SOME MOORLAND BIRDS 69 



nest will be cradled far up on the heavily oak-crowned hills and pine- 

 tapering fringe of a branch swaying capped knolls the haunt of the buz- 

 across the road. Presently the strain- zard ; and at this very moment a pair 

 ing eyes are rewarded with a tiny of the great hawks are sailing far above 

 " something " that is certainly no the wooded ramparts on the right, 

 excrescence of the bark or natural Were you to wander up the ravine 

 formation of the leaves, and a light- leading to the heights, you would find 

 ning climb lands you within a few the grey, downy brood nestling in 

 feet of its probable whereabouts, when their rough home securely placed in 

 two excited goldfinches, flitting rest- the gaping fork of an ivied oak. Not 

 lessly from bough to bough, now so long ago, that now rarest of British 

 across the road then back again, birds the kite could have been seen 

 intimate that the trail is growing from this very byway " swimming 

 hot. That " something," can you only sublime in oft -repeated circles, scream- 

 find it, is beyond doubt the nest. . . . ing loud." But now, alas ! it has gone. 

 Ah ! At last you have it and this In these same woods the great 

 time a slow, careful climb enables you spotted woodpecker finds congenial 

 to peep down at the five, porcelain- quarters ; the unmistakable, single 

 shelled, greenish - white, purplish - cry of " chac " sounds with startling 

 spotted eggs, reposing snugly in their clearness and then the author of it 

 woolly, down-lined bassinette. a mottled black and white shadow 

 Leave this blissful picture and trudge springing up the crinkled, papery bark 

 on with the birds to cheer your path, of a silver-washed birch, rivets the 

 Now it is a singing tree pipit rising attention. Not far off, in a similar 

 and falling in the liquid air ; now a tree, is the circular, chiselled hole, 

 fragile willow wren whispering its" ir- where his mate, in her stuffy retreat, 

 regularly blended cadence, now swelling, is hatching the half-dozen creamy- 

 now diminishing ; " next a wood war- white, polished eggs. Don't tamper 

 bier shivering in ecstasies over its with it, for with few exceptions to cut 

 tremulous refrain ; again the rich, out a woodpecker's hole spells its inevit- 

 mellow notes of blackcap and garden able desertion. The handsome green 

 warbler lurking in the thickets border- yaffle is here too, and his unearthly, 

 ing the track. ... Just here the road neighing laugh rings out loudly from 

 winds for well-nigh a league through the black firs bordering the old mill. 



