SALICARIA LOCUSTELLA. 297 



whin and grass piecemeal, which he did before he got the nest. 

 The Kev. Mr Turner of Uppingham says — 



"Having thrice got the nest, and closely watched, I can give particulars 

 of the habits of this skulking bird. The first nest was in the middle of a 

 small plantation of young trees. Out of a tuft of grass, overhung by a 

 bramble and small white thorn, I saw something hop, and immediately 

 drop into the herbage. I carefully searched the tuft, and all round — but in 

 vain. I returned to the spot; there was the same hop and away — but so 

 quick I was not sure if it was a bird or a mouse. I repeated my search for 

 a nest, but with no better success than before. I sat down to watch — I saw 

 the grass move, and then a Locustella came threading through the grass 

 within arms length of me ; but, eyeing me, retreated. Convinced its nest 

 was there, I took my knife and cut away the herbage near the tuft, then 

 cut the tuft itself, and, in the very centre of it, in a hollow of the ground, I 

 found the nest entirely concealed, without the slightest appearance of 

 ingress or egress. I was so struck with what I saw that I again sat down, 

 and the same stealthy movements to and fro were repeated. The other two 

 I detected in the same way in open places of a large wood ; their situations 

 also in the very centres of large tufts of coarse grass at a depth of fifteen 

 inches from the top. In both cases the female did precisely the same as 

 described ; she never rose on the wing, probably never flies to or from her 

 nest, but threads her way through the herbage just like a mouse, and thus 

 effectually prevents everything that could lead to the discovery of her nest. 

 The nests were entirely of dry grass, finer internally. In the first was a 

 little moss." 



In such situations they are loosely constructed on the ground. 

 These descriptions remind one of the willow wren, which also 

 nestles under the herbage — the nest of which I have often 

 found by watching the bird, with feathers in her bill, during 

 its construction. Like the corncrake, this warbler is a 

 ventriloquist — one moment it seems close at hand, the next a 

 hundred yards off, without shifting its position, and will sing its 

 grasshopper chirp of a song within a yard of you, if concealed. 

 Indeed, this singularly artful bird, as if to irritate and defy you, 

 will chirp or sing at your very feet, trusting to its habit of hiding 

 and facility of escape under the herbage. Even the young, 

 though only half-fledged, if disturbed, will quit the nest, and 

 instinctively hide amongst the grass. But at early dawn it sings 

 on the top of a twig, gaping, and shivering with its wings. The 

 only time they expose themselves on the tops of furze or other 

 bushes to sing their queer cricket-like song is when they arrive, 

 and continue till the females come about ten days later. After 

 that they are not openly seen, unless at early morning, but chirp 

 or sing concealed amongst the herbage. They chirp incessantly 

 at dusk — a sort of grinding, hissing noise, like a grasshopper — 

 hence its name. This note consists of a sort of sibilant ringing- 

 cry, repeated without intermission for several minutes, and so 

 exactly like the mole cricket's as to be difficult to distinguish 



