MY FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS 77 



notices the sweet, dulcet strains of the bird to great advantage. 

 In the full gush of Spring's birdland choir, the Blackcap's con- 

 tribution is almost lost, except to the trained ear of the orni- 

 thologist, but at Midsummer the little copse, or secluded wood, 

 resounds with the voice of the bird under notice, and makes such 

 an appeal that the most indifferent listener is bound to make 

 some remark when the lyrical notes strike upon the ear. 



Here, again, we have an extremely shy bird, which is always 

 on the move. In the heyday of Summer it seems to have a 

 preference for the billowy masses of elder blossom, among which 

 it delights to wander. Perchance, it is a good hunting ground 

 for insects of various kinds, and upon these the Blackcap largely 

 feeds. Sometimes, it will come into our gardens, and take a 

 little soft fruit, but it does not do any appreciable damage, and 

 should be encouraged at all times. 



The first Blackcap I saw this year was feeding upon the fast 

 ripening berries of the ivy, of which it is very fond, and, if the 

 reader desires to locate this bird during the first days of its arrival 

 upon our shores, he cannot do better than pay attention to any 

 ivy-laden district, where, sure enough, it will soon be observed. 



The young having been safely reared, the parent Blackcaps 

 are free to roam about during the late Summer and early Autumn, 

 happy and 'contented. Every now and again the male bird 

 sings a few rich, mellow notes, as if to remind us that it will 

 prolong its stay until the luscious berries of the elder are ripened 

 by the August sun. Then it will have a rare feast from the 

 elder-berries, if these latter are not all gobbled up by the ravenous 

 Starlings. Soon afterwards it commences its return southern 

 journey over land and sea, and does not occur with us again 

 until the ivy berries are blackened, ready to receive it the follow- 

 ing Spring. Thus do the hands of Nature's clock go round ! 



Next to the Blackcap, I should place the Skylark among my 

 favourite song birds, and that for several reasons. This far- 

 famed minstrel of the air, " pearl of the feathered race," as I 

 christened it in the little poem recited in my opening chapter, 

 sings its happy and unfettered melody for several months out 

 of the twelve, and at a time when other feathered warblers are 

 leagues away in a sunnier clime. He sings, does this brown bird 

 of happyland, in all weathers, full of abundant hope, even in 

 the rigours of an Arctic February, or March-many-weathers, of 

 the Spring that is to be. Of gleeful disposition, unquenchable 

 optimism, abundant energy, possessing a repertoire unchallenged, 



