170 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



says the Bure marshes were becoming drier every year, and the 

 Broads also are shrinking sadly in places. On June 10th, 

 although not a very warm day, Kedshanks were going through 

 their amorous performance at Hoveton with a strange series of 

 quiverings and up and down movements, very hard to describe 

 in words, but not inaptly compared by Mr. Huxley to the 

 motion of a switchback railway. All the time the performance 

 is accompanied by a series of monosyllabic notes, very different 

 from the shrill whistle of autumn and early spring. Although 

 most of it takes place in the air, they sometimes alight on the 

 ground, or even on a gate-post, where they seem quite at ease. 



8th. — On the Broads again — always so delightful at this time 

 of the year — this time listening for Bitterns, of which Mr. B. 

 Gurney and I heard one, but not distinctly, owing to too 

 much wind, and for the same reason the Bearded Tits did not 

 show themselves. If it had been a fine day, we should not have 

 been long without seeing the males chasing one another among 

 the brown reeds, which they so much resemble. As the boat 

 was " punted " noiselessly along with what our men call " a 

 quont," a Water Rat, alarmed by its approach, was seen swimming 

 in "the dike " with a young one in its mouth. 



9th. — A Coal Titmouse t has now nine eggs in a box in the 

 garden. By the time the young ones are ready to fly, it will be 

 a marvel how those at the bottom escape suffocation, but the 

 Coal Titmouse is fond of close quarters, in which air seems to 

 be of no consequence. It is not an unusual thing for this species 

 to seek the warmth of a haystack, where it finds some convenient 

 hole to burrow into at night, where with a small net it is easily 

 caught. 



13th. — Your correspondent Mr. Butterfield asks for informa- 

 tion about the Blackcap and Garden-Warbler (1913, p. 431), but 

 I can only say that both these sylvan Warblers have been again 

 scarce. To-day a dead Blackcap was lying on the path — there being 

 no cause to account for its death. A favourite as a songster, this 

 pretty bird is at the same time too much of a fruit eater to be 

 any friend of the gardener's; indeed, it will hardly wait for him 

 to go for his dinner before it sallies forth into the raspberry- 

 canes, where it indulges greedily, going on eating sometimes 

 until the feathers of its face are smeared with the red juice. 



