Birds by Land and Sea 



thorn, probably by some of the nest-hunting boys 

 who infest the road during the week-ends. 



In a loop of ivy growing in a most exposed 

 position at the side of this road, a spotted flycatcher 

 was nesting. She would allow me to pass at a 

 distance of six feet without moving, so long as I 

 really passed with eyes set right ahead. Turn your 

 eyes on the bird, however, at even a greater distance, 

 and she is up and off at once. It is worth remem- 

 bering that a grown bird's eyes always seek those 

 of the observer. A young bird may act with the 

 inexperience of youth, and I have stood over a fully 

 fledged young missel-thrush whilst it spat fire in its 

 petulance at my trousers-legs, but made no attempt 

 to rise until I turned it over with my stick. 



The spotted flycatcher has seemed to some a 

 spiritless bird insipid, if one may use the term. 

 But liking goes by favour, and I have always kept a 

 soft spot for this unobtrusive little bird. One feels 

 it a matter of conscience to state that it has a song 

 consisting of three low warbled notes, which few 

 observers, however, can claim to have heard ; for 

 otherwise it might be thought to be voiceless, so 

 rarely does it utter a sound at all. In leaving the 

 nest, this bird followed a course so uniform as to 

 become interesting for its very monotony from the 

 nest to the top of a gate close by, thence to a dead 

 bough beyond, from that by a little circuit at the 

 back of the wall to a branch on the other side of the 

 nest, and finally to the nest again. Put her up as 



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