took his share in the hatching; but he did not sit so long as the hen, and he often fed her while she was upon the nest. In thirteen days the young birds were out of the shells, which the old ones always carried off"[1]
Sir William Jardine records the following anecdote as illustrating the occasional familiarity and unsuspecting confidence of this bird:—"In our own garden, last spring (1837), a somewhat singular circumstance occurred. The nest [of a Song Thrush] was placed in a common laurel bush, within easy reach of the ground, and being discovered, was many times daily visited by the younger branches of our family. It occurred to some that the poor Thrush would be hungry with a seat so constant, and a proposal was made to supply the want. A good deal of difficulty occurred, from the fear of disturbing her, but it was at last proposed that the food should be tied on the end of a stick; this was done, and the bird cautiously approached and took the first offering. The stick was gradually shortened, and in a few days the Thrush fed freely from the hand, until the young were half fledged. After this, when the parent was more frequently absent, a visit would immediately bring both male and female, who now uttered angry cries, and struck at the hand when brought near the nest."[2]
In 1833 a pair of Thrushes built their nest in a low tree at the bottom of Gray's Inn Gardens, near the gates, where passengers are going by all day long. The hen laid her complement of eggs, and was sitting on them, when a cat climbed up
