of grass, interwoven with the reed-tops and the dry spongy substance which covers many of the marsh ditches; also dry duckweed, and here and there a long piece of sedge is wound securely around it; the lining is of the finer flowering stems of grass, intermixed with a little horse-hair. It is a deep and solid structure, so that the eggs cannot easily roll out; it is firmly fastened to the reeds in tide ditches and rivers, at the height of three or four feet from the water, but in still ditches often not more than a foot.
The eggs are generally five, rather larger than those of the sedge bird, and of a greenish tint, thickly blotched with darkish ash-colour at the large end, the smaller end being spotted with light brown; the markings are of different sizes, and sometimes vary in the same nest. In windy weather, when wading through the reed-beds, I have seen nests, with both old and young in them, blown nearly to the surface of the water; but the birds fix their claws firmly to the sides of the nest, with their heads to windward, and thus ride as securely in their cradle as a sailor does in his cot or hammock.
The nest is rarely blown down, for when the men cut the reeds in winter they frequently find it firmly fixed to the stalks, and call it the "reed-sparrow's."
As soon as the young ones quit the nest, which they do early, they are very active, and nimbly hop up and down the reed-stems, it matters not which end uppermost; they are very tenacious in their grasp, and very noisy and clamorous for food. Both old and young, at this time, utter a screaming note, something similar to that of young starlings, with now and then a deep harsh "churr."
The naturalist will find the before-mentioned reedy ditches, closely margined with bushes and brambles, the most easy places to study the habits of the reed and sedge birds. Whenever I wish to become acquainted with these birds, I resort to the reedy beds and imitate the squeaking cries of the young in distress. The males of both species, if within hearing, directly fly to the place from whence the sounds proceed, and begin to sing stoutly; and it is curious that a stone thrown into the reeds or bushes, will often produce a similar effect. When I have found the nest of the reed- warbler with young, I have almost thrown the parent bird into fits by continuing those cries which they suppose to proceed from their little ones. The male bird will approach close to you in a bold and fearless manner, singing his merry varied song, which to me is discoursing "most eloquent music;" his throat, while singing, is greatly distended. The hen bird all the time utters a harsh screaming note, and anxiously shifts to and fro from the
