and a few warts were appearing near the base of the bill; the frill, so far as it had been assumed, was composed entirely of new feathers.
During the summer of 1876 the Nightingale was absent from East Yorkshire. Considering, however, that we are on the extreme, northern limit of its range, it is not surprising that it should fail to reach us in such a miserably cold and backward spring as that of 1876.
A female Hawfinch, with considerably developed eggs in the ovary, and which had been previously shot at and wounded, was picked up alive on May 7th on Westwood Common, where—as I have already mentioned (2nd ser. p. 4763)—two nests were taken last year. It appears they have again returned to the same place to breed. I afterwards made a search and found three nests, two apparently those of last year, and the third barely finished. At the last-named the old bird no doubt was at work, for it made a great outcry when I went near it. I thought it looked scarcely completed, but knowing what a flimsy and unfinished kind of nest this bird makes, I climbed up to it, and must have been seen, for it was afterwards forsaken.
On the same day a Black Tern and a Common Tern were shot on our river; and I may here mention that it is a common practice for people to go up the river in a boat on Sundays, and shoot anything and everything, whether protected by the Sea-birds' Protection or any other Act.
On the 10th May I saw a beautifully-plumaged Oystercatcher on the river-side: this is the first time I ever saw or heard of one here. The following day I heard a Ring Ouzel singing, and saw a large flock of Fieldfares. The 11th May seems a late date at which to find the last-named birds here, but they remained with us this year until May 19th.
For upwards of sixty years a pair of Missel Thrushes have nested in our garden, with scarcely an exception. This spring the old gardener came to me, with a mournful look, and said he was afraid something was going to happen, as he had not noticed them about as usual; but when I pointed out to him the old bird sitting on her nest high up in a pear tree, his face brightened up, and he said, "Hey! well, that's all right! I am glad." So much for superstition. Last year they built in a tree overhanging the middle walk, and the old bird flew off every time anyone went near. I was
