THE SEDGE WARBLER 27 
MARSH WARBLER 
ACROCEPHALUS PALUSTRIS 
Upper parts olive-green without any reddish tinge ; legs and feet pale brown. 
THE Marsh Warbler is local in its occurrence, in the south of England. 
It nests in drier places than the Reed Warbler and its song is different, 
being much more melodious, and uttered more boldly. Close 
to low bushes, or among meadow-sweet, nettles and cow-parsnip, 
you may find its nest, which is made of fine rounded stalks of grass 
and lined with horsehair. There are five to seven eggs, whiter 
in ground colour than those of the Reed Warbler. The Marsh 
Warbler comes each spring to the neighbourhood of Taunton, but 
it is still a somewhat rare species. 
THE SEDGE WARBLER 
ACROCEPHALUS PHRAGMITIS 
Upper plumage olive-grey, the centre of each feather tinged with brown ; 
above the eyes a broad yellowish white stripe ; under, yellowish white, 
more or less tinged with red; throat white; tail rounded, of moderate 
length, of a uniform ash-brown. Length four and a half inches; breadth 
seven and a half. Eggs dirty white, mottled all over with dull yellowish 
brown. 
On the banks of reedy and bushy rivers, in marshes, withy holts, 
wherever, in fact, there is fresh water associated with enough 
vegetation to shelter and conceal, this bustling little bird is a con- 
stant summer visitor; restless in its habits, and courting notice 
by its twittering song, from the time of its arrival to that of its 
departure. It is usually first detected by its rapidly repeated note, 
which it utters while performing its short flights from bush to 
bush, and while creeping in and out among reeds and rushes. The 
fisherman knows it well, and is often tempted to withdraw his eye 
from his fly or float, to watch its movements on the opposite bank. 
From its unceasing babble, ploughboys call it a ‘chat’, a name 
which exactly answers to the French name of the group to which 
it belongs—‘ Jaseuses’. Its note isremarkable neither for volume 
nor sweetness, and, like that of unfeathered chatterers, seems to 
carry more noise than meaning. To a certain extent the bird is 
a mimic, as it imitates such notes of other birds as are within the 
compass of its little throat. I was walking one morning in May 
by the banks of a canal not far from a village, when I remarked 
the exact resemblance between a portion of its song and the chirrup 
of a House Sparrow. Intermixed with this, I detected the note 
of some other bird; but, familiar though it sounded, I ransacked 
my memory in vain to discover from whom it was purloined. 
Pursuing my walk towards the houses, I heard the note of some 
Guinea-fowls; not the ‘come-back’ cry, but the ‘ click-click’ 
