Part 6

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.

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.

=THE GARDEN WARBLER.=

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.

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.”

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.

=THE MARSH WARBLER.=

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.

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.

=THE REED BUNTING.=

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.

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.

=THE GOLDFINCH.=

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.

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.

=THE BLACKCAP WARBLER.=

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.

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.”

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_.

=THE BULLFINCH.=

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_.

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.

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.

=THE WHEATEAR.=

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.

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.

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.