=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.