British birds

The furze-wren, never a common species in this country, is now become so scarce, and is, moreover, so elusive, that it is hard to find, and harder still to observe narrowly. Its somewhat singular appearance among the warblers—its small size, short, rounded wings, great length of tail, and very dark colour—its peculiar song, and excessively lively and restless habits, and the fact that it was first discovered in this country (1773), where, though so small and delicate a creature, it exists on open, exposed commons throughout the year, have all contributed to make it a fascinating subject to British ornithologists. In England it inhabits Surrey and the counties bordering on the Channel; but it has also been found in suitable localities in various other parts of the country, and ranges as far north as the borders of Yorkshire. I have sought for it in many places, but found it only in Dorset. Forty or fifty years ago it was most abundant in the southern parts of Surrey; it was there observed by the late Edward Newman, who gave the following lively and amusing account of its appearance and habits in his ‘Letters of Rusticus on the Natural History of Godalming’ (1849): ‘We have a bird common here which, I fancy, is almost unknown in other districts, for I have scarcely ever seen it in collections.... I mean the furze-wren, or, as authors are pleased to call it, the Dartford warbler. We hear that the epithet of Dartford is derived from the little Kentish town of that name, and that it was given to the furze-wren because he was first noticed in that neighbourhood. ... If you have ever watched a common wren (a kitty-wren we call her), you must have observed that she cocked her tail bolt upright, strained her little beak at right angles, and her throat in the same fashion, to make the most of her fizgig of a song, and kept on jumping and jerking and frisking about, for all the world as though she was worked by steam; well, that’s more the character of the Dartford warbler, or, as we call her, the furze-wren. When the leaves are off the trees and the chill winter winds have driven the birds to the olive-gardens of Spain, or across the Straits, the furze-wren is in the height of his enjoyment. I have seen them by dozens skipping about the furze, lighting for a moment on the very point of the sprigs, and instantly diving out of sight again, singing out their angry, impatient ditty, for ever the same. Perched on the back of a good tall nag, and riding quietly along the outside, while the foxhounds have been drawing the furze-fields, I have often seen these birds come to the top of the furze.... They prefer those places where the furze is very thick, and difficult to get in.... And although it is so numerous in winter, and so active and noisy when disturbed by dogs and guns, still, in the breeding season it is a shy, skulking bird, hiding itself in thick places, much in the manner of the grasshopper lark, and seldom allowing one to hear the sound of its voice.’

Spring is, however, the season of the furze-wren’s greatest activity: its lively gestures, antics, and dancing motions on the topmost sprays of the bushes are then almost incessant, as it pursues the small moths and other winged insects on which it feeds; and its curious and impetuous little song is then delivered with the greatest vigour. It has also a harsh, scolding note, uttered several times in rapid succession, and a loud musical call-note.

The nest is placed among the dense masses of the lower, dead portion of a thick furze-bush. It is a flimsy structure, composed of dead furze-leaves, small twigs, and grass-stems, lined with finer stems, and sometimes with horsehair. Four or five eggs are laid, white in ground-colour, sometimes tinged with buff or with greenish, thickly spotted and freckled with pale brown over paler brown and grey markings. Two broods are reared in the season.

Golden-crested Wren, or Goldcrest.
Regulus cristatus.

Upper parts olive tinged with yellow; cheeks ash-colour; wing greyish brown, with two transverse white bands; crest bright yellow in front, orange behind, bounded by two black lines; under parts yellowish grey. Female: colours not so bright; crest lemon-colour. Length, three and a half inches.

The golden-crested wren has the distinction of being the smallest British bird; it is also one of the most widely distributed, being found throughout the United Kingdom. Furthermore, it is a resident throughout the year, is nowhere scarce, and in many places is very abundant. Yet it is well known only to those who are close observers of bird life. The goldcrest is not a familiar figure, owing to its smallness and restlessness, which exceed that of all the other members of this restless family of birds, and make it difficult for the observer to see it well. Again, it is nearly always concealed from sight by the foliage, and in winter it keeps mostly among the evergreens, and at all times haunts by preference pine, fir, and yew trees. In the pale light of a winter day, more especially in cloudy weather, it is hard to see the greenish, restless little creature in his deep green bush or tree. Standing under, or close to, a wide-spreading old yew, half a dozen goldcrests flitting incessantly about among the foliage in the gloomy interior of the tree look less like what they are than the small flitting shadows of birds.

In March, and even as early as the latter part of February, the male is frequently heard uttering his song; but he is not of the songsters that perch to sing, and pour out their music deliberately and with all their might. The goldcrest’s song comes in as a sort of trivial distraction or relief—a slight interlude between the more important acts of passing from one twig or spray to another, and snatching up some infinitesimal insect so quickly and deftly that to see the action one must watch the bird very closely indeed. And the music, of which the musician makes so little, is of very little account to the listener. It is the smallest of small songs—two notes, almost identical in tone, repeated rapidly, without variation, two or three times, ending with a slight quaver, scarcely audible, on the last note. The sound is sharp and fine, as of young mice squealing, but not quite so sharp, and more musical; it is a sound that does not travel: to hear it well one must stand not farther than a dozen or fifteen yards from the singer.

Yarrell has the following passage on the song of the goldcrest: ‘Pennant says he has observed this bird suspended in the air for a considerable time over a bush in flower, while it sang very melodiously; but this peculiarity does not appear to have been noticed by other naturalists.’ I have observed the male, in the love season, hovering just above the bush, in the topmost foliage of which its mate was perched, and partially hidden from view. It is when engaged in this pretty, aërial performance, or love-dance, that the golden-crested wren is at his best. The restless, minute, sober-coloured creature, so difficult to see properly at other times, then becomes a conspicuous and exceedingly beautiful object; it hovers on rapidly-vibrating wings, the body in almost a vertical position, but the head bent sharply down, the eyes being fixed on the bird beneath, while the wide-open crest shines in the sun like a crown or shield of fiery yellow. When thus hovering it does not sing, but emits a series of sharp, excited, chirping sounds.

The goldcrest builds a pendent nest, made fast to the small twigs under a branch of yew or fir, and uses a variety of materials—fine dry grass, leaves, moss, and webs—closely woven together, lining the cavity with feathers. It is a very ingenious and pretty structure. The eggs laid are from six to ten, of a pale yellowish white, spotted and blotched, chiefly at the large end, with reddish brown.

In the autumn, in the months of October and November, a great migratory movement takes place among the goldcrests in the north of Europe; and in some seasons incredible numbers of these small travellers arrive, often in an exhausted condition, in Northumberland and on the east coast of Scotland. After resting close to the sea for a day or two, they resume their journey, and distribute themselves over the country.

The firecrest (Regulus ignicapillus), which closely resembles the species just described, is an accidental visitor from the continent of Europe.

Chiffchaff.
Phylloscopus rufus.

Upper plumage olive-green tinged with yellow; above the eye a faint yellowish white streak; under parts yellowish white; feathers of the leg greyish white. Length, four inches and three-quarters.

The chiffchaff, although his song is so simple—the simplest song of all—and after a time is apt to become wearisome from incessant repetition, is, nevertheless, one of the most welcome visitors of the early spring; for this small bird, in spite of its smallness and frailty, is the first of the migratory warblers to make its appearance on our coasts. Shortly after the middle of March, and even earlier in some years, the well-remembered, familiar sound, full of promise of the beautiful budding season, begins to be heard here and there in the more sheltered and sunny spots in woods and copses, and by the first week in April it is one of the most familiar sounds in the country. It is not, however, so general as the strain of the willow-wren, this species being more local in its distribution.

It is this early appearance of the chiffchaff, coming ‘before the swallow dares,’ that endears it to the lover of Nature and of bird life. Mr. Warde Fowler, in his ‘Year with the Birds,’ has well expressed the feeling which so many have for this small warbler. ‘No one,’ he says, ‘who hails the approach of spring as the real beginning of a new life for men and plants and animals, can fail to be grateful to this little brown bird for putting on it the stamp and sanction of his clear, resonant voice. We grow tired of his two notes—he never gets beyond two—for he sings almost the whole summer through; ... but not even the first twitter of the swallow, or the earliest song of the nightingale, has the same hopeful story to tell me as this delicate traveller who dares the east wind and the frost.’

The two notes, which vary as slightly in tone as two taps of a hammer on an anvil delivered with equal force on the same spot, are emitted with great vigour and spirit, as if the little creature’s whole heart was in the performance, and repeated several times without a pause. This is the whole song, and, when not engaged in uttering it, the singer is incessantly moving about in pursuit of small insects and their larvæ, now searching for them in the small twigs and buds, after the manner of the titmice, and at times capturing them on the wing. Meanwhile the song is repeated at frequent intervals from morning until dark. It is not suspended, as in the case of most of the warblers, after the young have been hatched, but continues throughout the summer and autumn, when it degenerates somewhat in character, the sound losing the little musical quality it originally possessed.

The nest is made in the ground, a hedgebank being the situation preferred, and is round and domed, with an opening at the side. Dry grass, leaves, and moss are the materials used in its construction, the cavity being plentifully lined with feathers. The eggs are six, pure white, spotted and speckled with brown and brownish purple.

Willow-Wren.
Phylloscopus trochilus.

Upper plumage bright olive-green; a narrow streak of yellow over the eye; under parts yellowish white, palest in the middle; feathers of the legs yellow. Length, nearly five inches.

The willow-wren, or willow-warbler, is one of the earliest of our summer songsters to arrive, usually following the chiffchaff—which it resembles in size and general appearance—by a few days. During the last week of March, if the weather be not too cold, its delicate strain may be heard in sheltered situations in the southern parts of England, and by the second week in April it is one of the most frequently heard songs throughout the length and breadth of the land. Not only is this species very much more generally diffused than its two nearest relations—the chiffchaff and wood-wren—but it is met with in a much greater variety of situations—on commons, in hedgerows, gardens, woods, and plantations. Yet, in spite of its abundance and wide distribution, it is nowhere a familiar bird to the country people; the small, delicate voice does not compel attention and is well-nigh lost in the summer concert that has so many loud, jubilant strains in it.

The willow-wren is a pretty little bird, although without any bright colour in its plumage, which at a short distance looks of a soft greenish yellow tint. He is best seen when the trees are opening their buds, before the thickening foliage hides his tiny, restless, flitting form from sight. He is the least shy of the warblers, his trustfulness being in strong contrast to the suspicious manner and love of concealment of the blackcap and whitethroat. He will unconcernedly continue his hunt for minute insects, and utter his melody at intervals, within a few feet of a person, sitting or standing, quietly observing him. The song, although a small one, both as to duration and power, has a singular charm: not merely the charm of association experienced in a voice long absent and heard once more—a voice of the spring, that comes before the loud call of the cuckoo and the familiar, joyous twitter of the swallow; it is in itself a beautiful sound, one of the sweetest bird-songs heard in our country. ‘A song which is unique among British birds,’ says Mr. Warde Fowler, whose description of it is, perhaps, the most perfect which we have. ‘Beginning with a high and tolerably full note, he drops it both in force and pitch in a cadence short and sweet, as though he were getting exhausted with the effort.... This cadence is often perfect; by which I mean that it descends gradually, not, of course, on the notes of our musical scale, ... but through fractions of one, or perhaps two, of our tones, and without returning upward at the end; but still more often, and especially, as I fancy, after they have been here a few weeks, they take to finishing with a note nearly as high in pitch as that with which they began.’

After this it is interesting to read Mr. J. Burroughs’s impressions of the willow-wren’s song. He writes: ‘The most melodious strain I heard, and the only one that exhibited to the full the best qualities of the American songsters, proceeded from a bird quite unknown to fame—in the British Islands, at least. I refer to the willow-warbler.... White says it has a “sweet, plaintive note,” which is but half the truth. It has a long, tender, delicious warble, not wanting in strength and volume, but eminently pure and sweet—the song of the chaffinch refined and idealised.... The song is, perhaps, in the minor key, feminine and not masculine, but it touches the heart.

‘The song of the willow-warbler has a dying fall; no other bird-song is so touching in this respect. It mounts up round and full, then runs down the scale, and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur.’

The willow-wren breeds early, making a circular domed nest on the ground, among the long grass and weeds, under a hedge or beneath a bramble bush on a bank, and occasionally at a distance from sheltering bushes in the grass of a field. It is made of dry grass, and lined with rootlets and horsehair, and, lastly, with feathers. The eggs are six or seven in number, pure white, the yolk showing through the frail shell, and giving it a faint yellow tinge; they are blotched and spotted with reddish brown. When the nest is approached the parent birds display the greatest anxiety, hopping and flitting about close to the intruder, and uttering low, plaintive notes.

The willow-wren stays longer with us than any migratory warbler except the chiffchaff, and its song is, without exception, the most persistent. From the time of its arrival in March, or early in April, it sings without ceasing until July; then for a few weeks its song is heard only in the early morning, and it ceases at the end of August, during the moult, but is renewed a little later, and is then continued until the bird’s departure at the end of September.

Wood-Wren.
Phylloscopus sibilatrix.

Upper plumage olive-green tinged with sulphur-yellow; a broad streak of sulphur-yellow over the eye; sides of head, throat, and insertion of the wings and throat bright yellow; rest of under plumage pure white. Length, nearly six inches.

This warbler arrives in England at the end of April, being later by many days than its two nearest relations, the chiffchaff and willow-wren. As its name implies, it is a bird of the woods, with a preference for such as are composed wholly or in part of oak and beech trees. It is not easily discerned, on account of its restless disposition; also because it chiefly frequents the uppermost parts of the trees it inhabits. Its instinct appears to be to live and hunt for the small insects it preys on among the green leaves at the greatest possible height from the earth; this may account for its love of the beech, which is the tallest of our forest trees. But if difficult to see as it flits lightly from place to place among the higher foliage, it is easy to hear, and its frequently uttered song sounds very loud in the woodland silence, and is strangely unlike that of any other songster. It may be said to possess two distinct songs: of these, the most frequently uttered and unmistakable begins with notes clear, sweet, and distinct, but following more and more rapidly until they run together in a resonant trill, and finally end in a long, tremulous note, somewhat thin and reedy in sound. At longer intervals it utters its other song, or call, a loud, clear note, slightly modulated, and somewhat plaintive, repeated without variation three or four times.

The wood-wren, although so great a lover of the tall tree-tops, breeds on the ground, like the two species described before it, and, like them, builds an oval-shaped domed nest. It is placed among the herbage, and is composed of moss, dry leaves, and grasses, lined with fine grass and horsehair. Feathers are never used in the nest-lining, and in this the wood-wren differs from the two preceding species. Six eggs are laid, transparent white, spotted and speckled with dark brown, purple and grey.

The wood-wren differs from most of the warblers in being exclusively an insect-eater.

A fourth member of this genus, the yellow-browed warbler (Phylloscopus superciliosus), which breeds in Northern Siberia, has been met with as a rare straggler in this country.

Two more warblers, belonging to different genera, must be mentioned here as stragglers to England: the icterine warbler (Hypolaïs icterina) and the rufous warbler (Aëdon galectodes).

Reed-Warbler.
Acrocephalus streperus.

Upper plumage uniform reddish brown, without spots; a white streak or spot between the eye and bill; throat white; under plumage very pale buff. Length, five and a half inches.

The reed-warbler closely resembles the sedge-warbler, next to be described, in size, colouring, and general appearance, also in language and habits; but is a much less common species, more local in its distribution, and is, consequently, not nearly so well known. He arrives in this country about the middle of April, and inhabits dense reed-beds in dykes, marshes, and the borders of rivers, where he skulks, for the most part out of sight; but his loquacity betrays his presence, for he is a persistent singer, especially in the early part of the day, and again in the evening. His song resembles that of the sedge-warbler in its curious mingling of musical and harsh notes, its hurried and somewhat angry scolding character, but is less powerful, the harsh notes less harsh and vigorous—a sweeter but not so interesting a performance. Like the nearly allied species, he bursts into singing when excited by fear or solicitude for the safety of his nest. He is an exceedingly restless little creature, incessantly hopping from stem to stem, now mounting to the surface of the reeds, and almost instantly dropping into concealment again. Even where the birds are many, it is only by patient waiting and watching that an occasional glimpse of one can be got. His food consists of small insects, caught on the wing and on the leaves and stems of the reeds and aquatic herbage. The nest is a deep, beautiful structure, suspended on two or three, or more, slender reed-stems, or on the twigs of a willow, osier, or other plant growing near the water. It is made of long dry grass-leaves woven together, with finer grass-leaves and horsehair for a lining. The eggs are four or five in number, greenish white in colour, clouded, blotched, and freckled with dark olive and ash-grey.

Sedge-Warbler.
Acrocephalus phragmitis.

Upper plumage greyish brown; above the eye a broad, distinct, yellowish white streak; under plumage pale buff; throat white. Length, four inches and three-quarters.

The sedge-warbler, usually called sedge-bird, and in some localities river-chat, is a common species in most waterside places where there are reed-beds and willows; it also frequents rough hedges and bramble and furze bushes in the neighbourhood of a watercourse. Sometimes, but not often, it is found breeding at a considerable distance from a stream. It comes to us in April, and is a most active and lively little creature. Although not shy of man, it is less easy to observe than any other species in this group, except, perhaps, the grasshopper warbler, on account of its excessive restlessness, the rapidity of its movements, and its habit of keeping near the surface in the close reeds and bushes it lives in. The grasshopper warbler, and, indeed, most small birds that inhabit bushes, love to come to the surface to sing; the sedge-warbler sings much as he hurries about in search of his food, which consists of small caterpillars and slugs, and aquatic insects. Occasionally the restless little yellowish brown figure appears for a moment or two near the top of a bush, and then vanishes again.

The song is curious, and delivered in a curious manner, with hurry and vehemence; and this, as well as the character of the sounds emitted, gives the idea that the bird is excited to anger—that he is scolding at, rather than singing to, the listener. The opening note, hurriedly repeated several times, and recurring at short intervals as long as the song lasts (its keynote and refrain), resembles the chiding note of the whitethroat when its nest is approached, but is louder and more strident. It is the loudest sound the sedge-warbler emits, and when the song is heard at a distance of fifty or sixty yards it seems all composed of chiding notes. But on a nearer approach—and the bird will allow the listener to get quite close to it—the performance is found to be a very varied one. Listening to it, one finds it hard not to believe that this warbler possesses the faculty it has often been credited with, of mocking other species. But if he indeed has such a talent, he reproduces not so much the songs of other birds as the notes and chirps and small cries of anxiety and alarm—the various sounds emitted by singing-birds in the presence of danger to their young or incubated eggs. Thus, in the medley of hurried and strongly contrasted sounds that come in a continuous stream from the sedge-warbler one seems to recognise the low girding of the nightingale, and the different notes of solicitude of the sparrow, reed-bunting, and chaffinch, of the wren and the willow-wren, the meadow-pipit and pied wagtail. But whether these various sounds are really borrowed or not one can never feel sure.

The sedge-warbler is a very persistent singer. Some birds are too chary of their strains; but of this waterside music any person may have as much as he likes in May and June. Singing is apparently as little tiring to this bird as rushing through the air is to the swift. At the season of his greatest vigour he appears to pour out his rapid notes almost automatically; and when silent, a stone or stick flung into his haunts will provoke a fresh outburst of melody. He also sings a great deal at night in the love season.

The sedge-warbler makes its nest among the tangled vegetation at the waterside; as a rule it is placed near the ground, and is composed outwardly of moss, leaves, and aquatic grasses, and lined with fine grass and hair. The eggs are five, of a dirty white or pale brownish ground-colour, with yellowish brown spots, sometimes with hair-like marks among the spots.

Besides the two described, three more species of this group of warblers have been numbered as British birds, having been found as stragglers in this country. These are the marsh-warbler (Acrocephalus palustris), the great reed-warbler (Acrocephalus turdoïdes), and the aquatic warbler (Acrocephalus aquaticus).

Grasshopper Warbler.
Locustella nævia.

Upper parts light greenish brown; the middle of each feather, being darker, gives a mottled appearance; under parts very pale brown, spotted with darker brown on neck and breast; feet light brown. Length, five and a half inches. Female without the brown spots on the breast.

This warbler arrives in our country about the middle of April, sometimes a week, or even a fortnight, earlier. In the melodious family to which it belongs it is distinguished by the singularity of its voice, which has no musical, or song-like, or even bird-like quality in it, but is like the sound produced by some stridulating insects. It is to be found in suitable situations throughout England and Wales, and in many parts of Scotland and Ireland. It frequents both dry and marshy ground where dense masses of vegetation afford it the close cover which would seem necessary to its frail existence; thus it is found in reed-beds growing in the water, and in hedges and thorny thickets, and among the furze-bushes on open commons. Although thus widely distributed in the British Islands, it is, like the nightingale, very local, and reappears faithfully each spring at the same spot. How strong the attachment to place, or home, is in this species will be seen in the following fact: Having found a small colony of about half a dozen grasshopper warblers inhabiting a circumscribed spot in the middle of an extensive common, I went back to the place in three consecutive summers, and each time found the birds in the same bushes. Yet the dozen or twenty furze and bramble bushes which they inhabited were in no way, that one could see, better suited to their requirements than hundreds of other bushes of the same description scattered over the surrounding land. Nor were any other individuals of the species to be found in the neighbourhood, except one pair, which were always to be met with in some brambles about a quarter of a mile from the spot inhabited by the other birds. Such a fact appears to show that, not only do the old birds return year after year to the same breeding-place, but that the young also come back to the spot where they were hatched; also, it appears to show that in this frail and far-travelling species the annual increase is only sufficient to make good the losses from all natural causes.

Immediately after their arrival in April the males begin their curious vocal performance, at first with a feeble and broken strain; but in a little while the voice gains in strength and shrillness, and the utterance becomes more sustained, lasting sometimes without a break for thirty or forty seconds, and even longer. This is renewed again and again at short intervals throughout the day, and continued far into the night. Indeed, the song may be heard all night long in fine summer weather. The sound is recognised by few of those who hear it as coming from a bird. It is usually attributed to an insect, and if the hearer grows curious, and tries to find the exact spot from which it issues, he finds this a somewhat difficult task. The sound seems now on this side, now on that, now far away, and anon close at hand; it is here, there, and everywhere. A good plan is to put the open hands behind the ear, then to turn slowly round until the exact spot is discovered. When the bush from which it proceeds has been found, the listener should advance cautiously to within a few yards of it, and sit down and wait until the hidden bird, recovering from his alarm, comes up to the summit and resumes his singing. It is then most interesting to observe him. The bird sits motionless, turning its head from side to side, and so long as the strain continues the yellow mouth is wide open, like the gaping mouth of a fledgeling waiting to receive food, the slender body trembling with the sound, as if an electric current were passing through it. The sound produced has been compared by different writers to the song of a grasshopper, only more sustained; to the cicada; to the whirring of a wool-spinner’s reel, and to that of a well-oiled fisherman’s reel made to run at a very rapid rate; and, finally, to the sharp, vibrating sound of the rattlesnake, and to an electric bell; but it is not so sharp as these last two.

The grasshopper warbler builds on the ground, and so well concealed is the nest that it is only possible to find it by watching the birds when carrying nesting materials into the bush. The nest is formed of dry grass and moss, and lined with fine fibres. Five to seven eggs are laid, white or pale pink, spotted with reddish brown over the entire egg; and sometimes fine hair-like lines are mixed with the spots.

A small warbler, closely resembling the grasshopper warbler in its language and habits, and once an indigenous British species, is Locustella luscinioïdes, locally known as the reelbird, red night-reeler, and red craking night-wren, and in books as Savi’s warbler, after its discoverer. It bred regularly in the Norfolk Broads and the fen districts in Lincolnshire down to about 1849, when it became extinct.

Hedge-Sparrow.
Accentor modularis.

Crown ash-colour with brown streaks; side of neck, throat, and breast bluish grey; back and wings reddish brown streaked with dark brown; breast and belly buffy white. Length, five and a half inches.

Most people know that a sparrow is a hard-billed bird of the finch family, and that the subject of this notice is not a sparrow, except in name. It is, in fact, a soft-billed bird belonging to that large and musical family which includes the nightingale, the redbreast, and the warblers. ‘How absurd, then, to go on calling it a sparrow!’ certain ornithologists have said from time to time, and have re-named it the hedge-accentor. But, as Professor Newton has said in his addition to Yarrell’s account of the bird, a name which has been part and parcel of our language for centuries, and which Shakespeare used, ‘is hardly to be dropped, even at the bidding of the wisest, so long as the English tongue lasts.’ Now, as the English tongue promises to last a long time, it seems safest to retain the old and, in one sense, incorrect name. Dunnock is another common name for this species; it is also called shufflewing, from the habit the bird has, when perched, of frequently shaking its wings.

Among our small birds, the hedge-sparrow is regarded with some slight degree of that kindly feeling, or favouritism, which is extended to the robin redbreast, the swallow, and the martin. It is one of the few delicate little birds that brave the rigours of an English winter, and occasionally enliven that dead season with their melody. With the wren and missel-thrush, it is a prophet, in February, of the return of brighter sunshine and lengthening days; and in hard weather it comes much about the house, for the sake of the small morsels of food to be picked up; and, while retaining its sprightliness at such times, it learns to be trustful. It is possible that the feeling or sentiment which no person, not even the most matter-of-fact scientific ornithologist, is quite proof against, is the cause of this species having been a little overpraised in many books about birds. The hedge-sparrow is often spoken of as a very charming little creature, while its song has been described as pleasing, as sweet, and as delightful. All birds are in a sense attractive, and even charming in appearance, but in different degrees, and the plain-coloured dunnock strikes one as being the least attractive among our birds. In the same way, the song may be said to be pleasant because it is a natural sound, and is heard in the open air when the sun shines, when leaves and blossoms are out, and it expresses the gladness which is common to all sentient things. But it has none of the rare qualities which are requisite to make a pleasant sound anything more than a merely pleasant sound.

The hedge-sparrow is a common bird throughout the British Islands—so common as to be familiar to most people, in spite of its shyness and love of concealment. It is pre-eminently a hedge-bird, and in that respect has been well named; even in the most populous districts, and in the suburbs of large towns, where a hedge remains, there the smoke-grey and brown little bird will have its home and make its nest, although it may seldom be able to rear its young. It is a very early breeder, a first brood being often reared in March. As a rule, the nest is placed in the centre of a hedge or thorny bush, three or four feet from the ground; it is made of dry grass and fine roots, and lined with hair; the eggs are five or six in number, bright greenish blue in colour, without spots. Two or three broods are reared in the season.

The alpine accentor (Accentor collaris), a larger species than our hedge-sparrow, which it resembles in colour, is known as a straggler to England from the mountainous districts of Central and Southern Europe.

Dipper.
Cinclus aquaticus.

Upper plumage brownish black tinged with grey; throat and breast pure white; belly chestnut-brown; bill black; feet horn-colour. Female: colours dingy. Length, six inches and a half.

The dipper, or water-ouzel, differs considerably in appearance, and still more in habits, from all other British birds; as is the case with such species as the wryneck, cuckoo, kingfisher, bearded tit, tree-creeper, starling, and nuthatch, there is no other like him. In figure he is wren-like, stout and compact in body, with short, rounded wings and short, square tail, which, as with the wren, is often carried upright and jerked. He is a little less than the song-thrush in size, and is conspicuously coloured, the greater part of the plumage being black, or blackish brown; and, in strong contrast, the throat and upper part of the breast shining white—a big black wren with a silvery white bib.

Some species always live and move within such narrow limits, or, in other words, are so dependent on certain conditions, that we invariably think of them in association with their surroundings:—the snipe with the boggy soil; the rock-pipit with the rock-bound seashore; the tree-creeper with the tree he climbs upon; the lark with the cultivated fields; and the swift with the void blue sky, through which he is perpetually rushing. In like manner we invariably think of the dipper in connection with the swift, brawling mountain-torrent he inhabits. He is never, or very seldom, found removed from it, and is probably more restricted to certain conditions, and consequently more bound to his home, than any one of the species just named. The stream he attaches himself to must have quiet and comparatively deep pools, and the water must be clear to enable him to detect the larvæ of water-beetles, dragon-flies, and other aquatic insects he preys on, all of which have a protective colouring. He does not range up and down a stream, like the kingfisher, to visit the various feeding-places; he limits himself to a portion of it, in many cases not more than a hundred yards in length, and explores the bottoms of the same pools from day to day, until they must be as familiar to him—all their inequalities, their stony ridges and half-buried boulders, and sandy or pebbled places, and all the holes and secret corners where sediment collects—as the rooms we live in are to us, and about which we are able to move freely in the dimmest light. In ascending a mountain stream such as these birds love, abounding in deep, quiet pools, with noisy cascades and shallow rapids, its bottom strewn with great fallen boulders partly submerged, the rocky banks overgrown with sheltering bushes and vines, when you disturb a dipper he flies up stream a short distance, perhaps twenty yards, and alights on a boulder, or in the shadow of an overhanging rock, and there waits, silent and motionless, until, disturbed again, he takes a second short flight up stream, and so on to the limit of his range, whereupon, rising up and doubling back, he flies to the spot he started from. And as often as you disturb him he will act in the same way, going just so far, and no farther. If you leave him behind and go on, you will find another pair of dippers, whose portion of the stream begins just where that of the first pair ends. They, too, will act in the same way, and fly on until the end of their range is reached, and will not venture beyond where a third pair are in possession. Where they are not disturbed a mountain stream may be found parcelled out in this way among a dozen or twenty couples. Probably the dipper, like the robin, jealously resents the intrusion of another bird of his kind into his chosen ground. Concerning this habit of the dipper, and its strange way of feeding under the water, something still remains to be known. It is, indeed, strange that this little perching song-bird should have the habit of diving for its food like a grebe or a guillemot, and other species that have structures specially adapted to such a way of life. For there is absolutely nothing in the dipper’s structure to lead anyone unacquainted with its habits to believe that it ever approaches the water, unless to drink and bathe, and perhaps to pick up an insect floating on the surface. That it is able to sink into and move freely about beneath the water close to the bottom of a stream, in spite of gravity, seems very astonishing, and would be incredible if the fact were not so familiar. Some ornithologists believe that it is related to the wren, others to the thrush;—that is a question capable of solution; but how by a short-cut it became a diver must remain a mystery.

Formerly it was believed that the dipper was able to walk freely about on the bottom of the stream, but that was an error. It is difficult to watch the bird moving about under water; but a few good observers have succeeded in doing so, and from their accounts it would appear that the dipper propels itself by powerful wing-beats, moving by a series of rushes or jerks, keeping close to the bottom of the stream. It appears to swallow its food under water, but comes up at intervals to breathe, then sinks again beneath the surface.

On land the dipper is somewhat inactive, and will stand on a boulder or under an overhanging rock without moving for a long time. One would imagine that their eyes, fitted so well to see in the dim light beneath the surface, must be very sensitive to the glare above.

The dipper’s song is short but brilliant, and very much like that of the wren in character; it is heard most frequently in the love season, and occasionally in autumn and in winter, when the sun shines, even during very cold weather.

The nest is made among the rocks, usually in a crevice, and is very large for the size of the bird, being sometimes a foot across, and is globular in form, with a small opening near the top. It is composed principally of moss, loosely felted, the inside lined with dry grass, fine rootlets, and dead leaves. Four to six eggs are laid, pure white, and unspotted.

The dipper is most common in mountainous districts in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and is found in suitable localities in England.

The black-billed dipper (Cinclus melanogaster), the Scandinavian and North Russian form of Cinclus aquaticus, has been met with on two or three occasions as a straggler to the east coast of England.

Bearded Titmouse.
Panurus biamicus.

Head bluish grey; between the bill and eye a tuft of pendent black feathers, prolonged into a pointed moustache; throat and neck greyish white; breast and belly white tinged with yellow and pink; upper parts light orange-brown; wings variegated with black, white and red; tail very long, orange-brown, the outer feathers variegated with black and white. Female: the moustache the same colour as the cheek; the grey on the head absent. Length, six inches and a half.

This bird, although by name a tit, and placed next to the titmice by many naturalists in their systems, differs widely from those birds in some points. The question of its true position among passerine birds has, indeed, been a subject of controversy for a long time past, and is not yet settled. Some writers would have it that it comes nearest to the shrikes; others, that it is most closely related to the buntings; and still others place it next to the waxwing. Leaving aside anatomical subjects, it may be said that the bearded tit is unlike all these different birds and the titmice in habits, language, colouring, and in its curious feather-ornaments—the erectile, pointed, black feathers that grow between the beak and eyes, and form the curious long moustache which gives the bird its name.

The bearded tit, although at all times an extremely local species, on account of its being exclusively an inhabitant of reed-beds, was once fairly common in many parts of England; but owing to the draining of marshes and to the persecution of collectors, it has now become one of the rarest of British birds. At present it is confined to the district of the Broads in Norfolk, where it is, unhappily, becoming increasingly rare, and is threatened with extinction at no distant date.

It is a very pretty bird in its buff and fawn coloured dress; very elegant in form, its singular black moustache and long, graduated tail enhancing the beauty of its appearance; and exceedingly graceful in its motions. It lives in the beds of reeds growing in the water; and the slim, graceful, clinging bird, and the tall, slender stems, with their pale, pointed leaves and feathery flowers, seem adapted each to the other. In seeking its food it clings to the reeds, much as the blue tit does to the pendent twigs of the birch. Its food consists of small insects and their larvæ, small molluscs, and the seeds of the reeds. In autumn and winter it is gregarious, three or four, or more, families uniting in a flock, and roaming from reed-bed to reed-bed and from broad to broad. When disturbed, or alarmed at the appearance of a hawk, they drop down into concealment among the reeds, but in a short time rise to the surface again, climbing parrot-like up the slender stems. There are few birds without a brilliant colouring that have so attractive an appearance as the bearded tit, especially when seen flying just above the top of the reeds, or when perched on a slender stem near its top, and swayed to and fro by the wind. Their alarm-note is harsh, but they have a variety of calling and singing notes, which are somewhat metallic in sound and very musical. A writer in Loudon’s ‘Magazine of Natural History’ describes the bearded tits in flight as ‘uttering in full chorus their sweetly musical notes; it may be compared to the music of very small cymbals, is clear and ringing, though soft, and corresponds well with the delicacy and beauty of the form and colour of the bird.’

The nest is made at the end of March or early in April, and is placed on the ground, under a bush, or among the grass and herbage near the water. It is composed of leaves of reeds, bents, and grass-blades, and lined with the fine fibres of the reed-tops. The eggs are four to six in number, and sometimes eight; they are white, with a few minute specks, blotches, and lines of dark reddish brown.

Long-tailed Titmouse.
Acredula rosea.