BIRDS IN THE CORN 



is a disputed point whether the so-called 

 pretence of death should not rather be re- 

 garded as a state of trance. Strict regard for 

 the truth compels the admission that on 

 the only occasion on which I remember 

 taking hold of a live corncrake the bird, so 

 far from pretending to be dead, pecked my 

 wrist heartily. 



Just as the countryfolk regard the wryneck 

 as leader of the wandering cuckoos, and the 

 short-eared owl as forerunner of the wood- 

 cocks, so the ancients held that the landrail 

 performed the same service of pioneer to the 

 quail on its long journeys over land and sea. 

 Save in exceptional years, England is not 

 visited by quail in sufficient numbers to lend 

 interest to this aspect of a bird attractive on 

 other grounds, but the coincidence of their 

 arrival with us is well established. 



The voice of the corncrake, easily distin- 

 guished from that of any other bird of our 

 fields, may be approximately reproduced by 

 using a blunt saw against the grain on hard 

 wood. So loud is it at times that I have heard 

 it from the open window of an express train, 

 the noise of which drowned all other bird- 

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