swampy places along the sea-shores, heard at night, resembles the sound of _peewit_, or _teewit_, and hence his name in several parts of Great Britain; he is also called the _Great Plover_ by several ornithologists. This bird is one of those who attract the fowler’s attention in winter: “With slaughtering gun th’ unwearied fowler roves, When frosts have whiten’d all the naked groves; Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o’ershade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade. He lifts his tube, and levels with his eye; Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous Lapwings feel the leaden death: Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.” POPE. The following anecdote, from Bewick’s “History of Birds,” exhibits the domestic nature of the Lapwing, as well as the art with which it conciliates the regard of animals materially differing from itself, and generally considered as hostile to every species of the feathered tribe. Two Lapwings were given to a clergyman, who put them into his garden; one of them soon died, but the other continued to pick up such food as the place afforded, till winter deprived it of its usual supply. Necessity soon compelled it to draw nearer to the house, by which it gradually became familiarised to occasional interruptions from the family. At length one of the servants, when she had occasion to go into the back kitchen with a light, observed that the Lapwing always uttered his cry of “pee-wit,” to obtain admittance. The bird soon grew more familiar; as the winter advanced, he approached as far as the kitchen, but with much caution, as that part of the house was generally occupied by a dog and cat, whose friendship, however, the Lapwing at length conciliated so entirely, that it was his regular custom to resort to the fireside as soon as it grew dark, and spend the evening and night with his two associates, sitting close by them, and partaking of the comforts of a warm hearth. As soon as spring appeared, he discontinued his visits to the house, and betook himself to the garden; but, on the approach of winter, he had recourse to his old shelter and friends, who received him very cordially. Security was productive of insolence; what was at first obtained with caution, was afterwards taken without reserve; he frequently amused himself with washing in the bowl which was set for the dog to drink out of; and while he was thus employed, he showed marks of the greatest indignation if either of his companions presumed to interrupt him. He died in the asylum he had thus chosen, being choked with something that he had picked up from the floor. [Illustration: THE WATER-HEN, (_Gallinula chloropus_,)]