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[The little, disregarded wagtail of our own land, which we may frequently see wherever insects abound—on the green meadow, or by the margin of the brook—is the khunjunee of the Hindoo, by whose romantic and fanciful mythology he has been made a holy bird, bearing on his breast the impression of Salagrama, the stone of Vishnoo, a sacred petrified shell. Protected by this prestige, the little creature ranges unmolested near the habitations of man, and may in this respect be styled the robin of the East. To Europeans in the East, this bird is also an object of interest, as being a precursor of the delightful cold season, the advent of which is anxiously looked for by every Anglo-Indian. The little khunjunee makes his appearance in the early part of November, and departs as the hot season approaches—I think in March or April. The note of this little bird can hardly aspire to be called a song; I used, however, to think it a pleasing twitter. I paid particular attention to two khunjunees, which used to return every season and haunt our habitation: they would pick up insects from the pavement, and eat the crumbs with which they were plentifully supplied. I have watched them pluming themselves on the balustrade, while their sparkling black eyes glanced fearlessly and confidingly in my face. When I now see a wagtail at home in Scotland, I cannot but look upon it as an old friend, reminding me of my departed youth, and recalling many soothing as well as mournful recollections.]

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