THE SINGERS 69 



pick up grit from the gravel paths, and here again 

 is the inseparable pair. 



No account of wild birds' music would be complete 

 that failed to note their undersongs. The undersong, 

 faint and sweet, may be uncommon, but it occurs 

 with several kinds of English birds. I heard the 

 lesser whitethroat's whispered undersong in a Hamp- 

 shire lane in 1905, and two or three times I have 

 heard the blackcap's. The lesser whitethroat sang 

 in a deep, high hedge festooned with great masses 

 of traveller's joy ; it was the male of a pair that 

 had their young round them. There could be no 

 mistake, as the singer was quite close to me, and 

 I watched and heard it for some time. This lesser 

 whitethroat's song was pitched in a very faint key; 

 a little warble composed of many indescribable notes, 

 minute and packed. It was repeated several times, 

 the singer, as it softly crooned to itself, searching 

 busily for food in the lower part of the hedge. 

 Years ago, at the edge of the woods at home, I 

 heard a song pitched in a very low key by a black- 

 cap, and could distinctly see the singer only four 

 or five yards away. One evening in 1907, so late 

 as seven o'clock, I heard a delicate warbling song 

 given by a bird hidden in a maple bush. The notes 

 were minute and crowded, and I thought at first 

 the singer might be a lesser whitethroat, though 

 the usual song of the lesser whitethroat has no 

 likeness to this performance. I waited and watched, 



