LONDON BIRDS IN JUNE 107 
across the Thames in January, 1898, was able to infer that they 
were wildfowl and not pigeons ? Those semi-domesticated 
mallards, careering up and down the river, with their outstretched 
necks and closely tucked feet, how their movement differs from 
the leisurely sailing of the gaunt heron which is making for the 
heronry at Richmond! The soft, noiseless, moth-like flight of 
the nightjar is in strong contrast with the noisy flaps of the 
ring-dove of St. James’s Park. The switchback motions of the 
pied wagtail — the bird which last year laid two dirty grey-brown 
eggs in the burial ground of Old Battersea Church — how unlike 
the heavy, laboured progress of the moorhens of our ornamental 
waters ! The sea-gulls at Westminster Bridge pursue a tortuous 
course, and gracefully fold their wings before alighting on the 
water. The finches rise and fall as if on a choppy sea, starlings 
glide, kestrels hover and circle. The whirr of the partridge, 
the zigzags of the snipe, the shuffling of the hedge-accentor, 
are further examples of distinctive flight. 
Rare nests are, however, to be discovered sometimes. Within 
two miles of this busy centre, the writer last year found a willow 
wren’s nest at the foot of a gorse bush. It was artfully con- 
cealed, and probably the young would have been reared safely, 
had not their cries betrayed them. Fortunately, a photograph 
was secured before the loafers of the Common destroyed the 
nest and its contents. Another pair of the same species eluded 
the destroyer, and reared at least three or four fledglings. 
Finest sight of all was the nest of a meadow pipit at Wimbledon. 
It was artfully hidden by a little tussock of grass, and lying in it 
was a cuckoo’s egg harmonising in colour with those of the host 
bird. A bullfinch’s nest and eggs, in spite of close watching, 
were destroyed at Wimbledon, in June, 1903. 
Often the observer has to rely mainly upon the song of the 
bird. He becomes familiar with the kae of the Richmond jack- 
daw, the laughing “ yaffle” of the Wimbledon woodpecker, and 
the ravk, mvk of the Epping jay. Once heard, this noise, as of 
calico being torn, lingers in the memory. But how can we best 
remember the different songs ? Mr. C. A. Mitchell has 
attempted to express some of them in musical notation, but 
Mr. Warde Fowler, musician and ornithologist, says that this 
is impracticable, for so far as he “can judge, there is neither 
time nor rhythm nor scale ” in the melody of birds. The plan 
adopted by Dr. C. L. Hett is admirable, he constructs a syllabled 
outline of the song. Where well-worn renderings are known, 
the learner should seize on these and mentally accompany the 
bird’s ditty, in other cases he*" should make up the syllables for 
himself. The chaffinch plainly says “ Tol-de-rol, lol, chickwee- 
ee-do ” ; a slow note or two, then two or three rapidly delivered, 
and a twist at the finish. Incidentally, it may be said that a 
chaffinch joined the sparrows in St. James’s Park a few weeks 
ago. The nightingale, common near London, has a French 
paraphrase for his performance : “ Le bon Dieu m’a donne une 
