THE VERGE OF THE FOREST 75 



interest is difficult to exaggerate. This is, no doubt, 

 partly due to the varied nature of its soil and scenery. 

 The shore is not only the haunt of many sea-fowl, but 

 it supports a flora of its own. The copses which come 

 down to the water's edge are ah' ve in spring and summer- 

 time with numbers of our smaller birds. The bogs 

 creeping between the plantations of larch and fir are 

 rich in moorland plants, while the banks of the deep 

 lanes which run between the farms and homesteads are 

 clothed with a profusion of ferns and wild flowers. 



If it be true, as a mediaeval saint used to say, " Ubi 

 aves, ibi angeli," then the churchyard of Dibden must 

 be haunted by legions of angels. It is a veritable para- 

 dise of birds. A quieter and more secluded spot could 

 not well be imagined. Approached by a deep and 

 hollow lane, it is surrounded by forest trees. Save for 

 the ancient manor house immediately to the north of 

 it, the church stands in solitary isolation, overlooking 

 Southampton Water. As I rested beneath an aged oak 

 which stands in the middle of the churchyard a green 

 woodpecker alighted on the tree and, careless of my 

 presence, began to run up the massive trunk. At that 

 moment a bird's note, which could only be that of the 

 red-backed shrike or butcher-bird, arrested my atten- 

 tion. Almost at once I caught sight of three speckled 

 fledgelings, with the characteristic dark band across 

 their eyes, sitting close together on the low branch of 

 an elm-tree some twenty yards distant. It was most 

 interesting watching through a pair of field-glasses the 

 parent butcher-birds feeding their young with grubs 

 and beetles. It was the time of fledgelings, and Dibden 

 churchyard had clearly provided shelter for a large 

 number of nests. Several young robins and green- 



