Poets of all ages have given the song of the Nightingale a great deal

of attention, but how strangely they have gone astray in regard to the

bird’s habits! It appears to have appealed to most of them on account

of its practice of singing by night, and the touch of melancholy in the

three or four lengthened notes that commence softly and gradually rise

until they are so loud and strong that they may be heard at a great

distance. Curiously enough, they made the mistake of thinking that

their Philomel only sang by night, and was the solitary bird that did

so.

Even our immortal William of Avon says:

“The Nightingale, if he should sing by day

When every goose is cackling would be thought

No better a musician than the Wren.”

The fact that the bird sings by day as well as by night was known,

however, to the ancients, because Virgil mentions it. Readers of this

little volume will also gather that other feathered musicians, such as

the Sedge and Grasshopper Warblers, Woodlark, and Cuckoo, also sing by

night.

Individual members of this species differ in the quality of their

notes, as was observed as far back as Pliny’s time.

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

[Illustration: woodland scene]

=THE LESSER WHITETHROAT.=

[Illustration: flowers with butterfly]

The Lesser Whitethroat arrives in April and leaves again in September.

It is far less numerous than its larger relative, and is not so widely

distributed over the British Islands. This bird is most plentiful in

the South and East of England, becoming scarcer towards the North

and West, rare in Scotland, and absent altogether from Ireland as a

breeding species.

It measures just over five inches in length, and has the upper parts

greyish-brown, wings and tail dusky, the feathers being edged with

greyish-brown instead of chestnut, which distinguishes it from the

Greater Whitethroat. The under parts are greyish-white.

This species loves high, thick hedges rather than large woods, and

builds its nest, which is a slight and flimsy structure made of dead

grass, stalks, and lined with horsehair, in hedges, briar, bramble,

gorse, and other bushes.

[Illustration: LESSER WHITETHROAT’S NEST AND EGGS.]

The eggs, four or five in number, are white or light creamy white, with

the faintest suggestion of green in ground colour, spotted and speckled

with ash-grey and greenish-brown.

[Illustration: LESSER WHITETHROAT FEEDING YOUNG.]

The Lesser Whitethroat is inferior to the Greater as a musician, but

makes up for its deficiency in quality by its liberality in regard to

quantity, for it sings almost incessantly, especially during sultry

weather, and keeps on until very late in the summer. Its notes are

without variation, hurriedly delivered, and sound like _sip, sip, sip_.

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

[Illustration: landscape with pastures]

=THE SISKIN.=

[Illustration: fir branch]

This favourite cage pet measures a little over four and a half inches

in length, has the top of the head black and the upper parts of the

body greenish-olive, streaked with black, except the greater wing

coverts and quills, which are brownish-black, tipped and bordered with

yellow; rump yellow, upper tail coverts greenish-olive. The tail is

slightly forked and dusky black, yellowish on the upper half, except

in the case of the two centre feathers. A yellow streak runs over and

behind the eye. Chin black, throat and breast yellowish-green, under

parts greyish-white streaked with dusky black.

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

chin.

Although the nest of this species, which used to be called the

Aberdevine amongst bird-catchers, has been found occasionally in

various parts of England, it is chiefly known as a winter visitor, and

may be seen, along with flocks of Redpolls, feeding upon the seeds of

the alder, birch, and larch, from September until April. It breeds

regularly, however, in the great pine forests of Scotland and in

certain parts of Ireland.

The nest is generally placed on the branch of a fir at a considerable

height from the ground, although specimens have been found even in

furze and juniper bushes. It is composed of slender twigs, dried grass,

moss, wool, and horsehair, lined with vegetable down, rabbit’s fur, and

a few soft feathers.

From four to six eggs are laid, of a greyish-white ground colour,

tinted with green or pale bluish-green, spotted and speckled with pale

and dark reddish-brown, sometimes streaked with the latter colour.

[Illustration: SISKIN’S NEST AND EGGS.]

The song of the Siskin has been likened to the running-down of a piece

of clockwork, and it used to be a great favourite amongst stocking

weavers in Germany as a cage pet, on account of the fact that the

tones of its song mingled so as to resemble the noise made by stocking

looms.

One day I watched and listened to a cock in a Highland forest for some

time. He sat for a little while on the topmost spray of a tall fir tree

uttering his somewhat low but sweet and varied notes, then took an

excursion into the air as if he intended to fly away, but changed his

mind and his course several times, and on each occasion repeated his

melody, and finally came back and alighted on the same twig from which

he started.

The call notes are shrill and oft-repeated during flight, sounding

something like _tit, tit, tit_, or _tut, tut, tut_.

[Illustration: clearing with hillside of firs]

=THE SEDGE WARBLER.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers and grasses]

The Sedge Warbler, or Sedge bird, as this restless, noisy little

creature is frequently called, is by far the most numerous member of

its family visiting the British Islands during the summer. It arrives

in April, and takes its departure again for its winter quarters, which

extend as far as South Africa, in September, although odd specimens are

said to have been seen even in winter.

[Illustration: SEDGE WARBLER’S NEST WITH CUCKOO’S EGG IN IT.]

[Illustration: (inset) SEDGE WARBLER ON NEST.]

It is about four inches and three-quarters in length, greyish-brown

on its upper parts, streaked with dusky brown; its chin and throat

are white, and under parts pale buff. Over the eye is a conspicuous

yellowish white streak, which, together with the dark stripes on its

back, readily distinguish it from its relative, the Reed Warbler.

This species breeds in suitable localities nearly all over the British

Islands, with exception of the Shetlands. I have met with it in tiny

clumps of willows growing by small stream-sides high up amongst the

Westmorland Fells.

Its home is amongst reeds, rushes, osiers, brambles, and all kinds of

bushes near to lakes, swamps, rivers, ponds, and ditches, although it

may occasionally be met with breeding at a considerable distance from

water.

The Sedge Warbler builds its nest in rushes, brambles, bushes, and

almost any kind of thick, tangled herbage. It is generally lower down

than that of the Reed Warbler, sometimes quite upon the ground. I have

found it on several occasions upon young pollards a yard from the

ground, and once in a hedgerow at an elevation of five or six feet.

The structure is loosely built and composed of grass and moss outside,

lined with willow down and horsehair. It is frequently adorned with a

large white feather protruding over the outside edge or bending inwards

in such a way as to hide the eggs. These number five or six, of a pale

yellowish-brown clay colour, clouded and mottled with darker brown, and

often streaked at the larger end with hair-like black lines.

This bird is a persistent singer, with a harsh voice, an inordinate

fancy for repetition, and a great faculty for mimicking the cries of

other birds. It is willing to oblige anyone who will listen to its

chattering, half-scolding, and always hurried song, night or day. A

handful of gravel or mould thrown into any reeds or bushes wherein a

male Sedge Warbler is roosting will nearly always induce the bird to

pour forth a stream of melody.

I have frequently heard members of this species singing nearly all

night long on the Norfolk Broads, and many times when taking my

photographic plates out of wash at two o’clock in the morning I have

started a chorus around me by emptying the buckets of water with a

splash over the stern of the little houseboat in which I was staying.

The male has another peculiarity which is not often mentioned in books.

In the early part of the season he is fond of taking little fluttering

excursions in the air a few yards above the reeds whilst he bubbles

forth his merry, hurried song. This is, no doubt, to attract the

females during the pairing season.

I have heard members of this species imitate the notes of the Landrail,

Common Sparrow, Nightingale, Whitethroat, Chaffinch, Robin, Swallow,

and Blackbird. In the case of the last three species an individual

mimicked all their notes within half a minute, not pausing as the Marsh

Warbler does, but running straight on in a breathless hurry, and then

turning back to repeat the whole over again.

The alarm cry of the Sedge Warbler when disturbed is a harsh _churr_.

It also has another, sounding something like _tut-tut_. The bird makes

use of a soft call resembling _wheet-wheet_.

[Illustration: marsh landscape]

=THE LESSER REDPOLE.=

[Illustration: frond with small flowers]

This is the smallest of our Finches, measuring only about four and a

half inches in length. Its crown is crimson-red, hind part of head

and rest of upper parts dark brown, the feathers being edged with

reddish-brown. Upper tail-coverts tinged with crimson. Wings and tail

dusky, edged with pale reddish-brown, the latter forked. Chin black,

throat and breast rose-pink to vermilion, rest of under parts light

greyish, streaked on the sides with dull brown. The female is rather

smaller, and lacks the red on her breast and upper tail-coverts.

The Lesser Redpole has bred, somewhat erratically it is true, in nearly

every county in England, but is most numerous in the northern counties

and in Scotland. It also nests in Ireland, where it is scarcer in the

south than the north. Its nest is a very pretty little structure made

of a few slender, dead twigs (used as a foundation), dead grass stalks,

moss, and rootlets beautifully lined with willow down and occasionally

hair and feathers. It is built in willows, alders, firs, hawthorn,

birch, hazel, and other trees and bushes. It has also been found in

heather.

The eggs, which number from four to six, are of a very pale

bluish-green ground colour, spotted generally about the larger end with

orange-red, and sometimes streaked with a darker tint.

The song of this species is not of a high order in regard to quality,

and has been variously described by different authorities. Professor

Newton says, “Towards the end of winter the cocks break out in song,

which, though not powerful, is lively and agreeable, and begin to

indulge in the characteristic exultant flight during which it is

generally uttered.” Mr. Henry Seebohm describes it as “a short,

monotonous trill, clear and not unmusical”; whilst Bechstein’s

judgment is that “Its feeble warblings are only a low, continued

twittering.”

[Illustration: LESSER REDPOLE’S NEST AND EGGS]

In spite, however, of its shortcomings as a vocalist, it is a favourite

cage pet, especially with children, because of its boldness, docility,

and intelligence.

It is called the Lesser Redpole, because it is rather smaller than

its near relative, the Mealy Redpole, which breeds on the Continent

and sometimes visits this country in winter. The breeding area of the

Lesser Redpole seems to be almost restricted to the British Islands.

This species flocks during the autumn, and although many remain with us

throughout the winter, numbers migrate to the Continent.

The call notes are _pe-weet_ and _kreek, kreek, hayid_.

[Illustration: landscape with rustic road]

=THE REED WARBLER.=

[Illustration: cattails]

This species arrives upon our shores during the latter part of April,

and leaves again for its winter quarters in Africa during September,

although a specimen is said to have been shot in Ireland, where the

bird does not breed, as late even as December.

The Reed Warbler is about five and a half inches in length, is brown on

its upper parts, tinged with chestnut, which becomes more pronounced

on the rump and white on the under parts, tinged with reddish buff,

especially on the breast and sides. Its legs and toes are slaty-brown.

It breeds in reed and osier beds and other places where there is plenty

of cover to suit its skulking habits, on the banks of lakes, ponds,

and sluggish streams, and is much commoner on the east and southern

sides of England than the west and north. I have met with it commonly

in certain parts of Gloucestershire, and it is said to be fairly

numerous in Wales. It does not, however, breed in Scotland or Ireland.

[Illustration: REED WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]

[Illustration: MALE AND FEMALE REED WARBLERS AT HOME.]

The nest is a very beautiful structure, formed of long blades of dead

grass, seed, branches of reeds, and bits of wool lined inside with

fine dead grass and hair. It is cleverly suspended between two, three,

four, or even as many as five reed stems at varying heights above

the water. I have, however, on several occasions seen it in willow

and alder bushes at some distance from that element, and it has even

been found in a lilac bush in such a very unlikely neighbourhood as

Hampstead.

[Illustration: YOUNG REED WARBLER]

The structure is very deep for the size of the builder, but this

peculiarity of its architecture serves a very useful purpose, for when

the reeds to which it is attached are violently swayed to and fro by

strong gusts of wind, it prevents the eggs from rolling out and away to

certain destruction.

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dull greenish-white

or greyish-green ground colour, spotted and blotched with darker

greyish-green and light brown.

The male helps the female not only in the work of feeding the chicks,

but in brooding, and it is a very pretty sight to see them exchanging

places on the nest.

The song of this species somewhat resembles that of the Sedge Warbler

in being full of chatter, but is not so loud or harsh, and is

delivered, as a rule, whilst the singer is hiding amongst reeds. It

imitates the note of the Starling, Wagtail, Swallow, and other birds,

but is vastly inferior to the Marsh Warbler both as a musician and a

mimic. I have heard it at its best during a calm summer evening on the

Norfolk Broads, where it sings far into the night and early in the

morning, excepting during windy weather, which seems to be greatly

disliked by all feathered inhabitants of reed beds. The following

extracts from one of my old diaries kept during a stay on Hickling

Broad illustrate rather graphically the influence of wind upon the

vocal activities of birds:

May 27.--“Windy, dark night; not a bird of any kind to

be heard.” May 28.--“Fine calm night. Reed, Sedge, and

Grasshopper Warblers, Snipe, Water Rail, Coot, Moorhen,

Peewit, and other birds all singing and calling until one

o’clock in the morning.”

The song of the Reed Warbler has been represented as _tiri, tier zach

zerr, scherk heid tret_ by one authority, and as _tiri yach yerr

sherk heid tret_ by another. Each note is repeated by the singer

a number of times. Its call note is a harsh _turr_ or _choh,

choh_.

[Illustration: marshlands]

=THE ROCK PIPIT.=

[Illustration: landscape with rocks]

The Rock Pipit, although subject to some seasonal movement, is a

resident in the British Islands, and I have never yet heard its song or

seen its nest away from the sound of the restless sea. In fact, it is

the only song bird the ocean can boast, for although such species as

Skylarks, Twites, Starlings, and Linnets frequently breed close by the

sea, their haunts are by no means confined to its shores as is the case

with the bird under notice.

The Rock Pipit is the largest of the three members of its family

breeding in this country. It is olive-brown above, marked with dark

streaks in the centres of the feathers; has a dull white throat and

under parts, the latter streaked and clouded with dark brown. The bird

harmonises well with the dull brown rocks upon which it so often sits,

and I have often experienced considerable difficulty in detecting it

when it kept quite still whilst uttering its call notes.

This species may always be distinguished with absolute certainty from

the Tree and Meadow Pipits when it is on the wing by reason of the fact

that it shows no white on either side of its tail.

The Rock Pipit breeds nearly all round our coasts excepting between the

Humber and the Thames, and loves small islands, such as those behind

which the sun is setting in the tailpiece to this article.

Its song is very similar to that of the Meadow Pipit, and consists of a

few short simple tinkling notes delivered with great cheerfulness, both

upon the wing and whilst the bird is seated on some favourite rock. The

call notes are also much like those of the Meadow Pipit.

[Illustration: ROCK PIPIT’S NEST AND EGGS.]

Its nest is situated under old matted tufts of grass, overhanging

pieces of rock, and in crevices, and is made of small pieces of dry

seaweed, dead grass of various kinds, and a few horsehairs. Seaweed

is not always present in the structure, and horsehair frequently absent

when the bird is breeding on small islands where it is not procurable.

The eggs number from four to five, and have a grey ground colour

slightly tinged with green or reddish-brown, closely spotted with dull

greyish- and reddish-brown. They are occasionally marked on the larger

end with one or two dark brown lines, and are larger than those of the

other two members of the family breeding in our islands.

[Illustration: seascape sunrise/sunset]

=THE GARDEN WARBLER.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

This species is about six inches in length, and on its upper parts

of a light brown colour tinged with olive. Its under parts are

brownish-white, darkest on the throat, chest, and sides. The absence

of black or rusty brown on the top of the head always readily

distinguishes it from the male or female Blackcap, and the colour of

its throat and breast from either of the Whitethroats breeding in this

country.

The Garden Warbler arrives in Britain about the end of April or

commencement of May, and takes its departure for Africa in September

and October.

It breeds sparingly in nearly all suitable parts of England except

Cornwall, in Wales, in the South of Scotland, and occasionally in

Ireland.

It generally builds its nest at some little height from the ground in

thorn, briar, bramble, gooseberry, and other bushes growing in woods,

clumps of trees in the proximity of streams, orchards, shrubberies,

gardens, and hedgerows. Sometimes the structure, which is made of

straws, blades of dead grass, and rootlets, lined with horsehair, is

hung amongst nettles like that of a Whitethroat, or placed low down in

long grass, mixed with taller wild plants.

The eggs, numbering four or five, rarely six, vary in ground colour

from white to greenish-white or yellowish-stone-grey, are spotted,

blotched, and clouded with underlying markings of ash-grey and

buffish-brown. Some specimens are marbled with brown, and it is often a

difficult matter to distinguish others from those laid by the Blackcap.

[Illustration: GARDEN WARBLER ON NEST.]

By most people the Garden Warbler is considered to rank next to the

Blackcap as a melodist, and the songs of the two species resemble each

other so much that I have known a naturalist with a good ear and wide

experience unable to say definitely which bird was singing until he got

a sight of the vocalist. Mr. Hudson says that “the Garden Warbler’s

song is like a good imitation of the Blackcap’s, but it is not so

powerful and brilliant. Some of its notes possess the same bright,

pure, musical quality, but they are hurriedly delivered, shorter,

more broken up, as it were. On the other hand, to compensate for this

inferior character there is more of it; the bird, sitting concealed

among the clustering leaves, will sing by the hour, his rapid, warbled

strain sometimes lasting for several minutes without a break.”

[Illustration: GARDEN WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]

The song is certainly softer, and lacks something of the wild dash and

irregularity of that of its relative, but some of its notes are quite

as sweet, and this fact strikes the listener, particularly when the

bird is heard close at hand in some quiet, out-of-the-way corner where

other vocalists do not interfere with the full enjoyment of the Garden

Warbler’s song.

The alarm note is a harsh “_tech_,” sounding something like the

noise made by two pebbles being struck together.

[Illustration: trees and shrubs]

=THE MARSH WARBLER.=

[Illustration: flowers and leaves]

On account of its great similarity of size, general appearance, and

habitat, this rare British breeding species was long confounded by

naturalists with the Reed Warbler.

The bird is greenish-olive on its upper parts, and lacks the rusty-red

rump and sides of the commoner species. Its under parts are white,

slightly tinged with yellowish-buff on the sides where the Reed Warbler

is reddish buff. Its legs are pale flesh-brown in colour, whereas those

of its relative are dark slaty-brown.

This species does not build its nest over water, whereas the one with

which it has been confounded nearly always does so. The structure is

composed of grass stems, and occasionally bits of moss intermixed on

the outside with an inner lining of fine dead grass, and nearly always

contains one or two black horsehairs. It is not so neatly finished as

that of the Reed Warbler, and is generally suspended amongst nettles,

Meadow Sweet, and Mugwood, the last plant appearing, where I have

studied the species, to be first favourite.

The eggs, numbering from four to seven, are easily distinguished from

those of the Reed Warbler by their lighter ground colour, which is

greenish-white to greenish-blue clouded with underlying markings of

grey and spotted with olive-brown.

It is as a singer of great sweetness and power, however, that the bird

chiefly concerns us in this little work.

Last summer I spent several days in the West of England studying the

species, and whilst I was lying hidden with my camera within three

feet of a nest, had many opportunities of hearing the exquisite song

of the male to perfection. Whilst the hen was sitting on the nest he

frequently took up his station on a bramble spray just above and partly

behind her, and regaled us both with the most wonderful programme of

feathered music I have ever heard. As a mimic, the Marsh Warbler is

unsurpassable.

[Illustration: MARSH WARBLER ON THE NEST.]

Several times the specimen I listened to began his concert with the

alarm cry of a Song Thrush, so loud and accurately rendered that I

was completely deceived into thinking that I was listening to the

notes of a disturbed member of that species. After a little pause he

would reproduce the warbling notes of a Swallow, then the _tut,

tut, tut_ of a Blackbird, followed by the full, rich notes of

the Nightingale. He could also reproduce the call note of a Common

Partridge, and the sweet little song of a Linnet with equal fidelity.

He always appeared to take great care not to mix his music, for,

after finishing one piece, there was a noticeable pause before the

commencement of another.

In the case of another pair of birds, that had been robbed, I noticed

that the male sang much upon the wing as he flew back and forth from

tree to tree across an osier-grown clay pit.

This species was first discovered in Somersetshire, and has been found

breeding in Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, and Cambridge.

It is a great pity that it should be so much persecuted by egg

collectors, some of whom seem bent upon ruining its chances of ever

becoming a regular British breeding species. To listen to the bird’s

exquisite song for ten minutes is a far greater pleasure than to gaze

for a month at its empty egg shells in a cabinet.

[Illustration: marsh landscape]

=THE REED BUNTING.=

[Illustration: reed with swallowtail butterfly]

The male Reed Bunting, or Reed Sparrow as it is frequently called,

can hardly be mistaken for any other British bird on account of his

conspicuous velvety black head and white collar running from the base

of the bill down the sides of the neck some distance, and thence right

round to the back of the head. His back is brownish-black, the feathers

being broadly margined with reddish-brown and tawny grey; breast and

under parts white, tinged and streaked with brown towards the sides. He

is rather longer than the Common Sparrow, and shows a distinct white

streak down either side of his tail when flying away from the observer.

His mate is smaller and has a brown instead of a black head.

Although certainly a singer, the Reed Bunting is not a great feathered

musician, its song consisting of a few simple notes which the bird

delivers with considerable persistency from the top of a reed or alder

bush. It sounds like _te, te, tu, te_, diversified by an occasional

discordant _raytsh_. Bechstein, the great German authority on cage

birds, says that it is such an admirer of music that it will approach

an instrument without fear, and testify to its joy by extending its

wings and tail like a fan and shaking them.

The alarm cry is a sharp twitter, and when the male is afraid to

approach the nest (either to take his turn in the labours of brooding

or with food for the young) on account of some real or fancied danger,

he persistently reiterates three melancholy notes that sound like

“_Don’t hit me._”

This species breeds fairly commonly near sluggish streams, ponds,

swamps, and large sheets of water with reed-clad shores.

[Illustration: FEMALE REED BUNTING AND YOUNG.]

Its nest is generally situated amongst long grass, rushes, nettles, and

sedges, although I have found it in the heather in the Outer Hebrides,

and in a small thorn bush quite two hundred yards away from water in

Surrey. The materials used in the structure are dried grass and moss

with an inner lining of fine dead grass, hairs, and the feathery tops

of reeds.

The eggs number four to six or even seven, and are of a purplish-grey

or pale olive ground colour, spotted and streaked with rich, dark

purple-brown.

This bird resides with us all the year round, and its numbers are

increased during the winter by other members of its species arriving

from the Continent.

[Illustration: marsh landscape]

=THE GOLDFINCH.=

[Illustration: thistle in bloom]

This exceedingly pretty bird measures about five inches in length. The

top of its head, nape, and the feathers from the base of the bill to

the eye are black; forehead and throat rich scarlet; cheeks and under

parts white, tinged on the breast and sides with pale, tawny-brown.

Back pale tawny-brown, wing-coverts and quills black, the latter barred

across with yellow and tipped with white. Tail quills black marked with

white, and buffy-white near their tips.

Seventy years ago this species was extremely abundant, and as recently

as 1873 a boy caught close upon five hundred during a single morning

near to Brighton; but it is now, alas! comparatively rare, on account

of the reclamation of waste lands having destroyed its seed-food

plants, such as the thistle and burdock, and the heavy demands made

upon its numbers for cage pets. Of course, a check has now been put

upon the latter source of drainage to a great extent by the Wild Birds’

Protection Acts, and the birds are obtained from Germany.

During recent years I have met with it breeding in Surrey, Sussex,

Suffolk, Norfolk, Devonshire, and Westmorland. I know a place in the

second-named county where as many as ten pairs bred in one season, and

within the last half-dozen years I have twice seen small flocks in the

autumn near London, which, let us hope, is an encouraging sign.

It is now rare in Scotland, but has been described as still common in

the poorer and wilder parts of Ireland.

The Goldfinch is a migratory bird, although a few individuals winter

with us, and are known in the spring from members of the species that

have spent the cold season farther south by their less brilliant

colours.

[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF GOLDFINCH.]

The nest is placed in the fork of an apple, pear, or other fruit tree

in orchards and gardens; sometimes in evergreens or on the bough of a

sycamore or chestnut tree, and occasionally in a thick hedgerow. It is

composed of rootlets, moss, dry grass, wool, spiders’ webs, and lichens

on the outside, and has an inner lining of vegetable down, hairs, and

soft feathers. It is a neat and beautiful structure.

The eggs number from four to six, and are greyish-or greenish-white,

spotted and streaked with light purplish-and reddish-brown and grey.

Although some people do not rank the Goldfinch very highly as a

feathered vocalist, its twittering song is full of melody and

sweetness, and together with its striking beauty and lively manners

endear it to the heart of every lover of the country and its sights and

sounds.

Bechstein says, “Its agreeable song, which is only discontinued during

moulting, is a mixture of tones and harmonies more or less dwelt upon.”

It sings both when perched and upon the wing. Instances are upon record

of young Goldfinches taken from the nest when only two or three days

old, reproducing when they grew up not the music of their own kind, but

the songs of other species heard from their places of captivity.

The poets have not given the bird a great deal of attention, but our

photograph of a nest and eggs proves that Grahame was a good observer,

else he could not have penned the following lines:

“Sometimes suspended at the limber end

Of planetree spray, among the broad-leav’d shoots

The tiny hammock swings to every gale.”

The call notes have been written down as _ziflit_ or _tisflit_,

_twee-eet_ or _twit_, oft repeated, and _glit_ uttered quickly.

[Illustration: bushes and trees]

=THE BLACKCAP WARBLER.=

[Illustration: reeds]

Although generally distributed in suitable parts of England and

Wales, and found breeding sparingly in the Lowlands of Scotland and

certain parts of Ireland, the Blackcap Warbler is not so common in

my experience as the youthful student would be led to believe after

reading several books I could name upon ornithology.

It arrives in this country about the middle of April, as a rule; but,

like many other migrants, is liable to some variation of date, being

more influenced by the conditions of the weather than the readings

of the calendar. It takes its departure again in September, although

specimens have been observed during every month of the winter in the

South and West of England.

The Blackcap is about five and a half inches in length, has a jet-black

crown and light olive-brown upper parts, becoming greyer on the rump;

throat and breast ash-grey, and under parts white. The female is

somewhat similar in appearance, except for the fact that the top of her

head is chocolate-brown instead of black.

[Illustration: BLACKCAP WARBLER’S NEST AND EGGS.]

This species loves small woods and spinnies with abundant undergrowth,

shrubberies, old orchards, gardens, and bits of waste land with plenty

of brambles and nettles growing thereon. If there is a sluggish stream

close by, so much the better; although I have several times found

it breeding far away from water of any kind.

The nest is a flimsy structure placed at varying heights from two

to ten or twelve feet above the ground in brambles, nettles, briar,

and thorn bushes, privet and other hedges. It is composed of straws,

fibrous roots, and dead grass, frequently intermixed with cobwebs, and

lined with hair.

The eggs number five or six, and may be divided into two types of

coloration. In one they are of a greyish-white ground colour suffused

with buffish-brown and spotted, blotched, and marbled with dark brown,

similar to those of the Garden Warbler. In the other they are of a pale

brick-red or crimson hue marked with deep reddish-brown.

This bird is one of our finest feathered melodists. Gilbert White was

greatly in love with its vocal powers, and in his third letter to

Daines Barrington says that the “wild sweetness of its song reminded

him of Shakespeare’s lines in _As You Like It_:”

“And tune his merry note

Unto the _wild_ bird’s throat.”

[Illustration: FEMALE BLACKCAP WARBLER FEEDING YOUNG.]

In Letter XL. to Pennant, he says, “The Blackcap has a full, sweet,

deep, loud and wild pipe; yet that strain is of short continuance,

and his motions are desultory; but when that bird sits calmly and

engages in song in earnest, he pours forth very sweet, but inward

melody, and expresses great variety of soft and gentle modulations,

superior perhaps to those of any of our warblers, the Nightingale

excepted.”

Everyone who has heard and seen the Blackcap will at once recognise the

truth and accuracy of this; but, strangely enough, Gilbert White never

once mentions the Garden Warbler in his writings.

The estimate of a wild bird’s song is like that of the voice of

a public singer--to some extent a matter of individual opinion.

Personally, though by no means disposed to underrate the beauty and

power of the Blackcap’s song, I do not think that it approaches so near

in quality to that of the Nightingale, or is so far superior to that of

the Garden Warbler as some observers appear to believe.

The Blackcap is a very shy, retiring bird, preferring to be heard

rather than seen. The male takes his share of the duties of incubation,

and it is said that he beguiles the tedium of his task by singing

whilst sitting on the nest. I have watched him brooding on several

occasions, but in spite of long vigils have never had the gratification

of hearing a single note.

Curiously enough, the poets have given this superb singer very little

attention, probably because they were seldom in a position to identify

the vocalist, however much they admired his music.

The alarm note of this species sounds something like _tack-tack_

or _teck-teck_.

[Illustration: landscape with thatch roof cottage]

=THE BULLFINCH.=

[Illustration: reeds with buds]

There is no need for me to describe the appearance of the male bird

of this species, which has been rendered familiar to nearly everybody

in town and country alike on account of the facts that its engaging

manners and striking colours have made it a favourite cage pet. It may

be necessary, however, to mention that the female differs from her mate

in the following particulars. The black on the top of her head is not

so intense, her back is greyish-brown, and her breast and under parts

are of a dirty brown colour instead of bright tile red.

Both male and female may always be instantly identified when on the

wing by the conspicuous patch of white on the rump, and when not

seen the presence of the species is easily known by its unmistakable

plaintive call note, which is constantly uttered whilst the birds are

hunting in pairs or families for food along a hedgerow or from bush to

bush in a wood. It sounds something like _wheon_.

[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF BULLFINCH.]

This species has profited more by the Wild Birds’ Protection Acts than

perhaps any other breeding in our country. It is as much hated by some

people on account of the harm it does to the buds of fruit trees, as it

is loved by others as a cage pet. It has increased greatly in numbers

nearly all over the country during the past ten years, as may be judged

when it is mentioned that over forty were shot in one Essex garden last

spring. Let us hope that the damage done to buds and branches by small

shot expended during the slaughter may not be put down to the credit of

the unfortunate feathered victims.

In a secluded Surrey wood, where I spend a good deal of time every

July and August studying and photographing birds from the interior

of a small green tent pitched near to a place where birds come all

day long to drink and bathe, I notice that the Bullfinch is my most

frequent visitor. Sometimes an old male will come along in silence,

take a few hurried sips, and then abruptly depart, indicating that

he has a sitting mate, and at others whole families arrive to quench

their thirst, which appears to be abnormal in this species, and to

enjoy a good bath.

[Illustration: FEMALE BULLFINCH ON THE NEST.]

The Bullfinch breeds in suitable localities throughout the British

Isles, but, according to my experience, is commonest in the South of

England. Its nest is of rather singular construction, consisting of

a little platform of slender dead twigs cleverly interlaced with a

somewhat shallow recess in the middle, beautifully lined with fine,

fibrous roots and sometimes a little hair. The structure is placed

from three to six feet from the ground, as a rule, in whitethorn,

blackthorn, briar, and other bushes, also in yew and other evergreen

trees growing in gardens, shrubberies, woods, and thick hedgerows.

The eggs number from four to six, of a pale, greenish-blue ground

colour, spotted, speckled, and sometimes streaked with purplish-brown,

most thickly at the larger end.

The female Bullfinch is a confiding creature whilst brooding, as will

be gathered by my readers when I state that the one figured in our

illustration became so tame through kind and gentle treatment that she

would actually allow me to take her in my hand and place her in any

attitude I wished upon the nest before taking a photograph of her. I

secured a large series of pictures of this particular bird on and near

her nest.

The song of this species is short and very soft. One day a fine male

alighted on a bare branch close to my hiding tent and held forth with

his head on one side, as if listening to the sound of his own voice,

whilst his body seemed to throb with the effort of producing even such

feeble notes as he commanded.

Bullfinches learn the song of the Canary when brought up under that

bird, instead of the notes of their own species, and can be taught in

confinement to whistle all kinds of airs and melodies.

[Illustration: landscape with hillsides]

=THE WHEATEAR.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers and leaves]

The Wheatear is a thick-set little bird measuring about six inches in

length. It arrives in the South of England about the end of February

and beginning of March, and leaves our shores again in August and

September. It has the top of the head, nape, and back of a bluish-grey

colour, tinged with light brown, rump and upper two-thirds of tail pure

white. Wings nearly black, with buff margins and tips to some of the

feathers, end of tail black; chin and throat dull white; breast pale

creamy white, turning to a dull yellowish-white on the under parts.

The female is somewhat browner on her upper parts than the male. The

Wheatear may always be readily distinguished by the large white patch

at the base of its tail, seen most conspicuously when the bird is

flying away from the observer.

[Illustration: WHEATEAR’S NEST AND EGGS BENEATH A LARGE STONE, WHICH

WAS RAISED IN ORDER TO TAKE THE PHOTOGRAPH.]

This species inhabits high moorland districts where rocks and solitude

are the most striking features of the landscape, but it is a mistake

to say that the cultivation of land banishes it, for I have met with

it breeding on ploughed land in the Highlands, Hebrides, and Shetlands

quite commonly.

[Illustration: MALE WHEATEAR BRINGING FOOD FOR YOUNG.]

The nest is situated under loose slabs of rock, in holes in rough,

dry stone walls, peat stacks, and rocky banks. I have met with it on

two or three occasions in the old nesting burrows of rabbits. It is

made of dead grass, rootlets, and moss, with an inner lining of hair,

feathers, and rabbits’ down.

The eggs generally number five or six, of a pale greenish-blue,

occasionally spotted on the larger end with rusty red.

This species practises a short and somewhat pretty, but not very

loud, song, which is enhanced in value by the weird solitude of the

vocalist’s surroundings. It is frequently uttered whilst the bird is

on the wing going through aërial antics, often highly suggestive of

dementia.

The call note of the species may be imitated by beating two pebbles

together, and sounds like _chick, chack, chack_.

[Illustration: YOUNG WHEATEARS WAITING FOR FOOD.]

=THE STONECHAT.=

[Illustration: gorse]

This very conspicuous and familiar little bird measures just over

five inches in length. Its head, nape, throat, back, wings, and tail

are black, many of the feathers being edged with rusty brown. On

the sides of the neck, wings, and at the base of the tail are large

patches of white. Breast dark rust colour, under parts much lighter.

Its unlikeness to any other British bird, and habit of perching on

the topmost sprays of gorse, juniper, and bramble bushes, render it

perfectly easy to observe and identify. The female differs somewhat,

being dull brown with buff edgings to the feathers on her upper parts,

and having the chin buff, sides of the neck brownish-white, and breast

and under parts duller.

[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF STONECHAT]

This species does not live, as its name might be taken to imply, in

stony wildernesses, but upon furze-clad commons and uncultivated land

where juniper, brambles, and other kinds of tangled vegetation grow.

The nest is built upon or near the ground, and is generally well

concealed. It consists of rootlets, moss, and dry grass, with an inner

lining of hair, feathers, and occasionally pieces of wool. I have often

seen it with very little else than fine blades of dead grass.

The eggs number from four to six, and on rare occasions even seven have

been found. They are of a pale bluish-green ground colour, closely

spotted round the larger end with reddish-brown. Sometimes the spots

are entirely absent.

The Stonechat, although subject to local movement, stays with us all

the year round. Its soft, low song, although of no great length or

importance, is sweet and pleasing, and sometimes contains imitations of

other birds’ notes. It is delivered both whilst the singer is at rest

and hovering in the air. The male helps the female to feed the young

ones, and in the case of the chicks hatched from the eggs figured on

the previous page he had the whole of the domestic work to do because

his mate disappeared altogether a few days after the young ones had

been hatched.

The call note resembles the sound made by striking two small pebbles

together in the hand, hence its name of Stonechat. It has been written

down as _u-tic, u-tic_. After the young are hatched it changes

somewhat and sounds like _chuck, chuck_.

[Illustration: landscape with hillsides]

=THE WHINCHAT.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

The Whinchat arrives in this country during April, and takes its

departure again in September and October. It is about five inches and

a quarter in length, and has the crown of the head and upper parts

generally of a dusky-brown colour, the feathers being edged with sandy

buff. The wings are marked with a large white spot. Upper half of tail

white, lower half dark brown edged with sandy buff. A broad white

stripe runs from the base of the bill over the eye. Chin is white,

throat and breast are light chestnut, under parts pale buff. In the

female the white line over the eye and the spot upon the wing are less

conspicuous, and the colour of her under parts is less distinctive.

[Illustration: WHINCHAT’S NEST AND EGGS.]

This species, although somewhat local, is met with nearly all over

the British Isles. It is partial to heaths and commons, pastures, and

meadows, where it makes its nest on or near the ground in thick tangled

grass, heather, and at the bottom of small gorse bushes. The structure

is formed of dead grass and moss with an inner lining of fine, dry

grass and sometimes horsehair. The eggs number from four to six, of a

greenish-blue ground colour, sometimes spotted on the larger end with

reddish-brown.

The song is low, but sweet, and is delivered somewhat hurriedly, both

whilst the melodist is perched and upon the wing. The call note sounds

like _u-tack_.

[Illustration: landscape with open fields]

=THE SONG THRUSH.=

“The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers,

Enrapturing heaven and earth.”

MONTGOMERY.

[Illustration: leafy branches]

There is, luckily, no need for me to enter into a minute description

of the appearance of this well-known and greatly beloved carol singer,

which is called a Song Thrush in the South, a Throstle in the North of

England, and a Mavis in Scotland. It breeds commonly throughout the

British Islands wherever there is any kind of cover in the shape of

trees, shrubs, or bushes to give it shelter. Some people think that

the Song Thrush resides with us all the year round, but this is only

partially true. I know many high, bleak parts of the country where it

is never seen during the depth of winter, and, as a matter of fact,

those that stay with us in the lower and more sheltered regions are

only a fraction of the total number bred in our country.

[Illustration: SONG THRUSH AT NEST.]

The nest of the Song Thrush is built in evergreens, hedgerows, bushes,

ivy growing against walls and trees, holes in stone walls, on ledges

of rock, on beams in sheds, and occasionally, though not as often as

that of the Blackbird, absolutely on the ground. It is quite unlike

that of any other British bird in its construction, being made of

twigs, coarse dead grass, moss, and clay or mud outside, with an

inner lining of clay, mud, or cow-dung studded with bits of rotten

wood. In some districts where decayed wood is difficult to procure,

it is dispensed with altogether, and during very droughty summers I

have found several nests occupied by eggs without a vestige of a hard

lining. They were similar to those of the Blackbird, only not so neatly

lined with fine dead grass. The mud lining is generally allowed to dry

hard before the bird commences to lay.

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a beautiful deep

greenish-blue colour spotted with black. I have on several occasions

met with unmarked specimens.

[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF SONG THRUSH.]

As a melodist the Throstle ranks very high. Many people consider that

it comes next to the Nightingale, for which it is often mistaken, when

singing very late in the evening, by people who can claim no great

acquaintance with the superb notes of Sweet Philomel.

Mr. Swaysland, of Brighton, who has had a great deal of experience

amongst feathered musicians, says that the song of the Mavis is

“clear, yet full of mellowness--now pealing out a phrase of wild bluff

heartiness, and anon with long-drawn notes tinged with exquisite

pathos--striking a responsive chord in the heart of every hearer.”

I have heard its song during every month of the year excepting August,

when the bird experiences the depression of its annual moult.

During a fine April morning every wood and spinny in the part of

Surrey where I reside rings with the melodious notes of the Throstle,

and two or three seasons ago we had a specimen that habitually sang

from the top of a cabbage in a field almost surrounded by tall trees.

I have heard it sing on the ground between bouts of fighting, on the

wing, and from a housetop, where a Starling might have been expected

to hold forth. It has been timed, and in one instance at least has

been found to sing sixteen hours in a single day, and under favourable

circumstances some of its notes may be heard half a mile away.

If not the most imitative of all British birds, it comes very close

to the holding of that distinction, and can not only mimic some notes

as well as their owners can deliver them, but actually improve upon

their volume and sweetness. The Ringed Plover and the French Partridge

are two examples. I have heard the Throstle reproduce the notes of the

following species: Common Curlew, Whimbrel, Dunlin, Peewit, Golden

Plover, Common Tern, Redshank, Ringed Plover, French Partridge, and

Common Sparrow, besides those of several others.

Thrushes vary not only individually as musicians, but in different

parts of the country, I am persuaded. Some of the finest singers I have

heard have been in Surrey, Cheshire, and Aberdeenshire.

The poets have given this species a good deal of deserved attention on

account of the excellence of its song, and everyone who has had any

experience whatever of the country and its wild life in springtime will

at once recognise the truth and beauty of the following lines:

“Through the hazels thick espy

The hatching throstle’s shining eye.”

The call and alarm notes of the Song Thrush are very difficult to

convey by the characters of the alphabet. The former sounds something

like _sik, sik sik, sik, siki, tsak, tsak_, and the latter _quep_ and

_wich-it-tit_. The song has been rendered by the words, “Go-it, go-it,

stick-to-it, stick-to-it, you’ll-do-it, you’ll-do-it,” but by far the

best representation is that of the great Scottish naturalist,

Macgillivray, which I have quoted at length in “Our Bird Friends.”

[Illustration: YOUNG SONG THRUSHES WAITING FOR MOTHER.]

Throstles live principally upon worms, grubs, and snails, and they

have a habit of taking the last-named to some favourite stone, where

they hammer the shell until it is sufficiently fractured to enable

them to extract the luscious morsel inside. These stones are known as

“Thrushes’ Anvils.” Occasionally when they find a snail with a house

upon its back too hard and strong to be broken in this way, they

carry it to some height in the air and drop it on a flag or other

hard substance. The shell is thus fractured, and the sensible captor

descends and devours its prey. The bird also takes its share of fruit,

and without any consideration for the good it does during the greater

part of the year, is ruthlessly slain by gardeners, who might, in

the great majority of instances, use netting instead of shot to the

advantage of both fruit trees and birds.

When I hear a garden-loving neighbour’s gun going off, I frequently

think of the poet’s compassionate appeal:

“Scare, if ye will, his timid wing away,

But oh, let not the leaden viewless shower,

Vollied from flashing tube, arrest his flight,

And fill his tuneful, gasping bill with blood.”

The members of this species that stay with us throughout the winter

months, when not regaling our ears with their versatile songs, amuse

even the most casual observers by their quaint ways of listening for

and catching worms on lawn and meadow during open weather. They also

well repay feeding with soaked dog-biscuits and other edible trifles

during severe weather, when it is almost impossible for them to secure

even the shortest supply of natural food. They are able to foretell

coming changes in the weather far earlier than human beings, and

frequently sing in anticipation of a thaw.

[Illustration: woodland scene]

=THE YELLOW HAMMER.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

Who does not know this almost universally distributed bird in our

country, with its dress of almost canary-like yellow, streaked with

brown, and short though oft-repeated song? On furze-clad commons, along

cultivated hedgerows, and on railway embankments close to busy London

town, and in far-away parts of the country alike, it may be heard

morning, noon, and night persistently going over its familiar notes,

which always seem to me to accord best with the drowsiness of a hot

summer’s day. Indeed, I must confess that at such times its reiteration

has sent me to sleep.

[Illustration: YELLOW HAMMER ON NEST.]

It has been variously represented by the characters of the alphabet,

as the following examples will show: _tic-tic-tic-e-ereze, te, te, te,

te, te, te, twyee_; _chick, chick, churr_; _chit-chit-chierre-r-r_.

By far the most popular rendering of it in England, however, is the

somewhat hackneyed phrase, “A little bit of bread and no cheese.” In

Scotland it becomes, “Deil, deil, deil tak ye,” a supposed imprecation

upon boys who steal its eggs.

There is also a curious legend in the North to the effect that Satan

supplies the bird with half a drop of his blood every morning wherewith

to mark its eggs with the greatly varied scribbling lines that appear

upon them.

The song, although more musical than that of the Corn Bunting, is

considered by many people to be a monotonous performance. The poet

Grahame was evidently aware of this when he wrote the lines:

“Even in a bird the simplest notes have charms

For me: I even love the yellow hammer’s song.”

The call note of this species, when disturbed, is a _trit, trit,

trit_, and on the wing _tisit_.

It may always be distinguished with certainty from its much rarer

relative, the Cirl Bunting, by the fact that it has no black upon its

chin.

The female Yellow Hammer is a trifle smaller than her mate, is much

less yellow, and the markings on her head are darker. Both sexes take a

share in the work of incubation.

[Illustration: YELLOW HAMMER’S NEST AND EGGS.]

The nest is built in hedge banks, at the foot of light open bushes,

under brambles, and sometimes even in gorse bushes and thick evergreen

hedges at a considerable height from the ground. It is composed of dry

grass, rootlets, and moss on the outside, with an inner lining of fine,

dead grass and horsehair.

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are of a dingy white ground

colour, tinged with purple, streaked, spotted, and blotched with dark

purplish-brown. The streaks or scribblings generally end in a spot,

and, on account of their similarity to the marks made by a pen, the

bird is known in many parts of the country as the “Writing Lark.”

This species, although commencing to breed in April, sometimes has eggs

as late even as September.

[Illustration: landscape with hills]

=THE STARLING.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

It is quite unnecessary for me to describe the appearance of the

Starling, for the species is so common, sociable, and unlike every

other feathered friend in this country that confusion is almost

impossible.

I love the brave, bustling bird, for when it has any work to do it does

not go dawdling along like a lazy boy crawling halfheartedly to school,

but rushes about as if the welfare of the whole universe depended upon

its individual exertions.

It is a lively singer, with almost unrivalled powers of imitation,

and has, I must confess, completely deceived me on several occasions.

One fine spring morning, whilst on my way to a railway station in

the north of London, I heard, to my surprise, the familiar notes of

a Golden Plover, and immediately began to examine the heavens for a

member of that species flying overhead. To my surprise, I discovered

that the sounds were coming from a Starling delightedly flapping its

wings on a chimney-pot not far away. On another occasion, whilst

hunting for a much-desired Sandpiper’s nest on the shores of a small

loch in the Outer Hebrides, I said to my brother, “Hark! I hear one

calling!” But that Sandpiper proved to be a Starling standing on a

rock not far off imitating to perfection the soft call notes of the

little wader. I have heard different members of this species mimicking

the cries and call notes of the Curlew, Whimbrel, Lapwing, Common

Partridge, Redshank, Ringed Plover, House Sparrow, and other small

birds.

Tame Starlings have been taught to imitate the human voice so well that

one has been said to repeat the Lord’s Prayer from beginning to end,

and Pliny, the historian, mentions one that was able to speak in both

Greek and Latin.

The harsh alarm cry of the species sounds something like the word

_spate, spate_.

[Illustration: YOUNG STARLING IN ITS FIRST COAT OF FEATHERS]

Although sometimes guilty, especially during very dry seasons, of

taking cherries and other fruit, the damage wrought in this way is as

nothing compared with the vast amount of good done by this species in

the destruction of insects injurious to growing crops. It is an amusing

sight to watch a flock hurrying and scurrying across a field, the

hindmost members continually flying over the foremost and then running

in breathless haste looking eagerly this way and that, probing every

likely and unlikely place for some lurking grub, as if life did not

contain one moment to be wasted.

They alight on the backs of sheep and cattle in order to destroy

troublesome parasites, and at certain seasons of the year may be seen

dexterously hawking winged insects over houses and tree-tops.

Starlings have greatly increased in numbers during the last forty years

in our islands, and there is no season of the year when flocks, great

or small, cannot be seen. Late breeders keep together until far on in

May, and the broods of those that commenced housekeeping operations

early in April flock together directly they meet each other in the

fields. Thus I have known the same nesting hole occupied twice in one

season, a fact which has given rise to the belief entertained by some

people that the species is double-brooded.

[Illustration: ADULT STARLING IN WINTER.]

When flocked, these birds have favourite roosting places, to which they

resort in tens of thousands every night with the utmost regularity.

Sometimes they select a reed bed to sleep in, and do great damage by

too many birds alighting on the same stems and breaking them down.

Before finally settling for the night, they perform a great number

of wonderful aërial evolutions, especially during fine weather.

Whilst sitting in one black mass on every available branch and bough,

producing an indescribable din by all chissicking and chattering to

each other at the same time, they will suddenly become quite silent,

and leaping into the air with a noise just like that of a truck-load

of small coals being shot into the hold of a steamer, mount to a

considerable height, and commence to wheel and turn as if by some

magically communicated command.

At one moment they look like a thick black cloud, and at another like

a long trail of grey smoke. Every turn and twist, opening and closing

of the whole flock, is performed with a grace and precision of movement

which is wonderful to behold.

Starlings nest in holes in trees, rocks, and old ruins; under the roofs

of houses, in the thatch of ricks and outbuildings, and sometimes under

large stones on steep hillsides. I have also known them breed amongst

sticks forming the base of an Osprey’s eyrie which was occupied by

young ones. A year or two ago I found an open-topped nest containing

chicks in an evergreen, where a Blackbird or Thrush might have been

expected to breed. Green Woodpeckers are constantly turned out of their

laboriously dug holes by members of this species in search of suitable

nesting quarters.

The nest is a loosely-put-together structure composed of straws,

rootlets, and bits of moss, with a lining of hair, feathers, and

occasionally a lock of wool. I have often found nests, however, with

no kind of lining at all except straws.

The eggs number from four to six, of a uniform pale blue colour. This

species has a curious habit of dropping its eggs about on lawns and in

fields during the early part of the breeding season.

Young Starlings, in their first coats of feathers, are greyish-brown,

and lack entirely the beautiful purple and steel-blue sheen which gives

their parents such a handsome appearance when the sun is shining upon

them.

[Illustration: landscape with farm]

=THE CHAFFINCH.=

[Illustration: flowers and leaves]

Youthful students of ornithology are frequently at a loss to understand

why Linnæus, the great Swedish naturalist, gave this bird the somewhat

odd scientific name of _cœlebs_, signifying bachelor. He did so

because he noticed that in his own country the females left the males

behind in winter and migrated south in search of more hospitable

climes.

[Illustration: CHAFFINCH ON THE NEST.]

In Scotland and the North of England I have frequently observed the

same kind of thing happen, and especially during severe winters, not a

female to be seen for weeks together, and the males all congregated in

little flocks. In the South and West of England, however, both sexes

remain together, as a rule, and, associating with their relatives,

the Common Sparrows, hunt farmyards and gardens for corn, seeds, and

any other unconsidered trifles they may chance to pick up.

However gloomy the conditions of existence may be, the brave Chaffinch

is always sprightly, vigorous, and cheerful, a characteristic which may

be plainly seen in our illustration of birds feeding on the snow.

The call note of the species is a loud, ringing _spink, spink_,

which is also used as an alarm cry. In the spring the male utters

in addition a very sweet one sounding something like _tu-wheet,

tu-wheet_. During flight the bird makes use of another note, which

is difficult to render by the characters of the alphabet, but may,

perhaps, be best represented by the letters _tuke_.

The song is repeated thousands of times per day in the early part of

the breeding season. It is a very sprightly performance, like a merry

old English catch, _tol-de-rol, lol, chickweedo_, which has been

very aptly likened to the words, “Will you, will you kiss me, dear?”

Some people consider it a monotonous affair, but in spite of the fact

that I have heard it repeated twenty-one times in four minutes it

is always to me, “A full, clear, sprightly ringing ditty.” It varies

greatly in individuals, and although London bird-catchers consider an

Essex Chaffinch superior to all others as a singer, I prefer to listen

to some members of the species I have heard cheering the dark solitude

of great Highland pine forests.

[Illustration: CHAFFINCHES, SPARROWS, AND STARLING FEEDING IN WINTER.]

German workmen are great Chaffinch fanciers. One has been known to

exchange a cow for a clever vocalist of this species, and another to

live upon bread-and-water until he had saved the high price of a prime

favourite.

It is, I must confess, always a saddening experience for me to hear

this little songster’s notes ringing clear and sweet from the interior

of a wee prison house tied up in a black cloth, and carried along some

dismal street beneath the arm of a costermonger. However, it is only

fair to add that these men are, as a rule, devoted to their pets, and

treat them with the utmost kindness. A great authority upon the subject

says that if well treated a Chaffinch will live in confinement for

twenty years. It has also been asserted as a curious fact that if an

adult male Chaffinch is caught before Whitsuntide he will sing in a

cage, but if he should be made a prisoner after this date he will die

of grief at being parted from his mate and young ones.

Chaffinches pair towards the end of February and throughout March,

although flocks of “bachelors” may occasionally be seen as late as the

first week in May, and commence building operations, as a rule, about

the middle of April. They build deep, cup-shaped, and wonderfully neat

little nests of moss, wool, lichens, and cobwebs, beautifully felted

together and securely fixed in the forks of small trees in orchards,

hedgerows, and woods. It is generally adorned on the outside with

bits of green moss or grey lichens that will render it similar in

appearance to its surroundings, and thus help it to escape detection.

[Illustration: YOUNG CHAFFINCHES.]

The eggs number from four to six, but clutches of five are the general

rule, and are pale greenish-blue in ground colour, clouded with faint

reddish-brown and spotted and streaked with dull purplish-brown of

various shades.

The female Chaffinch lacks the rich colouring of her mate, especially

on the head and breast, and is a trifle smaller. The young are fed upon

insects by both parent birds, and resemble their mother in appearance

whilst wearing the first coat of feathers.

[Illustration: landscape with trees]

=THE PIED FLYCATCHER.=

[Illustration: flowers and ferns]

The Pied Flycatcher is a singularly well-named species, because it

answers both adjective and noun exactly.

The male is not quite as large as a Robin, and is, generally speaking,

black and white, as shown in our illustration on the next page. In

fact, a little girl who saw the picture, exclaimed, “What a pretty

wee Magpie!” The small patch of white on the forehead varies in size.

In some individuals it is quite conspicuous, and in others scarcely

visible. The female lacks it altogether, and is generally less

pronounced in her colours than her mate.

[Illustration: MALE PIED FLYCATCHER OUTSIDE NESTING HOLE.]

This species is partial to certain parts of the country, and although

by no means common is to be met with in the six northern counties of

England, in Wales, and in some parts of Scotland. Some authorities

say that it is most numerous in the Lake District, but I have met with

far more specimens in certain parts of the Principality than anywhere

else.

The male has a very pretty, though short and oft-repeated song. It

resembles that of the Redstart so closely that it is difficult to say

with certainty which bird is producing the music unless the singer be

seen. This also applies to its call notes.

A male Pied Flycatcher is a creature of decided character. The one

figured in our photograph was busy feeding his mate, sitting on six

beautiful pale blue eggs, in a hole in an old tree, which had been

struck and partially destroyed by lightning, when a friend of mine

and I discovered him. Upon our examining the nesting site the female

fluttered out, and joining her mate, they flitted about together from

tree to tree until he evidently thought it was time for her to return

to her maternal duties. She was, however, afraid to venture back to

her nest because my camera stood within a few feet of the entrance

hole, and flew nervously from one branch to another in the neighbouring

trees. Her mate, with the evident intention of showing her that there

was no cause for alarm, came along and, alighting right in front of

my apparatus, took a leisurely peep inside the nesting hole. As this

had no visible effect upon her nerves he went off and secured a fat,

green caterpillar, which he would not offer her anywhere, although she

shivered her little wings in supplication, excepting on the threshold

of their breeding quarters.

As even this kind of inducement failed, he indignantly gulped down the

food, and with a great show of anger, began to chase her round and

round, up and down, until at last he forced her indoors. Later on, this

female grew bolder, however, and I succeeded in photographing her on

the gnarled trunk of the lightning-blasted tree.

A precisely similar kind of thing happened at another nest, but in this

instance the lady was stronger minded, and refused to be bullied into

the performance of her duties.

In this particular wood, which was of no great size, four pairs of

these interesting birds lived within a few hundred yards of each other.

The males appeared to spend the day in catching winged and other

insects for the females, in singing, and chasing each other away from

particular spheres of influence.

The Pied Flycatcher, like its commoner relative, the Spotted

Flycatcher, is a migratory bird, arriving in this country in April and

leaving again in September and October.

It builds its nest generally in holes in trees, but sometimes in old

walls. The structure is composed of dry grass, dead leaves, and moss,

with an inner lining of hair and feathers.

[Illustration: bird on branch]

=THE LINNET.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers and grass]

Male Linnets vary almost as much in the colour of their feathers

as they do in the quality of their songs. A fine specimen, arrayed

in all the glory of his summer dress, has the forehead and crown

glossy blood-red, the rest of the head black, and sides of the neck

brownish-grey, back and upper wing coverts deep reddish-brown; wing

quills dusky, edged with white; upper tail coverts dark brown; tail

quills brownish-black, edged with white, except in the case of the

two centre feathers; chin and throat greyish-white, streaked along

the middle with greyish-brown; breast glossy rose-red. The last-named

colour varies greatly in intensity, and in some birds is almost

absent. In fact, as Yarrell says, perfect specimens are not often met

with, and the carmine cap and breast are generally replaced by brownish

lake-red.

Some adult male Linnets have lemon-yellow breasts, and in Germany are

considered old birds and the best singers.

The female is a trifle smaller than the male and lacks the red on the

top of the head and breast.

[Illustration: LINNET’S NEST AND EGGS.]

This species is distinguished from the Lesser Redpole by having no

white bar on the wings and no black upon the chin, and from the Twite,

with which it is likely to be confused, by the facts that it has a

shorter and less deeply forked tail and the male lacking the red on his

rump.

Last spring I spent two days on a Surrey common photographing the

Stonechat figuring in the little picture which decorates the front

cover of this book. He was bringing food to his offspring in a nest

situated amongst some stunted heather growing in a sheltered dell

formed by two gorse-clad ridges about eighty feet in height and a

hundred yards apart. Although many Linnets were still roaming the

countryside in flocks, numbers were busy love-making and pairing close

around me, and I shall never forget the sweetness of the twittering and

warbling that went on all day long.

The carols were generally sung from the topmost spray of some furze

bush, which was a golden blaze of bloom, but occasionally the vocalist

would utter his sweetest notes when dropping gracefully through the air

to some intended resting-place.

This bird has received a great deal of attention from the poets, some

of whom have described its song as a “careless lay” and others as a

“None-offending song of quiet prettiness.”

The call note of the species is a shrill _twit, twit_ and _wee,

tye wee_.

[Illustration: LINNET BRINGING FOOD FOR YOUNG.]

A Linnet’s nest is made of small twigs, fibrous roots, dry grass,

stems, moss, and wool, with an inner lining of hair, feathers, rabbit

and vegetable down; and is situated in gorse, and broom bushes, white

and black thorn bushes, tall heather, and juniper. I have found a nest

ten feet from the ground, and two nests quite upon it.

The eggs number four to six, are greyish-white in ground colour,

tinged with blue or green and speckled and spotted with purple-red and

reddish-brown.

A very strange thing about this species is that it appears to grow

shyer during the breeding season, whereas nearly all other birds

grow bolder. This peculiar characteristic, of course, increases the

difficulty of photographing the creature.

Linnets flock together as soon as the breeding season is over--some

of them to migrate, and others to wander about the country visiting

stubble fields and waste lands in search of seeds. It is a very

pleasant sight to watch a flock resting on the sunlit top of some tall

tree on a fine winter’s day, and hear the sociable little birds holding

a kind of chattering concert.

It is almost needless to add that the Linnet is a great favourite as

a cage pet. Specimens caught in the autumn soon adapt themselves to

confinement, but those taken in the spring frequently mope and die. One

has been known to live as many as fourteen years in a cage, but I have

never yet heard of a specimen in confinement donning the crimson colour

on its head or breast.

The species has derived its name in several European countries from its

fondness for linseed.

[Illustration: lane through woods]

=THE SWALLOW.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

This deservedly popular harbinger of spring arrives in England

about the end of March and beginning of April, and departs again in

September, although specimen’s have been seen during every month of the

year, and one hardy individual actually managed to live right through

a mild winter in Yorkshire not long ago. There is little need for me

to describe the appearance of this familiar bird in detail, but it

may be well to say that its forehead, chin, and throat are chestnut

brown, upper parts generally and a broad bar across the chest steely

blue. Under parts dull, buffy white. The adult Swallow may always be

distinguished, on the wing or at rest, from either the Swift or the

Martin, by its much more deeply forked tail.

[Illustration: YOUNG SWALLOWS ON TELEGRAPH WIRES.]

Its nest is generally built in a chimney or on a rafter in a barn,

stable, or shed, although I have seen it plastered against a smooth

whitewashed wall, on a dangling tendril of ivy that had grown through

the roof of a shed, under a stone bridge, inside an old limekiln, on

a ledge under the eaves of a shed, on a picture-frame, and inside an

old tennis shoe left on a ledge in a boat-house. It is made of pellets

of mud generally intermixed with straws and lined with dead grass and

feathers. The structure differs in shape according to the site selected

for it. Frequently it is formed like half or two-thirds of a saucer

when plastered against a wall or rafter, but when on a flat surface the

outside consists of a circular wall of mud.

[Illustration: NEWLY-FLEDGED SWALLOW.]

The eggs, numbering from four to six, are white, spotted and blotched

with dark, reddish-brown, and underlying specks of grey.

This bird’s song is one of the most joyous and spontaneous in all the

realms of Nature, and the poet might well say:

“Thou hast no sadness in thy song.”

It is uttered both whilst the melodist is flashing at lightning speed

through the air and at rest on some house-top or tree, and is an

exceedingly sweet and exhilarating warble frequently repeated.

During dull weather, when swallows fly low, they utter a note like

_wet wet_, and their alarm cry has been fittingly written down as

_feetafeet-feetafetit_. Inside buildings they also use another,

which is a clear, ringing _pink pink_.

[Illustration: landscape with river]

=THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN.=

[Illustration: cluster of flowers]

The Golden-crested Wren, or Gold-crest, as it is frequently called,

has the distinction of being our smallest British bird, measuring only

three and a half inches in length. It is a widely distributed resident,

and breeds comparatively close to London and other large towns. On the

forehead and round the eyes it is whitish, tinged with olive-green.

Crown pale orange in front and bright yellow towards the hind part.

The feathers are somewhat lengthened, and form a crest bounded on

either side by a streak of black. Upper parts olive-green; wings dusky

black with two transverse white bars. Tail quills dusky, edged with

yellowish-green. Under parts yellowish-grey, inclining to buff on

throat, breast, and sides. The female is not so brightly coloured as

her mate.

The nest is generally, though not always, suspended from the branch of

a cedar, spruce, fir, yew, or holly tree at varying heights from the

ground. I have seen it in a furze bush, and at an elevation of thirty

feet or more from the ground in a fir tree. It breeds in shrubberies,

plantations, and spinnies, and makes its nest of green moss, lichens,

fine grass, spiders’ webs, and hair beautifully felted together and

lined with liberal quantities of down and feathers.

The eggs number six or seven, as a rule, and are pale flesh or

yellowish-white in ground colour, spotted and blotched with

reddish-brown, the markings being most numerous at the larger end.

The Gold-crest’s song is like its singer--very small, soft, and sweet.

It is difficult to hear, especially towards the end, unless the

listener happens to be very close. In the neighbourhood of Birmingham

I once had the pleasure of listening to a bird of this species in

an evergreen hedge only two or three feet away from me, and was

greatly surprised at the sweet melodiousness of its limited notes.

[Illustration: GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN AT NEST.]

The sound of its call is something like _tsit, tsit_.

Vast flocks of this wee species occasionally hazard the perils of a

journey from the Continent across the North Sea in order to visit our

shores, and at such times alight upon the rigging of fishing smacks to

rest, and crowd round lighthouses in incredible numbers.

[Illustration: road through forest]

[Illustration: colophon]

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