Part 3

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.

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.

=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.

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.

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.

=THE COMMON WREN.=

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.

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.

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.

=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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

=THE SKYLARK.=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=THE REDSTART.=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=THE MEADOW PIPIT.=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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