April, in some years considerably earlier. It is found throughout
England and Wales, and extends its range to Scotland and Ireland,
only in lesser numbers. Though widely distributed it is rare, except
in some districts in the southern and western counties of England. A
person familiar with the ornithological literature of this country,
but having little personal knowledge of the birds, who should go out
to make acquaintance with the blackcap, would be surprised at its
rarity. After much seeking, he would probably come to the conclusion
that, speaking of warblers only, there are at least half a hundred
willow-wrens, and perhaps twenty whitethroats, to one blackcap. Another
curious point about the blackcap is that it appears to be almost
unknown to the country people. It is a rare thing to find a rustic,
man or boy, who knows it by that or any other name, though he may be
quite familiar with the redstart and whitethroat. On these last two
points I find that my experience coincides with that of John Burroughs,
the American writer on bird life, in the accounts of his observations
on British song-birds. There is a third point on which I also agree
with him; this, however, is not a question of fact, but of opinion
or of individual taste, and refers to the merit of the blackcap as
a singer. His is a song which has always been very highly esteemed,
and it has often been described as scarcely inferior to that of the
nightingale. Gilbert White of Selborne described it as ‘a full, deep,
sweet, loud, 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.’
After reading such a description it is a disappointment to hear the
song. Nevertheless, it is very beautiful, and given out with immense
energy, as the bird sits on a spray with throat puffed out, and moves
its head, sometimes its whole body, vigorously from side to side.
The song is a clear warble composed of about a dozen notes, rapidly
enunciated, loud, free, of that sweet, pure quality characteristic of
the melody of our best warblers. The strain is short, and repeated from
time to time, the intervals often being filled by lower notes, sweet
and varied--the ‘inward melody’ which White describes. Burroughs’s
description of the song is as follows: ‘While sitting here I saw, and
for the first time heard, the black-capped warbler. I recognised the
note at once by its brightness and strength, and a faint suggestion in
it of the nightingale’s; but it was disappointing: I had expected in
it a nearer approach to its great rival.... It is a ringing, animated
strain, but as a whole seemed to me crude, not smoothly and finely
modulated. I could name several of our own birds that surpass it in
pure music. Like its congeners, the garden warbler and the whitethroat,
it sings with great emphasis and strength, but its song is silvern, not
golden.’ This account of the blackcap’s song is interesting as coming
from a foreigner who has paid great attention to the bird music of
his own country, and it is on the whole a very good description; but
I should not say that the blackcap’s strain is crude, however wild and
irregular it may be; nor that there is in it even a faint suggestion of
the nightingale’s.
In its active, restless habits this warbler resembles the other members
of its group; but it exceeds them all in shyness. When approached it
becomes silent, and conceals itself in the interior of the thicket.
It frequents woods and orchards; also hedges and commons where large
masses of furze and bramble are found, especially in the vicinity of
trees. The nest is made of dry grass, lined with hair or fibrous roots,
and is placed in the forked branches of a thick bush, three or four
feet above the ground. The eggs, of which five or six are laid, are
of a light reddish colour, mottled and blotched with darker red and
reddish brown. They vary greatly, both in the depth of colour of the
mottlings and in the pale ground-tints.
The blackcap lives on insects, which it often captures on the wing,
and on fruits, and is fond of raspberries and currants. Its autumn
migration is in September.
Garden Warbler.
Sylvia hortensis.
Upper plumage greyish brown tinged with olive; below the ear a patch of
ash-grey; throat dull white; breast and flanks grey tinged with rust
colour; rest of under parts dull white. Length, five and a quarter
inches.
* * * * *
This warbler was first described as a British species by Willughby,
more than two centuries ago, under the name of ‘prettichaps’; and
Professor Newton, in a note to Yarrell’s account of it, says: ‘This
name (prettichaps) seems never to have been in general use in England,
or it would be readily adopted here.’ The old name of prettichaps, it
may be mentioned, does not appear to be quite obsolete yet: I have
heard it in Berkshire, where it was applied indiscriminately to the
garden warbler and blackcap.
The garden warbler is not common anywhere. In Ireland it is scarcely
known; in Scotland, Wales, and a large part of England it is very
rare. It is most frequently to be met with in the southern counties,
especially in Hampshire. Very curiously, Gilbert White did not know
this warbler, which may now be heard singing any day in spring in the
neighbourhood of Selborne village.
The garden warbler is often said to rank next to the blackcap as a
melodist. The songs of these two species have a great resemblance; it
is, indeed, rare to find two songsters, however closely allied, so
much alike in their language. The garden warbler’s song is like an
imitation of the blackcap’s, but 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 its 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.
The garden warbler is a late bird, seldom arriving in this country
before the end of April. It builds a rather slight nest, in a bush near
the ground, of dry grass and moss, lined with hair and fibrous roots.
The eggs are five in number, and are dull white, sometimes greenish
white, blotched and speckled with dull brown and grey.
The food of this warbler consists of small insects; and it is also fond
of fruit and berries.
* * * * *
Six species of the genus Sylvia are included in books on British birds:
the four already described, the orphean warbler (_Sylvia orphea_),
an accidental visitor from Central and Southern Europe, and the barred
warbler (_Sylvia nisoria_), from Central, South, and East Europe.
Furze-Wren, or Dartford Warbler.
Melizophilus undatus.
Upper parts greyish black; wing-coverts and feathers blackish brown;
outer tail feathers broadly, and the rest narrowly, tipped with light
brownish grey; under parts chestnut-brown; belly white. Tail long;
wings very short. Length, five inches.
[Illustration: FIG. 29.--DARTFORD WARBLER. ⅓ natural size.]
* * * * *
The furze-wren, never a common species in this country, is now become
so scarce, and is, moreover, so elusive, that it is hard to find, and
harder still to observe narrowly. Its somewhat singular appearance
among the warblers--its small size, short, rounded wings, great length
of tail, and very dark colour--its peculiar song, and excessively
lively and restless habits, and the fact that it was first discovered
in this country (1773), where, though so small and delicate a creature,
it exists on open, exposed commons throughout the year, have all
contributed to make it a fascinating subject to British ornithologists.
In England it inhabits Surrey and the counties bordering on the
Channel; but it has also been found in suitable localities in various
other parts of the country, and ranges as far north as the borders of
Yorkshire. I have sought for it in many places, but found it only in
Dorset. Forty or fifty years ago it was most abundant in the southern
parts of Surrey; it was there observed by the late Edward Newman, who
gave the following lively and amusing account of its appearance and
habits in his ‘Letters of Rusticus on the Natural History of Godalming’
(1849): ‘We have a bird common here which, I fancy, is almost unknown
in other districts, for I have scarcely ever seen it in collections....
I mean the furze-wren, or, as authors are pleased to call it, the
Dartford warbler. We hear that the epithet of Dartford is derived from
the little Kentish town of that name, and that it was given to the
furze-wren because he was first noticed in that neighbourhood. ... If
you have ever watched a common wren (a kitty-wren we call her), you
must have observed that she cocked her tail bolt upright, strained
her little beak at right angles, and her throat in the same fashion,
to make the most of her fizgig of a song, and kept on jumping and
jerking and frisking about, for all the world as though she was worked
by steam; well, that’s more the character of the Dartford warbler,
or, as we call her, the furze-wren. When the leaves are off the trees
and the chill winter winds have driven the birds to the olive-gardens
of Spain, or across the Straits, the furze-wren is in the height of
his enjoyment. I have seen them by dozens skipping about the furze,
lighting for a moment on the very point of the sprigs, and instantly
diving out of sight again, singing out their angry, impatient ditty,
for ever the same. Perched on the back of a good tall nag, and riding
quietly along the outside, while the foxhounds have been drawing the
furze-fields, I have often seen these birds come to the top of the
furze.... They prefer those places where the furze is very thick, and
difficult to get in.... And although it is so numerous in winter, and
so active and noisy when disturbed by dogs and guns, still, in the
breeding season it is a shy, skulking bird, hiding itself in thick
places, much in the manner of the grasshopper lark, and seldom allowing
one to hear the sound of its voice.’
Spring is, however, the season of the furze-wren’s greatest activity:
its lively gestures, antics, and dancing motions on the topmost sprays
of the bushes are then almost incessant, as it pursues the small
moths and other winged insects on which it feeds; and its curious and
impetuous little song is then delivered with the greatest vigour.
It has also a harsh, scolding note, uttered several times in rapid
succession, and a loud musical call-note.
The nest is placed among the dense masses of the lower, dead portion
of a thick furze-bush. It is a flimsy structure, composed of dead
furze-leaves, small twigs, and grass-stems, lined with finer stems,
and sometimes with horsehair. Four or five eggs are laid, white in
ground-colour, sometimes tinged with buff or with greenish, thickly
spotted and freckled with pale brown over paler brown and grey
markings. Two broods are reared in the season.
Golden-crested Wren, or Goldcrest.
Regulus cristatus.
Upper parts olive tinged with yellow; cheeks ash-colour; wing greyish
brown, with two transverse white bands; crest bright yellow in front,
orange behind, bounded by two black lines; under parts yellowish grey.
_Female_: colours not so bright; crest lemon-colour. Length, three
and a half inches.
* * * * *
The golden-crested wren has the distinction of being the smallest
British bird; it is also one of the most widely distributed, being
found throughout the United Kingdom. Furthermore, it is a resident
throughout the year, is nowhere scarce, and in many places is very
abundant. Yet it is well known only to those who are close observers
of bird life. The goldcrest is not a familiar figure, owing to its
smallness and restlessness, which exceed that of all the other
members of this restless family of birds, and make it difficult for
the observer to see it well. Again, it is nearly always concealed
from sight by the foliage, and in winter it keeps mostly among the
evergreens, and at all times haunts by preference pine, fir, and yew
trees. In the pale light of a winter day, more especially in cloudy
weather, it is hard to see the greenish, restless little creature
in his deep green bush or tree. Standing under, or close to, a
wide-spreading old yew, half a dozen goldcrests flitting incessantly
about among the foliage in the gloomy interior of the tree look less
like what they are than the small flitting shadows of birds.
In March, and even as early as the latter part of February, the male is
frequently heard uttering his song; but he is not of the songsters that
perch to sing, and pour out their music deliberately and with all their
might. The goldcrest’s song comes in as a sort of trivial distraction
or relief--a slight interlude between the more important acts of
passing from one twig or spray to another, and snatching up some
infinitesimal insect so quickly and deftly that to see the action one
must watch the bird very closely indeed. And the music, of which the
musician makes so little, is of very little account to the listener. It
is the smallest of small songs--two notes, almost identical in tone,
repeated rapidly, without variation, two or three times, ending with a
slight quaver, scarcely audible, on the last note. The sound is sharp
and fine, as of young mice squealing, but not quite so sharp, and more
musical; it is a sound that does not travel: to hear it well one must
stand not farther than a dozen or fifteen yards from the singer.
Yarrell has the following passage on the song of the goldcrest:
‘Pennant says he has observed this bird suspended in the air for
a considerable time over a bush in flower, while it sang very
melodiously; but this peculiarity does not appear to have been noticed
by other naturalists.’ I have observed the male, in the love season,
hovering just above the bush, in the topmost foliage of which its mate
was perched, and partially hidden from view. It is when engaged in this
pretty, aërial performance, or love-dance, that the golden-crested
wren is at his best. The restless, minute, sober-coloured creature, so
difficult to see properly at other times, then becomes a conspicuous
and exceedingly beautiful object; it hovers on rapidly-vibrating wings,
the body in almost a vertical position, but the head bent sharply
down, the eyes being fixed on the bird beneath, while the wide-open
crest shines in the sun like a crown or shield of fiery yellow. When
thus hovering it does not sing, but emits a series of sharp, excited,
chirping sounds.
The goldcrest builds a pendent nest, made fast to the small twigs
under a branch of yew or fir, and uses a variety of materials--fine
dry grass, leaves, moss, and webs--closely woven together, lining the
cavity with feathers. It is a very ingenious and pretty structure. The
eggs laid are from six to ten, of a pale yellowish white, spotted and
blotched, chiefly at the large end, with reddish brown.
In the autumn, in the months of October and November, a great migratory
movement takes place among the goldcrests in the north of Europe; and
in some seasons incredible numbers of these small travellers arrive,
often in an exhausted condition, in Northumberland and on the east
coast of Scotland. After resting close to the sea for a day or two,
they resume their journey, and distribute themselves over the country.
* * * * *
The firecrest (_Regulus ignicapillus_), which closely resembles
the species just described, is an accidental visitor from the continent
of Europe.
Chiffchaff.
Phylloscopus rufus.
Upper plumage olive-green tinged with yellow; above the eye a faint
yellowish white streak; under parts yellowish white; feathers of the
leg greyish white. Length, four inches and three-quarters.
* * * * *
The chiffchaff, although his song is so simple--the simplest song
of all--and after a time is apt to become wearisome from incessant
repetition, is, nevertheless, one of the most welcome visitors of the
early spring; for this small bird, in spite of its smallness and
frailty, is the first of the migratory warblers to make its appearance
on our coasts. Shortly after the middle of March, and even earlier in
some years, the well-remembered, familiar sound, full of promise of the
beautiful budding season, begins to be heard here and there in the more
sheltered and sunny spots in woods and copses, and by the first week
in April it is one of the most familiar sounds in the country. It is
not, however, so general as the strain of the willow-wren, this species
being more local in its distribution.
It is this early appearance of the chiffchaff, coming ‘before the
swallow dares,’ that endears it to the lover of Nature and of bird
life. Mr. Warde Fowler, in his ‘Year with the Birds,’ has well
expressed the feeling which so many have for this small warbler. ‘No
one,’ he says, ‘who hails the approach of spring as the real beginning
of a new life for men and plants and animals, can fail to be grateful
to this little brown bird for putting on it the stamp and sanction of
his clear, resonant voice. We grow tired of his two notes--he never
gets beyond two--for he sings almost the whole summer through; ... but
not even the first twitter of the swallow, or the earliest song of the
nightingale, has the same hopeful story to tell me as this delicate
traveller who dares the east wind and the frost.’
The two notes, which vary as slightly in tone as two taps of a hammer
on an anvil delivered with equal force on the same spot, are emitted
with great vigour and spirit, as if the little creature’s whole heart
was in the performance, and repeated several times without a pause.
This is the whole song, and, when not engaged in uttering it, the
singer is incessantly moving about in pursuit of small insects and
their larvæ, now searching for them in the small twigs and buds, after
the manner of the titmice, and at times capturing them on the wing.
Meanwhile the song is repeated at frequent intervals from morning until
dark. It is not suspended, as in the case of most of the warblers,
after the young have been hatched, but continues throughout the summer
and autumn, when it degenerates somewhat in character, the sound losing
the little musical quality it originally possessed.
The nest is made in the ground, a hedgebank being the situation
preferred, and is round and domed, with an opening at the side. Dry
grass, leaves, and moss are the materials used in its construction, the
cavity being plentifully lined with feathers. The eggs are six, pure
white, spotted and speckled with brown and brownish purple.
Willow-Wren.
Phylloscopus trochilus.
Upper plumage bright olive-green; a narrow streak of yellow over the
eye; under parts yellowish white, palest in the middle; feathers of the
legs yellow. Length, nearly five inches.
* * * * *
The willow-wren, or willow-warbler, is one of the earliest of our
summer songsters to arrive, usually following the chiffchaff--which it
resembles in size and general appearance--by a few days. During the
last week of March, if the weather be not too cold, its delicate strain
may be heard in sheltered situations in the southern parts of England,
and by the second week in April it is one of the most frequently heard
songs throughout the length and breadth of the land. Not only is
this species very much more generally diffused than its two nearest
relations--the chiffchaff and wood-wren--but it is met with in a much
greater variety of situations--on commons, in hedgerows, gardens,
woods, and plantations. Yet, in spite of its abundance and wide
distribution, it is nowhere a familiar bird to the country people; the
small, delicate voice does not compel attention and is well-nigh lost
in the summer concert that has so many loud, jubilant strains in it.
The willow-wren is a pretty little bird, although without any bright
colour in its plumage, which at a short distance looks of a soft
greenish yellow tint. He is best seen when the trees are opening
their buds, before the thickening foliage hides his tiny, restless,
flitting form from sight. He is the least shy of the warblers, his
trustfulness being in strong contrast to the suspicious manner and love
of concealment of the blackcap and whitethroat. He will unconcernedly
continue his hunt for minute insects, and utter his melody at
intervals, within a few feet of a person, sitting or standing, quietly
observing him. The song, although a small one, both as to duration
and power, has a singular charm: not merely the charm of association
experienced in a voice long absent and heard once more--a voice of the
spring, that comes before the loud call of the cuckoo and the familiar,
joyous twitter of the swallow; it is in itself a beautiful sound, one
of the sweetest bird-songs heard in our country. ‘A song which is
unique among British birds,’ says Mr. Warde Fowler, whose description
of it is, perhaps, the most perfect which we have. ‘Beginning with a
high and tolerably full note, he drops it both in force and pitch in
a cadence short and sweet, as though he were getting exhausted with
the effort.... This cadence is often perfect; by which I mean that
it descends gradually, not, of course, on the notes of our musical
scale, ... but through fractions of one, or perhaps two, of our tones,
and without returning upward at the end; but still more often, and
especially, as I fancy, after they have been here a few weeks, they
take to finishing with a note nearly as high in pitch as that with
which they began.’
After this it is interesting to read Mr. J. Burroughs’s impressions of
the willow-wren’s song. He writes: ‘The most melodious strain I heard,
and the only one that exhibited to the full the best qualities of the
American songsters, proceeded from a bird quite unknown to fame--in the
British Islands, at least. I refer to the willow-warbler.... White says
it has a “sweet, plaintive note,” which is but half the truth. It 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.... The song is, perhaps, in the minor key, feminine and not
masculine, but it touches the heart.
‘That strain again; it had a dying fall.’
‘The song of the willow-warbler has a dying fall; no other bird-song
is so touching in this respect. It mounts up round and full, then runs
down the scale, and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur.’
The willow-wren breeds early, making a circular domed nest on the
ground, among the long grass and weeds, under a hedge or beneath a
bramble bush on a bank, and occasionally at a distance from sheltering
bushes in the grass of a field. It is made of dry grass, and lined with
rootlets and horsehair, and, lastly, with feathers. The eggs are six or
seven in number, pure white, the yolk showing through the frail shell,
and giving it a faint yellow tinge; they are blotched and spotted with
reddish brown. When the nest is approached the parent birds display the
greatest anxiety, hopping and flitting about close to the intruder, and
uttering low, plaintive notes.
The willow-wren stays longer with us than any migratory warbler
except the chiffchaff, and its song is, without exception, the most
persistent. From the time of its arrival in March, or early in April,
it sings without ceasing until July; then for a few weeks its song is
heard only in the early morning, and it ceases at the end of August,
during the moult, but is renewed a little later, and is then continued
until the bird’s departure at the end of September.
Wood-Wren.
Phylloscopus sibilatrix.
Upper plumage olive-green tinged with sulphur-yellow; a broad streak of
sulphur-yellow over the eye; sides of head, throat, and insertion of
the wings and throat bright yellow; rest of under plumage pure white.
Length, nearly six inches.
* * * * *