[41]Parker, in his poem of the Nightingale, published in 1632, speaking of swallows, says: And if in any's hand she chance to dye, 'Tis counted ominous, I know not why.

Nor let it be thought there is any impiety in giving these verses in the form in which they are cherished, for the humble recorders of them dream of no irreverence. On the contrary, the sanctification of these harmless birds is no unpoetical or objectionable fragment of the old popular mythology; and when we reflect that not even a sparrow "is forgotten before God," can we blame a persuasion which protects more innocent members of the feathered tribes from the intrusion of the wanton destroyer?

It is exceedingly unlucky to molest the nests of any of these birds. This belief is very prevalent, and it was acted upon in a case which came under my observation, where, misfortune having twice followed the destruction of a swallow's nest, the birds were afterwards freely permitted to enjoy the corner of a portico, where their works were certainly not very ornamental. The following verses were obtained from Essex:

The robin and the red-breast,

The robin and the wren;

If ye take out o' their nest,

Ye'll never thrive agen!


The robin and the red-breast,

The martin and the swallow;

If ye touch one o' their eggs,

Bad luck will surely follow!

The Irish call the wren the king of birds; and they have a story that, when the birds wanted to choose a king, they determined that the one which could fly highest should have the crown. The wren, being small, very cunningly hid itself under the wing of the eagle; and when that bird could fly no higher, the wren slipped from its hiding-place, and easily gained the victory. In Cotgrave's Dictionarie, 1632, we find the wren called roitelet, and in another dictionary, quoted by Mr. Wright, it is called roi des oiseaux, so it is probable a similar superstition prevailed in France. The ceremony of hunting of the wren on St. Stephen's day has been so frequently described, that it is not necessary to do more than allude to it, and to mention that Mr. Crofton Croker possesses a proclamation lately issued by the mayor of Cork, forbidding the custom, with the intent "to prevent cruelty to animals," as the document is headed. This custom was also prevalent in France. An analogous ceremony is still observed in Pembrokeshire on Twelfth-day, where it is customary to carry about a wren, termed the king, inclosed in a box with glass windows, surmounted by a wheel, from which are appended various coloured ribands. It is attended by men and boys, who visit the farm-houses, and sing a song, the following fragments of which are all that have come under my observation:

For we are come here

To taste your good cheer,

And the king is well dressed

In silks of the best.


He is from a cottager's stall,

To a fine gilded hall.

The poor bird often dies under the ceremony, which tradition connects with the death of an ancient British king at the time of the Saxon invasion. The rhyme used in Ireland runs thus:

The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,

Was caught St. Stephen's day in the furze;

Although he's little his family's great,

Then pray, gentlefolks, give him a treat.

[THE OWL.]

To-whoo—to-whoo!

Cold toe—toe!