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Title: Nature's carol singers
Author: Kearton, Richard
Language: English
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Natural History Works
By R. Kearton, F.Z.S.
_With Illustrations from Photographs taken
direct from Nature by C. and R. Kearton._
British Birds’ Nests. _New and Enlarged Edition_, 21s. net.
The Adventures of Cock Robin and His Mate. 6s.
Wild Nature’s Ways. 6s.
White’s Natural History of Selborne. 6s.
Strange Adventures in Dicky-bird Land. Cloth, 3s. 6d.; cloth gilt,
gilt edges, 5s.
Our Bird Friends. 5s.
With Nature and a Camera. 7s. 6d.
Wild Life at Home. 6s.
Our Rarer British Breeding Birds: Their Nests, Eggs, and Summer
Haunts. 3s. 6d. net.
Pictures from Nature. Being 15 choice Rembrandt Photogravures. In
Portfolio. 10s. 6d. net.
Birds’ Nests, Eggs, and Egg Collecting. 5s.
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED;
_London, Paris, New York and Melbourne_.
NATURE’S CAROL SINGERS
[Illustration: bird and chicks]
[Illustration: A NIGHTINGALE AND ITS MATE.]
NATURE’S
CAROL SINGERS
BY
RICHARD KEARTON, F.Z.S.
_Author of_ “_Wild Nature’s Ways_,” “_The
Adventures of Cock Robin and His Mate_,” _etc. etc._
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS
DIRECT FROM NATURE BY
CHERRY AND RICHARD KEARTON
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK AND
MELBOURNE. MCMVI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PREFACE.
_Their plumage dazzles not, but yet can sweeter strains be heard?
Let other feathers vaunt the dyes of deepest rainbow flush,
Give me old England’s nightingale, its robin and its thrush._ COOK.
Despite the fact that we live in a small and thickly populated
country, we are singularly rich in song birds, thanks to our numerous
old furze-clad commons, game preserves, and a healthy sentiment in
the great majority of rich and poor alike towards the wee, feathered
carol-singers that make grove and hillside ring with their sweet, happy
music.
This little book deals in a concise and popular manner with the
appearance, haunts, habits, nests, eggs, songs, and call notes of the
winged melodists that breed in various parts of the British Islands.
I have endeavoured to describe them in such a way that the reader may
be able to identify them for himself or herself in wood and field,
and where two species bear a similarity of appearance or song, to
emphasise the points wherein they differ.
The study of our native song birds will be found to contain many
delightful curiosities, and to present not a few entertaining problems.
For instance, all our first-class melodists, such as the Nightingale,
Song Thrush, Blackcap Warbler, Woodlark, and Garden Warbler, are
dressed in the most sober of sober colours. Male migrants generally
arrive upon our shores before the females, and at once commence to
sing and practise all kinds of curious antics in order to attract the
attention of their prospective brides when they arrive. Individual
birds of the same species vary greatly in the quality of their songs,
and nearly all the members of a species sometimes sing better in one
part of the country than another. Birds are first-class plagiarists,
and not only copy each other’s notes, but upon occasion actually
improve the quality of the music they borrow. Some of them, such as the
Chaffinch, practise their notes thousands of times per day, and a Song
Thrush sings as many as sixteen hours out of the twenty-four.
The following questions in regard to the behaviour of some of our
feathered melodists are amongst those put to me by both young and old
after my lectures, and contain a good deal of food for reflection:
Why do some birds sing by night as well as by day after they have
mated? Why do some birds cease to sing as soon as their young ones
are hatched, and others continue practically all the year round? Why
does a caged Skylark sing blithely in a dingy alley, where he has no
mate to attract, no rival to challenge, nor any apparent condition of
life to induce a feeling of happiness? Why does a Skylark practise its
notes on the ground more during the closing than the opening part of
the season? How do birds know of a coming change in the weather and
sing joyously to foretell it long before man, with all his acquired
experience, is aware of the fact? Why do some winged melodists, such as
the Blackbird for instance, sing the best during a shower of rain? Is
it in anticipation of an increased supply of food? Would a chick that
had never heard the song of its own species be able to sing it when it
grew up?
No answer to many of these interesting questions that are constantly
cropping up will be found in any ornithological work with which I am
acquainted, and they show two things clearly to my mind, viz.: How
little we really know about even our common song birds, and what a
great desire there is on the part of the public to find out.
Nature is never prodigal in the giving up of her secrets, but the
diligent student is sure to discover some interesting fact or solve
some entertaining problem; and I would urge all young people who care
for the delights of the country to take up the study of Nature’s
charming musicians. They will find it deeply interesting to learn to
identify birds by their songs and call notes, and even to imitate the
latter with sufficient skill to attract members of the species to which
they belong.
Finally, I trust I may be permitted to hope that this little book will
stimulate an interest in our song birds, which have always been a
never-ending source of solace and delight to me.
R. KEARTON.
_Caterham Valley,
November, 1906._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CUCKOO 1
ROBIN 16
BLACKBIRD 26
TWITE, OR MOUNTAIN LINNET 32
WOOD WREN 38
RING OUZEL 43
TREE PIPIT 48
WOODLARK 53
COMMON WREN 58
GRASSHOPPER WARBLER 66
SKYLARK 71
REDSTART 77
MEADOW PIPIT 82
WILLOW WREN 87
HEDGE SPARROW 93
GREENFINCH 98
DARTFORD WARBLER 103
MISSEL THRUSH 108
DIPPER 114
CHIFFCHAFF 120
WHITETHROAT 125
NIGHTINGALE 130
LESSER WHITETHROAT 136
SISKIN 140
SEDGE WARBLER 144
LESSER REDPOLE 149
REED WARBLER 153
ROCK PIPIT 159
GARDEN WARBLER 163
MARSH WARBLER 168
REED BUNTING 173
GOLDFINCH 177
BLACKCAP WARBLER 182
BULLFINCH 188
WHEATEAR 194
STONECHAT 198
WHINCHAT 202
SONG THRUSH 205
YELLOW HAMMER 214
STARLING 219
CHAFFINCH 226
PIED FLYCATCHER 233
LINNET 238
SWALLOW 244
GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN 248
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Blackbird, Female, admiring her single giant chick 29
Blackbird’s Nest 27
Blackcap Warbler, Female, feeding young 185
Blackcap Warbler’s Nest and Eggs 183
Bullfinch, Female, on the Nest 191
Bullfinch’s Nest and Eggs 189
Chaffinch on the Nest 227
Chaffinches, Sparrows, and Starling feeding in Winter 229
Chaffinches, Young 231
Chiffchaff and Nest 121
Chiffchaff’s Nest and Eggs 122
“Come and hear the Cuckoo sing” 6
Cuckoo, Adult 5
Cuckoo, Young, and his Tree Pipit foster-mother 9
Cuckoo, Young, asking for food 13
Cuckoo, Young, in Meadow Pipit’s Nest, Bird’s
own eggs thrown out on to edge of structure 3
Cuckoo, Young, waiting for its foster-mother with
food 7
Cuckoo’s Egg in Meadow Pipit’s Nest 3
Dartford Warbler 105
Dipper and Nest 116
Garden Warbler on Nest 165
Garden Warbler’s Nest and Eggs 166
Golden-Crested Wren at Nest 250
Goldfinch’s Nest and Eggs 179
Grasshopper Warbler on Nest 68
Greenfinch, Male, in a Garden in Winter 99
Greenfinch’s Nest and Eggs 101
Hedge Sparrow and Young 95
Hedge Sparrow’s Nest and Eggs 94
Lesser Whitethroat feeding young 138
Lesser Whitethroat’s Nest and Eggs 137
Lesser Redpole’s Nest and Eggs 151
Linnet bringing food for young 241
Linnet’s Nest and Eggs 239
Marsh Warbler on the Nest 170
Meadow Pipit, Adult 84
Meadow Pipit’s Nest and Eggs 85
Meadow Pipit, Young, sheltering behind a stone 83
Missel Thrush at Nest 112
Missel Thrushes, Newly-fledged 110
Nightingale (_Frontispiece_)
Nightingale’s Nest and Eggs 133
Pied Flycatcher, Male, outside nesting hole 234
Redstart, Female, with food for chicks 78
Redstart, Male, with food for young 79
Redstart’s Nest and Eggs beneath a stone on the
ground 80
Reed Bunting, Female, and Young 175
Reed Warbler, Young 156
Reed Warblers at Home 155
Reed Warbler’s Nest and Eggs 154
Ring Ouzel, Female, covering young in nest during
a shower of rain 46
Ring Ouzel’s Nest 45
Robin, Cock, bringing food for his chicks 19
Robin, Female, bringing food to her young 23
Robin, Young, in its first coat of feathers 21
Robin’s Nest 17
Rock Pipit’s Nest and Eggs 161
Sedge Warbler on Nest 145
Sedge Warbler’s Nest with Cuckoo’s Egg in it 145
Siskin’s Nest and Eggs 142
Skylark, Mother, feeding chicks 74
Skylark’s Nest and Eggs 72
Song Thrush at Nest 206
Song Thrushes, Young, waiting for mother 211
Song Thrush’s Nest and Eggs 208
Starling, Adult, in Winter 223
Starling in its first coat of feathers 221
Stonechat’s Nest and Eggs 199
Swallow, Newly-fledged 246
Swallows, Young, on telegraph wires 245
Tree Pipit about to alight on young Cuckoo’s back
with food 11
Tree Pipit coming with food for young Cuckoo 10
Tree Pipit feeding young Cuckoo whilst standing
on his shoulders 14
Tree Pipit, Female, about to enter nest 51
Tree Pipit stretching herself after having fed young
Cuckoo 2
Tree Pipit’s Nest and Eggs 49
Twite on Nest in Honeysuckle tied against a storm-swept
Hebridean garden wall 35
Twite, Young, just fledged 34
Twite’s Nest and Eggs 33
Wheatear, Male, bringing food for young 196
Wheatears, Young, waiting for food 197
Wheatear’s Nest and Eggs beneath a stone 195
Whinchat’s Nest and Eggs 203
Whitethroat on Nest 128
Whitethroat’s Nest and Eggs 127
Willow Wren bringing food to young in nest 91
Willow Wren’s Nest and Eggs 88
Willow Wrens, Young 89
Woodlark, Newly fledged 56
Woodlark’s Nest and Eggs 55
Wood Wren, Female, about to enter nest 40
Wood Wren’s Nest and Eggs 39
Wren about to enter Nest with food for chicks 62
Wren’s Nest amongst Ivy growing on the trunk of
a tree 60
Yellow Hammer on Nest 215
Yellow Hammer’s Nest and Eggs 217
NATURE’S CAROL SINGERS.
=THE CUCKOO.=
“Not the whole warbling grove in concert heard
When sunshine follows shower the breast can thrill
Like the first summons, Cuckoo, of thy bill.”
--_Wordsworth._
[Illustration: T]he soft, far reaching notes of the Cuckoo are loved by
young and old alike, because they tell a tale of hope and gladness, of
warm sunshine and sweet spring flowers. It has been regarded as “the
darling of the year” all down the ages since the oldest known English
lyric, in which it figures, was penned:
“Sumer is icumen in,
Loude sing Cuckoo.”
The Cuckoo is a strange, mysterious bird whose history is not yet fully
known in spite of all the careful attention it has received at the
hands of naturalists for generations.
It arrives in this country during April, and departs again in July,
leaving its uncared-for young ones to follow, in August and September,
to the winter quarters of the species in Africa’s sunny clime.
[Illustration: FOSTER MOTHER TREE PIPIT STRETCHING HERSELF AFTER HAVING
FED YOUNG CUCKOO.]
The bird makes no attempt whatever at nest-building, but deposits
its eggs singly, as a rule in those of small birds, and allows the
little dupes to hatch out and rear its young. From its similarity in
appearance to a small hawk the ancients believed that in the winter it
changed into one. They were also firmly convinced that young Cuckoos
not only swallowed all the other chicks in the nests in which they were
hatched out themselves, but, as a mark of ingratitude, finally devoured
their foster-parents. Although this was, of course, quite wrong, the
real facts of the bird’s life and career are quite as romantic, as we
shall see presently.
Up to quite recently, people supposed that the female Cuckoo, when
about to lay, watched the nest of some small bird until the owner left
it in search of food, when she stealthily sat down and dropped one of
her own eggs into the structure. Unfortunately for this theory, it
would not hold good in the case of domed nests built by such species
as the Common Wren and Willow Warbler, both of which are occasionally
victimised. This puzzle has been satisfactorily solved by the discovery
of the real facts. The Cuckoo lays her eggs upon the ground, and,
picking them up in her bill, deposits them in the homes of birds whose
own productions they will to some extent match in colours.
[Illustration: YOUNG CUCKOO IN MEADOW PIPIT’S NEST, BIRD’S OWN EGGS
THROWN OUT ON TO EDGE OF STRUCTURE.]
[Illustration: CUCKOO’S EGG IN MEADOW PIPIT’S NEST.]
Cuckoo’s eggs vary very widely in point of coloration. They are usually
reddish grey, mottled and spotted closely with darker markings of the
same colour, or pale greyish-green marked with spots of a darker hue.
I have met with them matching in colours those of the Meadow Pipit,
Pied Wagtail, and Reed Warbler so closely that they were scarcely
discernible except for their larger size, and a blue specimen has been
found in the nest of a Hedge Sparrow.
Some naturalists are of opinion that a Cuckoo is able to lay an egg
of any colour at will, whilst others favour the opinion that if an
egg closely resembles in point of coloration those of the bird, say
a Tree Pipit, in whose nest it has been placed, that young Cuckoo’s
grandfather and grandmother were also reared by Tree Pipits.
[Illustration: ADULT CUCKOO.]
[Illustration:
“COME AND HEAR THE CUCKOO SING.
COME AND BREATHE THE BREATH OF SPRING.”]
Another important fact which aids deception when trying to impose upon
small birds is that a Cuckoo’s egg is only one-quarter the size of
what might reasonably be expected from the dimensions of its layer. It
is much heavier, however, than any other egg of its size, and has a
thicker shell.
Competent naturalists have asserted that the Cuckoo lays as many as
five eggs during a season, and although only one specimen as a rule is
found in the nest of an intended foster-parent, as many as three may
be met with, but whether deposited by the same individual or not, it
is, of course, impossible to say. Hedge Sparrows and Robins are the
greatest victims, but even the Jay, Wood Pigeon, and Carrion Crow have
been successfully imposed upon.
[Illustration: YOUNG CUCKOO WAITING FOR ITS FOSTER-MOTHER WITH FOOD.]
With a view to finding out whether the deceptive path of the bird that
“tells its name to all the hills around” is a smooth one or not, some
years ago I had four wooden eggs made and painted to resemble those
of the Song Thrush. I tried my counterfeits upon several different
species, such as Starlings, Song Thrushes, and Grasshopper Warblers,
and deceived them straight away without the slightest trouble, but
when I attempted to impose upon a Ringed Plover, whose eggs I found in
a little declivity on a shingly beach, she detected the fraud at once,
and tapping my dummy eggs with her bill, turned round and walked away
in disgust.
In order to prove how easily some birds are duped, I may mention that
two lady friends of mine have, for the last three or four seasons,
taken a clutch of Starling’s eggs out of a hole in a stable wall, and
replaced them by one common fowl’s egg, and that on each occasion the
foster-mother has successfully hatched out a chick.
[Illustration: A STORY IN THREE CHAPTERS: A YOUNG CUCKOO AND HIS TREE
PIPIT FOSTER-MOTHER.]
The young Cuckoo arrives into the world without a scrap of down or the
sign of a feather on its dusky, ugly little body. Very soon after it
is hatched it begins to show signs of great restlessness and energy,
endeavouring to throw out whatever else there may be in the nest in
the shape of eggs or young. Nature has equipped the little monster
well for its murderous task, by providing a hollow between its broad
shoulders for the reception of its victims. It makes great efforts to
get beneath whatever else is in the nest in which it has been hatched,
and when it gets an egg or chick upon its back, with raised wings, head
depressed, and a foot firmly planted on either side of the nest, it
rears its burden and casts it out.
[Illustration: FOSTER-MOTHER TREE PIPIT COMING WITH FOOD FOR YOUNG
CUCKOO.]
This wonderful performance was first observed by the great Dr. Jenner
of vaccination fame, and afterwards confirmed by the observations
and wonderfully accurate pictures made by my friend Mrs. Blackburn.
Curiously enough, her daughter, Miss Blackburn, found the Meadow
Pipit’s nest from which her mother saw the rightful owners ejected
by the young Cuckoo and also the nest belonging to the same species
figured on page 3 of this work.
Sometimes two young Cuckoos are hatched out in the same nest, and then
a great struggle takes place between them for possession.
Very odd things occasionally occur in regard to Cuckoo’s eggs. I have
found one, perfectly fresh, covered over with moss and down inside a
Hedge Sparrow’s nest wherein the bird had laid none of her own. I have
known one lie untouched outside a Meadow Pipit’s nest, but whether left
there by the layer or cast forth by the owner of the structure it is
impossible to say.
[Illustration: TREE PIPIT ABOUT TO ALIGHT ON YOUNG CUCKOO’S BACK WITH
FOOD. PHOTOGRAPHED IN 1/500 OF A SECOND.]
A short time ago a friend of mine found a Sedge Warbler’s nest near
Gloucester with four eggs in it. The following day when we returned to
the place the nest contained only three and a Cuckoo’s egg. As I wanted
a photograph of a member of the species for the present work, I parted
the thick sedge grass and, erecting my camera within a few feet, got
everything ready and went into hiding beneath my apparatus. In less
than two minutes she returned and, gazing into her home, suddenly grew
greatly agitated and began to hammer the Cuckoo’s egg unmercifully
with her bill. Fearing that she might break it before I secured a
photograph, I jumped up and drove her away, at the same time calling my
companion over to take care of the object of her resentment. Directly
it was gone she assumed all her native gentleness of manner and sat
down upon her own eggs quite happy.
[Illustration: MORE, PLEASE!]
Although young Cuckoos show so much sagacity in getting rid of any
other occupants of the nest in which they have been hatched, they
sometimes exhibit great stupidity in other directions. For instance,
the young bird shown with his Tree Pipit foster-mother in the
illustrations figuring in this chapter did not understand the alarm cry
of the little brown bird at all. It did not matter however loudly she
cried “danger” outside the nest up to a certain stage in his career,
if he heard anything moving he shot up his head and opened his mouth
very widely in request of food. Then, again, if a newly fledged Cuckoo
happens to be resting on level ground and his foster-mother, say a
Robin, Hedge Sparrow or Pied Wagtail, comes along with a supply of
food, he has not the sense to accommodate himself to the stature of his
wee parent, for, instead of lowering his great dappled head, he rears
it as high in the air as he can, and the feeder has to stand on his
shoulders, as shown in the accompanying photograph, and literally drop
the food down his throat.
[Illustration: TREE PIPIT FEEDING YOUNG CUCKOO WHILST STANDING ON HIS
SHOULDERS.]
The food of adult Cuckoos is insectivorous, and consists largely of
hairy caterpillars such as those of the Drinker Moth.
The Cuckoo sings upon the wing, and sometimes keeps up its vocal
efforts all night long. It has been asserted that only the male cries
“Cuckoo,” but this is not the fact, as females have been shot in the
act of singing.
On the Yenisei its cry is “Hoo-hoo.”
Gilbert White, in his delightful “Natural History of Selborne,” says
that some Cuckoos sing in D, some in D sharp, and some in C, and that
the two former whilst performing together make a very disagreeable duet.
The notes of the bird are easily imitated by the human voice, and in
the springtime I often amuse my friends by calling individuals into
their gardens.
[Illustration: clump of flowers]
=THE ROBIN.=
[Illustration: twig with seed fronds]
I love Robin Redbreast above all other birds. He is a bold, handsome
fellow, and one of the sweetest songsters of the grove. When the
Nightingale and the Blackcap have gone to their winter quarters in the
faraway sunny South, and both the Thrush and the Skylark are silent,
courageous Redbreast mounts to the topmost branch of some sodden,
leafless tree and defiantly pours out his sweet, silvery notes.
Poets of all ages have noticed this peculiar characteristic, and one of
them has expressed it very happily in the following lines:
“Each woodland pipe is mute
Save when the Redbreast mourns the falling leafs;
Now plaintively, in interrupted trills,
He sings the dirge of the departing year.”
There can be no doubt that the conditions under which the bird sings
help to rivet our attention upon its performance, just in the same
way that the Nightingale gains some of its popularity by singing at
night time when other woodland vocalists are silent, and the Skylark
by soaring away up in the blue vault of heaven whilst pouring out its
far-sounding music.
[Illustration: ROBIN’S NEST.]
Cock Robin has received a great deal of poetic attention, and it is
amusing to note how differently the bards have expressed themselves in
regard to this familiar bird “that swells its little breast so full
of song.” Some of them say it warbles, others it whistles, tootles,
carols, chirps, sings, sobs, mourns, and so on.
Any boy or girl who has wandered through the woods in winter will
at once recognise the truth and beauty of the following lines from
Cowper’s “Winter’s Walk at Noon”:
“No noise is here, or none that hinders thought;
The Redbreast warbles still, but is content
With slender notes and more than half suppressed;
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray where’er he rests, he shakes
From many a twig the pendent drops of ice,
That tinkle in the wither’d leaves below.
Stillness accompanied with sounds so soft
Charms more than silence.”
Numbers of beautiful legends have been woven round the bird. For
instance, its ruddy breast is supposed to be worn in memory of the day
when Jesus was led forth from Jerusalem to be crucified, and the wee
bird perched upon the Cross and “tried with all its little might to
diminish the anguish of the crown of thorns.”
[Illustration: COCK ROBIN BRINGING FOOD FOR HIS CHICKS.]
It was an old and popular belief that Robins covered over the bodies of
dead men with leaves, hence John Webster’s ballad:
“Call for the Robin Redbreast and the Wren,[1]
Since o’er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men”;
and the well-known one, “Babes in the Wood.”
Although Cock Robin is at all times a bold bird in defence of his
rights, and at some seasons liable to be considered quarrelsome and
spiteful, he undoubtedly has his good points. For instance, one has
been known lovingly and diligently to feed his mate after she had
sustained some injury to her bill which rendered her unable to peck for
herself, and I have myself watched and even photographed a Redbreast in
the charitable act of feeding a family of young Thrushes in the nest
whilst their mother was away searching for very difficult-to-find food
during a cold, dry spring morning.
Male Robins differ from the females only in the facts that they are
slightly larger and have rather brighter orange-red breasts. These
differences, however, are so very trifling that it is by no means easy
for even the practised eye to notice them.
[Illustration: YOUNG ROBIN IN ITS FIRST COAT OF FEATHERS.]
Robins commence to breed in March, and make their nests of bits of dead
grass, leaves, and moss, with an inner lining of hair. At the beginning
of the season building operations are conducted in quite a leisurely
way, occupying as much as a fortnight, but later on no time is lost,
and nests are made in a much shorter period.
Last spring I watched a female, quite unaided by her mate, who was
singing very loudly morning, noon, and night in my garden, build a nest
in three days. One morning she carried dead leaves and moss to her home
five times in five minutes!
Although generally selecting holes in banks and walls where a brick
or a stone has fallen out, this species is famed for its apparent
love of odd situations in which to breed. I have found Robins’ nests
in old tin cans, tea-pots, coffee-pots, kettles, jam-jars, biscuit
boxes, cocoanut husks, fragments of bottles, and clock cases, and have
seen them in bookcases and other places inside the much-used rooms of
dwelling-houses.
Robins lay five or six eggs, as a rule, although as many as seven, and
even eight, are occasionally found in one nest. They are white or light
grey, blotched and freckled with dull light red. Sometimes the markings
join each other nearly all over the shell, and at others they are
collected round the larger end.
[Illustration: FEMALE ROBIN BRINGING FOOD TO HER YOUNG.]
Young Robins, when they grow their first coats of feathers, do not
have red breasts like their parents, but are dressed in varying shades
of brown that render them very difficult to see when sitting still,
amongst the lights and shades of a hedgerow. Directly they have donned
their second coats of feathers, which happens in July and August, and
become like their parents in appearance, they commence to try to sing.
It is said that when they have been bred near Nightingales they borrow
notes from that sweet-voiced bird, and introduce them into their own
songs. I can readily believe this, because I have heard a Redbreast
imitate the song of a Sedge Warbler so well that I was completely
deceived until I saw the vocalist.
It is unnecessary to describe a Robin’s song, because almost everyone
has an opportunity of hearing it, and seeing the bird at the same
time. Its call and alarm notes, however, are frequently uttered when
the creature is not visible. The former is a rapidly repeated metallic
sounding _tit-tit-tit_, and the latter a plaintive, long-drawn
_chee_, generally uttered when some intruder is near the nest.
The species feeds principally upon insects, and is especially fond
of spiders, which are sought for in the cracks of old walls, mossy
banks, and on the bark of trees. All boys and girls who have read
“Pilgrim’s Progress” will remember how Mercy wondered and Christiana
was disappointed to learn that Robins fed upon spiders instead of
breadcrumbs, and the lesson Interpreter drew from it.
Robins differ individually in character almost as much as human beings.
I have been vigorously attacked by a courageous mother bird of this
species because I dared to look at her young ones in the nest. On the
other hand, some individuals are quite timid and shy, and will quickly
put a safe distance between themselves and the most harmless intruder.
Occasionally one meets with a Redbreast living a bachelor or old maid
existence at some secluded farmhouse high up amongst the hills or on
some lonely treeless island round our coast.
I have a male member of the species in my garden that always
superintends my digging operations, and varies his search for upturned
grubs by standing on a clod within a few inches of my spade and singing
me the sweetest of little songs. May he long live to do so!
[Illustration: woodland scene]
[1] During the middle ages it was a generally accepted belief
that Jenny Wren was Cock Robin’s mate, and curiously enough,
many people still think that Wrens are female Robins. Of
course such is not at all the case, as the birds belong to
widely different species.
=THE BLACKBIRD.=
[Illustration: sprig of flowers]
Who does not know and love the Blackbird with his sable coat, orange
bill, and peculiar habit of erecting his tail when he alights? In the
North of England the bird still enjoys its old name of Ouzel, and in
Scotland it is called a Merle.
The hen differs somewhat in her appearance from the cock in being of a
dark, rusty-brown colour instead of “so black of hue,” as Shakespeare
has it of her mate.
This species is common in gardens, orchards, shrubberies, hedgerows,
and woods all over the British Islands. I have even met with it
breeding in a little garden close to the Atlantic in the outermost
island of the Hebridean group and within sight of lone St. Kilda.
[Illustration: BLACKBIRD’S NEST.]
Its nest is placed in isolated thorn bushes, evergreens of all kinds,
hedges, in trees sometimes at a considerable elevation, in holes in dry
stone walls, in sheds, and even amongst grass upon the level ground.
Last spring I saw two in the grass, one inside a thrashing machine,
and another joined to the nest of a Song Thrush on a wooden bar inside
a cattle shed, and all of them were within a few yards of suitable
hedgerows. The structure is composed of small dead twigs, roots, dry
grass, and moss intermixed with clay or mud, and lined with fine, dry
grass.
The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dull bluish-green,
spotted and blotched with reddish-brown and grey. Occasionally
specimens may be met with having a few hair-like lines on the larger
end. The eggs vary considerably in regard to size, shape, and
coloration.
Blackbirds breed from March until June, July, and even August, and
have been known to rear as many as four broods in a single season.
Young birds of the first brood sometimes help their parents to feed the
chicks of a second family.
The glory of an Ouzel’s song consists not so much in its variety
and compass as in the rich, flute-like melodiousness of its tones
and the easy, leisurely manner of their delivery. They are readily
distinguished from the hurried, vehement, hope-inspiring notes of
the Song Thrush by their mellowness, stately delivery, and touch of
melancholy.
[Illustration: FEMALE BLACKBIRD ADMIRING HER SINGLE GIANT CHICK]
Blackbirds sing principally during the morning and evening, but
as a rule do not commence quite as early or go on so late as Throstles.
A warm spring shower will, however, always draw the best and sweetest
music from the Merle at whatever hour of the day it may fall. This
species loves to sing from a dead, bare bough, standing well above the
surrounding foliage, but occasionally holds forth on the wing, and I
have heard one sing habitually from a housetop in the Outer Hebrides.
Although the male Blackbird helps the female to feed their nestlings,
this does not put a stop to his vocal efforts. He frequently carols a
few notes near the nest directly after he has delivered his catch of
worms and grubs, and this fact may, to some extent, account for the
chicks commencing to sing three months after they have been hatched.
Some members of this species will sing off and on as late as the end of
July, and commence again as early even as September.
The Blackbird, when heard at very close quarters, may be discerned to
imitate the notes of other species, as I have discovered when lying in
hiding trying to obtain phonographic records of its song. It is said
to be able to reproduce the crowing of a cock or the cackle of a laying
hen, and even snatches of popular songs.
The bird’s call note is a _tisserr, tack, tack_, and its well-known
ringing alarm cry, _spink, spink, spink_.
[Illustration: flowering tree]
=THE TWITE OR MOUNTAIN LINNET.=
[Illustration: iris]
I have had many excellent opportunities of studying this wee songster
whilst staying in the Outer Hebrides, where it is far more numerous
than in any other part of the British Isles. In general appearance,
flight, and habits it closely resembles its relative, the Common
Linnet, but may be distinguished from that species by the fact that it
has a longer tail and more slender form, a yellow beak, and lacks the
crimson colouring on its head and breast.
The female is distinguished from the male by the fact that she is
lighter-coloured, and has no crimson on her rump.
Young Twites resemble their mother in appearance.
The song of the cock is a very pleasant little performance, somewhat
similar to that of the Linnet, although not equal to it either in
strength or sweetness. I have frequently heard the bird singing on the
top of a stone wall within a few feet of his mate sitting on her nest
in the honeysuckle shown in our illustration. He occasionally varied
this kind of exercise by pouring forth his music whilst fluttering
through the air from one side of the garden to the other.
[Illustration: TWITE’S NEST AND EGGS.]
Numbers of male Twites roost every night during the spring amongst
some stunted alder bushes growing close to the house of an old friend
of mine in the Western Isles, and enliven the whole place each fine
evening by a volume of twittering sound.
The call note of the species is somewhat shrill, and sounds like
_twite_, from which the bird has derived its name.
[Illustration: YOUNG TWITE JUST FLEDGED.]
It is said to breed in the North of England, but although I have met
with the bird in great flocks, both in Yorkshire and Westmorland,
during the autumn, I never discovered its nest upon the Fells. I have
found it breeding on several Highland mountains, but as already stated,
most numerously in the Outer Hebrides. How abundant it actually is in
the Western Isles may be gathered from the fact that I have found no
fewer than seven nests in the course of a zig-zag walk of a mile or so
from the house of one friend to that of another. As an indication of
the wide variety of sites chosen by the Mountain Linnet--as the bird
is sometimes called--for its little home, I will mention the places in
which I discovered the above-named nests. Two were in holes in a dry
stone wall, the one containing eggs, figured in our illustration, at
the top of a stone wall and sheltered by a piece of overhanging turf,
which had been placed there to increase the height of the fence; one in
a tuft of heather growing close to a half-buried rock; one in a furze
bush where a Common Linnet’s nest might have been expected; another
in a stunted gooseberry bush; and the last in an ivy geranium growing
inside a small greenhouse, to which the birds gained entrance through
a broken pane in the roof. On more than one occasion I have found a
nest, containing eggs or young ones, under an overhanging tuft of grass
growing from a crevice of rock on the small piece of North Uist Coast
shown in the tailpiece to this article.
[Illustration: TWITE ON NEST IN HONEYSUCKLE TIED AGAINST A STORM-SWEPT
HEBRIDEAN GARDEN WALL.]
A Twite’s nest sometimes takes a long time to build. I remember one
that occupied a whole fortnight from foundation laying to completion.
It is made of fibrous roots, dead grasses, and moss, with an inner
lining of feathers, fur, or hair.
The eggs number five or six, of a light bluish-green or bluish-white
ground colour, marked with reddish-brown and dark brown spots and
streaks.
[Illustration: seascape]
=THE WOOD WREN.=
[Illustration: oak leaves]
The Wood Wren, or Wood Warbler as it is sometimes called, measures just
over five inches in length. On its upper parts it is olive-green tinged
with yellow, except in the case of its wings and tail, which are dusky.
The chin, cheeks, throat, and breast are yellow, and under parts white.
A line of bright yellow runs from the base of the bill over the eye.
The bird may be distinguished from its relative, the Willow Wren, by
its larger size, broader yellow band over the eye, greener upper parts,
and whiter abdomen, also by its longer wings. Its nest is also a safe
guide to correct identification, as will be shown presently.
The female is similar to the male in her appearance.
[Illustration: WOOD WREN’S NEST AND EGGS.]
This species loves woods containing tall beech and other trees,
and although of somewhat local occurrence, may be met with in nearly
all suitable parts of England and Wales. It is rarer in Scotland and
Ireland. It is difficult to study, except at the nest, on account of
its habit of hunting for insects amongst the leaves near the tops of
trees. However, its plaintive call note and very characteristic song
are constantly being uttered, and can never be mistaken for those of
any other bird.
[Illustration: FEMALE WOOD WREN ABOUT TO ENTER NEST.]
Its nest is built on the ground amongst thick herbage, is oval in
shape, and domed. The outside consists of dry grass, dead leaves, and
moss, with an inner lining of fine dead grass and horsehair. Although
in general appearance the structure is almost exactly like those of
the Willow Wren and Chiffchaff, it may always be distinguished with
certainty from them by the absence of feathers.
The eggs, numbering five or six, are white, thickly spotted all over
with dark purplish-brown and violet-grey.
The song, although short, is clear, loud, sweet, oft repeated, and
sounds something like _sit-sit-sit-sit-sit-see-eeeeeze_. Each of
the opening notes of the song is uttered more rapidly than that which
preceded it, until they develop into a kind of trill, rising in pitch
all the time, and finally end in a long, shaky, thin one. The melody is
accompanied by rapid vibrations of the wings and tail, as if the loud
voice shook the body of the wee singer.
The call note is a plaintive _twee_ or _tway tway_, frequently used as
a kind of alternative to the song described above.
Although such a small bird, the Wood Wren is very courageous at the
nest. The individual figured in our illustration repeatedly attacked
my hand with bill and wings when I attempted to disturb her in her
maternal duties. She was very angry with me when the photograph was
secured, and incidentally it shows the great length of wing in this
species.
This Warbler is a late arrival upon our shores, coming about the end of
April and departing again in September. It lives entirely upon insects.
[Illustration: woodland scene]
[Illustration: flower garland]
=THE RING OUZEL.=
Mountain solitudes, with lonely crag-strewn glens and rough, deep
gulches, “far removed from the busy haunts of men,” form the home of
this brave, independent bird. If a few stunted rowan or whitethorn
trees peep shyly from sheltered corners and crevices here and there the
better will the situation be liked.
The Ring Ouzel arrives in this country in April and quits our shores
again during September and October. It is about the same size as the
Common Blackbird, and behaves more or less like a member of that
well-known species. In colour it is dull black with an edging of dark
grey to the feathers. Across the chest stretches a broad crescent-like
band of pure white. The female is rather lighter coloured, and the
white gorget on her breast is neither so broad nor so pure.
This species breeds in the West of England, in the six northern
counties, and in suitable parts of Wales, Scotland, and Ireland.
Its song consists of a few clear, powerful notes that would sound
out of place if heard anywhere but amongst the bird’s wild, lonely
surroundings. During a calm spring evening the plaintive, lonesome
notes of the Mountain Blackbird, as this species is sometimes called,
can be heard at a great distance because the singer has a habit of
delivering its music from a high boulder or cairn.
The alarm cry is a loud _tac-tac-tac_, which is uttered with
great volubility and vehemence when the nest containing young ones is
approached.
[Illustration: RING OUZEL’S NEST.]
I have found the nest of the Ring Ouzel, which is a very similar
structure to that of the Blackbird, amongst long heather growing upon
a steep bank by a burn-side, amongst rocks in the face of small broken
cliffs, under sheltering stones projecting from the ground, on steep
hillsides, and in holes in old stone walls. I once discovered one
amongst rushes on flat ground, but this is an exceptional kind of
situation.
[Illustration: FEMALE RING OUZEL COVERING YOUNG IN NEST DURING A SHOWER
OF RAIN.]
Although a comparatively shy, wary bird under ordinary circumstances,
the Ring Ouzel is possessed of great courage, which it rarely fails to
display in the defence of its young. I have on more than one occasion
watched members of the species driving stray Kestrels away from the
neighbourhood of their nests. They will fly close round the head of a
human intruder, uttering discordant cries if their chicks are molested.
The eggs are very similar to those of the Common Blackbird,
bluish-green in ground colour, marked with reddish-brown spots. The
markings are, as a rule, however, larger than those on the eggs of the
above-mentioned species.
Young Ring Ouzels have no white collar or gorget on the breast. Their
feathers are brownish-black, edged with dirty white, and when they sit
still on a grey limestone or under a ledge they are, in consequence,
difficult to see.
[Illustration: hills and stone fence]
=THE TREE PIPIT.=
[Illustration: flowers]
We have three Pipits breeding in the British Islands--viz. the Meadow,
Rock, and Tree, which are all very well named according to their
respective habits. Owing, however, to, their similarity of general
appearance, the two latter species are frequently mistaken for the
first, and described as Titlarks.
The plumage of the Tree Pipit is sandy brown in colour, streaked with
dark brown above, light buff with streaky dark brown spots on breast,
and dull white on the under parts. It is rather larger than the Meadow
Pipit, its colours are brighter, and it has a curved hind claw which is
shorter than the toe from which it springs, whereas in the case of its
relative the Meadow Pipit the hind claw is long and nearly straight.
This shows a wonderful provision of Nature. The first-named bird is
wholly migratory, and perches on trees, hence the short curved claw
must render it very useful for grasping branches; the second is only
partially migratory, great numbers staying in this country throughout
the year, and its long hind claw must prove very advantageous as a
snowshoe during the winter.
[Illustration: TREE PIPIT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
As its name implies, the species under notice frequents parts of the
country where trees grow, preferably in clumps with grassy glades
between.
The male Tree Pipit is a very sweet singer, and makes his music more
attractive by the manner in which he delivers it. He alights generally
on the topmost branch of some favourite tree, from which elevation he
mounts the air to varying heights of from twenty to sixty or seventy
feet by a series of rapid wing beats, commences to utter his song with
a _chee, chee, chee, chee_, when he has reached a sufficient
altitude for his purpose, and delivers it whilst he is gliding down
slowly in a kind of half-circle through the air with outstretched
wings, expanded tail, and dangling legs.
When in full song this bird is a most energetic vocalist. I timed
one upon my watch last spring, and found that on an average he sang
five times per minute, and three times out of the five the music was
delivered upon his favourite perch. The perching song only lasted two
or three seconds, as a rule, whereas the flying one took from five to
seven seconds--according to the height from which the bird started--to
get through.
[Illustration: FEMALE TREE PIPIT ABOUT TO ENTER NEST.]
The song of this species has been likened to that of the Canary, and in
some respects it does undoubtedly resemble it. It commences with the
lark-like notes already mentioned, and ends with a ringing _tsee,
tsee, tsee_, or _whee, whee, whee_.
Tree Pipits vary greatly in the quality of their music. One of the very
finest singers I ever heard was on a hillside near to Builth Wells, in
Wales. The call note is a _trit, trit_, or _t’sip, t’sip_.
It has been said that the male birds of this species are seldom found
living within hearing distance of each other during the breeding season.
The nest is built on the ground, and is generally sheltered by a tuft
of herbage growing on a grassy bank. It is composed of rootlets and
moss with an inner lining of fine grass and hair. The eggs number
from four to six, of very variable coloration. Some are dull white,
so closely mottled and spotted with dark brown as to almost hide the
ground colour, whilst others have the greyish-white ground colour
tinged with purple, and are spotted and clouded with purple-brown and
purple-red.
The Tree Pipit arrives upon our shores in April and leaves again in
September and October.
[Illustration: landscape]
[Illustration: flowers]
=THE WOODLARK.=
The Woodlark is not nearly so common or widely distributed as the
Skylark, and is frequently thought to be heard and seen when the bird
under observation is really only a Tree Pipit.
It is smaller than the Skylark, and has a much shorter tail and more
conspicuous crest. Although of somewhat similar coloration, it has
a distinct light yellowish streak running over each eye and meeting
at the back of the head; the breast spots are more distinct; and its
flight always appears to me to be more undulatory.
The Woodlark is a shy creature, but had it not been for the very wet
and benumbingly cold weather prevailing at the time I figured the
young one shown in our illustration on page 56--which could fly quite
well--I feel sure that I could have photographed one or both of the
parent birds feeding it.
This species is considered by many people to come next to the
Nightingale as one of Nature’s Carol Singers. Its voice is certainly
sweeter in tone, though it lacks both the power and variety of that of
the Common Skylark. Yarrell says that “its soothing notes never sound
more sweetly than while the performer is mounting in the air by wide
circles, or, having attained the summit of its lofty flight, is hanging
almost stationary overhead.”
That is exactly how the bird’s delightfully flute-like notes affect me,
although many people find an element of sadness in them. Burns, for
instance, considered the Woodlark’s song a mixture of love and sorrow,
and exclaimed:
“For pity’s sake, sweet bird, nae mair
Or my poor heart is broken.”
It sings whilst perched upon a tree, and sometimes its clear, tender
notes may be heard ringing out during a fine summer’s night.
[Illustration: WOODLARK’S NEST AND EGGS.]
The call notes of the species are a very musical double one, sounding
something like _lu-lu_ and _tweedle, weedle, weedle_, uttered on the
wing.
The Woodlark, like the Tree Pipit, although roosting upon the ground,
procuring its food and rearing its young there, must have some kind
of timber, whether it be great belts of fir, with pastures and dry,
heather-clad commons between, or bare hillsides with scattered clumps
of oak and bushes here and there to make its home amongst.
[Illustration: NEWLY FLEDGED WOODLARK.]
It is said to breed most numerously in the southern counties of
England, occasionally in the north, and rarely in Scotland and
Ireland.
Its nest is very similar to that of the Common Skylark, but as a rule
shows a little better workmanship, perhaps, in its construction. It is
situated under a tuft of grass, in heather, or at the foot of a bush.
Sometimes it is simply placed in a little hollow on ground which does
not grow sufficient grass to form any kind of shelter or hiding.
The eggs, numbering four or five, are reddish-white, light
brownish-yellow, or greenish-white in ground colour, thickly spotted
and speckled with dull reddish-brown and underlying markings of grey.
This species commences to breed in March and rears two broods during
the season. It resides with us all the year, but is subject to local
movement.
[Illustration: hillside]
=THE COMMON WREN.=
[Illustration: branch with flowers]
Everybody knows and loves the wee brown Wren with its active, pert ways
and cheerful rattling song, which is heard nearly the whole of the year
round.
“Jenny” or “Kitty” Wren, as the bird is often called, is to be met with
almost everywhere by sea-shore and riverside, in the cultivated garden
and on the barren waste, along the plain and on the mountain side, in
thick woods and treeless deserts where there is little else than rocks
for it to alight upon. Whether the sun be shining, flowers blooming,
and food plentiful, or the ground be wreathed in a thick blanket of
snow and the world a picture of desolation and a place of hunger, the
little bird is ever cheerful, active, and gay. As the poets have it:
“When icicles hang dripping from the roof
Pipes his perennial lay.”
Its song is surprisingly loud and clear for such a tiny musician,
especially when heard only a few inches away, as I have heard it
on several occasions whilst crouching inside some of my hiding
contrivances waiting to secure a photograph of some shy bird or beast.
It is delivered both upon the wing and when the musician is at rest
upon a branch or stone.
A Wren’s call notes sound something like _tit, tit-it, tit-it-it,
tit-it-it-it_, uttered so quickly as to resemble the winding-up of a
clock.
Even in the depths of the very severest winter weather, “Jenny” Wren
refuses to be “pauperised” like the Robin, the Blackbird, and the Song
Thrush, and disdaining the help of man, hunts all day long for its own
support in a spirit of hopeful independence. It does not matter whether
it is an old moss-grown stone wall, a stack of loose firewood, or a
shrubbery, in and out goes the little nut-brown bird from cold grey
morn till glooming eve, examining every crack and cranny for some
lurking morsel of insect life.
[Illustration: WREN’S NEST AMONGST IVY GROWING ON THE TRUNK OF A TREE.]
It is strange how such an innocent and altogether praiseworthy little
bird should have come to occupy such an unenviable position in bird
folklore. The common names of this species in most European languages
assign kingly dignity to it, and it obtained kingship of all the birds
by a mean kind of trick. A parliament of birds agreed that the one that
could fly highest should be king. The Eagle easily mounted to the
greatest height, but when he had reached it a little brown Wren that
had cunningly hidden itself on his back fluttered a little higher, and
by this piece of deceit gained the much-coveted honour. Whether for
this or some other equally supposed evil deed, the poor bird used to be
hunted in our country every Christmas Day by boys and men armed with
sticks, and its body publicly exhibited the following day whilst money
was begged to bury it.
Although the Common Wren is double brooded and rears from four to
eight chicks twice each season, the stock never seems to increase much
from one year to another. Nobody knows clearly what becomes of all the
birds. Of course, natural death must claim a certain number of victims,
and I have no doubt that both Owls and rats secure many individuals
whilst they are asleep in holes in the thatches of ricks. I have
also found several frozen to death during very severe weather in the
winter. In order to avoid this last calamity the birds resort to a very
ingenious method of roosting. Although they never go in flocks by day,
eight or nine members of the species will congregate together in one
hole at night, and by a combination of their natural warmth sleep in
snug safety.
[Illustration: WREN ABOUT TO ENTER NEST WITH FOOD FOR CHICKS.]
A Wren’s nest is very large for the size of the builder, is oval in
shape, has a domed top, and a small entrance-hole in front. The bird is
famous for the number of nests it builds and never occupies with either
eggs or young. These structures, which are not finished inside by a
lining of down or feathers, are supposed to be built by the males, and
are called “cocks’” nests. Nobody knows with any degree of certainty
why they are built. It has been suggested to roost in during cold
winter nights, but careful investigations have convinced me that there
is nothing in this theory.
Boys and girls have an idea that if they thrust an inquiring finger
ever so deftly into a Wren’s nest the bird is sure to discover the fact
and desert. Without wishing for one moment to do poor “Jenny” an ill
turn by destroying this wholesome fear and encouraging investigation,
the truth must be told. There is really nothing in the theory. If the
structure be deserted, in all probability it is a “cock’s” nest, and
was never intended to be anything else by its builder.
Wrens build in all kinds of situations--amongst ivy growing upon walls
and round the trunks of trees, in the thatches and sides of ricks, in
holes in walls, in banks amongst rocks, in hedges, amongst the rafters
of barns, and even in coils of old rope and disused garments hanging up
in sheds.
When the nest is built in a mossy bank the outside is generally made
of moss; when in the front of a hayrick it is made of straws; and when
amongst a few slender twigs sprouting from the place where some large
bough has been sawn from the trunk of a tree, of dead leaves. These
studied attempts, for such they would seem, at concealment do not,
however, always hold good, for I have occasionally found one made of
moss in the side of a hayrick.
“Jenny” Wren is a very industrious builder. One day I was resting
inside an old tumble-down summer-house built into a steep hillside in
a Surrey park, when, to my consternation, I saw a big black feather
coming straight as a partridge towards me. There was not a breath of
wind blowing at the time, and the whole thing struck me as being most
uncanny. Presently it stopped in a little bush, and I saw a wee brown
wren behind it. The mystery was at once explained. I sat perfectly
still, and in a few moments she brought the erstwhile awesome feather
into the summer-house, and after considerable difficulty managed to get
the awkward piece of furniture through her tiny front door. She brought
along another and another with surprising speed, and before many days
passed she had laid six white eggs which were spotted with brownish-red.
[Illustration: shed in the woods]
[Illustration: branch with leaves and berry cluster]
=THE GRASSHOPPER WARBLER=.
The Grasshopper Warbler is a little brown bird of about the same size
and general appearance as the familiar Hedge Sparrow, but with the
strangest voice and manners. It arrives in this country about the
middle of April, and takes its departure again in September.
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.
[Illustration: GRASSHOPPER WARBLER ON NEST.]
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.
[Illustration: river scene with windmill]
=THE SKYLARK.=
[Illustration: bunch of flowers]
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.
[Illustration: SKYLARK’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: MOTHER SKYLARK FEEDING CHICKS.]
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_.
[Illustration: cloudy skies]
=THE REDSTART.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
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.
[Illustration: FEMALE REDSTART WITH FOOD FOR CHICKS.]
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.
[Illustration: MALE REDSTART WITH FOOD FOR YOUNG.]
The call note of this species sounds something like _wee-tit-tit_.
[Illustration: REDSTART’S NEST AND EGGS BENEATH A STONE ON THE GROUND.
THE STONE WAS LIFTED TO SHOW NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: landscape]
=THE MEADOW PIPIT.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
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_.
[Illustration: YOUNG MEADOW PIPIT PHOTOGRAPHED WHILST SHELTERING BEHIND
A STONE DURING A HIGHLAND STORM.]
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.
[Illustration: ADULT MEADOW PIPIT.]
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.
[Illustration: MEADOW PIPIT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: meadow landscape]
=THE WILLOW WREN.=
[Illustration: twig of pussy willow]
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.
[Illustration: WILLOW WREN’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: YOUNG WILLOW WRENS.]
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.
[Illustration: WILLOW WREN BRINGING FOOD TO YOUNG IN NEST.]
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.
[Illustration: landscape with river]
=THE HEDGE SPARROW.=
[Illustration: spike of flowers]
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.
[Illustration: HEDGE SPARROW’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: HEDGE SPARROW AND YOUNG.]
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.
[Illustration: trees and fence]
[Illustration: leaf garland]
=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.
[Illustration: MALE GREENFINCH ON THE ALERT IN A GARDEN IN WINTER.]
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_.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF GREENFINCH.]
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.
[Illustration: farmlands]
=THE DARTFORD WARBLER.=
[Illustration: sprig with flowers]
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.
[Illustration: DARTFORD WARBLER.]
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_.
[Illustration: landscape with furze]
=THE MISSEL THRUSH.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
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.
[Illustration: NEWLY FLEDGED MISSEL THRUSHES]
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.”
[Illustration: MISSEL THRUSH AT NEST.]
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.
[Illustration: landscape with trees]
=THE DIPPER.=
[Illustration: thistle flowers]
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.
[Illustration: DIPPER AND NEST.]
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.
[Illustration: landscape with waterfall]
=THE CHIFFCHAFF.=
[Illustration: flower and leaves]
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.
[Illustration: CHIFFCHAFF AND NEST.]
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.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF CHIFFCHAFF.]
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_.
[Illustration: stream and hills]
=THE WHITETHROAT.=
[Illustration: goldenrod]
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.
[Illustration: WHITETHROAT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: WHITETHROAT ON NEST.]
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_.
[Illustration: pasture with fence and trees]
=THE NIGHTINGALE.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
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.
[Illustration: NIGHTINGALE’S NEST AND EGGS]
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_.
[Illustration: woodland scene]
=THE LESSER WHITETHROAT.=
[Illustration: flowers with butterfly]
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.
[Illustration: LESSER WHITETHROAT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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.
[Illustration: LESSER WHITETHROAT FEEDING YOUNG.]
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_.
[Illustration: landscape with pastures]
=THE SISKIN.=
[Illustration: fir branch]
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.
[Illustration: SISKIN’S NEST AND EGGS.]
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_.
[Illustration: clearing with hillside of firs]
=THE SEDGE WARBLER.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers and grasses]
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.
[Illustration: SEDGE WARBLER’S NEST WITH CUCKOO’S EGG IN IT.]
[Illustration: (inset) SEDGE WARBLER ON NEST.]
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_.
[Illustration: marsh landscape]
=THE LESSER REDPOLE.=
[Illustration: frond with small flowers]
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.
The eggs, which number from four to six, are of a very pale
bluish-green ground colour, spotted generally about the larger end with
orange-red, and sometimes streaked with a darker tint.
The song of this species is not of a high order in regard to quality,
and has been variously described by different authorities. Professor
Newton says, “Towards the end of winter the cocks break out in song,
which, though not powerful, is lively and agreeable, and begin to
indulge in the characteristic exultant flight during which it is
generally uttered.” Mr. Henry Seebohm describes it as “a short,
monotonous trill, clear and not unmusical”; whilst Bechstein’s
judgment is that “Its feeble warblings are only a low, continued
twittering.”
[Illustration: LESSER REDPOLE’S NEST AND EGGS]
In spite, however, of its shortcomings as a vocalist, it is a favourite
cage pet, especially with children, because of its boldness, docility,
and intelligence.
It is called the Lesser Redpole, because it is rather smaller than
its near relative, the Mealy Redpole, which breeds on the Continent
and sometimes visits this country in winter. The breeding area of the
Lesser Redpole seems to be almost restricted to the British Islands.
This species flocks during the autumn, and although many remain with us
throughout the winter, numbers migrate to the Continent.
The call notes are _pe-weet_ and _kreek, kreek, hayid_.
[Illustration: landscape with rustic road]
=THE REED WARBLER.=
[Illustration: cattails]
This species arrives upon our shores during the latter part of April,
and leaves again for its winter quarters in Africa during September,
although a specimen is said to have been shot in Ireland, where the
bird does not breed, as late even as December.
The Reed Warbler is about five and a half inches in length, is brown on
its upper parts, tinged with chestnut, which becomes more pronounced
on the rump and white on the under parts, tinged with reddish buff,
especially on the breast and sides. Its legs and toes are slaty-brown.
It breeds in reed and osier beds and other places where there is plenty
of cover to suit its skulking habits, on the banks of lakes, ponds,
and sluggish streams, and is much commoner on the east and southern
sides of England than the west and north. I have met with it commonly
in certain parts of Gloucestershire, and it is said to be fairly
numerous in Wales. It does not, however, breed in Scotland or Ireland.
[Illustration: REED WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]
[Illustration: MALE AND FEMALE REED WARBLERS AT HOME.]
The nest is a very beautiful structure, formed of long blades of dead
grass, seed, branches of reeds, and bits of wool lined inside with
fine dead grass and hair. It is cleverly suspended between two, three,
four, or even as many as five reed stems at varying heights above
the water. I have, however, on several occasions seen it in willow
and alder bushes at some distance from that element, and it has even
been found in a lilac bush in such a very unlikely neighbourhood as
Hampstead.
[Illustration: YOUNG REED WARBLER]
The structure is very deep for the size of the builder, but this
peculiarity of its architecture serves a very useful purpose, for when
the reeds to which it is attached are violently swayed to and fro by
strong gusts of wind, it prevents the eggs from rolling out and away to
certain destruction.
The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dull greenish-white
or greyish-green ground colour, spotted and blotched with darker
greyish-green and light brown.
The male helps the female not only in the work of feeding the chicks,
but in brooding, and it is a very pretty sight to see them exchanging
places on the nest.
The song of this species somewhat resembles that of the Sedge Warbler
in being full of chatter, but is not so loud or harsh, and is
delivered, as a rule, whilst the singer is hiding amongst reeds. It
imitates the note of the Starling, Wagtail, Swallow, and other birds,
but is vastly inferior to the Marsh Warbler both as a musician and a
mimic. I have heard it at its best during a calm summer evening on the
Norfolk Broads, where it sings far into the night and early in the
morning, excepting during windy weather, which seems to be greatly
disliked by all feathered inhabitants of reed beds. The following
extracts from one of my old diaries kept during a stay on Hickling
Broad illustrate rather graphically the influence of wind upon the
vocal activities of birds:
May 27.--“Windy, dark night; not a bird of any kind to
be heard.” May 28.--“Fine calm night. Reed, Sedge, and
Grasshopper Warblers, Snipe, Water Rail, Coot, Moorhen,
Peewit, and other birds all singing and calling until one
o’clock in the morning.”
The song of the Reed Warbler has been represented as _tiri, tier zach
zerr, scherk heid tret_ by one authority, and as _tiri yach yerr
sherk heid tret_ by another. Each note is repeated by the singer
a number of times. Its call note is a harsh _turr_ or _choh,
choh_.
[Illustration: marshlands]
=THE ROCK PIPIT.=
[Illustration: landscape with rocks]
The Rock Pipit, although subject to some seasonal movement, is a
resident in the British Islands, and I have never yet heard its song or
seen its nest away from the sound of the restless sea. In fact, it is
the only song bird the ocean can boast, for although such species as
Skylarks, Twites, Starlings, and Linnets frequently breed close by the
sea, their haunts are by no means confined to its shores as is the case
with the bird under notice.
The Rock Pipit is the largest of the three members of its family
breeding in this country. It is olive-brown above, marked with dark
streaks in the centres of the feathers; has a dull white throat and
under parts, the latter streaked and clouded with dark brown. The bird
harmonises well with the dull brown rocks upon which it so often sits,
and I have often experienced considerable difficulty in detecting it
when it kept quite still whilst uttering its call notes.
This species may always be distinguished with absolute certainty from
the Tree and Meadow Pipits when it is on the wing by reason of the fact
that it shows no white on either side of its tail.
The Rock Pipit breeds nearly all round our coasts excepting between the
Humber and the Thames, and loves small islands, such as those behind
which the sun is setting in the tailpiece to this article.
Its song is very similar to that of the Meadow Pipit, and consists of a
few short simple tinkling notes delivered with great cheerfulness, both
upon the wing and whilst the bird is seated on some favourite rock. The
call notes are also much like those of the Meadow Pipit.
[Illustration: ROCK PIPIT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
Its nest is situated under old matted tufts of grass, overhanging
pieces of rock, and in crevices, and is made of small pieces of dry
seaweed, dead grass of various kinds, and a few horsehairs. Seaweed
is not always present in the structure, and horsehair frequently absent
when the bird is breeding on small islands where it is not procurable.
The eggs number from four to five, and have a grey ground colour
slightly tinged with green or reddish-brown, closely spotted with dull
greyish- and reddish-brown. They are occasionally marked on the larger
end with one or two dark brown lines, and are larger than those of the
other two members of the family breeding in our islands.
[Illustration: seascape sunrise/sunset]
=THE GARDEN WARBLER.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
This species is about six inches in length, and on its upper parts
of a light brown colour tinged with olive. Its under parts are
brownish-white, darkest on the throat, chest, and sides. The absence
of black or rusty brown on the top of the head always readily
distinguishes it from the male or female Blackcap, and the colour of
its throat and breast from either of the Whitethroats breeding in this
country.
The Garden Warbler arrives in Britain about the end of April or
commencement of May, and takes its departure for Africa in September
and October.
It breeds sparingly in nearly all suitable parts of England except
Cornwall, in Wales, in the South of Scotland, and occasionally in
Ireland.
It generally builds its nest at some little height from the ground in
thorn, briar, bramble, gooseberry, and other bushes growing in woods,
clumps of trees in the proximity of streams, orchards, shrubberies,
gardens, and hedgerows. Sometimes the structure, which is made of
straws, blades of dead grass, and rootlets, lined with horsehair, is
hung amongst nettles like that of a Whitethroat, or placed low down in
long grass, mixed with taller wild plants.
The eggs, numbering four or five, rarely six, vary in ground colour
from white to greenish-white or yellowish-stone-grey, are spotted,
blotched, and clouded with underlying markings of ash-grey and
buffish-brown. Some specimens are marbled with brown, and it is often a
difficult matter to distinguish others from those laid by the Blackcap.
[Illustration: GARDEN WARBLER ON NEST.]
By most people the Garden Warbler is considered to rank next to the
Blackcap as a melodist, and the songs of the two species resemble each
other so much that I have known a naturalist with a good ear and wide
experience unable to say definitely which bird was singing until he got
a sight of the vocalist. Mr. Hudson says that “the Garden Warbler’s
song is like a good imitation of the Blackcap’s, but it is not so
powerful and brilliant. Some of its notes possess the same bright,
pure, musical quality, but they are hurriedly delivered, shorter,
more broken up, as it were. On the other hand, to compensate for this
inferior character there is more of it; the bird, sitting concealed
among the clustering leaves, will sing by the hour, his rapid, warbled
strain sometimes lasting for several minutes without a break.”
[Illustration: GARDEN WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]
The song is certainly softer, and lacks something of the wild dash and
irregularity of that of its relative, but some of its notes are quite
as sweet, and this fact strikes the listener, particularly when the
bird is heard close at hand in some quiet, out-of-the-way corner where
other vocalists do not interfere with the full enjoyment of the Garden
Warbler’s song.
The alarm note is a harsh “_tech_,” sounding something like the
noise made by two pebbles being struck together.
[Illustration: trees and shrubs]
=THE MARSH WARBLER.=
[Illustration: flowers and leaves]
On account of its great similarity of size, general appearance, and
habitat, this rare British breeding species was long confounded by
naturalists with the Reed Warbler.
The bird is greenish-olive on its upper parts, and lacks the rusty-red
rump and sides of the commoner species. Its under parts are white,
slightly tinged with yellowish-buff on the sides where the Reed Warbler
is reddish buff. Its legs are pale flesh-brown in colour, whereas those
of its relative are dark slaty-brown.
This species does not build its nest over water, whereas the one with
which it has been confounded nearly always does so. The structure is
composed of grass stems, and occasionally bits of moss intermixed on
the outside with an inner lining of fine dead grass, and nearly always
contains one or two black horsehairs. It is not so neatly finished as
that of the Reed Warbler, and is generally suspended amongst nettles,
Meadow Sweet, and Mugwood, the last plant appearing, where I have
studied the species, to be first favourite.
The eggs, numbering from four to seven, are easily distinguished from
those of the Reed Warbler by their lighter ground colour, which is
greenish-white to greenish-blue clouded with underlying markings of
grey and spotted with olive-brown.
It is as a singer of great sweetness and power, however, that the bird
chiefly concerns us in this little work.
Last summer I spent several days in the West of England studying the
species, and whilst I was lying hidden with my camera within three
feet of a nest, had many opportunities of hearing the exquisite song
of the male to perfection. Whilst the hen was sitting on the nest he
frequently took up his station on a bramble spray just above and partly
behind her, and regaled us both with the most wonderful programme of
feathered music I have ever heard. As a mimic, the Marsh Warbler is
unsurpassable.
[Illustration: MARSH WARBLER ON THE NEST.]
Several times the specimen I listened to began his concert with the
alarm cry of a Song Thrush, so loud and accurately rendered that I
was completely deceived into thinking that I was listening to the
notes of a disturbed member of that species. After a little pause he
would reproduce the warbling notes of a Swallow, then the _tut,
tut, tut_ of a Blackbird, followed by the full, rich notes of
the Nightingale. He could also reproduce the call note of a Common
Partridge, and the sweet little song of a Linnet with equal fidelity.
He always appeared to take great care not to mix his music, for,
after finishing one piece, there was a noticeable pause before the
commencement of another.
In the case of another pair of birds, that had been robbed, I noticed
that the male sang much upon the wing as he flew back and forth from
tree to tree across an osier-grown clay pit.
This species was first discovered in Somersetshire, and has been found
breeding in Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, and Cambridge.
It is a great pity that it should be so much persecuted by egg
collectors, some of whom seem bent upon ruining its chances of ever
becoming a regular British breeding species. To listen to the bird’s
exquisite song for ten minutes is a far greater pleasure than to gaze
for a month at its empty egg shells in a cabinet.
[Illustration: marsh landscape]
=THE REED BUNTING.=
[Illustration: reed with swallowtail butterfly]
The male Reed Bunting, or Reed Sparrow as it is frequently called,
can hardly be mistaken for any other British bird on account of his
conspicuous velvety black head and white collar running from the base
of the bill down the sides of the neck some distance, and thence right
round to the back of the head. His back is brownish-black, the feathers
being broadly margined with reddish-brown and tawny grey; breast and
under parts white, tinged and streaked with brown towards the sides. He
is rather longer than the Common Sparrow, and shows a distinct white
streak down either side of his tail when flying away from the observer.
His mate is smaller and has a brown instead of a black head.
Although certainly a singer, the Reed Bunting is not a great feathered
musician, its song consisting of a few simple notes which the bird
delivers with considerable persistency from the top of a reed or alder
bush. It sounds like _te, te, tu, te_, diversified by an occasional
discordant _raytsh_. Bechstein, the great German authority on cage
birds, says that it is such an admirer of music that it will approach
an instrument without fear, and testify to its joy by extending its
wings and tail like a fan and shaking them.
The alarm cry is a sharp twitter, and when the male is afraid to
approach the nest (either to take his turn in the labours of brooding
or with food for the young) on account of some real or fancied danger,
he persistently reiterates three melancholy notes that sound like
“_Don’t hit me._”
This species breeds fairly commonly near sluggish streams, ponds,
swamps, and large sheets of water with reed-clad shores.
[Illustration: FEMALE REED BUNTING AND YOUNG.]
Its nest is generally situated amongst long grass, rushes, nettles, and
sedges, although I have found it in the heather in the Outer Hebrides,
and in a small thorn bush quite two hundred yards away from water in
Surrey. The materials used in the structure are dried grass and moss
with an inner lining of fine dead grass, hairs, and the feathery tops
of reeds.
The eggs number four to six or even seven, and are of a purplish-grey
or pale olive ground colour, spotted and streaked with rich, dark
purple-brown.
This bird resides with us all the year round, and its numbers are
increased during the winter by other members of its species arriving
from the Continent.
[Illustration: marsh landscape]
=THE GOLDFINCH.=
[Illustration: thistle in bloom]
This exceedingly pretty bird measures about five inches in length. The
top of its head, nape, and the feathers from the base of the bill to
the eye are black; forehead and throat rich scarlet; cheeks and under
parts white, tinged on the breast and sides with pale, tawny-brown.
Back pale tawny-brown, wing-coverts and quills black, the latter barred
across with yellow and tipped with white. Tail quills black marked with
white, and buffy-white near their tips.
Seventy years ago this species was extremely abundant, and as recently
as 1873 a boy caught close upon five hundred during a single morning
near to Brighton; but it is now, alas! comparatively rare, on account
of the reclamation of waste lands having destroyed its seed-food
plants, such as the thistle and burdock, and the heavy demands made
upon its numbers for cage pets. Of course, a check has now been put
upon the latter source of drainage to a great extent by the Wild Birds’
Protection Acts, and the birds are obtained from Germany.
During recent years I have met with it breeding in Surrey, Sussex,
Suffolk, Norfolk, Devonshire, and Westmorland. I know a place in the
second-named county where as many as ten pairs bred in one season, and
within the last half-dozen years I have twice seen small flocks in the
autumn near London, which, let us hope, is an encouraging sign.
It is now rare in Scotland, but has been described as still common in
the poorer and wilder parts of Ireland.
The Goldfinch is a migratory bird, although a few individuals winter
with us, and are known in the spring from members of the species that
have spent the cold season farther south by their less brilliant
colours.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF GOLDFINCH.]
The nest is placed in the fork of an apple, pear, or other fruit tree
in orchards and gardens; sometimes in evergreens or on the bough of a
sycamore or chestnut tree, and occasionally in a thick hedgerow. It is
composed of rootlets, moss, dry grass, wool, spiders’ webs, and lichens
on the outside, and has an inner lining of vegetable down, hairs, and
soft feathers. It is a neat and beautiful structure.
The eggs number from four to six, and are greyish-or greenish-white,
spotted and streaked with light purplish-and reddish-brown and grey.
Although some people do not rank the Goldfinch very highly as a
feathered vocalist, its twittering song is full of melody and
sweetness, and together with its striking beauty and lively manners
endear it to the heart of every lover of the country and its sights and
sounds.
Bechstein says, “Its agreeable song, which is only discontinued during
moulting, is a mixture of tones and harmonies more or less dwelt upon.”
It sings both when perched and upon the wing. Instances are upon record
of young Goldfinches taken from the nest when only two or three days
old, reproducing when they grew up not the music of their own kind, but
the songs of other species heard from their places of captivity.
The poets have not given the bird a great deal of attention, but our
photograph of a nest and eggs proves that Grahame was a good observer,
else he could not have penned the following lines:
“Sometimes suspended at the limber end
Of planetree spray, among the broad-leav’d shoots
The tiny hammock swings to every gale.”
The call notes have been written down as _ziflit_ or _tisflit_,
_twee-eet_ or _twit_, oft repeated, and _glit_ uttered quickly.
[Illustration: bushes and trees]
=THE BLACKCAP WARBLER.=
[Illustration: reeds]
Although generally distributed in suitable parts of England and
Wales, and found breeding sparingly in the Lowlands of Scotland and
certain parts of Ireland, the Blackcap Warbler is not so common in
my experience as the youthful student would be led to believe after
reading several books I could name upon ornithology.
It arrives in this country about the middle of April, as a rule; but,
like many other migrants, is liable to some variation of date, being
more influenced by the conditions of the weather than the readings
of the calendar. It takes its departure again in September, although
specimens have been observed during every month of the winter in the
South and West of England.
The Blackcap is about five and a half inches in length, has a jet-black
crown and light olive-brown upper parts, becoming greyer on the rump;
throat and breast ash-grey, and under parts white. The female is
somewhat similar in appearance, except for the fact that the top of her
head is chocolate-brown instead of black.
[Illustration: BLACKCAP WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]
This species loves small woods and spinnies with abundant undergrowth,
shrubberies, old orchards, gardens, and bits of waste land with plenty
of brambles and nettles growing thereon. If there is a sluggish stream
close by, so much the better; although I have several times found
it breeding far away from water of any kind.
The nest is a flimsy structure placed at varying heights from two
to ten or twelve feet above the ground in brambles, nettles, briar,
and thorn bushes, privet and other hedges. It is composed of straws,
fibrous roots, and dead grass, frequently intermixed with cobwebs, and
lined with hair.
The eggs number five or six, and may be divided into two types of
coloration. In one they are of a greyish-white ground colour suffused
with buffish-brown and spotted, blotched, and marbled with dark brown,
similar to those of the Garden Warbler. In the other they are of a pale
brick-red or crimson hue marked with deep reddish-brown.
This bird is one of our finest feathered melodists. Gilbert White was
greatly in love with its vocal powers, and in his third letter to
Daines Barrington says that the “wild sweetness of its song reminded
him of Shakespeare’s lines in _As You Like It_:”
“And tune his merry note
Unto the _wild_ bird’s throat.”
[Illustration: FEMALE BLACKCAP WARBLER FEEDING YOUNG.]
In Letter XL. to Pennant, he says, “The Blackcap has a full, sweet,
deep, loud and wild pipe; yet that strain is of short continuance,
and his motions are desultory; but when that bird sits calmly and
engages in song in earnest, he pours forth very sweet, but inward
melody, and expresses great variety of soft and gentle modulations,
superior perhaps to those of any of our warblers, the Nightingale
excepted.”
Everyone who has heard and seen the Blackcap will at once recognise the
truth and accuracy of this; but, strangely enough, Gilbert White never
once mentions the Garden Warbler in his writings.
The estimate of a wild bird’s song is like that of the voice of
a public singer--to some extent a matter of individual opinion.
Personally, though by no means disposed to underrate the beauty and
power of the Blackcap’s song, I do not think that it approaches so near
in quality to that of the Nightingale, or is so far superior to that of
the Garden Warbler as some observers appear to believe.
The Blackcap is a very shy, retiring bird, preferring to be heard
rather than seen. The male takes his share of the duties of incubation,
and it is said that he beguiles the tedium of his task by singing
whilst sitting on the nest. I have watched him brooding on several
occasions, but in spite of long vigils have never had the gratification
of hearing a single note.
Curiously enough, the poets have given this superb singer very little
attention, probably because they were seldom in a position to identify
the vocalist, however much they admired his music.
The alarm note of this species sounds something like _tack-tack_
or _teck-teck_.
[Illustration: landscape with thatch roof cottage]
=THE BULLFINCH.=
[Illustration: reeds with buds]
There is no need for me to describe the appearance of the male bird
of this species, which has been rendered familiar to nearly everybody
in town and country alike on account of the facts that its engaging
manners and striking colours have made it a favourite cage pet. It may
be necessary, however, to mention that the female differs from her mate
in the following particulars. The black on the top of her head is not
so intense, her back is greyish-brown, and her breast and under parts
are of a dirty brown colour instead of bright tile red.
Both male and female may always be instantly identified when on the
wing by the conspicuous patch of white on the rump, and when not
seen the presence of the species is easily known by its unmistakable
plaintive call note, which is constantly uttered whilst the birds are
hunting in pairs or families for food along a hedgerow or from bush to
bush in a wood. It sounds something like _wheon_.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF BULLFINCH.]
This species has profited more by the Wild Birds’ Protection Acts than
perhaps any other breeding in our country. It is as much hated by some
people on account of the harm it does to the buds of fruit trees, as it
is loved by others as a cage pet. It has increased greatly in numbers
nearly all over the country during the past ten years, as may be judged
when it is mentioned that over forty were shot in one Essex garden last
spring. Let us hope that the damage done to buds and branches by small
shot expended during the slaughter may not be put down to the credit of
the unfortunate feathered victims.
In a secluded Surrey wood, where I spend a good deal of time every
July and August studying and photographing birds from the interior
of a small green tent pitched near to a place where birds come all
day long to drink and bathe, I notice that the Bullfinch is my most
frequent visitor. Sometimes an old male will come along in silence,
take a few hurried sips, and then abruptly depart, indicating that
he has a sitting mate, and at others whole families arrive to quench
their thirst, which appears to be abnormal in this species, and to
enjoy a good bath.
[Illustration: FEMALE BULLFINCH ON THE NEST.]
The Bullfinch breeds in suitable localities throughout the British
Isles, but, according to my experience, is commonest in the South of
England. Its nest is of rather singular construction, consisting of
a little platform of slender dead twigs cleverly interlaced with a
somewhat shallow recess in the middle, beautifully lined with fine,
fibrous roots and sometimes a little hair. The structure is placed
from three to six feet from the ground, as a rule, in whitethorn,
blackthorn, briar, and other bushes, also in yew and other evergreen
trees growing in gardens, shrubberies, woods, and thick hedgerows.
The eggs number from four to six, of a pale, greenish-blue ground
colour, spotted, speckled, and sometimes streaked with purplish-brown,
most thickly at the larger end.
The female Bullfinch is a confiding creature whilst brooding, as will
be gathered by my readers when I state that the one figured in our
illustration became so tame through kind and gentle treatment that she
would actually allow me to take her in my hand and place her in any
attitude I wished upon the nest before taking a photograph of her. I
secured a large series of pictures of this particular bird on and near
her nest.
The song of this species is short and very soft. One day a fine male
alighted on a bare branch close to my hiding tent and held forth with
his head on one side, as if listening to the sound of his own voice,
whilst his body seemed to throb with the effort of producing even such
feeble notes as he commanded.
Bullfinches learn the song of the Canary when brought up under that
bird, instead of the notes of their own species, and can be taught in
confinement to whistle all kinds of airs and melodies.
[Illustration: landscape with hillsides]
=THE WHEATEAR.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers and leaves]
The Wheatear is a thick-set little bird measuring about six inches in
length. It arrives in the South of England about the end of February
and beginning of March, and leaves our shores again in August and
September. It has the top of the head, nape, and back of a bluish-grey
colour, tinged with light brown, rump and upper two-thirds of tail pure
white. Wings nearly black, with buff margins and tips to some of the
feathers, end of tail black; chin and throat dull white; breast pale
creamy white, turning to a dull yellowish-white on the under parts.
The female is somewhat browner on her upper parts than the male. The
Wheatear may always be readily distinguished by the large white patch
at the base of its tail, seen most conspicuously when the bird is
flying away from the observer.
[Illustration: WHEATEAR’S NEST AND EGGS BENEATH A LARGE STONE, WHICH
WAS RAISED IN ORDER TO TAKE THE PHOTOGRAPH.]
This species inhabits high moorland districts where rocks and solitude
are the most striking features of the landscape, but it is a mistake
to say that the cultivation of land banishes it, for I have met with
it breeding on ploughed land in the Highlands, Hebrides, and Shetlands
quite commonly.
[Illustration: MALE WHEATEAR BRINGING FOOD FOR YOUNG.]
The nest is situated under loose slabs of rock, in holes in rough,
dry stone walls, peat stacks, and rocky banks. I have met with it on
two or three occasions in the old nesting burrows of rabbits. It is
made of dead grass, rootlets, and moss, with an inner lining of hair,
feathers, and rabbits’ down.
The eggs generally number five or six, of a pale greenish-blue,
occasionally spotted on the larger end with rusty red.
This species practises a short and somewhat pretty, but not very
loud, song, which is enhanced in value by the weird solitude of the
vocalist’s surroundings. It is frequently uttered whilst the bird is
on the wing going through aërial antics, often highly suggestive of
dementia.
The call note of the species may be imitated by beating two pebbles
together, and sounds like _chick, chack, chack_.
[Illustration: YOUNG WHEATEARS WAITING FOR FOOD.]
=THE STONECHAT.=
[Illustration: gorse]
This very conspicuous and familiar little bird measures just over
five inches in length. Its head, nape, throat, back, wings, and tail
are black, many of the feathers being edged with rusty brown. On
the sides of the neck, wings, and at the base of the tail are large
patches of white. Breast dark rust colour, under parts much lighter.
Its unlikeness to any other British bird, and habit of perching on
the topmost sprays of gorse, juniper, and bramble bushes, render it
perfectly easy to observe and identify. The female differs somewhat,
being dull brown with buff edgings to the feathers on her upper parts,
and having the chin buff, sides of the neck brownish-white, and breast
and under parts duller.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF STONECHAT]
This species does not live, as its name might be taken to imply, in
stony wildernesses, but upon furze-clad commons and uncultivated land
where juniper, brambles, and other kinds of tangled vegetation grow.
The nest is built upon or near the ground, and is generally well
concealed. It consists of rootlets, moss, and dry grass, with an inner
lining of hair, feathers, and occasionally pieces of wool. I have often
seen it with very little else than fine blades of dead grass.
The eggs number from four to six, and on rare occasions even seven have
been found. They are of a pale bluish-green ground colour, closely
spotted round the larger end with reddish-brown. Sometimes the spots
are entirely absent.
The Stonechat, although subject to local movement, stays with us all
the year round. Its soft, low song, although of no great length or
importance, is sweet and pleasing, and sometimes contains imitations of
other birds’ notes. It is delivered both whilst the singer is at rest
and hovering in the air. The male helps the female to feed the young
ones, and in the case of the chicks hatched from the eggs figured on
the previous page he had the whole of the domestic work to do because
his mate disappeared altogether a few days after the young ones had
been hatched.
The call note resembles the sound made by striking two small pebbles
together in the hand, hence its name of Stonechat. It has been written
down as _u-tic, u-tic_. After the young are hatched it changes
somewhat and sounds like _chuck, chuck_.
[Illustration: landscape with hillsides]
=THE WHINCHAT.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
The Whinchat arrives in this country during April, and takes its
departure again in September and October. It is about five inches and
a quarter in length, and has the crown of the head and upper parts
generally of a dusky-brown colour, the feathers being edged with sandy
buff. The wings are marked with a large white spot. Upper half of tail
white, lower half dark brown edged with sandy buff. A broad white
stripe runs from the base of the bill over the eye. Chin is white,
throat and breast are light chestnut, under parts pale buff. In the
female the white line over the eye and the spot upon the wing are less
conspicuous, and the colour of her under parts is less distinctive.
[Illustration: WHINCHAT’S NEST AND EGGS.]
This species, although somewhat local, is met with nearly all over
the British Isles. It is partial to heaths and commons, pastures, and
meadows, where it makes its nest on or near the ground in thick tangled
grass, heather, and at the bottom of small gorse bushes. The structure
is formed of dead grass and moss with an inner lining of fine, dry
grass and sometimes horsehair. The eggs number from four to six, of a
greenish-blue ground colour, sometimes spotted on the larger end with
reddish-brown.
The song is low, but sweet, and is delivered somewhat hurriedly, both
whilst the melodist is perched and upon the wing. The call note sounds
like _u-tack_.
[Illustration: landscape with open fields]
=THE SONG THRUSH.=
“The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers,
Enrapturing heaven and earth.”
MONTGOMERY.
[Illustration: leafy branches]
There is, luckily, no need for me to enter into a minute description
of the appearance of this well-known and greatly beloved carol singer,
which is called a Song Thrush in the South, a Throstle in the North of
England, and a Mavis in Scotland. It breeds commonly throughout the
British Islands wherever there is any kind of cover in the shape of
trees, shrubs, or bushes to give it shelter. Some people think that
the Song Thrush resides with us all the year round, but this is only
partially true. I know many high, bleak parts of the country where it
is never seen during the depth of winter, and, as a matter of fact,
those that stay with us in the lower and more sheltered regions are
only a fraction of the total number bred in our country.
[Illustration: SONG THRUSH AT NEST.]
The nest of the Song Thrush is built in evergreens, hedgerows, bushes,
ivy growing against walls and trees, holes in stone walls, on ledges
of rock, on beams in sheds, and occasionally, though not as often as
that of the Blackbird, absolutely on the ground. It is quite unlike
that of any other British bird in its construction, being made of
twigs, coarse dead grass, moss, and clay or mud outside, with an
inner lining of clay, mud, or cow-dung studded with bits of rotten
wood. In some districts where decayed wood is difficult to procure,
it is dispensed with altogether, and during very droughty summers I
have found several nests occupied by eggs without a vestige of a hard
lining. They were similar to those of the Blackbird, only not so neatly
lined with fine dead grass. The mud lining is generally allowed to dry
hard before the bird commences to lay.
The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a beautiful deep
greenish-blue colour spotted with black. I have on several occasions
met with unmarked specimens.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF SONG THRUSH.]
As a melodist the Throstle ranks very high. Many people consider that
it comes next to the Nightingale, for which it is often mistaken, when
singing very late in the evening, by people who can claim no great
acquaintance with the superb notes of Sweet Philomel.
Mr. Swaysland, of Brighton, who has had a great deal of experience
amongst feathered musicians, says that the song of the Mavis is
“clear, yet full of mellowness--now pealing out a phrase of wild bluff
heartiness, and anon with long-drawn notes tinged with exquisite
pathos--striking a responsive chord in the heart of every hearer.”
I have heard its song during every month of the year excepting August,
when the bird experiences the depression of its annual moult.
During a fine April morning every wood and spinny in the part of
Surrey where I reside rings with the melodious notes of the Throstle,
and two or three seasons ago we had a specimen that habitually sang
from the top of a cabbage in a field almost surrounded by tall trees.
I have heard it sing on the ground between bouts of fighting, on the
wing, and from a housetop, where a Starling might have been expected
to hold forth. It has been timed, and in one instance at least has
been found to sing sixteen hours in a single day, and under favourable
circumstances some of its notes may be heard half a mile away.
If not the most imitative of all British birds, it comes very close
to the holding of that distinction, and can not only mimic some notes
as well as their owners can deliver them, but actually improve upon
their volume and sweetness. The Ringed Plover and the French Partridge
are two examples. I have heard the Throstle reproduce the notes of the
following species: Common Curlew, Whimbrel, Dunlin, Peewit, Golden
Plover, Common Tern, Redshank, Ringed Plover, French Partridge, and
Common Sparrow, besides those of several others.
Thrushes vary not only individually as musicians, but in different
parts of the country, I am persuaded. Some of the finest singers I have
heard have been in Surrey, Cheshire, and Aberdeenshire.
The poets have given this species a good deal of deserved attention on
account of the excellence of its song, and everyone who has had any
experience whatever of the country and its wild life in springtime will
at once recognise the truth and beauty of the following lines:
“Through the hazels thick espy
The hatching throstle’s shining eye.”
The call and alarm notes of the Song Thrush are very difficult to
convey by the characters of the alphabet. The former sounds something
like _sik, sik sik, sik, siki, tsak, tsak_, and the latter _quep_ and
_wich-it-tit_. The song has been rendered by the words, “Go-it, go-it,
stick-to-it, stick-to-it, you’ll-do-it, you’ll-do-it,” but by far the
best representation is that of the great Scottish naturalist,
Macgillivray, which I have quoted at length in “Our Bird Friends.”
[Illustration: YOUNG SONG THRUSHES WAITING FOR MOTHER.]
Throstles live principally upon worms, grubs, and snails, and they
have a habit of taking the last-named to some favourite stone, where
they hammer the shell until it is sufficiently fractured to enable
them to extract the luscious morsel inside. These stones are known as
“Thrushes’ Anvils.” Occasionally when they find a snail with a house
upon its back too hard and strong to be broken in this way, they
carry it to some height in the air and drop it on a flag or other
hard substance. The shell is thus fractured, and the sensible captor
descends and devours its prey. The bird also takes its share of fruit,
and without any consideration for the good it does during the greater
part of the year, is ruthlessly slain by gardeners, who might, in
the great majority of instances, use netting instead of shot to the
advantage of both fruit trees and birds.
When I hear a garden-loving neighbour’s gun going off, I frequently
think of the poet’s compassionate appeal:
“Scare, if ye will, his timid wing away,
But oh, let not the leaden viewless shower,
Vollied from flashing tube, arrest his flight,
And fill his tuneful, gasping bill with blood.”
The members of this species that stay with us throughout the winter
months, when not regaling our ears with their versatile songs, amuse
even the most casual observers by their quaint ways of listening for
and catching worms on lawn and meadow during open weather. They also
well repay feeding with soaked dog-biscuits and other edible trifles
during severe weather, when it is almost impossible for them to secure
even the shortest supply of natural food. They are able to foretell
coming changes in the weather far earlier than human beings, and
frequently sing in anticipation of a thaw.
[Illustration: woodland scene]
=THE YELLOW HAMMER.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
Who does not know this almost universally distributed bird in our
country, with its dress of almost canary-like yellow, streaked with
brown, and short though oft-repeated song? On furze-clad commons, along
cultivated hedgerows, and on railway embankments close to busy London
town, and in far-away parts of the country alike, it may be heard
morning, noon, and night persistently going over its familiar notes,
which always seem to me to accord best with the drowsiness of a hot
summer’s day. Indeed, I must confess that at such times its reiteration
has sent me to sleep.
[Illustration: YELLOW HAMMER ON NEST.]
It has been variously represented by the characters of the alphabet,
as the following examples will show: _tic-tic-tic-e-ereze, te, te, te,
te, te, te, twyee_; _chick, chick, churr_; _chit-chit-chierre-r-r_.
By far the most popular rendering of it in England, however, is the
somewhat hackneyed phrase, “A little bit of bread and no cheese.” In
Scotland it becomes, “Deil, deil, deil tak ye,” a supposed imprecation
upon boys who steal its eggs.
There is also a curious legend in the North to the effect that Satan
supplies the bird with half a drop of his blood every morning wherewith
to mark its eggs with the greatly varied scribbling lines that appear
upon them.
The song, although more musical than that of the Corn Bunting, is
considered by many people to be a monotonous performance. The poet
Grahame was evidently aware of this when he wrote the lines:
“Even in a bird the simplest notes have charms
For me: I even love the yellow hammer’s song.”
The call note of this species, when disturbed, is a _trit, trit,
trit_, and on the wing _tisit_.
It may always be distinguished with certainty from its much rarer
relative, the Cirl Bunting, by the fact that it has no black upon its
chin.
The female Yellow Hammer is a trifle smaller than her mate, is much
less yellow, and the markings on her head are darker. Both sexes take a
share in the work of incubation.
[Illustration: YELLOW HAMMER’S NEST AND EGGS.]
The nest is built in hedge banks, at the foot of light open bushes,
under brambles, and sometimes even in gorse bushes and thick evergreen
hedges at a considerable height from the ground. It is composed of dry
grass, rootlets, and moss on the outside, with an inner lining of fine,
dead grass and horsehair.
The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dingy white ground
colour, tinged with purple, streaked, spotted, and blotched with dark
purplish-brown. The streaks or scribblings generally end in a spot,
and, on account of their similarity to the marks made by a pen, the
bird is known in many parts of the country as the “Writing Lark.”
This species, although commencing to breed in April, sometimes has eggs
as late even as September.
[Illustration: landscape with hills]
=THE STARLING.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
It is quite unnecessary for me to describe the appearance of the
Starling, for the species is so common, sociable, and unlike every
other feathered friend in this country that confusion is almost
impossible.
I love the brave, bustling bird, for when it has any work to do it does
not go dawdling along like a lazy boy crawling halfheartedly to school,
but rushes about as if the welfare of the whole universe depended upon
its individual exertions.
It is a lively singer, with almost unrivalled powers of imitation,
and has, I must confess, completely deceived me on several occasions.
One fine spring morning, whilst on my way to a railway station in
the north of London, I heard, to my surprise, the familiar notes of
a Golden Plover, and immediately began to examine the heavens for a
member of that species flying overhead. To my surprise, I discovered
that the sounds were coming from a Starling delightedly flapping its
wings on a chimney-pot not far away. On another occasion, whilst
hunting for a much-desired Sandpiper’s nest on the shores of a small
loch in the Outer Hebrides, I said to my brother, “Hark! I hear one
calling!” But that Sandpiper proved to be a Starling standing on a
rock not far off imitating to perfection the soft call notes of the
little wader. I have heard different members of this species mimicking
the cries and call notes of the Curlew, Whimbrel, Lapwing, Common
Partridge, Redshank, Ringed Plover, House Sparrow, and other small
birds.
Tame Starlings have been taught to imitate the human voice so well that
one has been said to repeat the Lord’s Prayer from beginning to end,
and Pliny, the historian, mentions one that was able to speak in both
Greek and Latin.
The harsh alarm cry of the species sounds something like the word
_spate, spate_.
[Illustration: YOUNG STARLING IN ITS FIRST COAT OF FEATHERS]
Although sometimes guilty, especially during very dry seasons, of
taking cherries and other fruit, the damage wrought in this way is as
nothing compared with the vast amount of good done by this species in
the destruction of insects injurious to growing crops. It is an amusing
sight to watch a flock hurrying and scurrying across a field, the
hindmost members continually flying over the foremost and then running
in breathless haste looking eagerly this way and that, probing every
likely and unlikely place for some lurking grub, as if life did not
contain one moment to be wasted.
They alight on the backs of sheep and cattle in order to destroy
troublesome parasites, and at certain seasons of the year may be seen
dexterously hawking winged insects over houses and tree-tops.
Starlings have greatly increased in numbers during the last forty years
in our islands, and there is no season of the year when flocks, great
or small, cannot be seen. Late breeders keep together until far on in
May, and the broods of those that commenced housekeeping operations
early in April flock together directly they meet each other in the
fields. Thus I have known the same nesting hole occupied twice in one
season, a fact which has given rise to the belief entertained by some
people that the species is double-brooded.
[Illustration: ADULT STARLING IN WINTER.]
When flocked, these birds have favourite roosting places, to which they
resort in tens of thousands every night with the utmost regularity.
Sometimes they select a reed bed to sleep in, and do great damage by
too many birds alighting on the same stems and breaking them down.
Before finally settling for the night, they perform a great number
of wonderful aërial evolutions, especially during fine weather.
Whilst sitting in one black mass on every available branch and bough,
producing an indescribable din by all chissicking and chattering to
each other at the same time, they will suddenly become quite silent,
and leaping into the air with a noise just like that of a truck-load
of small coals being shot into the hold of a steamer, mount to a
considerable height, and commence to wheel and turn as if by some
magically communicated command.
At one moment they look like a thick black cloud, and at another like
a long trail of grey smoke. Every turn and twist, opening and closing
of the whole flock, is performed with a grace and precision of movement
which is wonderful to behold.
Starlings nest in holes in trees, rocks, and old ruins; under the roofs
of houses, in the thatch of ricks and outbuildings, and sometimes under
large stones on steep hillsides. I have also known them breed amongst
sticks forming the base of an Osprey’s eyrie which was occupied by
young ones. A year or two ago I found an open-topped nest containing
chicks in an evergreen, where a Blackbird or Thrush might have been
expected to breed. Green Woodpeckers are constantly turned out of their
laboriously dug holes by members of this species in search of suitable
nesting quarters.
The nest is a loosely-put-together structure composed of straws,
rootlets, and bits of moss, with a lining of hair, feathers, and
occasionally a lock of wool. I have often found nests, however, with
no kind of lining at all except straws.
The eggs number from four to six, of a uniform pale blue colour. This
species has a curious habit of dropping its eggs about on lawns and in
fields during the early part of the breeding season.
Young Starlings, in their first coats of feathers, are greyish-brown,
and lack entirely the beautiful purple and steel-blue sheen which gives
their parents such a handsome appearance when the sun is shining upon
them.
[Illustration: landscape with farm]
=THE CHAFFINCH.=
[Illustration: flowers and leaves]
Youthful students of ornithology are frequently at a loss to understand
why Linnæus, the great Swedish naturalist, gave this bird the somewhat
odd scientific name of _cœlebs_, signifying bachelor. He did so
because he noticed that in his own country the females left the males
behind in winter and migrated south in search of more hospitable
climes.
[Illustration: CHAFFINCH ON THE NEST.]
In Scotland and the North of England I have frequently observed the
same kind of thing happen, and especially during severe winters, not a
female to be seen for weeks together, and the males all congregated in
little flocks. In the South and West of England, however, both sexes
remain together, as a rule, and, associating with their relatives,
the Common Sparrows, hunt farmyards and gardens for corn, seeds, and
any other unconsidered trifles they may chance to pick up.
However gloomy the conditions of existence may be, the brave Chaffinch
is always sprightly, vigorous, and cheerful, a characteristic which may
be plainly seen in our illustration of birds feeding on the snow.
The call note of the species is a loud, ringing _spink, spink_,
which is also used as an alarm cry. In the spring the male utters
in addition a very sweet one sounding something like _tu-wheet,
tu-wheet_. During flight the bird makes use of another note, which
is difficult to render by the characters of the alphabet, but may,
perhaps, be best represented by the letters _tuke_.
The song is repeated thousands of times per day in the early part of
the breeding season. It is a very sprightly performance, like a merry
old English catch, _tol-de-rol, lol, chickweedo_, which has been
very aptly likened to the words, “Will you, will you kiss me, dear?”
Some people consider it a monotonous affair, but in spite of the fact
that I have heard it repeated twenty-one times in four minutes it
is always to me, “A full, clear, sprightly ringing ditty.” It varies
greatly in individuals, and although London bird-catchers consider an
Essex Chaffinch superior to all others as a singer, I prefer to listen
to some members of the species I have heard cheering the dark solitude
of great Highland pine forests.
[Illustration: CHAFFINCHES, SPARROWS, AND STARLING FEEDING IN WINTER.]
German workmen are great Chaffinch fanciers. One has been known to
exchange a cow for a clever vocalist of this species, and another to
live upon bread-and-water until he had saved the high price of a prime
favourite.
It is, I must confess, always a saddening experience for me to hear
this little songster’s notes ringing clear and sweet from the interior
of a wee prison house tied up in a black cloth, and carried along some
dismal street beneath the arm of a costermonger. However, it is only
fair to add that these men are, as a rule, devoted to their pets, and
treat them with the utmost kindness. A great authority upon the subject
says that if well treated a Chaffinch will live in confinement for
twenty years. It has also been asserted as a curious fact that if an
adult male Chaffinch is caught before Whitsuntide he will sing in a
cage, but if he should be made a prisoner after this date he will die
of grief at being parted from his mate and young ones.
Chaffinches pair towards the end of February and throughout March,
although flocks of “bachelors” may occasionally be seen as late as the
first week in May, and commence building operations, as a rule, about
the middle of April. They build deep, cup-shaped, and wonderfully neat
little nests of moss, wool, lichens, and cobwebs, beautifully felted
together and securely fixed in the forks of small trees in orchards,
hedgerows, and woods. It is generally adorned on the outside with
bits of green moss or grey lichens that will render it similar in
appearance to its surroundings, and thus help it to escape detection.
[Illustration: YOUNG CHAFFINCHES.]
The eggs number from four to six, but clutches of five are the general
rule, and are pale greenish-blue in ground colour, clouded with faint
reddish-brown and spotted and streaked with dull purplish-brown of
various shades.
The female Chaffinch lacks the rich colouring of her mate, especially
on the head and breast, and is a trifle smaller. The young are fed upon
insects by both parent birds, and resemble their mother in appearance
whilst wearing the first coat of feathers.
[Illustration: landscape with trees]
=THE PIED FLYCATCHER.=
[Illustration: flowers and ferns]
The Pied Flycatcher is a singularly well-named species, because it
answers both adjective and noun exactly.
The male is not quite as large as a Robin, and is, generally speaking,
black and white, as shown in our illustration on the next page. In
fact, a little girl who saw the picture, exclaimed, “What a pretty
wee Magpie!” The small patch of white on the forehead varies in size.
In some individuals it is quite conspicuous, and in others scarcely
visible. The female lacks it altogether, and is generally less
pronounced in her colours than her mate.
[Illustration: MALE PIED FLYCATCHER OUTSIDE NESTING HOLE.]
This species is partial to certain parts of the country, and although
by no means common is to be met with in the six northern counties of
England, in Wales, and in some parts of Scotland. Some authorities
say that it is most numerous in the Lake District, but I have met with
far more specimens in certain parts of the Principality than anywhere
else.
The male has a very pretty, though short and oft-repeated song. It
resembles that of the Redstart so closely that it is difficult to say
with certainty which bird is producing the music unless the singer be
seen. This also applies to its call notes.
A male Pied Flycatcher is a creature of decided character. The one
figured in our photograph was busy feeding his mate, sitting on six
beautiful pale blue eggs, in a hole in an old tree, which had been
struck and partially destroyed by lightning, when a friend of mine
and I discovered him. Upon our examining the nesting site the female
fluttered out, and joining her mate, they flitted about together from
tree to tree until he evidently thought it was time for her to return
to her maternal duties. She was, however, afraid to venture back to
her nest because my camera stood within a few feet of the entrance
hole, and flew nervously from one branch to another in the neighbouring
trees. Her mate, with the evident intention of showing her that there
was no cause for alarm, came along and, alighting right in front of
my apparatus, took a leisurely peep inside the nesting hole. As this
had no visible effect upon her nerves he went off and secured a fat,
green caterpillar, which he would not offer her anywhere, although she
shivered her little wings in supplication, excepting on the threshold
of their breeding quarters.
As even this kind of inducement failed, he indignantly gulped down the
food, and with a great show of anger, began to chase her round and
round, up and down, until at last he forced her indoors. Later on, this
female grew bolder, however, and I succeeded in photographing her on
the gnarled trunk of the lightning-blasted tree.
A precisely similar kind of thing happened at another nest, but in this
instance the lady was stronger minded, and refused to be bullied into
the performance of her duties.
In this particular wood, which was of no great size, four pairs of
these interesting birds lived within a few hundred yards of each other.
The males appeared to spend the day in catching winged and other
insects for the females, in singing, and chasing each other away from
particular spheres of influence.
The Pied Flycatcher, like its commoner relative, the Spotted
Flycatcher, is a migratory bird, arriving in this country in April and
leaving again in September and October.
It builds its nest generally in holes in trees, but sometimes in old
walls. The structure is composed of dry grass, dead leaves, and moss,
with an inner lining of hair and feathers.
[Illustration: bird on branch]
=THE LINNET.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers and grass]
Male Linnets vary almost as much in the colour of their feathers
as they do in the quality of their songs. A fine specimen, arrayed
in all the glory of his summer dress, has the forehead and crown
glossy blood-red, the rest of the head black, and sides of the neck
brownish-grey, back and upper wing coverts deep reddish-brown; wing
quills dusky, edged with white; upper tail coverts dark brown; tail
quills brownish-black, edged with white, except in the case of the
two centre feathers; chin and throat greyish-white, streaked along
the middle with greyish-brown; breast glossy rose-red. The last-named
colour varies greatly in intensity, and in some birds is almost
absent. In fact, as Yarrell says, perfect specimens are not often met
with, and the carmine cap and breast are generally replaced by brownish
lake-red.
Some adult male Linnets have lemon-yellow breasts, and in Germany are
considered old birds and the best singers.
The female is a trifle smaller than the male and lacks the red on the
top of the head and breast.
[Illustration: LINNET’S NEST AND EGGS.]
This species is distinguished from the Lesser Redpole by having no
white bar on the wings and no black upon the chin, and from the Twite,
with which it is likely to be confused, by the facts that it has a
shorter and less deeply forked tail and the male lacking the red on his
rump.
Last spring I spent two days on a Surrey common photographing the
Stonechat figuring in the little picture which decorates the front
cover of this book. He was bringing food to his offspring in a nest
situated amongst some stunted heather growing in a sheltered dell
formed by two gorse-clad ridges about eighty feet in height and a
hundred yards apart. Although many Linnets were still roaming the
countryside in flocks, numbers were busy love-making and pairing close
around me, and I shall never forget the sweetness of the twittering and
warbling that went on all day long.
The carols were generally sung from the topmost spray of some furze
bush, which was a golden blaze of bloom, but occasionally the vocalist
would utter his sweetest notes when dropping gracefully through the air
to some intended resting-place.
This bird has received a great deal of attention from the poets, some
of whom have described its song as a “careless lay” and others as a
“None-offending song of quiet prettiness.”
The call note of the species is a shrill _twit, twit_ and _wee,
tye wee_.
[Illustration: LINNET BRINGING FOOD FOR YOUNG.]
A Linnet’s nest is made of small twigs, fibrous roots, dry grass,
stems, moss, and wool, with an inner lining of hair, feathers, rabbit
and vegetable down; and is situated in gorse, and broom bushes, white
and black thorn bushes, tall heather, and juniper. I have found a nest
ten feet from the ground, and two nests quite upon it.
The eggs number four to six, are greyish-white in ground colour,
tinged with blue or green and speckled and spotted with purple-red and
reddish-brown.
A very strange thing about this species is that it appears to grow
shyer during the breeding season, whereas nearly all other birds
grow bolder. This peculiar characteristic, of course, increases the
difficulty of photographing the creature.
Linnets flock together as soon as the breeding season is over--some
of them to migrate, and others to wander about the country visiting
stubble fields and waste lands in search of seeds. It is a very
pleasant sight to watch a flock resting on the sunlit top of some tall
tree on a fine winter’s day, and hear the sociable little birds holding
a kind of chattering concert.
It is almost needless to add that the Linnet is a great favourite as
a cage pet. Specimens caught in the autumn soon adapt themselves to
confinement, but those taken in the spring frequently mope and die. One
has been known to live as many as fourteen years in a cage, but I have
never yet heard of a specimen in confinement donning the crimson colour
on its head or breast.
The species has derived its name in several European countries from its
fondness for linseed.
[Illustration: lane through woods]
=THE SWALLOW.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
This deservedly popular harbinger of spring arrives in England
about the end of March and beginning of April, and departs again in
September, although specimen’s have been seen during every month of the
year, and one hardy individual actually managed to live right through
a mild winter in Yorkshire not long ago. There is little need for me
to describe the appearance of this familiar bird in detail, but it
may be well to say that its forehead, chin, and throat are chestnut
brown, upper parts generally and a broad bar across the chest steely
blue. Under parts dull, buffy white. The adult Swallow may always be
distinguished, on the wing or at rest, from either the Swift or the
Martin, by its much more deeply forked tail.
[Illustration: YOUNG SWALLOWS ON TELEGRAPH WIRES.]
Its nest is generally built in a chimney or on a rafter in a barn,
stable, or shed, although I have seen it plastered against a smooth
whitewashed wall, on a dangling tendril of ivy that had grown through
the roof of a shed, under a stone bridge, inside an old limekiln, on
a ledge under the eaves of a shed, on a picture-frame, and inside an
old tennis shoe left on a ledge in a boat-house. It is made of pellets
of mud generally intermixed with straws and lined with dead grass and
feathers. The structure differs in shape according to the site selected
for it. Frequently it is formed like half or two-thirds of a saucer
when plastered against a wall or rafter, but when on a flat surface the
outside consists of a circular wall of mud.
[Illustration: NEWLY-FLEDGED SWALLOW.]
The eggs, numbering from four to six, are white, spotted and blotched
with dark, reddish-brown, and underlying specks of grey.
This bird’s song is one of the most joyous and spontaneous in all the
realms of Nature, and the poet might well say:
“Thou hast no sadness in thy song.”
It is uttered both whilst the melodist is flashing at lightning speed
through the air and at rest on some house-top or tree, and is an
exceedingly sweet and exhilarating warble frequently repeated.
During dull weather, when swallows fly low, they utter a note like
_wet wet_, and their alarm cry has been fittingly written down as
_feetafeet-feetafetit_. Inside buildings they also use another,
which is a clear, ringing _pink pink_.
[Illustration: landscape with river]
=THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN.=
[Illustration: cluster of flowers]
The Golden-crested Wren, or Gold-crest, as it is frequently called,
has the distinction of being our smallest British bird, measuring only
three and a half inches in length. It is a widely distributed resident,
and breeds comparatively close to London and other large towns. On the
forehead and round the eyes it is whitish, tinged with olive-green.
Crown pale orange in front and bright yellow towards the hind part.
The feathers are somewhat lengthened, and form a crest bounded on
either side by a streak of black. Upper parts olive-green; wings dusky
black with two transverse white bars. Tail quills dusky, edged with
yellowish-green. Under parts yellowish-grey, inclining to buff on
throat, breast, and sides. The female is not so brightly coloured as
her mate.
The nest is generally, though not always, suspended from the branch of
a cedar, spruce, fir, yew, or holly tree at varying heights from the
ground. I have seen it in a furze bush, and at an elevation of thirty
feet or more from the ground in a fir tree. It breeds in shrubberies,
plantations, and spinnies, and makes its nest of green moss, lichens,
fine grass, spiders’ webs, and hair beautifully felted together and
lined with liberal quantities of down and feathers.
The eggs number six or seven, as a rule, and are pale flesh or
yellowish-white in ground colour, spotted and blotched with
reddish-brown, the markings being most numerous at the larger end.
The Gold-crest’s song is like its singer--very small, soft, and sweet.
It is difficult to hear, especially towards the end, unless the
listener happens to be very close. In the neighbourhood of Birmingham
I once had the pleasure of listening to a bird of this species in
an evergreen hedge only two or three feet away from me, and was
greatly surprised at the sweet melodiousness of its limited notes.
[Illustration: GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN AT NEST.]
The sound of its call is something like _tsit, tsit_.
Vast flocks of this wee species occasionally hazard the perils of a
journey from the Continent across the North Sea in order to visit our
shores, and at such times alight upon the rigging of fishing smacks to
rest, and crowd round lighthouses in incredible numbers.
[Illustration: road through forest]
[Illustration: colophon]
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FIELD GLASSES=
[ILLUSTRATION: binoculars]
Used and recommended by Mr. Kearton as the best
for Naturalists, x8 magnification,
=£5-5-0=
Ditto Improved Model, can be cleaned in any part
of the world,
=£5-10-0=
_Including best quality Sling Case._
The “TIMES” system of easy monthly payments is available.
Complete lists and full particulars on application.
=“Mr. R. KEARTON has proved the value of DOLLOND’S Binoculars in every
part of the British Islands, under all sorts of conditions, on
land or sea, and strongly recommends them to all Field
Naturalists.=”--(_See_ “With Nature and a Camera,” _page 338._)
=DOLLOND & CO.,
Manufacturing Opticians to the Government,=
113, CHEAPSIDE, E.C.; 223, OXFORD STREET, W.;
=AND BRANCHES.
Optical Works: 11, KIRBY STREET, HATTON GARDEN,
LONDON, E.C.=
=NATURE PHOTOGRAPHY.=
All Naturalists who wish to take up this fascinating and valuable art
are invited to communicate with =Messrs. J. H. DALLMEYER, Limited=,
who have supplied complete outfits or Lenses to nearly all the leading
experts in this branch, and are therefore peculiarly qualified to give
advice, and to make or select apparatus according to the requirements
of each individual case. In no branch of photography is the choice of
apparatus more difficult to the uninitiated, as it is quite possible to
acquire the most perfect and costly outfit, and to find it of little
practical application for the special work for which it was procured.
Among the leading instruments we may mention:-
[Illustration: MR. KEARTON’S FAVOURITE CAMERA.]
=THE PARALLEL BELLOWS= Camera, with Stigmatic Lens and Silent
Shutter, as used by Messrs. R. and C. KEARTON and many other
eminent naturalists.
=THE NATURALISTS’ CAMERA.=--The only successful Telephoto Camera
for Nature work. New Model, with full-sized finder, in
preparation.
=THE PACKARD-IDEAL= Shutters.--The best Time shutter on the market.
=THE ADON.=--An excellent little Telephoto lens for Nests, etc.,
in inaccessible places.
=RAPID TELEPHOTO= Lenses for moving objects.
=THE STIGMATIC LENSES= for all-round work.
=PATENT GROUP LENSES=, Series D. These are invaluable for very rapid
exposures of distant animals or birds. They work at F/6, and on
small plates give crisper images than any anastigmats.
_CATALOGUES AND ADVICE FREE._
=J. H. DALLMEYER, Ltd.,=
Show Rooms: 25, NEWMAN STREET, LONDON, W.
Offices and Works: DENZIL ROAD, NEASDEN, N.W.
Transcriber’s Note:
This book was written in a period when many words had not become
standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These were
left unchanged.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Words and phrases in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like
this.= One footnote was moved to the end of the chapter. Final stops
missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added.
Captions to illustrations are in upper case letters. Descriptions in
lower case were added to illustrations without captions. Illustrated
drop cap is indicated thus: [Illustration: T]he ...
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