y of the birds of England
is absent. No Indian bird knows how to sing. Some make a brave
attempt, but they break down after the third note. The so-called
Indian nightingale only deserves its name because its performance is a
shade less disappointing than that of the rest. Nor do the birds
compensate for their lack of musical power by the splendour of their
plumage. It is generally supposed that plants and animals in the
tropics must necessarily be brilliant in colour. But many English
birds equal Indian ones even in this respect. For instance, the green
wood-pecker with his red crest is scarcely less gorgeous than the
green parrot, and the kingfisher only comes behind its Indian relative
in size. The plumage of the golden oriole is certainly sumptuous, and
brilliant sunshine has, of course, the effect of showing off colour to
the best advantage.

Though Indian birds cannot sing, they shout, and scream, and whistle.
What is known amongst English residents as the "brain-fever" bird, is
common in some districts. He makes a series of sounds, thought by some
to resemble this word, over and over again with increasing rapidity
and shrillness, until he breaks down and begins afresh. To people
actually suffering from the ordinary fever so common in India he is
sometimes a serious annoyance, because it is almost impossible not to
follow him mentally in his incessant repetition of "brain fever." To a
few fortunate people his peculiar note does not suggest these words.
Even the Indian sparrow drowns conversation with his shrill chirp,
taking advantage of the ever-open doors and windows to invade the
bungalow, and making determined efforts to make his nest in the most
inconvenient places.

The swallows which build in the verandah are like old friends, and are
always welcome. The curious cry which they make as they wheel in and
out of the verandah in the last few minutes before they plunge into
bed under the eaves, sounds almost melodious by contrast with the
strange noises made by other birds. There is also a species of peewit
who utters a rather pretty call, which might be supposed to be the
Marathi version of what the English peewit says.

Vultures are as uncanny-looking as they are painted, and to see them
waiting on the trees near the erections where Parsees put out their
dead to be devoured, is not a pleasant sight. They also sit and watch
near the Hindu burning-grounds, which suggests the uncomfortable idea
that pickings a