of some kind, but after a few minutes, he, remaining crouched among the reeds and bushes, saw distinctly that it was a cotton-teal, and that each time it flopped into the water and rose again it left a gosling behind it. The young ones were carried somehow in the feet, but the parent bird seemed to find the carriage of its offspring no easy matter; it flew with difficulty, and fell into the water with considerable force.

August is the month in which some fortunate observer will one year be able to confirm or refute this story.

The comb-duck or nukta (Sarcidiornis melanotus), which looks more like a freak of some domesticated breed than one of nature's own creatures, makes, in July or August, a nest of grass and sticks in a hole in a tree or in the fork of a stout branch. Sometimes disused nests of other species are utilised. About a dozen eggs is the usual number of the clutch, but Anderson once found a nest containing no fewer than forty eggs.

The lesser whistling-teal (Dendrocygna javanica) usually builds its nest in a hollow in a tree. Sometimes it makes use of the deserted nursery of another species, and there are many cases on record of the nest being on the ground, a bund, or a piece of high ground in a jhil. Eight or ten eggs are laid.

The little grebe or dabchick (Podiceps albipennis) is another species that lays in July or August. This bird, which looks like a miniature greyish-brown duck without a tail, must be familiar to Anglo-Indians, since at least one pair are to be seen on almost every pond or tank in Northern India. Although permanent residents in this country, little grebes leave, in the "rains," those tanks that do not afford plenty of cover, and betake themselves to a jhil where vegetation is luxuriant. The nest, like that of other species that build floating cradles, is a tangle of weeds and rushes. When the incubating bird leaves the nest she invariably covers the white eggs with wet weeds, and, as Hume remarks, it is almost impossible to catch the old bird on the nest or to take her so much by surprise as not to allow her time to cover up the eggs. As a matter of fact, these birds spend very little time upon the nest in the day-time. The sun's rays are powerful enough not only to supply the heat necessary for incubation but to bake the eggs. This contretemps, however, is avoided by placing wet weeds on the eggs and by the general moisture of the nest. No better idea of the heat of India during the monsoon can be furnished than that afforded by the case of some cattle-egrets' eggs taken by a friend of the writer's in August, 1913. He found a clutch of four eggs; not having leisure at the time to blow them, he placed them in a bowl on the drawing-room mantelshelf. On the evening of the following day he heard some squeaks, but, thinking that these sounds emanated from a musk-rat or one of the other numerous rent-free tenants of every Indian bungalow, paid little heed to them. When, however, the same sounds were heard some hours later and appeared to emanate from the mantelpiece, he went to the bowl, and, lo and behold, two young egrets had emerged! These were at once fed. They lived for three days and appeared to be in good health, when they suddenly gave up the ghost.



SEPTEMBER

And sweet it is by lonely meres To sit, with heart and soul awake, Where water-lilies lie afloat, Each anchored like a fairy boat Amid some fabled elfin lake: To see the birds flit to and fro Along the dark-green reedy edge. MARY HOWITT.

September is a much-abused month. Many people assert that it is the most unpleasant and unhealthy season of the year.

Malarial and muggy though it is, September scarcely merits all the evil epithets that are applied to it. The truth is that, after the torrid days of the hot weather and the humid heat of the rainy season, the European is thoroughly weary of his tropical surroundings, his vitality is at a low ebb, he is languid and irritable, thus he complains bitterly of the climate of September, notwithstanding the fact that it is a distinct improvement on that of the two preceding months.

In the early part of the month the weather differs little from that of July and August. The days are somewhat shorter and the sun's rays somewhat less powerful, in consequence the average temperature is slightly lower. Normally the rains cease in the second half of the month. Then the sky resumes the fleckless blueness which characterises it during the greater part of the year. The blue of the sky is more pure and more intense in September than at other times, except during breaks in the monsoon, because the rain has washed from the atmosphere the myriads of specks of dust that are usually suspended in it.

The cessation of the rains is followed by a period of steamy heat. As the moisture of the air gradually diminishes the temperature rises. But each September day is shorter than the one before it, and, hour by hour, the rays of the sun part with some of their power. Towards the end of the month the nights are cooler than they have been for some time. At sunset the village smoke begins to hang low in a diaphanous cloud—a sure sign of the approaching cold weather. The night dews are heavy. In the morning the blades of grass and the webs of the spiders are bespangled with pearly dewdrops. Cool zephyrs greet the rising sun. At dawn there is, in the last days of the month, a touch of cold in the air.

The Indian countryside displays a greenness which is almost spring-like; not quite spring-like, because the fierce greens induced by the monsoon rains are not of the same hues as those of the young leaves of spring. The foliage is almost entirely free from dust. This fact adds to the vernal appearance of the landscape. The jhils and tanks are filled with water, and, being overgrown with luxuriant vegetation, enhance the beauty of the scene. But, almost immediately after the cessation of the rains, the country begins to assume its usual look. Day by day the grass loses a little of its greenness. The earth dries up gradually, and its surface once more becomes dusty. The dust is carried to the foliage, on which it settles, subduing the natural greenery of the leaves. No sooner do the rains cease than the rivers begin to fall. By November most of them will be sandy wastes in which the insignificant stream is almost lost to view.

The mimosas flower in September. Their yellow spherical blossoms are rendered pale by contrast with the deep gold hue of the blooms of the san (hemp) which now form a conspicuous feature of the landscape in many districts. The cork trees (Millingtonia hortensis) become bespangled with hanging clusters of white, long-tubed, star-like flowers that give out fragrant perfume at night.

The first-fruits of the autumn harvest are being gathered in. Acre upon acre of the early-sown rice falls before the sickle. The threshing-floors once again become the scene of animation. The fallow fields are being prepared for the spring crops and the sowing of the grain is beginning.

Throughout the month insect life is as rich and varied as it was in July and August.

The brain-fever bird and the koel call so seldom in September that their cries, when heard, cause surprise. The voice of the pied crested-cuckoo no longer falls upon the ear, nor does the song of the magpie-robin. The green barbets lift up their voices fairly frequently, but it is only on rare occasions that their cousins—the coppersmiths—hammer on their anvils. The pied mynas are far less vociferous than they were in July and August.

By the end of September the bird chorus has assumed its winter form, except that the grey-headed flycatchers have not joined it in numbers.

Apart from the sharp notes of the warblers, the cooing of the doves, the hooting of the crow-pheasants, the wailing of the kites, the cawing of the crows, the screaming of the green parrots, the chattering of the mynas and the seven sisters, the trumpeting of the sarus cranes and the clamouring of the lapwings, almost the only bird voices commonly heard are those of the fantail flycatcher, the amadavat, the wagtail, the oriole, the roller and the sunbird.

The cock sunbirds are singing brilliantly although they are still wearing their workaday garments, which are quaker brown save for one purple streak along the median line of the breast and abdomen.

Many birds are beginning to moult. They are casting off worn feathers and assuming the new ones that will keep them warm during the cool winter months. With most birds the new feathers grow as fast as the old ones fall out. In a few, however, the process of renewal does not keep pace with that of shedding; the result is that the moulting bird presents a mangy appearance. The mynas afford conspicuous examples of this; when moulting their necks often become almost nude, so that the birds bear some resemblance to miniature vultures.

Great changes in the avifauna take place in September.

The yellow-throated sparrows, the koels, the sunbirds, the bee-eaters, the red turtle-doves and the majority of the king-crows leave the Punjab. From the United Provinces there is a large exodus of brain-fever birds, koels, pied crested-cuckoos, paradise flycatchers and Indian orioles. These last are replaced by black-headed orioles in the United Provinces, but not in the Punjab.

On the other hand, the great autumnal immigration takes place throughout the month. Before September is half over the migratory wagtails begin to appear. Like most birds they travel by night when migrating. They arrive in silence, but on the morning of their coming the observer cannot fail to notice their cheerful little notes, which, like the hanging of the village smoke, are to be numbered among the signs of the approach of winter. The three species that visit India in the largest numbers are the white (Motacilla alba), the masked (M. personata) and the grey wagtail (M. melanope). In Bengal the first two are largely replaced by the white-faced wagtail (M. leucopsis). The names "white" and "grey" are not very happy ones. The white species is a grey bird with a white face and some black on the head and breast; the masked wagtail is very difficult to distinguish from the white species, differing in having less white and more black on the head and face, the white constituting the "mask"; the grey wagtail has the upper plumage greenish-grey and the lower parts sulphur-yellow. The three species arrive almost simultaneously, but the experience of the writer is that the grey bird usually comes a day or two before his cousins.

On one of the last ten days of September the first batch of Indian redstarts (Ruticilla frontalis) reaches India. Within twenty days of the coming of these welcome little birds it is possible to dispense with punkas.

Like the redstarts the rose-finches and minivets begin to pour into India towards the end of September. The snipe arrive daily throughout the month.

With the first full moon of September come the grey quail (Coturnix communis). These, like the rain-quail, afford good sport with the gun if attracted by call birds set down overnight. When the stream of immigrating quail has ceased to flow, these birds spread themselves over the well-cropped country. It then becomes difficult to obtain a good bag of quail until the time of the spring harvest, when they collect in the crops that are still standing.

Thousands of blue-winged teal invade India in September, but most of the other species of non-resident duck do not arrive until October or even November.

Not the least important of the September arrivals are the migratory birds of prey. None of the owls seem to migrate. Nor do the vultures, but a large proportion of the diurnal raptores leaves the plains of India in the spring.

To every migratory species of raptorial bird, that captures living quarry, there is a non-migratory counterpart or near relative. It would almost seem as if each species were broken up into two clans—a migratory and a stationary one. Thus, of each of the following pairs of birds the first-named is migratory and the other non-migratory: the steppe-eagle and the tawny eagle, the large Indian and the common kite, the long-legged and the white-eyed buzzard, the sparrow-hawk and the shikra, the peregrine and the lugger falcon, the common and the red-headed merlin, the kestrel and the black-winged kite.

It is tempting to formulate the theory that the raptores are migratory or the reverse according or not as they prey on birds of passage, and that the former migrate merely in order to follow their quarry. Certain facts seem to bear out this theory. The peregrine falcon, which feeds largely on ducks, is migratory, while the lugger falcon—a bird not particularly addicted to waterfowl—remains in India throughout the year.

The necessity of following their favourite quarry may account for the migratory habits of some birds of prey, but it does not apply to all. Thus, the osprey, which feeds almost exclusively on fish, is merely a winter visitor to India. Again, there is the kestrel. This preys on non-migratory rats and mice, nevertheless it leaves the plains in the hot weather and goes to the Himalayas to breed. All the species of birds of prey cited above as migratory begin to arrive in the plains of India in September. The merlins come only into the Punjab, but most of the other raptores spread over the whole of India.

The various species of harrier make their appearance in September. These are birds that cannot fail to attract attention. They usually fly slowly a few feet above the surface of the earth so that they can drop suddenly on their quarry. They squat on the ground when resting, but their wings are long and their bodies light, so that they do not need much rest. Those who shoot duck have occasion often to say hard things of the marsh-harrier and the peregrine falcon, because these birds are apt to come as unbidden guests to the shoot and carry off wounded duck and teal before the shikari has time to retrieve them.

Of the migratory birds of prey the kestrel is perhaps the first to arrive; the osprey and the peregrine falcon are among the last.

Very few observations of the comings and the goings of the various raptorial birds have been recorded; in the present state of our knowledge it is not possible to compile an accurate table showing the usual order in which the various species appear. This is a subject to which those persons who dwell permanently in one place might with advantage direct their attention.

As regards nesting operations September is not a month of activity.

On the 15th the close season for game birds ends in the Government forests; and by that date the great majority of them have reared up their broods. Grey partridge's eggs, it is true, have been taken in September; but as we have seen, grey partridges, like doves and kites, can scarcely be said to have a breeding season; they lay eggs whenever it seemeth good to them.

A few belated peafowl may still be found with eggs, but these are exceptions. Most of the hens are strutting about proudly, accompanied by their chicks, while the cocks are shedding their trains. Other species of which the eggs may be found in the present month are the white-throated munia, the common and the large grey babblers, and, of course, the various species of dove.