THE REED WARBLER. 
31 
like a pigmy feeding a giant. When the Reed Warbler was absent, the cuckoo 
shuffled along the rail, and hopped upon a slender post to which it was nailed, 
and which projected about eight inches above the rail. The Reed Warbler soon 
returned with more food, and alighted close to the cuckoo, but on the rail beneath 
him ; she then began to stretch herself to the utmost to give him the food, but 
was unable to reach the cuckoo’s mouth, who, like a simpleton, threw his head 
back, with his mouth wide open, as before. The Reed Warbler, by no means at 
a loss, perched upon the cuckoo’s broad back, who, still holding back his head, 
received in this singular way the morsel brought for him. * 
The Reed Warbler is found in South Sweden, and in Denmark, Germany, and 
Southern Russia; in short, wherever on the Continent suitable localities tempt it. 
It is known in Asia Minor, and is very common in the Holy Land, where Dr. 
Tristram fancied it was an early spring migrant. 
Just as the bird itself is not invariably found near reeds and water, so its nest 
is occasionally placed in a different locality. Thus it has been taken from the low 
part of a poplar-tree, and from a hazel-bush. In such situations the plan of the 
nest is somewhat modified, but the bird is always fond of wrapping it round with 
long grass, or with what wool, yarn, string, and the like, she can procure. The 
Reed Warbler has been kept in confinement, and was then heard to sing at intervals 
through the winter, as if it were in its favourite spots 
“ Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play.” 
The Sedge Warbler ( S . phragmitis ) keeps up more of a chatter than a song 
in such places, and especially in the bushes and thickets which fringe a river. 
It is a great mimic, and, like the Reed Warbler, often sings far into the night, 
keeping up a perpetual fluttering from twig to twig, and seldom being seen quiet 
for long together. It is connected in our mind with marshy thickets and balmy 
summer evenings, when the reeds wave in the refreshing breeze—a time and a 
scene so well painted by Mr. Jefferies:—“Hush! it is the rustle of the reeds. 
Their heads are swaying, a reddish-brown now, later on in the year a delicate 
feathery white. Seen from beneath, their slender tips, as they gracefully sweep 
to and fro, seem to trace designs upon the blue dome of the sky. A whispering 
in the reeds and tall grasses, a faint murmuring of the waters; yonder, across 
the broad water-meadow, a yellow haze hiding the elms.”f If the bustling chatterer 
within his leafy recesses is silent for a minute or two, a stone or clod hurled in will 
* See Johns’ “British Birds,” p. 120. 
t “Wild Life in a Southern County,” p. 243. 
