Excepting a very near and more powerful cousin which inhabits the seashore and pellucid streams of California, the above species is the sole representative of its family in the United States. No bird is more distinctly characterized, and few are better known. The first sight of it, with its long-pointed, heavily-set bill, ashy-blue crest, robust and well-knit frame, and short but sinewy legs, cannot fail to leave an indelible impression upon the mind, which nothing short of mental amaurosis can obliterate.

Go where we will throughout the length and breadth of the land, and the loud, harsh cry of this bird, which resembles the noise emitted by a watchman's rattle, reminds us of its presence. Nor need we confine our journeyings to such limits. But let us venture into the barren, inhospitable realms of the North, where the stunted and poverty-pinched Esquimau resides and ekes out a somewhat precarious existence, and our friend still bears us company.

Fond of the scenes of its nativity, scarcely have their waters become released from the icy fetters of winter by the breath of Phoebus, than they are made vocal and cheerful by these proverbial and venturesome fishers. The murmuring brook, the rushing torrent, the gentle waterfall, and awe inspiring sea, all court its presence, and offer a generous and willing support.

Like love-sick swains of whom poets have delighted to sing, they seek such haunts, not more for their soothing, quieting influences, than for pleasures more substantial which they are sure to find. Here, unmolested by their great arch-enemy man, they can pursue their piscatorial occupation as suits them best. Who has not observed some lonely individual, with, apparently, every trace of care blotted out of his life, thus occupied from early morning until night-time? Those who love to quit the dust and turmoil of the city, to hold sweet communion with the visible forms of wood and dell, have been silent, speechless spectators of what we witness. However, for the benefit of such as have been denied this pleasure and privilege, we would invite them to a stroll into the country where babbling brook and quiet, sunny pond, adorn the prospect. The utmost silence must be maintained in these rambles, would you secure success. The presence of a human being upon the scene where these lordly princes of the piscine craft hold high revel, if detected, is almost sure to produce a stampede, and lead to a hasty departure. Hence, great care must be exercised in approaching their retreats, and even while quartered within the same. Once there, and snugly ensconced by environing bushes from view, you await developments. The object of your search may be but a few paces from you, and you not cognizant of it. Five minutes pass, and nothing is heard but the rumble of some distant cascade, the clatter of the stream as it laves its reedy banks and pebbled bed, or the rustle of the dry leaves around as they echo to the rabbit's heavy tread. Another space of equal length has followed after, and the moments seem lengthened into weary hours as you sit listening, and like results are your reward. But while being tossed to and fro upon the ragged edge of suspense, and almost bereft of hope, a loud, harsh rattle meets your ear. You look in the direction whence the sound came, and there, perched upon an overhanging bough just over your head, or a little to the right or left of you, stands—the very embodiment of majesty and power—the creature for whom you have been looking. Nor does he always occupy such a lofty position. Betimes, he seeks a lower level, and may be found upon a stranded, uplifted snag. Having discovered his whereabouts, you must watch him closely, for the cry which you have just heard, is the signal that precedes the assault that he is preparing to make upon some scaly denizen of the water that has had the folly to show its gilded, tempting form.

A sudden, circular plunge, accompanied by a dull, heavy splash, and the frightened, squirming fish is wrested from its native element, and swallowed in an instant. In less time than it takes to chronicle the brief event, the daring, cruel deed is accomplished, and the perpetrator thereof has regained his post, and stands ready for similar adventures. Such is the greedy and unsatisfying character of his nature that, where undisturbed, he has been known to watch for hours at a time without changing his point of lookout. It must not be supposed, however, that the quantity of food which he devours is in proportion to the time spent in its procurement. This is not the case. Due allowance must be made for disappointments and reverses, as well as for the failure of the finny tribes to manifest themselves. Tired of watching, he often varies his occupation by coursing along the stream at a small height above its surface, and stopping anon, suspended after the fashion of Hawks, to gaze into the depths below.

Nothing can be more interesting than the behavior of an individual who has miscalculated his chances, and fallen wide of his mark when plunging for prey. The very impersonation of disappointment, he retires to his post, sullen and dejected. His very attitude and looks attest the war of feelings waging within his bosom. But this is of short continuance. The thoughts of past experiences come to his rescue, and he is himself again. With the successful fellow the condition is different. Joy and happiness are depicted where, before, we saw but misery and sadness.

However intently these birds may seem to be occupied with the business before them, they are not so completely absorbed therein as to be utterly oblivious to their surroundings. Blessed with sharp vision, they are as equally favored in the direction of hearing. When the eye is engaged, like a faithful sentinel on duty the ear, whose function it is to receive and communicate vibrations of air to the brain where they are interpreted, is always on the alert, ready to warn its companion of danger.

From what has been written, it is evident that the desire for food seems uppermost in the thoughts of these birds from their first arrival—usually in March or April—until pairing commences. In its gratification, the female is the equal of her lord. Such being the case, it is unreasonable to expect any great degree, of familiarity and friendship to exist between the sexes. They, therefore, dwell apart. Accident sometimes brings them together, but beyond a silent recognition, they evince no greater regard. Thus affairs continue for a month, and even for a longer period of time, when they suddenly come to a most glorious end by the assumption of connubial relations. Nothing remarkable or impressive indicates the coming of this event. The male seems to meet his partner unawares, makes overtures of love in his own strange fashion, and becomes at once her uninfluenced choice. And thus the story is ended.

Without further ado, the wedded couple prepare for the duties of house-keeping. Usually they are spared the trouble of searching for a home. Especially is this the case with old birds, who have only to visit the scenes of other years to find a domicile awaiting occupancy. A little repairing of the galleries leading thereto, as well as the cosy, interior chamber, and the place soon wears an aspect of cheerfulness and comfort. But where these structures do not exist, they are excavated at great pains in the sides of ponds, streams, or cliffs contiguous to water. A very common place, in the latitude of Philadelphia, is in sandy, railroad cuttings. Dry, elevated grounds, beyond the reach of inundations, are ordinarily chosen, although there may be exceptions to the rule.

These burrows are the results of the alternate labors of the sexes, who work with diligence and rapidity until the task is accomplished, often making a deep excavation in a single night, when the bank is soft and sandy. The directions and depths of these holes vary: some being less than four feet, while others are more than fifteen feet deep; some being straight, and others turning either to the right or to the left before terminating in the enlarged chamber which is constructed as a place of deposit for the eggs. The time spent in the formation of a burrow depends upon the nature of the soil and the length of the shaft. Ordinarily two days are required for its completion, although instances are recalled where three, and even four days, have been occupied with the tunneling.

With the successful accomplishment of this task, nothing further remains to be done but to deposit the eggs upon the bare sand. Some birds do not deem their labor finished until they have given their home a warm lining of dried grasses and feathers. Such cases are exceptional, and dependent upon the humidity of the ground.

In 1855, Dr. Brewer discovered a nest of this species on Mt. Washington, alongside of a carriage-drive, and at a distance of a mile from any water-shallows. Another was found in a sand-bank in the village of Hingham, in close proximity to a dwelling, and quite remote from stream or pond. The authors of the latter nest were very cautious and retiring, seldom venturing out during the day, but were continually moving backward and forward at night, as evidenced by their loud, rattling cries. When with young these nocturnal excursions are not infrequent.

Speaking of the building habits of these birds, reminds us of a curious fact which occurred in the history of a male-bird, of which Mr. Dali, of Washington, was an eye-witness. On a certain occasion his attention was attracted to his lordship engaged in digging holes by the side of his nest, which were two feet in depth and eight inches in diameter, apparently for no other purpose than that of pleasure or occupation. They were invariably abandoned as soon as constructed. Once, he entered one of these burrows to eat a fish which he had captured.

Many fabulous stories have been told in ages that are past of the nest and manner of hatching of the Kingfishers, but they are too absurd and trifling to deserve more than a passing notice. The birds of our day neither construct their nests of glue or fishbones, nor commit them to the mercy of the waters to float about at random with their proprietors, but place them deep down in the earth, where they are secure from wind and rain, and the thousand perils which threaten the homes of their less sagacious neighbors. Into these secret recesses the females place their pure white, nearly spherical treasures, to the number of six, on as many consecutive clays. These beautiful solids exhibit not more than ordinary variation in size, and rarely exceed 1.31 of an inch in length, and 1.06 in breadth from the most diverse localities.

By the beginning of June, sometimes two months earlier in the semi-tropical sections of our country, the young, through the patient setting of the mother-bird, make their appearance. While she is thus concerned for fourteen long, weary days, her partner plays the role of a very faithful and attentive husband, amply providing for her sustenance. Both parents show great affection for their little family, and watch over it with jealous and assiduous care. Weak and fragile creatures as they are at birth, they cannot digest the unprepared food of adults, but must needs have it reduced to a pulpy state by a process of maceration. Later on this is discontinued, and the birdlings perform the important duty for themselves. At the age of fifteen days they are old enough to quit the nest, but usually remain a brief period longer, when they venture out and try the fortunes of the outside world. At nights they return to the hole where they were fledged, and also during rainy weather, until the last of October, or the middle of November, when they leave their parents, and like the latter, separate and wend their flight to the South, or to regions beyond. When the season is unusually propitious, they seek more sheltered localities, and spend the winter with us.

From the male the female, as shown in the drawing, is readily distinguished, by having the sides of the body and a transverse band across the abdominal region, and slightly posterior to the bluish one of the breast, light-chestnut, the pectoral band' being more or less tinged with the same color. The young resemble the mother in the fall, but when spring re-appears, the males present themselves in the paternal garb. The length of the adult is about twelve and three-quarters inches; that of the wing, six, and sometimes more. The small opening in the embankment shows the entrance to a nest, and a female making her way thither.