Part 11

This tiny warbler measures only about four and three-quarter inches in length, is dull olive-green tinged with yellow above and yellowish-white below. Over the eye it wears a pale yellowish streak which grows whiter as it recedes.

The Chiffchaff is, with the exception of the hardy Wheatear, the first feathered wanderer to return to us in the spring, and is eagerly looked, or rather listened, for by naturalists because its welcome notes stand in their calendar as January 1 does to the rest of the world--the beginning of a New Year--not of days, weeks, and months, but of awakening life, activity, and joy. It arrives in March and departs again in October, some individuals having the hardihood to stay even through the winter in the mild south-western parts of England.

This species breeds generally throughout the southern and midland parts of England, but it is not common in the northern counties or in Scotland. It is met with in all suitable districts of Wales and Ireland, but is everywhere more or less local.

Shady woods, well-timbered dells, and stream-sides with plenty of matured trees clustering round are beloved haunts of the Chiffchaff, which builds its nest on or near the ground amongst tall grass tangled with brambles and small bushes, hedge and ditch banks, and sometimes in ivy growing against trees and walls. The structure is oval, domed, and has an entrance hole in the side. It is made of dead grass, withered leaves, and moss--sometimes a few fern fronds are employed--and is lined with hair and feathers.

The eggs, numbering from five to seven, are white, sparingly spotted with dark purplish-brown.

It is by no means an easy matter for the inexperienced ornithologist to distinguish the Chiffchaff from the Willow Wren, although the species under notice is a trifle smaller and duller in colour.

Its song, if two oft-repeated notes can be dignified by such a name, is, however, quite unique and impossible to confuse with that of any other British bird. The two notes sound something like chiff chaff or chip chop, and are uttered four or five times in succession as the bird hunts from bough to bough and tree to tree after its insect food.

To some people it is said to grow exceedingly wearisome, but to me it always sounds such a part of the pleasant things of spring that it never palls.

The call note sounds something like tweet or wheet, and the alarm cry like whooid or whooit.

=THE WHITETHROAT.=

The Whitethroat, or Greater Whitethroat as it is sometimes called in contradistinction to its near and rarer relative, the Lesser Whitethroat, is a very common summer visitor to our shores, arriving about the second or third week in April and taking its departure again in September and October.

It is about five and a half inches in length. The upper parts of its body are brown tinged with grey on the head and neck, and reddish elsewhere; wings dusky, the coverts being edged with reddish-buff; tail quills dull brown, the outer ones edged and tipped with white, which is prominently shown when the bird is flying away from the observer. The chin and throat are white, accounting for the aptitude of the bird’s popular name; breast and under parts pale grey, tinged with a beautiful rosy flesh-colour.

The female lacks the grey on her head, also the rosy tint on her under parts.

This species breeds in suitable localities all over England, Wales, Ireland, and the greater part of Scotland.

It builds its nest in all kinds of low bushes, such as bramble, thorn, briar, and furze, and is so partial to nettles that it is generally known amongst country people as the “Nettle Creeper.” The structure, though deep, is of a very flimsy character, and consists of dead grass stems and horsehair, the latter being used as a lining.

The eggs number from four to six, of a dirty greenish-white ground colour, speckled and spotted with brown and grey, generally evenly distributed over the surface of the shell.

The song consists of a few sweet and oft-repeated notes, delivered with great vehemence, not to say passion, the vocalist appearing to labour under considerable excitement whilst hurrying through his brief carol. This species commences to sing very early in the morning, and during May and June often continues until after it is dark. It also sings on the wing, as well as from the top of a hedge or bramble bush. Last summer I sat down to rest between a number of scattered thorn bushes and a wide old hedgerow on a Surrey hillside. A few moments afterwards a small bird left the hedge and took refuge in one of the bushes about twenty-five yards below me. Its notes and the white line on either side of the tail told me unmistakably that it was a Whitethroat. Presently the little songster shot up into the air to a height of some twenty or thirty feet, and with outspread tail and head and wings, performing all kinds of strange antics, bubbled out its hurried notes as it descended to the topmost spray of the bush which it had just left. This performance was frequently repeated until his mate left the hedgerow behind me and joined him, when his excitement appeared to abate to some extent.

The call notes of this species are very varied, and have been written down by different observers in a variety of ways. The most general are those sounding like cha, cha and purr, purr.

=THE NIGHTINGALE.=

The Nightingale measures a little over six inches in length, and is of a uniform tawny-brown on its upper parts, except in the case of the tail coverts and quills, which are of a rusty-red tinge, conspicuously seen when the bird is flying away from the observer. Chin, throat, and all under parts greyish-white tinged with brown on the breast and reddish on the under tail coverts.

This thrice-welcome migrant arrives upon our shores in April, and leaves again in August. It is peculiarly limited in its breeding area, which extends no farther west than the Valley of the Exe and only to York in a northerly direction. Of course, odd specimens have been heard by trustworthy observers beyond these limits, but they are exceptional, and the species is unknown both in Scotland and Ireland. Attempts have been made from time to time to induce the bird to extend its range, but they have one and all proved futile. The late Sir John Sinclair had numbers of eggs sent from the South of England and placed in Robins’ nests in Caithness, but although the closely allied foster-mothers successfully hatched and reared the young Nightingales they went off and never returned. The experiment of turning adult birds down in certain parts of Wales beyond the localities reached by free members of the species also proved a failure. It is said to “be met with only where the cowslip grows kindly,” but this extraordinary assertion is difficult to understand, because it is hard to remember where that common and hardy plant does not “grow kindly.”

The nest is made of dry grass stalks, dead leaves, moss, bits of bark, and fibrous roots, and is lined with fine grass and horsehair. It is built on or near the ground, on a little bank at the foot of a tree, at the bottom of a hedgerow, or on the stump of a felled tree; in woods, plantations, copses, quiet gardens, and on commons where clumps of hazels, brambles, and briars grow.

The eggs number from four to six, of a uniform olive-brown or olive-green colour. Occasionally greenish-blue specimens are found.

It would be difficult to overpraise the almost perfect song of this bird, the king of all British feathered melodists; for although I greatly admire the vocal powers of the Song Thrush, Skylark, and Blackcap, I do not think that any one of them can come near the Nightingale for perfection of phrasing, rich mellowness, or the loud, clear, silvery sound of its notes. I agree with Mr. Witchell, who has studied the songs of birds more closely, perhaps, than any other living man, when he says:

“This tempestuous song, this wild melody, the triumphal song of Nature herself, pierces beyond the ear right to the heart of the listener.”

The Nightingale is the only bird I ever remember to have heard singing in a fog, and this occurred in Surrey a little before midnight during the third week in May.

The male members of this species arrive upon our shores from ten days to a fortnight earlier than the females, and sing by night in order to attract the latter, which travel during the hours of darkness. As soon as the young ones are hatched the superb song ceases, and both parent birds confine their energies to the wants of the chicks.

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.