or momentarily flit across some narrow space, or with a flight like a flying-fish's in the water, suddenly appear on the surface of the reeds, skim their level tops, and as suddenly drop down out of sight again. They come to England together, and together seek the same haunts. The only way to make them betray themselves is by throwing something among the reeds, when each of them will at once protest, sometimes scolding like a whitethroat, sometimes breaking out into a bold, beautiful song. Each bird, too, occasionally forgets its shyness, and coming out from its retreat perches well in sight and fearlessly sings its loudest. But their nests are unmistakable; for while the sedge-warbler always builds upon some support, the reed-sparrow hangs its nest between supports, but never upon them. Yet as you loiter near their pretty nesting-places, it does not matter much which of the birds you disturb, for either will sing for you as long as you remain, and it is a charming sight to see the little olive-green bird clinging to a reed or a willow-withe, and with stretched throat singing with all its might. A very little wind makes it sway, and this, with the bird's strange ventriloquist powers, makes the song seem to sway, too, and as you watch it, the small creature grows quite mystical, with its notes, now near now far, and its beautiful little body swinging to and fro in the chequered shadow of the tall plumed reeds. And sometimes, while he is singing, the hen-bird, as if excited by his song, begins too, in a harsher voice but not unmusical, and once started you will hear the duet going on behind you long after you have left. In the warm evenings, when out with my net moth-hunting along the river side, I have often heard them singing among the sedge and willows, and later, coming home in the dark, have found them still in full song. As a matter of fact, our short nights in summer have often as much melody as the days. Not so much chatter and chirruping and twittering, but quite as much song, for there are none of our singing-birds that, when the fancy takes them, will not add a beauty to a fine night by their music. Sleeping out of doors (I do so as often as I can get the chance), I have at one time or another heard them all, the cuckoo and the owl together, the robin and the nightingale.