The first arrival of the birds of passage is always a welcome event to those who like to watch the habits of those feathered favourites ; not merely the swallows, (they are not garden birds,) but the willow-wren, the blackcap, the fly-catcher, and redstart, all of whom build in gardens and shrubbery, even when near the house. The two first-named of these birds make their appearance, year after year, almost on the same day, the willow-wren on or about the 28th April, the blackcap on the 2d or 3d of May, after which time, the cheerful song of the one, and the rich, sweet warble of the other, is to be heard all day long, the blackcap singing till late in the evening.

The increase of building round here is, however, gradually drawing away our once regular summer visitants; the blackcap and redstart are more rarely seen and heard in the garden, and the larks have been long gone from the fields around. The fly-catcher, though not valued for his song, is always welcome from his fearless ways; he will perch close beside you on a paling or pole, darting off after flies and returning to his perch incessantly; and when these birds have a nest, they are very bold in its defence. A pair who built in the ivy at the side of the house, upon one occasion when a tame jackdaw was carried past their nest on the hand of its mistress, darted down and struck at the bird with loud, angry cries. In the autumn the long-tailed titmouse and the beautiful little gold-crested wren used occasionally to visit us, but the suburban character now prevailing in what used to be a rural neighbourhood, will, no doubt, deter these rarer birds from even a casual visit. It is curious to observe how even small changes, within a limited space, affect the habits of the more common birds. Some years ago, green linnets were so abundant in the garden that their nests were to be found in every bush and hedge. By degrees, hedges and bushes were removed from the immediate neighbourhood of the house, so as to obtain more air and space, and for years after, hardly a green linnet was to be seen, and their nests were never to be found. Indeed, there is no doubt that the clearing out thickets, and allowing shrubs to grow freely, though essential to the neatness and order of a small place, is an operation by no means favourable to the building of nests and the secure inhabitation of small birds. If ever tempted to wish for a larger space than two acres for enjoyment, it is when one feels that in such a small place there can be no neglected quiet corner, or tangled overgrown clumps of shrubs, where our shy pets might safely nestle and sleep in security.

As to "pets," properly so called, it would require a volume to describe those that have been reared, trained, tamed, and fed within the precincts of our small abode. The mere list would appal most people : at different times we have had a succession of dogs, an ichneumon, a coati-mondi, monkeys, rabbits, guinea-pigs, mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, and, occasionally, cats and kittens. In the ornithological department, we have had eagles, hawks, owls, cormorants, seagulls of all kinds, silver-pheasants, grouse, quails, ravens, rooks, magpies, and jackdaws; starlings, jays, a cockatoo, parrots, parroquets, pigeons, bantams, and small cage-birds of almost every kind. The chief peculiarity about our pets was their tameness, and agreeing in general most wonderfully with one another. The exceptions to this rule have been the cats, who cannot be trusted with birds or mice; and English terriers, who chase and torment the other animals, though our other dogs have not only been easily taught to live in peace with all the rest, but have frequently made friendships with some of them. The great secret of training and attaching animals, seems to be kindness and quietness, and a certain sort of friendly intercourse with them, which, perhaps, is only understood by those to the manner born. All teazing them, even in fun, should be avoided, if you wish them to trust you and be gentle. There are individual exceptions in every species, but there are few, either among quadrupeds or birds, that will not soon get attached to the person who feeds them; but they are frequently far more strongly attached to the individual who understands them, and keeps up a quiet friendly intercourse with them. Unless this sort of "rapport" is established between us and our pets, they are (to my mind) hardly worthy of the name; they degenerate into "captive animals," and can neither give pleasure to others, nor be made happy themselves.

The surest way of having cage birds tame, is to rear them from the nest; but, in most cases, this is troublesome, and it is painful to see the little things droop and die after a few days of their strange training. I have, however, brought up many a one, feeding them chiefly on oatmeal and water : green linnets and chaffinches used always to thrive, the only care being to keep them warm, and feed them frequently, giving very little at a time, and beginning to feed early in the morning. One summer I was very desirous to rear the common wren from the nest, but I never could keep the young ones alive after the third morning, though they fed readily, and were easily kept warm in a flannel bag lined with feathers. I tried dif-ferent kinds of food, once giving nothing but small green caterpillars, but the result was always the same - the eye lost its round shape, and death followed. I tried the experiment four times, and I remember being very sanguine about the last birds I tried. They were just ready to fly when I took them out of the nest, and lived for four days, flying after me whenever I opened the basket I kept them in, and perching one above another on my spread-out fingers, like little brown humble-bees. The evening they died they were very tame and vigorous; some one having opened the basket without closing the window, my little pets all flew out, and were hopping about a rose-bush, but at the sight of the well-known cup that held their food, the whole quartett flew back to my hand, and were fed and secured for the night. Two died in a few hours, and the others were found dead at three in the morning. I have never attempted to rear wrens since, for it seemed just wanton cruelty. The only soft-billed bird I ever reared was a hedge-sparrow, which was left in the nest after the others had flown from a curious accident. The nest was in a hawthorn hedge, and the bird had got its head transfixed by thorn, so that it could not move. It was discovered in this predicament, and the branch being cut off, the bird was brought indoors to have the thorn taken out. It did not seem to annoy him, for he gaped for food all the time the operation was going on, so it was resolved to keep him and bring him up for a cage. He lived some years, sang cheerily and sweetly through many a winter day, and was a pleasant little pet, though never so familiarly tame as our chaffinches and green linnets. A wheat-ear was another successful attempt, at least it lived till the middle of the winter; it was very tame and amusing in its ways; when let out of its cage, it used to run about the floor, or flit from chair to chair, uttering its peculiar cry, so suggestive of wild moorland and gray crag. This rearing from the nest requires, however, that the birds should be allowed occasionally the freedom of flying about the room, if we wish to keep them tame and companionable, and it is curious to see how impatient they will get if the usual time for letting them out is passed by, and how contented they are to return to the cage after the indulgence of a bath and a flight.