348 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



this absence. The bottom of the newly-drilled hole is soon lined 

 with straw, and then there is every likelihood of a fight ensuing 

 at daybreak. The tactics of the Starling are to terrify his 

 adversary. To do this he takes full advantage of his rapid and 

 mobile flight, which the Woodpecker cannot match. At one 

 moment he darts at his enemy, and is away again before he can 

 retaliate, while the next moment he will be pouring out volleys 

 of angry abuse upon his foe. I have witnessed several of these 

 fights, in which the Starling has invariably reaped an easy 

 victory. 



The woods are now destitute of bird-voices, save at times for 

 the fitful cooings of the King Doves. The Nightjars, too, are 

 silent. Their monotonous songs ceased as soon as the young 

 were hatched. Nestlings of this species are frequently found here 

 very late in the autumn. One was taken near Sissinghurst on 

 Aug. 10th, and I have on record much later dates than this one. 

 While pairing the Nightjar is very noisy. As soon as twilight 

 begins to fade into dusk the male bird glides noiselessly up to a 

 leaf-ridden and rotten tree-limb and immediately utters his call- 

 note — a loud metallic " twyrtt." When this has attracted the 

 attention of a female, who utters back a similar note, he com- 

 mences, though many trees may separate them, his grinding 

 " churr," resembling the noise of an axe being sharpened on a 

 grindstone. This peculiar song is begun loud — so loud that the 

 dead bough seems to vibrate with the sound. Suddenly the 

 notes become soft and hardly audible, just as if the bird was 

 taking breath for a moment, and then these soft notes are run 

 again into the loud ones. This " churring" song, always marked 

 at regular intervals by the soft bars, lasts at the most for two 

 minutes. Then a short period of silence elapses before another 

 " grind" takes place. And in this still silence one can almost 

 picture to oneself the sharpener feeling his axe before putting 

 the finishing touches to it on the grindstone. Besides this 

 song and call, the Nightjar has an alarm-note. It is a strident 

 " twyrrt," accompanied by a double clap of the wings. A branch, 

 dry and sapless, the bark of which hangs peeled off in long 

 shrunk-up tubes — a white dusty road or a lately felled tree, 

 shorn of its bark and shooting out its naked arms into the blank 

 night — are places they seek by choice. From such points of 

 vantage their large lustrous black eyes can the more readily 



