The study of our native song birds will be found to contain many delightful curiosities, and to present not a few entertaining problems. For instance, all our first-class melodists, such as the Nightingale, Song Thrush, Blackcap Warbler, Woodlark, and Garden Warbler, are dressed in the most sober of sober colours. Male migrants generally arrive upon our shores before the females, and at once commence to sing and practise all kinds of curious antics in order to attract the attention of their prospective brides when they arrive. Individual birds of the same species vary greatly in the quality of their songs, and nearly all the members of a species sometimes sing better in one part of the country than another. Birds are first-class plagiarists, and not only copy each other’s notes, but upon occasion actually improve the quality of the music they borrow. Some of them, such as the Chaffinch, practise their notes thousands of times per day, and a Song Thrush sings as many as sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. The following questions in regard to the behaviour of some of our feathered melodists are amongst those put to me by both young and old after my lectures, and contain a good deal of food for reflection: Why do some birds sing by night as well as by day after they have mated? Why do some birds cease to sing as soon as their young ones are hatched, and others continue practically all the year round? Why does a caged Skylark sing blithely in a dingy alley, where he has no mate to attract, no rival to challenge, nor any apparent condition of life to induce a feeling of happiness? Why does a Skylark practise its notes on the ground more during the closing than the opening part of the season? How do birds know of a coming change in the weather and sing joyously to foretell it long before man, with all his acquired experience, is aware of the fact? Why do some winged melodists, such as the Blackbird for instance, sing the best during a shower of rain? Is it in anticipation of an increased supply of food? Would a chick that had never heard the song of its own species be able to sing it when it grew up? No answer to many of these interesting questions that are constantly cropping up will be found in any ornithological work with which I am acquainted, and they show two things clearly to my mind, viz.: How little we really know about even our common song birds, and what a great desire there is on the part of the public to find out. Nature is never prodigal in the giving up of her secrets, but the diligent student is sure to discover some interesting fact or solve some entertaining problem; and I would urge all young people who care for the delights of the country to take up the study of Nature’s charming musicians. They will find it deeply interesting to learn to identify birds by their songs and call notes, and even to imitate the latter with sufficient skill to attract members of the species to which they belong.