surface of the water. But a few moments since, I heard a swallow, apparently at some height in the air, utter two shrill notes; on hearing which I observed the whole of the flock quit the water, and rise into the air, so as almost to disappear from the sight. After a short time they returned to hawk for flies, and dip their bodies on the surface of the river at the place they had just before quitted. If the notes were not intended as a warning of approaching danger, I could almost fancy that it was a call for them to partake of a banquet of insects which had suddenly made their appearance elsewhere. The immediate attention paid by the birds to this call struck me as curious; it is not the first time that I have observed it. On mentioning this circumstance to an observant friend, with whom I have had many agreeable conversations on Natural History, he informed me that when he was lately at Malvern, he had an opportunity of observing the effect which the two notes I have just described had on a large assemblage of swallows. They had congregated in great numbers on the roof of a house at that place. The preceding evening had been cold and somewhat frosty, so that early in the morning the swallows were so torpid that he caught two or three of them in his hand, as they rested on the roof near the window of the room in which he slept. While they were in this state he heard two shrill notes from a swallow, and in an instant the whole of them took wing simultaneously, and having made two or three circuits in the air, disappeared altogether. He fancied that these circuits were preparatory to their migration, but they were more probably a notice that food was at hand. At all events it seems clear to me that there is a master or leading swallow, who guides the movements of the rest while they are as usual congregating previous to their migration. Having mentioned this circumstance, I trust that it will engage the attention of others, so that further light may be thrown on this curious fact in the economy of the swallow. I have already mentioned that Mr. White never abandoned the idea of swallows hiding themselves during the winter months. I find the following lines composed by him on this subject amongst his unpublished manuscripts. THE SWALLOW. Lyre-like attunes the sultry, summer hours; O man! learn to revere the resurrection, When twittering swallows rise as from their tomb. G. W. The last swallow I observed this year (1832), was on the 25th of October. A pair of them were hawking for flies over the river Thames in the neighbourhood of Old Windsor. 'The monarch Oak, the patriarch of trees, DRYDEN. 6 AMIDST the crowd, the hum, the shock of 'men,' I frequently long to converse with Na'ture's charms, and view her stores unrolled;' I have, however, little opportunity of doing this, except that now and then I am enabled to visit some of the more secluded parts of Windsor Great Park. Here there is that 'prodigality of shade' which I delight in, and which is afforded by some of the most beautiful beech trees in England. The venerable old pollards however, interest me more than any thing else in the park. In looking at them my mind is imperceptibly carried back to the many interesting historical facts which have happened, since they first sprung from the earth. I can fancy that our Edwards and Henrys might have ridden under their branches,—that they had been admired by Shakespear, and that Pope, whose early youth was passed in the neighbourhood, had reposed under their shade. At all events it is impossible to view some of these Sires of the 'Forest,' without feeling a mixture of admiration and wonder. The size of some of them is enormous; one beech tree near Sawyer's Lodge in Windsor Great Park, measuring, at six feet from the ground, thirty-six feet round. It is now protected from injury, and nature seems to be doing her best towards repairing the damage which its exposure to the attacks of man and beast have produced. It must once have been almost hol |