I watch Yellow Buntings on a furze-covered common. I find that, establishing themselves early in February, they sing persistently, and in a few weeks are paired. But what arrests my attention more particularly is the quality of the song; for although the voice is unmistakably the voice of the Yellow Bunting, yet it is incomplete and lacks the variety of phrases and musical notation which we customarily associate with the bird. Nevertheless, as the season advances, there is a progressive development in both these directions, and by the end of March or the beginning of April the song possesses all those qualities which appeal to us so forcibly.
There is one other fact to which attention must be drawn—the variation in the song of the same species in different districts. As an illustration let us take the case of the Chaffinch. In Worcestershire the bird sings what I imagine to be a normal song—the notes are clear and the phrases are distinct and combined in numerous ways. With the notes fresh in mind I leave them and go to the west of Donegal, where I am at once conscious of a difference; not a subtle difference that perplexes the mind and is difficult to trace, but a change so remarkable that one is conscious of a passing doubt as to whether after all the voice is the voice of the Chaffinch; the song is pitched in a lower key, certain phrases are absent, the notes lack tone and are sometimes even harsh, and the bird seems wholly in-
