26 The Pied Flycatcher 



(especially when built over water) ; deserted nesting-holes of Woodpeckers or Tits 

 are sometimes utilized : it haunts groves of oak, beech, aspen, or chestnut, in 

 preference to dense wood ; although, according to Dixon, it may sometimes be met 

 with in the latter situation. Lord Lilford saj's that " the nest is generally situated 

 in the hole of a pollard willow, or other tree, often in an old wall ; in fact, very 

 much in the sort of locality that we should look for a nest of the Common Red- 

 start." 



The nest is somewhat loosely constructed of dry bents, rootlets, and a little 

 moss ; the lining being formed of wool, feathers, and sometimes hair. The eggs 

 vary in number from four to eight, five to six being usual. As Lord Lilford 

 observes " Yarrell records an instance of eight in a nest, but, from my acquaintance 

 with this species in Spain, I should consider that number as very exceptional." 

 The colouring is always a ver}' pale blue and unspotted, there is a slight variation 

 in depth of tint, but otherwise the only modifications in the eggs of this bird are 

 in size and outline, depending much upon the age and condition of health of the 

 parent bird. 



W. Warde Fowler in his charming "Summer Studies of Birds and Books," 

 gives a most delightful account of the Pied Fl3'catcher, which is well worth quoting 

 in full, if only space would permit ; but I must content myself with an extract : — 

 "On the Continent I have always seen him in just such places as he loves in 

 Wales, among the larger timber of a Swiss mountain-side, or on the forest slopes 

 of the Taunus range. Just as the trout loves swiftly-running streams, or as the 

 Wood-wren is sure to be heard where the oak is the prevailing tree, so there are 

 certain spots which you instinctivel}' feel that this bird ought to have chosen for 

 his habitation, and if you are in the right district you may fairly lay a wager 

 that he will be found there. Such a spot, on the edge of the beech forests of 

 Wiesbaden, will always remain in very clear outline in my memory, for it was 

 there I first heard the song of this bird. It is very seldom now that I hear a 

 song that is quite new to me. If it were not that so many of our songsters sing 

 all too short a time, and that when they tune up one by one for the orchestra of 

 the spring season each instrument touches the ear with the fresh delight of recog- 

 nition, I might feel as much at the end of my tether as the mountaineer who has 

 no more peaks to climb. But this song was not only new, but wonderfully sweet 

 and striking. ' Something like a Redstart's ' say the books, and this is not untrue, 

 so far as it represents the outward form, so to speak, of the song — the quickness 

 or shortness of notes, the rapid variations of pitch. But no one who has once 

 accustomed his ear to the very peculiar tijubre of the voice of either kind of Red- 

 start will mistake for it the song of the Pied Flycatcher. My notes, taken on the 



