TWO DAYS WITH THE BIRDS OF THE SOMME. 269 



singers such as the Marsh-Warbler or the Icterine, we were not 

 irritated by the continual outpourings of the Song-Thrush. 



A little further along this road we found a Cirl-Bunting sing- 

 ing with a much more rapid succession of notes than we had ever 

 heard in England — so rapid, indeed, as to become almost sibilant, 

 and to suggest the presence of a Wood-Wren ; but the bird flew 

 down on to the road, and left no doubt as to its identity. This 

 is only one instance among many of local variation in song. I 

 have already mentioned the Blackcap, and the Chaffinch, too, 

 was constantly attracting our attention by the new character of 

 his utterance. This bird, I may mention, by the way, was to be 

 seen picking up refuse in the streets of Abbeville, or perchance 

 in a cage over a shop-door. 



Near this same spot we were lucky enough to find a Hoopoe 

 in search of food for its young, in a small field among the 

 gardens. This was a beautiful sight, which we shall not forget, 

 for the bird kept hovering just above the grass like a huge butter- 

 fly — a "Painted Lady," as Macpherson aptly suggested — the 

 black and white of its drooping wings showing brilliantly in the 

 sunshine, and contrasting most strikingly with the pale brown 

 of its other parts. After hovering about in this curious way for 

 a while it found a caterpillar (so far as we could see), and carried 

 it into an adjoining field, into which we could not well trespass ; 

 it then returned, and, chancing to alight on a piece of freshly-dug 

 earth, folded its wings, and instantly became almost invisible. 



After a wet afternoon and evening the morning of June 3rd 

 was luckily fine, and we spent it among the marshes. The only 

 good way to get there is to take the same road across the valley 

 to the west which we had followed the day before, until you have 

 passed both river and railway. Directly after crossing the latter 

 an insignificant-looking path turns to the left, separated from the 

 line by a broad ditch full of water. This path seems to lead for 

 miles along the edge of the swamps and lagoons into the heart 

 of the country of the Great Beed Warblers (A. arundinaceus) . 

 Picturesque sheets of reedy water come right up to the path, 

 and here these amusing birds keep on their loud croaking song 

 within twenty yards of the trains. One of them flew up into a 

 poplar, and gave us a good look at him, though, as a rule, they 

 are well concealed in the reeds. Sitting there, he looked very 



