ere was nothing to show that they had been long
there, seeing that it had been observed by no person but myself that the
cathedral doves were stock-doves and not the domestic pigeon found on
other large buildings. Great was my happiness to find them still there,
as well as the daws and all the other feathered people who make this
great building their home; even the kestrels were not wanting. There
were three there one morning, quarrelling with the daws in the old way
in the old place, halfway up the soaring spire. The doves were somewhat
diminished in number, but there were a good many pairs still, and I
found no dead young ones lying about, as they were now probably grown
too large to be ejected, but several young daws, about a dozen I think,
fell to the ground during my stay. Undoubtedly they were dragged out
of their nests and thrown down, perhaps by daws at enmity with their
parents, or it may be by the doves, who are not meek-spirited, as we
have seen, or they would not be where they are, and may on occasion
retaliate by invading their black enemies' nesting-holes.

Swallows, martins, and swifts were numerous, the martins especially, and
it was beautiful to see them for ever wheeling about in a loose swarm
about the building. They reminded me of bees and flies, and sometimes
with a strong light on them they were like those small polished black
and silvery-white beetles (Gyrinus) which we see in companies on the
surface of pools and streams, perpetually gliding and whirling about
in a sort of complicated dance. They looked very small at a height of a
couple of hundred feet from the ground, and their smallness and numbers
and lively and eccentric motions made them very insect-like.

The starlings and sparrows were in a small minority among the breeders,
but including these there were seven species in all, and as far as I
could make out numbered about three hundred and fifty birds--probably
the largest wild bird colony on any building in England.

Nor could birds in all this land find a more beautiful building to nest
on, unless I except Wells Cathedral solely on account of its west front,
beloved of daws, and where their numerous black company have so fine an
appearance. Wells has its west front; Salisbury, so vast in size, is yet
a marvel of beauty in its entirety; and seeing it as I now did every
day and wanting nothing better, I wondered at my want of enthusiasm on a
previous visit. Still, to me, the bird company