Large numbers of migratory quail have been imported for the State of Maine, 2,500 birds were turned loose in 1880, in all about 10,000 quails have been imported for the United States and Canada during the last few years, and as no importations are being made this year we shall see what the migratory instinct does for the North in the spring of the year?
It is very certain the migratory quail leave for parts unknown at an early period in the autumn, but where they go to and whether they return to the north has not been established; whilst they are with us, they are very friendly, frequently mixing with the chickens in the back yards. It is not improbable the feeling which gives hospitality to the house sparrow will extend itself to the Farmer's Quail, and that the latter bird may receive the same treatment from the settler as he gives to ordinary domestic fowl, such as Pigeons, Guinea fowl, and so on.—W. Rhodes.
BENMORE, 4th February, 1881.
N.B.—The house sparrow has indeed multiplied amazingly and though an emigrant and not "un enfant du sol" has found a hearty welcome. 'Tis said that he scares away our singing birds, if he should thus interfere with the freedom of action of the natives, he will get the cold shoulder, even though he should be an emigrant.
The sparrow though a long suffering bird is neither meek nor uncomplaining. A "limb of the law" is, we are told, responsible for the following:
A HUMBLE APPEAL.
(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)
DEAR SIR,—Oft, doubtless, passing through the Ring,
Me you have seen in autumn, summer, spring—
Picking, with gleesome chirp, and nimble feet,
My scanty living from the public street;
Or else devouring in those golden hours,
Insects from cabbages and other flowers:—
Ah me! those happy days!—but they are past,
And winter with his harsh and biting blast
Remind me and my fellow-sparrows bold
Of coming snow-storms, ice and sleet and cold;
Reminds us, too, of those far-off abodes,
Whence we were rudely reft by Col. R——s,
On his acclimatizing purpose bent,
And moved by scientific sentiment,
My heart is anxious, Sir, from what I know
Of last years sufferings from cold and snow,
Another winter's hardships, will, I fear,
Cause us poor colonists to disappear.
What shall we do, Dear Sir?—how shall we live,
Unless our charitable townsmen give
Us aid in food and shelter, otherwise
Each of us young and old, and male and female, dies!
Could we not make our friend our Garnishee,
And seize his chattels by a tiers saisi?
(I tell him, Sir, that living mid the frosts
Is harder far than paying lawyers' costs)
Or do you think, (I write in great anxiety,)
We have a claim on the St. George Society?
We are compatriots—an exiled band,
From the fair pickings of our native land,
Cast on this frigid shore by savage Fate,
With mouths to fill, and bills to liquidate.
Dear Sir, I leave our case now with you, pray
To make it public do not long delay,
But give it, (I don't mean to be ironical,)
A prominent position in the CHRONICLE.
My wife and children cry to me for corn
With feeble earnestness and chirp forlorn,
My eye is dim, my heart within me pines,
My claws so numb I scarce can scratch two lines,
My head—no more will I your feelings harrow,
But sign me,
Truly yours,
Till death,
All Souls' Day. COCKSPARROW.