There is also a curious legend in the North to the effect that Satan supplies the bird with half a drop of his blood every morning wherewith to mark its eggs with the greatly varied scribbling lines that appear upon them. The song, although more musical than that of the Corn Bunting, is considered by many people to be a monotonous performance. The poet Grahame was evidently aware of this when he wrote the lines: “Even in a bird the simplest notes have charms For me: I even love the yellow hammer’s song.” The call note of this species, when disturbed, is a _trit, trit, trit_, and on the wing _tisit_. It may always be distinguished with certainty from its much rarer relative, the Cirl Bunting, by the fact that it has no black upon its chin. The female Yellow Hammer is a trifle smaller than her mate, is much less yellow, and the markings on her head are darker. Both sexes take a share in the work of incubation. [Illustration: YELLOW HAMMER’S NEST AND EGGS.] The nest is built in hedge banks, at the foot of light open bushes, under brambles, and sometimes even in gorse bushes and thick evergreen hedges at a considerable height from the ground. It is composed of dry grass, rootlets, and moss on the outside, with an inner lining of fine, dead grass and horsehair. The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dingy white ground colour, tinged with purple, streaked, spotted, and blotched with dark purplish-brown. The streaks or scribblings generally end in a spot, and, on account of their similarity to the marks made by a pen, the bird is known in many parts of the country as the “Writing Lark.” This species, although commencing to breed in April, sometimes has eggs as late even as September. [Illustration: landscape with hills] =THE STARLING.= [Illustration: cluster of flowers] It is quite unnecessary for me to describe the appearance of the Starling, for the species is so common, sociable, and unlike every other feathered friend in this country that confusion is almost impossible. I love the brave, bustling bird, for when it has any work to do it does not go dawdling along like a lazy boy crawling halfheartedly to school, but rushes about as if the welfare of the whole universe depended upon its individual exertions.