The Wheatear, and Whin Chat. 251 



walls of burial-grounds, and though, it is a very hand- 

 some bird, and in the early season sings sweetly, its 

 haunts have obtained it a bad name. The common alarm- 

 note resembles the sound made in breaking stones with a 

 hammer, and as it utters that note from the top of the 

 heap which haply covers the bones of one who perished 

 by the storm, or his own hand, popular fancy has not 

 unnaturally associated the Wheatear with the supersti- 

 tion that belongs to the place of graves. Beneath that 

 heap of stones, or in some neighbouring fallow, its nest 

 may be discovered, formed of moss and dried grass, lined 

 with hair, feathers, or wool, and containing five or six 

 eggs of a delicate bluish white. These birds congregate 

 on the southern downs about the middle of July ; they 

 are then caught in vast numbers, in horse-hair nooses, 

 which are set between two pieces of turf turned against 

 each other. 



The Whin Chat is a beautiful bird, compact in form, 

 with a rich and elegant plumage. Its song, which is 

 peculiarly soft and sweet, may be heard in spring on the 

 bushy margins and gorse of extensive heaths. Its nest, 

 constructed in thick tufts of grass and under bushes, is 

 most carefully concealed. It is usually approached by 

 a labyrinth to which the rising of the bird affords no clue, 

 and it may long be sought in vain, though perhaps not 

 more than a yard distant all the time. The eggs are 

 bluish green, without any spots, and are nevermore than 

 six in number. 



The following lines, addressed to the English Ortolan, 

 or Wheatear, by Mrs. Charlotte Smith, allude to the 

 foolish timidity of that bird : 



" To take you, shepherd boys prepare 

 The hollow turf, the wiry snare, 

 Of those weak terrors well aware, 



That bid you vainly dread 

 The shadows floating over downs, 

 Or murmuring gale, that round the stones 

 Of some old beacon, as it moans, 



Scarce moves a thistle's head. 

 And if a cloud obscure the sun, 

 With faint and fluttering heart you run 

 Into the pitfall you should shun, 



And only leave when dead." 



