JUNE 125 



and blackbirds have shouted their good-night and 

 are silent, the Grasshopper Warbler ceases his trill 

 from the thicket, and even the restless Sedge-bird seems 

 to feel the stilly influence of the hour. The Swifts 

 dart screaming round their nest holes to serenade 

 their mates. So late are they upon the wing that we 

 have heard them within an hour of midnight. Few 

 people have any idea of the amount of life which is 

 astir during the few short hours of the midsummer 

 night. As the white mist rises from the meadows, the 

 Corncrake still calls with rasping monotony and 

 apparently keeps up its vigil till dawn. The Cuckoo 

 frequently calls all night long. Lapwings flutter 

 moth-like overhead as one walks the downs, their 

 shrill "peewit" having a peculiarly eerie sound in 

 the darkness. 



As the full moon rises over the spinney, the Nightin- 

 gale trills and bubbles over with song. We have 

 heard the Wheatear singing well on a moonlight night. 

 The air vibrates with the reeling of the Nightjar, as 

 it chases the white moths above the dewy meads 

 or skims round the resting cattle to catch the flies 

 which trouble them. Then there are of course the 

 authorised night watchmen, the owls, for whose vocal 

 performances we are prepared, but how many voices 

 of the night remain unidentified and mysterious. 

 Some may perhaps be attributed to the Moorhen. 

 Certain it is that moorhens are constantly on the 



