The Corncrake. 1 1 9 



As we pass along the edge of a cornfield we hear 

 the harsh crek, crek of the corncrake, and from the 

 other side comes, mellowed with the wind, the con- 

 tinuous birring sibilant sound of the yellowhammer. 

 The corncrake has been called the King of the Quails, 

 and one of the most peculiar things about him, as 

 some say, is the ventriloquism of his voice. You might 

 fancy from the cries of one bird that there were a 

 dozen at different parts of the field a device the bird 

 has to render it difficult to guess from his cry any true 

 hint of his exact whereabouts.* He is pre-eminently 

 the bird of ripening corn, and of the harvest-time 

 one of the migrants which reach this country after much 

 more slight and tender birds a fact which has been 

 explained in several ways, but not quite satisfactorily 

 to our idea. Just before us is a clump of high trees, 

 oaks, firs, elms, and beeches, as varied in their green, 

 and as beautifully blended as an artist could desire, 

 and in their foliage the wood-pigeons are cooing in a 

 perfect chorus. In the fields beyond the young lambs 

 are already active, the ewes intent on feeding in the 

 cool of the morning, and the horses in the little paddock 

 to the right, as though they felt themselves superior by 

 their closer contact with man, sniff about, and leisurely 

 whisk and ruminate as though they argued that time 

 was all in their favour, and that good meat would not 

 spoil by waiting. 



There already, see, the swallows are on the wing, 



* But it should be mentioned that on this point it is said in Yarrell 

 (vol. iii. p. 140), "This bird has been credited with ventriloquial 

 powers, but it may be doubted whether this is not in consequence of 

 the marvellous rapidity with which it sneaks, unperceived, from one 

 spot to another. The Editor has had ocular proof that notes which 

 were supposed to indicate ventriloquism were, in reality, the responsive 

 utterances of two individuals." 



