344 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



continuous, liquid gurgle, interrupted here and there by notes — 

 usually three in number — of a more distinctly musical type, 

 which have a certain mellow yet reedy tone, not unlike some of 

 the notes of the Redstart ; but these are only given occasionally 

 in the song, which was often continued for half a minute or so, 

 and can only be compared to the noise made by letting a thin 

 thread of water fall somewhat irregularly into a basin with water 

 in it ; or it may be imitated by blowing gently, but with varying 

 force, through an egg-blower into a tumbler of water. Thus it 

 has a distant resemblance to the voice of the Grasshopper- 

 Warbler, to that of the Wood-Wren, and also to that of Bonelli's 

 Warbler, and, when I was first on my way to hear it, I had no 

 moral doubt that it would turn out to be one or other of the first 

 two of these, though I nourished a secret hope that it might be 

 Bonelli, a bird well known to me, and one which I have always 

 half expected to hear of in England some day ; but no sooner did 

 I have a chance of listening to the song than I was forced to give 

 up all such expectations, and confess myself completely beaten. 



It was on June 10th of last year that I was first taken to the 

 spot by Mr. W. S. Medlicott, of Magdalen College, who told me 

 that he had made acquaintance with the bird the year before 

 (1901), and had searched carefully for a nest without success. 

 The wood is very secluded, and I have never seen anyone there 

 except a friendly keeper ; the haunt of the bird is the southern 

 edge of the wood, and is limited to a space of about a hundred 

 yards square, within which limits it moves about continually, 

 seldom staying long in any one tree. Perhaps the favourite spot 

 was where a little cowpond at the very edge of the wood was 

 overshadowed by a young oak and some smaller bushes growing 

 out of a thick undergrowth ; but it would sometimes retreat 

 some way into the wood itself, which was composed of oaks, 

 elms, ashes, and a few firs, none of them of any great size, with 

 small open grassy spots, admirably suited for ground-building 

 birds. 



On June 10th I heard hardly anything of the song; it was 

 the afternoon, when even the most persistent of singers are apt 

 to be silent. I came again alone a week later, and heard enough 

 to make it quite clear to myself that I had never yet come across 

 this singer, but I could not get a good sight of it, and I had to 



