Chapter II: Part 2

It does not appear to matter much whether the country where this species breeds be wet or dry, so long as there is plenty of dense cover in which it can hide and skulk about mouse-like and unseen. It is a great lover of old haunts, and in the absence of accidents will return season after season with the utmost regularity to some favourite clump of gorse growing on a sandy common or to an ancient reed-bed in the middle of a water-logged marsh. It is very vigilant, shy, and timid, and the slightest disturbance sends it instantly into hiding amongst the thickest vegetation it can find.

Upon his arrival in the spring the male bird commences his queer, shrill song, which sounds something like that of a grasshopper, hence the popular name given to the species.

Whilst living in a house-boat on the Norfolk Broads, studying Nature, I have had many excellent opportunities of observing the habits of this interesting bird, and have often heard it singing at night when the stars were reflected on the dark, still water around me and not a breath of wind stirred the balmy air. The best time of all, however, to hear a Grasshopper Warbler in full song is at sunrise. When the first gleam of rosy light tints the dead brown reeds with coppery red and dewdrops twinkle on every blade of grass, the bird mounts to the topmost twig of some stunted alder bush or blade of sedge, and standing quite still, with widely opened mouth and quivering body, pours forth his strange song in one incessant stream. Whilst the music lasts the head is turned from side to side, and it is this action which appears to give it a ventriloquial effect.

If the bird be disturbed it instantly ceases to sing, and dropping stealthily into the undergrowth waits in silence until the danger has passed; then it recommences.

When the singer is not seen, the exact locality from which the sounds are proceeding is very difficult to discover. This arises from two facts--the shrillness of the tones, as in the case of a mouse squeaking when running about amongst grass, and the movements of the head already mentioned.

The sound, although somewhat similar to that made by a grasshopper, is much more sustained, and always appears to me far more machine-like. In fact, it is known in some parts of the country as the “Reeler,” in recognition of the fact that its notes resemble the sounds made by a reel used during the last century by hand-spinners of wool. Once the bird has been heard, its song can never be forgotten or mistaken for that of any other British Bird. Its call note is a sharp _tic, tic_.

The Grasshopper Warbler builds upon the ground, or very near to it. Its nest is well hidden, and is composed of dead grass and bits of moss, with an inner lining of fine, fibrous grass.

The eggs, numbering from four to seven, are of a pale rosy-white ground colour, very thickly spotted and speckled, especially at the larger end, with reddish-brown.

The bird approaches and leaves its nest in the most mouse-like manner. I have frequently taken it for one running through the rough matted grass, even when I knew the exact whereabouts of its home which I was approaching.

=THE SKYLARK.=

It seems almost superfluous to give a word of description concerning this well-known and almost universally distributed song bird. The upper parts of the Lavrock, as it is sometimes called, are of varying shades of brown, the darkest being in the centres of the feathers, and the lightest on their edges. The under parts are pale straw colour, tinged in parts with brown and spotted on the breast with a dark hue of that colour. It is about seven inches in length, and, as most of my readers will have noticed, has a greatly elongated hind claw. This interesting provision of Nature acts the useful part of a snow-shoe during severe weather in the winter.

Although it leaves its higher breeding grounds in the autumn this species stays with us all the year round, and has its numbers greatly increased by migrants arriving from the Continent.

The Skylark breeds in cultivated and uncultivated districts alike throughout the country. I have found its nest within a few yards of the open Atlantic and at an elevation of nearly two thousand feet above sea-level.

The nest is placed on the ground in a slight hollow scratched out by the bird under tufts of grass, ling, heath, in corn, and amongst the sun-baked clods of fallow fields. It is made of grass rootlets and horsehair--frequently nothing but the first-named, used sparingly with the slenderest blades forming the inner lining. I have found larks’ eggs from April until the end of July. They number four or five, of a dirty white ground colour, occasionally tinged with olive-green, thickly speckled and spotted with olive-brown and underlying markings of brownish-grey.

The sprightly song of the Skylark is probably better known and remembered by most people than even the appearance of the familiar little brown bird itself. Poets of all ages have praised it in their verse, but nobody has ever excelled Shakespeare’s golden line:

“Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings.”

In a moderate breeze the Lavrock rises almost perpendicularly, but during a calm in circles, and with rapidly beating wings pours out his loud, joyous song until he sometimes reaches an altitude of a thousand feet or more. Some people say that the bird soars until it becomes invisible, but I have never in all my life heard a Skylark when I could not see it. However, it is only right to confess that I am gifted with abnormally strong eyesight. He continues to sing upon his descent, but in a somewhat altered tone, until approaching the ground, when his carol suddenly ceases, and with closed wings he drops like a stone to the earth.

Early in the season Larks rise but a small height in the air, and sing only for a brief period; but in the full tide of their joy they pour out their music for six, seven, and even ten or fifteen minutes without ceasing. During the latter part of the season the males of this species appear to grow idle and sing a good deal upon the ground. I have also heard them sing from the tops of gates, small bushes, and even stunted trees.

I fondly imagined that everybody loved the varied, sprightly, and unstinted song of the Skylark until the other day, when I happened to dip into an old book on the subject of our song birds, and discovered that the author described its notes as “harsh and monotonous in the extreme ... and when divested of all associations they are a wretched concern ... wholly devoid of melody.” I thought that the writer was preparing to justify himself for eating larks, but this practice he appeared to decry almost as much as the bird’s music.

Skylarks frequently borrow notes from other birds. In the Outer Hebrides great numbers of them introduce the sweet call notes of the Ringed Plover into their carols. Unless some enemy in the shape of a Merlin appears in the sky they always, or nearly always, end their songs with a note sounding like _hear-it, hear-it, hear-it_. The call sounds like _tu-wit_, _twe-wit_, or _two wut_.

=THE REDSTART.=

The Redstart has been very aptly named, for the second syllable of the word means tail. It is also known in many parts of the country as Firetail, and the bright rusty-red colour of that appendage, which is quite unlike that of any other British bird, and is constantly being shaken and quivered, renders it easy to identify whenever and wherever it may be seen.

This bird arrives upon our shores about the second week in April, and wings its way south again towards the end of August, both movements being subject to some modification in consequence of the character of the weather prevailing at the time it commences its travels.

It is found breeding in suitable places all over England and Wales, and less numerously in Scotland. I have met with it most commonly in certain parts of the Principality and in Westmorland and Northumberland. It appears to be partial to isolated farmhouses with a few old trees round them and plenty of straggling, dilapidated outbuildings, old ruins, and gardens surrounded by moss-grown stone walls. I have frequently found the bird, however, breeding in solitary woods, and secured the photograph showing the nest and eggs figuring in this article in the silent depths of a great Highland pine forest.

The male Redstart has a short but soft and very sweet song, much resembling that of the Pied Flycatcher. Whilst staying out all night making observations, both in South Wales and the North of England, I have heard it very late in the evening and very early in the morning. It is oft repeated, and the singer borrows notes from many other feathered vocalists, such as the Swallow, Blackbird, Whitethroat, and Nightingale.

The call note of this species sounds something like _wee-tit-tit_.

The nest is situated in a hole in a tree or stone wall, sometimes under a stone partly buried in the ground, where a Wheatear might be expected to make her home, as in the case of the one figured in our illustration on page 195. It is composed of dry grass, dead leaves, and rootlets, and lined with hair and feathers.

The eggs number from four to six or even eight, although personally I have never seen more than seven. They are pale bluish-green, somewhat lighter than those of the Hedge Sparrow, and said to be occasionally marked with light red spots. I have never met, however, with this spotted variety.

=THE MEADOW PIPIT.=

The Meadow Pipit, or Titlark as the bird is frequently called, is much more abundant than the Tree Pipit. It is rather smaller in size, duller in colour, has more and smaller spots on the breast, and when hunting for food has a habit of making little periodical rushes after insects in a more wagtail-like manner than its relative.

This species is partial to open pastures, and bent and heather-clad moorland districts, and is very abundant on the Fells in the North of England, where I can safely say I have found hundreds of nests during the course of my life. I have met with it breeding quite commonly as low down as the Norfolk Broad district and as high up as the most elevated mountain tops I have ever visited in the Highlands.

Its song is somewhat shrill, and not so musical as that of the Tree Pipit. It is uttered on the wing, the bird rising to a height of thirty or forty feet in order to deliver it; also often from a stone wall, stunted bush, or boulder.

The alarm note of this species when flushed sounds like _peep, peep_, and that of distress when disturbed at the nest _trit, trit_. Call note: _zeeah, zeeah_.

The nest is generally built on a bank and hidden by some overhanging tuft of herbage, or amongst heather. I have, however, found two in holes amongst rough stones where a Wheatear might have been expected to breed. The structure is composed of bents, bits of fine dead grass, and horsehair, but the last-named article is frequently absent altogether.

The eggs number from four to six, but five is a general clutch. They are greyish-white, sometimes tinged with pale bluish-green or pinkish in ground colour, mottled with varying shades of brown and occasionally marked with hair-like lines of dusky black on the larger end. They are smaller in size than those laid by the Tree Pipit.

This species is very frequently victimised by the Cuckoo, and I have often been surprised at the lonely, treeless, and semi-barren places the “Messenger of Spring” has visited in order to find a foster-mother for her offspring.

Although such a common species, the Meadow Pipit is shyer at the nest than the Tree Pipit, and a satisfactory photograph is difficult to secure. On one occasion I was shown a nest containing chicks beneath a rock in the foreground of our tailpiece, and although I built a stone hiding-house for myself and the camera, it was a long time before I exposed a plate owing to the fact that the female persisted in standing on a crag at some distance and swallowing all the food her mate brought instead of carrying it to the young ones.

=THE WILLOW WREN.=

The Willow Wren, or Willow Warbler, arrives in this country early in April, and takes its departure again in September, although individuals linger with us sometimes throughout the winter in the southern parts of England.

In colour it is olive-green on its upper parts, with dullish-slate brown wings and tail; chin, throat, and breast whitish-yellow, and rest of under parts greyish-white. The pale yellow line over the eye is narrower than that worn by the Wood Wren.

This species is more numerous than either the Chiffchaff or the Wood Wren, and is generally distributed over the British Islands whenever trees or bushes grow in sufficient numbers for its requirements.

Its nest is generally situated on the ground amongst coarse grass and weeds entwining themselves round the slender twigs of small bushes in woods, plantations, orchards, hedge-banks, and by small alder-fringed streams. I have, however, sometimes seen it in a hole in a dry stone wall at a considerable height from the ground and on one occasion found a nest amongst some ivy growing against a stable wall in the Highlands at an elevation of something like six feet from a much-used garden path. The specimen figured in our illustration was situated in the mouth of a rabbit burrow in Aberdeenshire.

The structure is dome-shaped with a hole in front, and is composed of dead grass, moss, and occasionally a few dead leaves and fern fronds lined internally with hair and a liberal number of feathers. On one occasion I examined the lining of a Willow Wren’s nest and found that it contained feathers from seven different species of birds, and some of them had been collected by the builder at a considerable distance.

The eggs, numbering from four to eight, are white, spotted with pale rusty-red, whereas those of the Chiffchaff, with which they are most likely to be confused on account of the similarity of the nests built by the birds, are marked with dark purplish-brown.

The Willow Wren is one of the brightest and sweetest carol singers visiting our shores. Although its song is short and contains but little variety, there is a sprightliness and simplicity about it that never fails to charm. I always associate the bird’s thrice-welcome notes with the babbling alder-fringed trout streams of my youth, spring sunshine, and the sweet freshness of expanding leaves.

John Burroughs, the great American ornithologist, who once came over here to study the song birds of our country, said, “The Willow Wren has a long, tender, delicious warble, not wanting in strength and volume, but eminently pure and sweet--the song of the Chaffinch refined and idealised.... It mounts up round and full, then runs down the scale and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur.”

Willow Wrens proclaim their presence directly they arrive in this country by commencing to sing, and continue to do so until the end of July. I have heard one, together with a Robin and a Song Thrush, carolling in my garden to-day--the 16th of August. After moulting, they commence their music again in September, so they are not long silent.

The song varies, like that of many other melodists, in different parts of the country, and is sometimes uttered on the wing. The alarm note is a plaintive _t-wheet_, with the first _t_ suggested rather than sounded.

=THE HEDGE SPARROW.=

Although a soft-billed species, much more closely related to the Robin than the Sparrow, this bird has enjoyed its popular name so long that it is likely to be known by it to the end of time. It also has two or three others, such as Hedge Accentor, used almost exclusively by ornithologists, and Dunnock and Shufflewing, which are more or less local.

It is common nearly all over the country--though I have never met with it in either the Outer Hebrides or the Shetlands--inhabiting gardens, orchards, hedgerows, and woods.

Some people do not care for the song of the Hedge Sparrow, but I must admit that I am an admirer of this wee brown bird’s vocal accomplishments. Its notes, although soft and lacking in variety, are sweet and always have the true ring of joy and hope in them. They seem to herald the coming of spring.

This species has a peculiar habit of flirting or shuffling its wings, hence the very appropriate local name before mentioned. Its call note is a plaintive _peep, peep_.

The Hedge Sparrow, of course, stays with us all the year round, and in the winter hops quietly about in gardens, round fowl-houses and sinks, diligently picking up the very tiniest particles of food that other birds either do not see or consider beneath their attention. When disturbed it timidly retires beneath some bush or hedge, and waits until all is quiet, when it comes forth again with a gentleness and modesty that win it a great deal of sympathy during hard weather.

It breeds early, and hides its nest, as carefully as circumstances will permit, in evergreens and thick hedgerows. Although such a common species, it has one habit which is not often mentioned in books. When laying it frequently covers over its eggs with part of the lining of the nest before leaving them.

On one occasion I photographed a Dunnock sitting on her nest in a bramble bush, and wishing for a different view of her returned the following morning in order to secure it. When I approached the place I observed the bird sitting at home, but in endeavouring to get close to her with my apparatus I frightened her off. Pathetically enough, upon looking into the structure, I discovered that the bird had been sitting inside an absolutely empty home.

The Hedge Sparrow makes her nest of slender twigs, in limited numbers--sometimes these are not employed at all--rootlets, dead grass, and moss, with an inner lining of wool, hair, and feathers. The lining frequently consists of no other materials than moss and cowhair.

The eggs number from four to six, and are turquoise-blue in colour and unspotted.

Two, and even three, broods are reared in a season. Nests may be found as early as March and as late as the end of July.

=THE GREENFINCH.=

The Greenfinch, or Green Linnet as it is called in many parts of the country, is a thick-set little bird, about six inches, of a yellowish-green colour, shaded with ash-grey above, and bright yellow, slightly tinged with ash-grey, on its under parts. The female is not quite as large as her mate, and much duller in colour.

This species is common in nearly all parts of the country where there are cultivated fields, small woods, hedgerows, and gardens. In fact, I should say that it ranks next to the Common Sparrow amongst the finches in point of numbers.

Although a somewhat selfish bird, full of threats and warlike attitudes when a favourite item of food--such as a sunflower head full of seeds--has been discovered, it is sociable to a great extent, even during the breeding season. I have found three or four nests within a yard or two of each other in a hedgerow, and Mr. Hudson says that two or three may sometimes be found even on the same branch.

The nest is situated in hedgerows, gorse bushes, yew, holly, ivy, and other evergreens, in orchards, gardens, shrubberies, and on commons, and when compared with that of the Chaffinch is a rather large and slovenly structure formed of slender, dead twigs, rootlets, grass, and moss lined with hair, down, and feathers.

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are white, pale grey, or white tinged with blue, spotted principally round the larger end with reddish-brown and purplish-grey.

The male Greenfinch, although not a great feathered vocalist, has some very pleasant notes, which he trills by the half-hour together. In the early part of the breeding season he sings on the wing, but later on he grows less energetic, and is content to deliver his oft-repeated lay from some favourite treetop. Individuals differ in the quality of their notes.

In confinement the Greenfinch soon becomes very tame and docile, and is appreciated on this account, and also for its ability to imitate the notes of other species.

The call-note is a prolonged _twe-e-er_, and when the nest is visited the members of this species utter a very melancholy one sounding like _tway_.

In winter Greenfinches congregate in small flocks, and hunt for seeds in stubble fields and farmyards. They will associate with Sparrows, Linnets, and Chaffinches, and during the winter months they come regularly to my garden to take their share of corn, sunflower seeds, and other food which is provided every morning for the consumption of all feathered friends. It is amusing to see one of these birds rolling a grain of Indian corn about between its short, stout mandibles, gradually reducing it to pieces small enough to be swallowed, and cleverly rejecting the thin husk in which it is enfolded, and allowing it to flutter to the ground.

=THE DARTFORD WARBLER.=

This bird received its popular name on account of the fact that it was first observed near Dartford in Kent in 1773. It is also known by the very appropriate name of Furze Wren in some parts of the country, because it has a habit of cocking its long tail like a Common Wren and is very partial to thick growths of furze.

The Dartford Warbler is about five inches long, and in addition to its habit of cocking its tail, which measures nearly half its entire length, possesses the lark-like power of erecting the feathers on the top of its head so as to form a kind of crest. On his upper parts the male is greyish-black, the wings and tail being blackish-brown and the outside feathers of the latter broadly tipped with grey; chin, throat, breast, and sides chestnut-brown; under parts white, excepting at the base of the tail, where they are grey. The female is browner on her upper parts and lighter underneath.

Furze-clad commons along the south coast of England form the home of this rare, shy, and interesting species, which there is every reason to fear is growing still rarer owing to the damage done to it by such severe winters as those of 1881 and 1895 and the depredations of egg collectors.

Although a very difficult bird to observe, and therefore liable to be overlooked, particularly during dull, wet weather, when it does not show itself on the tops of furze bushes, there is every reason to fear that it has quite vanished from many of its old Surrey and Sussex haunts, where I have sought for it day after day in vain. For obvious reasons I cannot divulge the whereabouts of the place where our photograph of the adult male opposite was secured, by the kind assistance of a friend who fed the bird on mealworms at the same place, close to his nest and young ones, morning by morning until he got into the habit of visiting the top of that particular furze bush regularly in search of his breakfast.

The nest is built in the lower parts of thick furze bushes, and is composed of small, slender branches of furze, grass stalks, bits of moss, and wool, with an inner lining of fine grass and sometimes a few hairs.

The eggs number four or five, greenish- or buffish-white in ground colour, speckled all over with dark olive-brown, and underlying markings of grey.

Although a bird of weak flight, the Furze Wren is very active and nimble when searching from bush to bush for its food, which consists of flies, moths, spiders, caterpillars, and other small deer.

It has a hurried little song, which has been described as “shrill and piping” by one authority, and “an angry, impatient ditty, for ever the same,” by another. Early in the season it is delivered whilst the singer is hovering in the air like a Whitethroat, moving his head from side to side and waving his tail in all directions, but later more soberly from the topmost branch of some furze bush. The slightest disturbance instantly silences the vocalist, and he drops straight into the hiding afforded by the thick cover below.

The most frequently heard call-note of this species sounds like _pit-it-chou_ or _pitch-oo_, hence its very appropriate French name of “Pitchou.” It also has another harsh note, sounding like _cha, cha_.

=THE MISSEL THRUSH.=

The Missel Thrush measures something like eleven and a half inches in length, and is the largest member of its family inhabiting our islands. It is, perhaps, more numerous now than it has ever been before, owing to the long succession of mild, open winters we have enjoyed and the fact that during the last century it has greatly increased its breeding range both to the North and West. In 1800 it was unknown in Ireland, but is now abundant in that country.

On its upper parts the Missel Thrush is ash-brown in colour, and buffish-white below, marked with blackish-brown spots. It may always be distinguished from the Song Thrush by its larger size, greyer colour, and by the fact that when on the wing it shows a conspicuous white stripe down either side of its tail.

This bird loves small woods, well-timbered parks, orchards, and tree-fringed streams common in the dales of the North of England. Its nest is built in the fork of a tree or on a strong horizontal branch at varying heights of from three to forty feet from the ground, but I have never seen it in such a bush as the Song Thrush would be likely to patronise. Sometimes it is small and well concealed, but at others it is large and quite conspicuous. Occasionally I have found it adorned on the outside with lichen matching that growing on the tree wherein it was built, and even with green ivy leaves harmonising with the moss clinging to the trunk of the tree in which it was situated; but, on the other hand, I have found nests ornamented with large pieces of wool waving in the wind, and even the large wing feathers of a white barn-door Fowl. The nest is constructed of a few slender twigs (sometimes these are quite absent), grass stems, moss, mud, and wool, with an inner lining of fine, dead grass.

The eggs, numbering four or five, vary from greyish-green to reddish-grey in ground colour, marked with brownish-red spots.

The Missel Thrush, or Storm Cock as it is called in many parts of the country, from its habit of singing on the topmost branches of tall trees during wet, windy weather, is one of our very earliest feathered vocalists. I have heard it piping its bold, defiant notes as early as in December in the South of England and as late as the end of June in the Highlands of Scotland, and have found its nest and eggs from the end of February until the middle of June.

Although by no means a first-class melodist, the Storm Cock has some very sweet notes, and the unpleasant climatic conditions under which he frequently delivers them seem to enhance their value. I have often listened to him, brave bird! whilst he was swaying to and fro on the topmost branch of some wind-swept tree, and I could only catch a note here and there, the rest being carried away on a chord of the storm.

Few of our poets have given the Missel Thrush any attention whatever in their verse, but one has done it justice in the following lines:

“Whilst thou! the leader of the band,
Fearless salut’st the opening year,
Nor stay’st till blow the breezes bland
That bid the tender leaves appear;
But on some towering elm or pine
Waving aloft thy dauntless wing
Thou joy’st thy love notes wild to sing.”

This species sometimes imitates the notes of other birds, but not nearly to the same extent as its commoner relative, the Song Thrush, and renders them in such an undernote that they are difficult to hear on account of the singer not allowing the listener to approach very closely.

The call note is a harsh, rattling kind of cry, which, lengthened a little, and uttered with greater vehemence, becomes the alarm.

Although shy during the greater part of the year, this bird grows much bolder during the breeding season. I have known it build in a fruit tree within a few yards of the front door of a farmhouse, and have seen it attack a stuffed owl which had been placed near its nest, containing young ones, and knock it clean out of the tree.

=THE DIPPER.=

The earliest recollections of my old moorland home in Yorkshire are of rushing mountain torrents, swirling and gurgling round limestone boulders, beneath which I used to tickle the lively little brown trout, and of white-breasted Dippers flitting up and down.

The Water Ouzel, as it is sometimes called, is not at all a sociable bird. It takes possession of some portion of a stream, often limited to a few hundred yards in length, and keeping more or less strictly to it will not allow any intruder of its own species to encroach upon its domain.

In appearance it is by no means unlike a large black Wren with a snowy-white breast and chestnut under parts.

It secures its food in the most wonderful manner when the fact is taken into consideration that the bird appears to be no more adapted to the methods it employs than a Song Thrush. Alighting on some stone in the middle of a rapid stream, it deliberately walks down into the water and swims along the bottom by a series of wing-beats, picking up and swallowing as it goes caddis worms, larvæ of flies, and small molluscs. On several occasions I have disturbed young Dippers in the nest when they were ready to fly, and have seen them one by one plunge into a deep, clear pool and progress just as if they were flying slowly and heavily along under water until they came to shore or were compelled to rise to the surface from exhaustion.

The Dipper is a sweet singer, but the listener requires to be very close to the little vocalist before he is in a position thoroughly to appreciate the bird’s low, soft, warbling song, which, although of no great length, is practised even in the middle of winter.

A year or two ago I had occasion to catch an early train in Westmorland, and whilst walking through some rock-strewn pastures to the station came to an old wooden bridge crossing the river Eden. It was close upon Christmas, the air was biting cold, and everything clad in the crystal purity of a heavy hoar frost. Just as I approached the river, day was breaking, and my attention was arrested by a sweet, silvery snatch of song, which I at once recognised as that of the Dipper. I waited on the footbridge until it was light enough to see the bird standing on a moss-clad boulder in the middle of a dark, glassy pool, and shall never forget the beauty of the morning light breaking on the water, the stillness of the scene amidst the lonely hills, nor the sweetness of that exquisite little carol sent out like a flood of joy on the crisp, winter air.

The call note of the species is _zit_ or _chit, chit_, uttered both when the bird is on the wing and whilst curtseying and dipping in its own quaint way on some stone half submerged in a brawling stream.

The bird builds its nest in all kinds of positions, but never away from flowing water. It may be found in crevices of rock, in holes beneath stone bridges, on large moss-grown boulders in or on the bank of a stream, behind the falling waters of a cascade, and in trees overhanging rivers. It is quite a large structure for the size of the builder, and is made of moss securely woven and felted together on the outside and lined with rootlets, soft dead grass, and leaves placed layer upon layer inside. It is dome-shaped, with the entrance hole placed so low down that the overhanging roof forms a kind of portico which cunningly prevents any stray splash of water from finding its way inside.

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are pure white, and quite unspotted.

Young Dippers, instead of having white, conspicuous breasts like their parents, have the feathers edged with dusky black, which greatly aids concealment when they are sitting at rest.

This species breeds in the North and West of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland wherever there are tumbling, foaming brooks suitable to its habits.

A spring or two ago I spent several days inside a hollow, artificial rock, photographing the bird represented in our illustration, and was delighted with its interesting ways. The cock fed the hen, sitting inside the nest keeping their tiny chicks warm during some particularly cold weather for the season, and performed his task with great diligence and dispatch.

One day he heard the shutter of my camera click, and grew inquisitive. As soon as he had delivered his catch of larvæ, he hopped from stone to stone, until he finally stood upon one which allowed him to take a peep inside my hiding contrivance, one corner of which projected over the bank of the beck in such a way as to allow me to look down and see the water rushing past. Cocking his knowing little head first on one side and then the other, he looked up at me and made a most critical examination of everything he saw. He apparently came to the conclusion that I was quite harmless, for when he had satisfied his curiosity he sang a little song, and then flew away in search of more food for his mate and their chicks.

=THE CHIFFCHAFF.=

This tiny warbler measures only about four and three-quarter inches in length, is dull olive-green tinged with yellow above and yellowish-white below. Over the eye it wears a pale yellowish streak which grows whiter as it recedes.

The Chiffchaff is, with the exception of the hardy Wheatear, the first feathered wanderer to return to us in the spring, and is eagerly looked, or rather listened, for by naturalists because its welcome notes stand in their calendar as January 1 does to the rest of the world--the beginning of a New Year--not of days, weeks, and months, but of awakening life, activity, and joy. It arrives in March and departs again in October, some individuals having the hardihood to stay even through the winter in the mild south-western parts of England.

This species breeds generally throughout the southern and midland parts of England, but it is not common in the northern counties or in Scotland. It is met with in all suitable districts of Wales and Ireland, but is everywhere more or less local.

Shady woods, well-timbered dells, and stream-sides with plenty of matured trees clustering round are beloved haunts of the Chiffchaff, which builds its nest on or near the ground amongst tall grass tangled with brambles and small bushes, hedge and ditch banks, and sometimes in ivy growing against trees and walls. The structure is oval, domed, and has an entrance hole in the side. It is made of dead grass, withered leaves, and moss--sometimes a few fern fronds are employed--and is lined with hair and feathers.

The eggs, numbering from five to seven, are white, sparingly spotted with dark purplish-brown.

It is by no means an easy matter for the inexperienced ornithologist to distinguish the Chiffchaff from the Willow Wren, although the species under notice is a trifle smaller and duller in colour.

Its song, if two oft-repeated notes can be dignified by such a name, is, however, quite unique and impossible to confuse with that of any other British bird. The two notes sound something like _chiff chaff_ or _chip chop_, and are uttered four or five times in succession as the bird hunts from bough to bough and tree to tree after its insect food.

To some people it is said to grow exceedingly wearisome, but to me it always sounds such a part of the pleasant things of spring that it never palls.

The call note sounds something like _tweet_ or _wheet_, and the alarm cry like _whooid_ or _whooit_.

=THE WHITETHROAT.=

The Whitethroat, or Greater Whitethroat as it is sometimes called in contradistinction to its near and rarer relative, the Lesser Whitethroat, is a very common summer visitor to our shores, arriving about the second or third week in April and taking its departure again in September and October.

It is about five and a half inches in length. The upper parts of its body are brown tinged with grey on the head and neck, and reddish elsewhere; wings dusky, the coverts being edged with reddish-buff; tail quills dull brown, the outer ones edged and tipped with white, which is prominently shown when the bird is flying away from the observer. The chin and throat are white, accounting for the aptitude of the bird’s popular name; breast and under parts pale grey, tinged with a beautiful rosy flesh-colour.

The female lacks the grey on her head, also the rosy tint on her under parts.

This species breeds in suitable localities all over England, Wales, Ireland, and the greater part of Scotland.

It builds its nest in all kinds of low bushes, such as bramble, thorn, briar, and furze, and is so partial to nettles that it is generally known amongst country people as the “Nettle Creeper.” The structure, though deep, is of a very flimsy character, and consists of dead grass stems and horsehair, the latter being used as a lining.

The eggs number from four to six, of a dirty greenish-white ground colour, speckled and spotted with brown and grey, generally evenly distributed over the surface of the shell.

The song consists of a few sweet and oft-repeated notes, delivered with great vehemence, not to say passion, the vocalist appearing to labour under considerable excitement whilst hurrying through his brief carol. This species commences to sing very early in the morning, and during May and June often continues until after it is dark. It also sings on the wing, as well as from the top of a hedge or bramble bush. Last summer I sat down to rest between a number of scattered thorn bushes and a wide old hedgerow on a Surrey hillside. A few moments afterwards a small bird left the hedge and took refuge in one of the bushes about twenty-five yards below me. Its notes and the white line on either side of the tail told me unmistakably that it was a Whitethroat. Presently the little songster shot up into the air to a height of some twenty or thirty feet, and with outspread tail and head and wings, performing all kinds of strange antics, bubbled out its hurried notes as it descended to the topmost spray of the bush which it had just left. This performance was frequently repeated until his mate left the hedgerow behind me and joined him, when his excitement appeared to abate to some extent.

The call notes of this species are very varied, and have been written down by different observers in a variety of ways. The most general are those sounding like _cha, cha_ and _purr, purr_.

=THE NIGHTINGALE.=

The Nightingale measures a little over six inches in length, and is of a uniform tawny-brown on its upper parts, except in the case of the tail coverts and quills, which are of a rusty-red tinge, conspicuously seen when the bird is flying away from the observer. Chin, throat, and all under parts greyish-white tinged with brown on the breast and reddish on the under tail coverts.

This thrice-welcome migrant arrives upon our shores in April, and leaves again in August. It is peculiarly limited in its breeding area, which extends no farther west than the Valley of the Exe and only to York in a northerly direction. Of course, odd specimens have been heard by trustworthy observers beyond these limits, but they are exceptional, and the species is unknown both in Scotland and Ireland. Attempts have been made from time to time to induce the bird to extend its range, but they have one and all proved futile. The late Sir John Sinclair had numbers of eggs sent from the South of England and placed in Robins’ nests in Caithness, but although the closely allied foster-mothers successfully hatched and reared the young Nightingales they went off and never returned. The experiment of turning adult birds down in certain parts of Wales beyond the localities reached by free members of the species also proved a failure. It is said to “be met with only where the cowslip grows kindly,” but this extraordinary assertion is difficult to understand, because it is hard to remember where that common and hardy plant does not “grow kindly.”

The nest is made of dry grass stalks, dead leaves, moss, bits of bark, and fibrous roots, and is lined with fine grass and horsehair. It is built on or near the ground, on a little bank at the foot of a tree, at the bottom of a hedgerow, or on the stump of a felled tree; in woods, plantations, copses, quiet gardens, and on commons where clumps of hazels, brambles, and briars grow.

The eggs number from four to six, of a uniform olive-brown or olive-green colour. Occasionally greenish-blue specimens are found.

It would be difficult to overpraise the almost perfect song of this bird, the king of all British feathered melodists; for although I greatly admire the vocal powers of the Song Thrush, Skylark, and Blackcap, I do not think that any one of them can come near the Nightingale for perfection of phrasing, rich mellowness, or the loud, clear, silvery sound of its notes. I agree with Mr. Witchell, who has studied the songs of birds more closely, perhaps, than any other living man, when he says:

“This tempestuous song, this wild melody, the triumphal song of Nature herself, pierces beyond the ear right to the heart of the listener.”

The Nightingale is the only bird I ever remember to have heard singing in a fog, and this occurred in Surrey a little before midnight during the third week in May.

The male members of this species arrive upon our shores from ten days to a fortnight earlier than the females, and sing by night in order to attract the latter, which travel during the hours of darkness. As soon as the young ones are hatched the superb song ceases, and both parent birds confine their energies to the wants of the chicks.

Poets of all ages have given the song of the Nightingale a great deal of attention, but how strangely they have gone astray in regard to the bird’s habits! It appears to have appealed to most of them on account of its practice of singing by night, and the touch of melancholy in the three or four lengthened notes that commence softly and gradually rise until they are so loud and strong that they may be heard at a great distance. Curiously enough, they made the mistake of thinking that their Philomel only sang by night, and was the solitary bird that did so.

Even our immortal William of Avon says:

“The Nightingale, if he should sing by day
When every goose is cackling would be thought
No better a musician than the Wren.”

The fact that the bird sings by day as well as by night was known, however, to the ancients, because Virgil mentions it. Readers of this little volume will also gather that other feathered musicians, such as the Sedge and Grasshopper Warblers, Woodlark, and Cuckoo, also sing by night.

Individual members of this species differ in the quality of their notes, as was observed as far back as Pliny’s time.

The alarm note sounds like _wate, wate_, _cur, cur_, or _witt, krr_.

=THE LESSER WHITETHROAT.=

The Lesser Whitethroat arrives in April and leaves again in September. It is far less numerous than its larger relative, and is not so widely distributed over the British Islands. This bird is most plentiful in the South and East of England, becoming scarcer towards the North and West, rare in Scotland, and absent altogether from Ireland as a breeding species.

It measures just over five inches in length, and has the upper parts greyish-brown, wings and tail dusky, the feathers being edged with greyish-brown instead of chestnut, which distinguishes it from the Greater Whitethroat. The under parts are greyish-white.

This species loves high, thick hedges rather than large woods, and builds its nest, which is a slight and flimsy structure made of dead grass, stalks, and lined with horsehair, in hedges, briar, bramble, gorse, and other bushes.

The eggs, four or five in number, are white or light creamy white, with the faintest suggestion of green in ground colour, spotted and speckled with ash-grey and greenish-brown.

The Lesser Whitethroat is inferior to the Greater as a musician, but makes up for its deficiency in quality by its liberality in regard to quantity, for it sings almost incessantly, especially during sultry weather, and keeps on until very late in the summer. Its notes are without variation, hurriedly delivered, and sound like _sip, sip, sip_.

The bird’s call notes have been likened to the words _check, check_.

=THE SISKIN.=

This favourite cage pet measures a little over four and a half inches in length, has the top of the head black and the upper parts of the body greenish-olive, streaked with black, except the greater wing coverts and quills, which are brownish-black, tipped and bordered with yellow; rump yellow, upper tail coverts greenish-olive. The tail is slightly forked and dusky black, yellowish on the upper half, except in the case of the two centre feathers. A yellow streak runs over and behind the eye. Chin black, throat and breast yellowish-green, under parts greyish-white streaked with dusky black.

The female is a trifle smaller, and lacks the black on her crown and chin.

Although the nest of this species, which used to be called the Aberdevine amongst bird-catchers, has been found occasionally in various parts of England, it is chiefly known as a winter visitor, and may be seen, along with flocks of Redpolls, feeding upon the seeds of the alder, birch, and larch, from September until April. It breeds regularly, however, in the great pine forests of Scotland and in certain parts of Ireland.

The nest is generally placed on the branch of a fir at a considerable height from the ground, although specimens have been found even in furze and juniper bushes. It is composed of slender twigs, dried grass, moss, wool, and horsehair, lined with vegetable down, rabbit’s fur, and a few soft feathers.

From four to six eggs are laid, of a greyish-white ground colour, tinted with green or pale bluish-green, spotted and speckled with pale and dark reddish-brown, sometimes streaked with the latter colour.

The song of the Siskin has been likened to the running-down of a piece of clockwork, and it used to be a great favourite amongst stocking weavers in Germany as a cage pet, on account of the fact that the tones of its song mingled so as to resemble the noise made by stocking looms.

One day I watched and listened to a cock in a Highland forest for some time. He sat for a little while on the topmost spray of a tall fir tree uttering his somewhat low but sweet and varied notes, then took an excursion into the air as if he intended to fly away, but changed his mind and his course several times, and on each occasion repeated his melody, and finally came back and alighted on the same twig from which he started.

The call notes are shrill and oft-repeated during flight, sounding something like _tit, tit, tit_, or _tut, tut, tut_.

=THE SEDGE WARBLER.=

The Sedge Warbler, or Sedge bird, as this restless, noisy little creature is frequently called, is by far the most numerous member of its family visiting the British Islands during the summer. It arrives in April, and takes its departure again for its winter quarters, which extend as far as South Africa, in September, although odd specimens are said to have been seen even in winter.

It is about four inches and three-quarters in length, greyish-brown on its upper parts, streaked with dusky brown; its chin and throat are white, and under parts pale buff. Over the eye is a conspicuous yellowish white streak, which, together with the dark stripes on its back, readily distinguish it from its relative, the Reed Warbler.

This species breeds in suitable localities nearly all over the British Islands, with exception of the Shetlands. I have met with it in tiny clumps of willows growing by small stream-sides high up amongst the Westmorland Fells.

Its home is amongst reeds, rushes, osiers, brambles, and all kinds of bushes near to lakes, swamps, rivers, ponds, and ditches, although it may occasionally be met with breeding at a considerable distance from water.

The Sedge Warbler builds its nest in rushes, brambles, bushes, and almost any kind of thick, tangled herbage. It is generally lower down than that of the Reed Warbler, sometimes quite upon the ground. I have found it on several occasions upon young pollards a yard from the ground, and once in a hedgerow at an elevation of five or six feet. The structure is loosely built and composed of grass and moss outside, lined with willow down and horsehair. It is frequently adorned with a large white feather protruding over the outside edge or bending inwards in such a way as to hide the eggs. These number five or six, of a pale yellowish-brown clay colour, clouded and mottled with darker brown, and often streaked at the larger end with hair-like black lines.

This bird is a persistent singer, with a harsh voice, an inordinate fancy for repetition, and a great faculty for mimicking the cries of other birds. It is willing to oblige anyone who will listen to its chattering, half-scolding, and always hurried song, night or day. A handful of gravel or mould thrown into any reeds or bushes wherein a male Sedge Warbler is roosting will nearly always induce the bird to pour forth a stream of melody.

I have frequently heard members of this species singing nearly all night long on the Norfolk Broads, and many times when taking my photographic plates out of wash at two o’clock in the morning I have started a chorus around me by emptying the buckets of water with a splash over the stern of the little houseboat in which I was staying.

The male has another peculiarity which is not often mentioned in books. In the early part of the season he is fond of taking little fluttering excursions in the air a few yards above the reeds whilst he bubbles forth his merry, hurried song. This is, no doubt, to attract the females during the pairing season.

I have heard members of this species imitate the notes of the Landrail, Common Sparrow, Nightingale, Whitethroat, Chaffinch, Robin, Swallow, and Blackbird. In the case of the last three species an individual mimicked all their notes within half a minute, not pausing as the Marsh Warbler does, but running straight on in a breathless hurry, and then turning back to repeat the whole over again.

The alarm cry of the Sedge Warbler when disturbed is a harsh _churr_. It also has another, sounding something like _tut-tut_. The bird makes use of a soft call resembling _wheet-wheet_.

=THE LESSER REDPOLE.=

This is the smallest of our Finches, measuring only about four and a half inches in length. Its crown is crimson-red, hind part of head and rest of upper parts dark brown, the feathers being edged with reddish-brown. Upper tail-coverts tinged with crimson. Wings and tail dusky, edged with pale reddish-brown, the latter forked. Chin black, throat and breast rose-pink to vermilion, rest of under parts light greyish, streaked on the sides with dull brown. The female is rather smaller, and lacks the red on her breast and upper tail-coverts.

The Lesser Redpole has bred, somewhat erratically it is true, in nearly every county in England, but is most numerous in the northern counties and in Scotland. It also nests in Ireland, where it is scarcer in the south than the north. Its nest is a very pretty little structure made of a few slender, dead twigs (used as a foundation), dead grass stalks, moss, and rootlets beautifully lined with willow down and occasionally hair and feathers. It is built in willows, alders, firs, hawthorn, birch, hazel, and other trees and bushes. It has also been found in heather.