90 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 



to acquire undying fame in the highest ornithological circles, I made my 

 way to the distinguished visitors' retreat. I may mention that two eggs 

 had been left in the nest, so that there was a reasonable chance of finding 

 the birds still there. The first sight of the nest was not encouraging ; it 

 was close against the main stem of a small tree, and strongly suggestive of 

 a Finch's. However, up we climbed, and found that it contained two 

 fledglings. So far so good ; identification of some sort was now assured. 

 I sent off my guide to hunt for further rarities, and sat down behind a 

 bush with my glasses. And now occurred jar number one. I had not 

 been there five minutes, when a well-known note came echoing through the 

 wood, and a Great Tit settled in the tree above my head. The black head, 

 grey body legend was explained ; the Orphean was fast receding into space. 

 Still, the nest could not be a Tit's anyway, so I sat on with a pretty solid 

 foreboding of what the end would be. It came, as I expected, in the shape 

 of a female Chaffinch, with a caterpillar in her beak, which she shortly 

 transferred to the expectant youngsters in the nest. 



The Orphean myth was now exploded, and with it departed out short- 

 lived hopes of ornithological renown. The only consolation was that the 

 professional had come second best out of the bargain after all. I could 

 not resist the temptation of calling on him to see what had become of the 

 remaining eggs. I found him jubilant over the transaction ; they had been 

 despatched with the utmost care to London. He repelled with vigour an 

 insinuation that they were not Orphean's after all, and implied pretty clearly 

 that I was a fool ; but mine, nevertheless, was the last word on the subject, 

 when I suggested that in that case it was odd that a hen Chaffinch should 

 be feeding the two remaining birds ; and with this Parthian dart still rankling 

 I left him to ruminate on his misdeeds. 



To return to the Decoy itself. By the time a Nightingale's nest was 

 discovered, we were generally pretty well seasoned to nettles, and, twisting 

 a handkerchief round the hand that held the stick, we went straight for the 

 nettle clumps themselves. They would always hold a Blackcap's or a Lesser 

 Whitethroat's, and sometimes the rarer Garden-Warbler's was to be found in a 

 similar position. Through the centre of the Decoy proper there flowed a 

 narrow, reed-fringed stream, and this was an almost certain find for a Reed- 

 Warbler's nest, w T hile from the centre of the little decoy, which lay adjacent 

 to it, I once put out the unlooked-for form of a fox ! But alas ! these days are 

 gone for ever. The mongrel poodle has replaced the fox; Swans and bar- 

 barian Wild Fowl have ousted the native Duck, and pleasure parties daily 

 disport themselves in what was once a naturalist's preserve. 



