that this is a manifest adaptation to their indigenous locality, I think the supposition that it implies a relationship to the pigeon family becomes gratuitous. The gougas (Ptérocles) are well known to inhabit arid sandy deserts, where their sustenance is very widely scattered; in accordance with which they are provided with powerful means of flight, in order to be enabled to traverse a sufficient area. It is very clear, therefore, that, under these circumstances, a departure from the mode of rearing progeny prevalent among the other poultry becomes necessary, as a numerous brood could only obtain subsistence by following their parents on the wing; for which reason it has been wisely provided that the young should continue helpless till their wings are developed, requiring to be supplied with food by their parents; and their number is accordingly reduced to three or four only, more than which it is not likely that the old birds would be able to rear. I can perceive in this no sort of approach to the Colúmbidæ, which it is preposterous to mingle promiscuously with the other Rasòres: in other words, to adopt no higher distinction between them and the poultry tribes, than has been assigned to the leading divisions of the latter. — Id.

Eagle's Nest in Loch Skene. The conductor of the Edinburgh Journal of Natural History, in a paragraph on " Eagles' Nests," No. 19., gives a citation from an article by an old contributor in your Magazine for March last (Vol. I. p. 118., n. s.), signed W. L., on the breeding of woodcocks in Scotland, &c. This citation, with the appended remarks, W. L. begs to repeat. "The eagle had its nest annually in two places on the borders of the counties of Dumfries and Selkirk; one was on a precipice in Eskdale. The other situation was chosen with much of that touch of reflection that we sometimes observe among birds, as well as others of the lower animals. There is a small rocky islet, almost even with the water, in Loch Skene, which is surrounded with the highest mountains south of the Forth; and, although the side of one of these mountains that overhangs the lake is rocky and seemingly inaccessible, the eagles choose to have their nest on the islet in the loch; because, forsooth, the Loch Craig could be approached by ropes from above, while it is almost impossible to convey a boat to the loch, and there never was one there. W. L." The conductor of the Edinburgh Journal thinks it behoves him to observe, - Now, we would have naturalists to think a little before they state a fact, and be sparing of theory. A boat has been conveyed to the loch, and the eagles of the district are extinct. The side of the mountain that over

hangs the lake is a rocky slope of less than 40 degrees, and certainly does not afford a spot to which a person without a rope might not approach to within 10 yards. Eagles often make their nests in very insecure places," &c.

W. L., the afore-mentioned old correspondent of Loudon's Magazine, acknowledges that he has not seen Loch Skene, the Loch Craig, or the White Coome, these many years; but he has, however, been many times there along with various companions, and with various views. He has angled around the loch, been on the top of the Loch Craig, and at the foot of it, and seen it from the brow of the neighbouring mountain of White Coome, and from the Mirk-side-edge, that dark ridge that separates the glen of the Ettrick from Moffatdale; and always considered the Loch Craig of Polmoody as the most precipitous rocky mountain he knew of in the south of Scotland. He uses the word "overhangs" the loch; but, surely, Mr. Macgillivray's conscientiousness is not so strait-laced as to be unable to tolerate a figurative expression almost commonplace, when applied to scenery. Mr. Macgillivray says, that a boat has been conveyed to the loch. W. L. cannot doubt it; but no boat had ever been conveyed to Loch Skene, that ever he heard of, before he left the country. But W. L. believes that the Earl of Traquair, either the late Lord Charles, or his uncle, his predecessor, sent his gamekeeper and other servants, one of whom was an expert swimmer, who swam to the islet, and with much difficulty, owing to the opposition from the old birds, brought off the eaglets; and from that time the eagles made their nests in Loch Skene no more.

W. L. has contributed to the Magazine of Natural History almost from its commencement, and never stated a fact that he did not believe to be true. He has continued to write anonymously, no doubt; but his name and address he took care to make known to the conductor, that reference might be given if required.

The only instance where he afterwards found he was incorrect, was in asserting that the thrushes that frequent the shores of the Hebrides, and which feed much upon shell-fish were a different species from that common to the valleys of the mainland, and a small dark brown thrush that migrates in flocks. W. L. came to understand that there were plenty in the Lewes, and sent to an intelligent person for specimens. These he found to be the Túrdus mùsicus, and learned that they made their nests on the top of the turf walls, and on the dry edges of the peat-pits, and generally fed upon whelks, which they break by giving them a sharp blow upon the stones of the shore. W. L. being otherwise busily engaged at the

time, omitted to send a notice of this to the conductor of this Magazine, and came to consider it as too well known for further notice afterwards. May 24. 1837.

Ventriloquism in Birds. In your number for May, you seem to consider ventriloquism in the robin, (S. Rubecula) as of very rare occurrence; or, at least, not much noticed by naturalists. In the last, I think, you are correct, though most certainly not as to the rarity of its occurrence: it is not confined to the robin alone, as your notice seems to imply, but occurs more or less in a great many of our singing birds; as in the blackbird, thrush, wren, and many others I could name, had I my notes by me; but former vols. of your work offers quite sufficient testimony. Now, although I know but little of natural history, yet, what I do know, is derived from the fields; and I will, therefore, with your permission, add my mite, by one or two notes towards elucidating the natural history of our general favourite, beginning with its ventriloquism. The first time I ever noticed it in the robin, was some years since, in the west of England, on a calm and beautiful autumnal evening, after the breeding season had passed. I was amusing myself with working in the garden, when, just before sunset, I heard two birds singing as if endeavouring to excel each other, which I knew to be the robin from its full, yet clear and soft notes; although they appeared to be at some distance I still worked on, but was much surprised at hearing the notes suddenly alter, and appear as if just above where I was then standing; on looking up, I saw two perched on the uppermost bough of an elm, opposite to each other. At first I doubted whether the sound proceeded from them or not, as it seemed to come from some distance, and their bills were quite closed; but the alternate contraction and dilatation of the chest soon convinced me that they were the songsters. They seemed at first to be taking not the least notice of each other; but in this I was mistaken, for, as if actuated by one impulse, they flew towards each other and commenced a most desperate battle, parting every now and then as if nothing had occurred, and again perching themselves on the uppermost branches, commenced their songs afresh, but though apparently taking no notice of each other, they were evidently trying to excel, and which to admire most I could not tell, they acquitted themselves so admirably; one, however, soon left; and the other, which had now full possession of the field, seemed to triumph. He continued to sing sometimes with open mouth, pouring it forth to the winds, and again confining it, as it were, in his chest, changing from one to the other without apparent effort; and this was continued

long after the sun had set, and during the stillness of the night it seemed still more beautiful, being interrupted now and then by a pause of from five to ten minutes: if nightingales had frequented that part of the country, I should have thought it had been one, instead of a robin as it certainly was. Indeed, I never either saw or heard a nightingale in Devon or Cornwall, nor ever saw one who had; but as to their never visiting those places, I may be mistaken. About a quarter past ten the singing ceased, and where he flew I cannot say, but I thought he remained on the same tree during the night: but during the autumnal months many birds are very fond of singing in the night. I have repeatedly heard the blackbird (T. Méruia), willow-wren (S. Tróchilus), wren (S. Troglodytes), and several others during the night, and I recollect hearing the blackbird two evenings following, at between half-past eleven and twelve, whence I am inclined to think it is of not unfrequent occurrence, particularly during the breeding season. The pugnacious qualities of the robin appears only to exist after the breeding season is past, or is then to be found most fully marked; those encounters do not always terminate so well as in the above instance. In one case I recollect one was killed, and the little murderer enjoyed his triumph with a merry song, but did not cover him with leaves, as did his ancestor by the children in the wood; and though this may be considered a very extreme case, yet I have frequently seen the feathers fly. So fond are they of fighting, after the season of incubation, that two cannot cross a garden or a lane without an encounter; it is soon over, and each goes his way as if nothing had occurred. They appear to be vexed that the season is over. It is always observed in the autumn that these fights invariably occur between males, while in spring, although it does occur between males, yet is of most frequent occurrence between a male and a female, and may, I think, be considered as their courtship; and so engaged are they, that you may even capture them, by placing your hat on them; and this I know has been done frequently with the wren, but they will not allow you to do this towards the latter end of autumn. They do not, I believe, sing much during the summer, but begin about the latter end of August; and in this I am confirmed by the old adage, "When the robin sings look out for winter." Now I am not certain as to the time at which they cease singing, but I should not be inclined to think very early in the spring. I heard one singing very finely at Richmond on the 16th of May; be this as it may they certainly do not sing much during the summer. -Junius. May 27. 1837.

Note respecting Alyssum calycinum L. (Vol. V. p. 196., and VIII. p. 392-3.) The Swiss Federal School of Artillery has its annual exercise on Thun common, in August and September. Some years since, a quantity of turf was pared to repair the glacis of a polygon, and the next spring, the spot from which the turf had been removed was completely covered with Alyssum calycìnum L. This plant, as far as I can learn, had not been before seen in this neighbourhood, nor within many leagues. It still inhabits the same part of the common, in much smaller quantity, and has scarcely migrated fifty yards.

In Curtis's Botanical Magazine, No. 1993., it is observed that the one-flowered variety of Leucojum vernum L., has the spots at the apex of the lacinia of the corolla always green. This plant is abundant in orchards and pastures about Thun; in some places, until means were adopted to lessen it, the fields were as white with its blossoms as those in England are with daisies or the common chrysanthemum. In consequence of the above remark, in the Botanic Magazine, I have, during several successive years, searched for the plant with green tipped flowers, and, although it is not too much to say that my eye must have glanced over tens of thousands of the blossoms, I have not yet found one, the spots on which were green. Here they are invariably yellow, as in the twoflowered variety figured in this magazine. Sometimes, but very rarely, our plant bears two flowers, but in that case there is no difference in the spots. Whence does this arise? Are all the plants in the English gardens descended by offsets from one individual which had green spots? How are the wild plants in other situations?

Can I record (or enable some one else better qualified to do so) a plant as new to the British Flora? Amongst some British specimens recently come to my hands, is one which appears, from the ticket, to have been from the herbarium of Dr. J. H. Balfour of Edinburgh, and marked "Betula alba, Clova, Aug. 1834." It differs from any specimen I have of B. álba L., or B. pubescens Ehrh. (which Sir J. E. Smith considers as the same species) and I have placed it in my collection as B. intermèdia Thom., a rare plant on the Jura and with which it seems to agree perfectly, so far as the specimens I have received enable me to judge; it is, however, not sufficiently advanced to afford me the inspection of mature seeds. I would, therefore, point out the plant to the attention of those who may have the opportunity of comparing more abundant and perfect specimens of the Clova individuals with authentic ones from the Jura, which will serve much better