332 BIRDS OF THE WEST OF SCOTLAND. 



cealment. Like all other skulking birds, it makes rapid progress 

 through a field of standing grain or rank grass, and in this way 

 it will traverse a great extent of ground in a very few minutes, 

 uttering its note at short intervals, and causing the person watching 

 it to wonder how the sound could emanate from so many points 

 of the compass in so short a space. I have frequently spent an 

 idle hour in observing its motions in a field of clover or rye grass, 

 and have almost invariably seen the bird, when in the act of 

 craking, standing quietly with its head slightly elevated, and occa- 

 sionally turning it to the right and to the left, as if directing the 

 sound in its full strength to all parts of the field. The cry is 

 uttered by the male, as I have ascertained for myself, and may be 

 presumed to be uttered as a note of attraction to the female. The 

 serenade is certainly a harsh one. 



Knowing the Corncrake's partiality for water, I have often 

 obtained specimens of the bird by going to a particular part of a 

 stream, about the middle of the day, during very hot weather. 

 They may be then seen frequently leaving their grassy haunts, 

 and crossing public roads, or leisurely tracking their way along 

 some hedgerow to the nearest pools among the stones which pave 

 the bed of the now shallow stream. I have even seen the poor 

 creatures mount a high stone wall, from the top of which they 

 could get a view of the surroundings, and run anxiously along the 

 ledge as if in search of more agreeable quarters. A useful instru- 

 ment for securing these birds may be made of a horse's rib notched 

 like a saw, across which another sharp bone is smartly drawn, so 

 as to produce an exact imitation of the cry. I remember being- 

 led into a boyish adventure with a set of such instruments, under 

 a strong desire to possess my first Corncrake. I knew of the 

 existence of a verdant clover field, frequented by two or three 

 pairs, on the other side of a walled garden the scene of many of 

 my early shooting exploits; and after climbing up the spread arms 

 of a pear tree, I plied the bones with commendable diligence, until 

 a landrail's uplifted head invited me to stop. Lifting my gun 

 from the top of the wall, I took a steady aim, but forgot in my 

 eagerness that my support was but a feeble one ; so at the moment 

 of firing the branch gave way, and I went down backwards with 

 an awkward suddenness, which made that wall at least a somewhat 

 unpleasant element in my after recollections of the species. 



The food of the Corncrake, so far as I have remarked, consists 



