54 A BIRD COLLECTOR’S MEDLEY. 
Armed with a better weapon, I went again on the following morning. 
The sun was shining brightly, and the birds were now at the top of the 
furze bushes pouring out their extraordinary song. During this performance, 
with their tails standing almost bolt upright, their throat feathers expanded 
and crests erect, they were most comic objects to behold—they seemed all 
head and tail. For some time I failed to get one even now; they always 
dropped down just when you didn’t expect it, and I was also hampered by 
several untimely interruptions. About noon the sun, as on the preceding 
day, went in; in went the Dartfords too, and, with the sky rapidly clouding 
over, I began to think I was doomed to a second failure. Though I tramped 
through the furze and heaved stones till my arm was tired, I could get 
nothing out, and at last in despair I took a stroll to a distant part of the 
heath. Here, while resting, I suddenly heard a soft, low note‘at the bottom 
of the furze. As it was followed by a harsher one, I went down on 
hands and knees and crawled in towards the sound. A second note directed me 
to the exact spot, and there I descried a Dartford pottering about a couple 
of feet above the ground. Once again I was struck by the similarity of its 
actions to those of a Long-tailed Tit, but I had little time for observation ; 
the chance was too good to be frittered away, and a lucky shot between the 
furze stems secured at length the bird that I had sought so long in vain, 
Three years later I again visited the heath to see how the Dartfords 
were getting on, and was delighted to find them quite as numerous as 
before. I noted again that when singing they seem all head and tail, 
which they then tilt to its highest point, while when they fly they 
seem all hind quarters with no head. During their song the feathers 
are puffed out, but at times they are very compact, and have a peculiarly 
sheeny appearance in the sun. They seemed partial to furze that was 
of mature age, with open spaces below. I never saw them where it 
was short and green. On this occasion I had the luck to watch a pair 
building their nest. It was in a small furze-bush, and was very neat 
and strong for a Warbler’s, being made of broad, whitish moorland 
grass. The birds repeatedly flew, one might almost say dived, from some 
tall furze on the top of a stone wall into the main furze-brake beneath, 
returning each time with some whitish object in their beaks. I thought at 
first that these were moths, and that they must have young, though 
it was only April 25th. However, I eventually found the nest; there was 
nothing in it, and the supposed moths turned out to be small pieces of the 
whitest portion of furze blossoms, which the birds were using to line the nest. 
I saw one bird rise once, and warble for a few seconds in the air like a Pipit. 
